by Irene Hannon
“Zach.” She elbowed him. “Are you paying attention?”
“Yes. To you. Everything else recedes into the background when we’re together.”
A dimple appeared in her cheek. “And they say men don’t know how to be romantic.”
“Who are they?”
“Popular wisdom. But you defy stereotypes.”
“Thank you.” He gave a mock bow and took her hand. “Come on. Our beach awaits.”
“I’m all yours.”
He hoped that was true.
The signs had all been encouraging these past months, but until a lady said yes, it was impossible to be absolutely certain.
Fifteen minutes later, he swung into his driveway, retrieved the picnic hamper and two blankets from the trunk, and led her toward the path that dropped to the beach from the bluff.
Within ten minutes, they were at their favorite sun-bleached log, spreading out the blankets and settling in as two seagulls wheeled overhead. Other than the birds and a silver-white harbor seal who was watching the proceedings from a rock offshore, they had the place to themselves.
“You never did answer my question about what we’re having for lunch.” Katherine sat cross-legged and tapped the lid of the picnic hamper.
“Goodies from a gourmet shop in Coos Bay and fresh-baked French bread from Sweet Dreams. I recreated the menu from September.”
“How did you manage to assemble this feast? Weren’t you at the shop all day?”
“Yes. I got most of the food yesterday, once the various weather sites agreed on the forecast. I picked up the bread after I closed the shop.”
Her dimple returned. “You must have been awfully certain I’d agree to come.”
“I have great confidence in my powers of persuasion.” About picnics, anyway.
She reached for the lid. “Tell me what we’re having.”
He gave her fingers a gentle rap. “Not until you tell me your news. Is it about the movie?” Unlikely, since she seemed glad to be free of Hollywood—but there was positive buzz about the film in the media, and a few influentials who’d reviewed the rough cut were singing its praises.
“Nope. I’m not even thinking much about that—and I won’t until a few days before the premiere. I’d ditch that if I could, but my contract says I have to show up.” She grimaced.
“Think of it as an opportunity to tout your new career. Orders from a few show-business types could raise your profile.”
“Spoken like the businessman you are. Your previous firm lost a star when you left that world.”
“I’ve never looked back.”
“I don’t expect I will either.”
“Are you certain?” It wasn’t a subject they talked about often, but knowing how much Katherine enjoyed diving into a juicy part, it remained a subtle worry.
“Yes.”
Her instant reply was reassuring.
“You won’t miss acting?”
Her eyes began to sparkle. “That’s the perfect segue to my news. Guess who I heard from today?”
“I haven’t a clue—but it must have been someone important. You’re glowing.”
“Important to me, in any case. The director of a professional theater in Coos Bay called. He saw the story about me opening Chocolate Harbor. He’s familiar with my screen work and heard excellent reports about the movie from a contact in Hollywood. He wanted to know if I’d be willing to chat about occasionally appearing in a production or directing a show.”
“Wow. I’d say you ended up with the best of both worlds.”
“I agree. Stage work was always my first love, and directing appeals to me.” She leaned against the log. “You know, back in August, Reverend Baker asked if I could combine chocolate making and acting. The idea intrigued me, but I didn’t see how I could make it work—until now. The theater gig would let me dip my toe back into acting if I get the urge, but it wouldn’t interfere too much with my candy business.”
“I take it you’re going to talk to him.”
“Next month, after I get past the grand opening. What do you think?”
“I say go for it—but you’re going to be one busy lady.”
“I’m used to that.”
He’d intended to wait until after they ate to bring up the main item on his agenda for this picnic, but all at once the time felt right.
Pulse picking up, he reached into the picnic hamper and pulled out a small box wrapped in white paper, a shiny bow on top. Set it on the lid. “I’m hoping you can fit one more job into your schedule.”
She stared at the box.
“Go ahead. Open it.”
“Is it . . . is that what I think it is?”
“Open it and find out.”
She picked up the box, tore off the paper, flipped up the lid—and gasped.
The large, marquise-cut diamond in the platinum setting sparkled in the mid-afternoon sun, as impressive here as it had been in the showroom, where the clerk had complimented his excellent taste and assured him any woman would be thrilled to wear such a ring.
“It’s stunning.” Katherine’s verdict was hushed.
“It’s also exchangeable, if you prefer a different style. Or returnable, if necessary. I hope it won’t be.” He tried for a teasing tone, but nerves kicked in and his voice cracked.
Katherine lifted her chin. “Is there a speech to go with this?”
“If I can remember it. I’m not used to learning lines, like you are.”
“From-the-heart comments are always more powerful than scripted lines.”
He angled toward her and took the box from her fingers. Removed the ring. Clasped her hand in a gentle grip. “I’m not going to deliver a long monologue. I think relationships should be about dialogue. But I want you to know that after I moved here from Chicago, I thought my life was perfect. That I had everything I needed to be happy. As I came to realize, though, there was one glaring gap—and your arrival verified that. From the day you walked into The Perfect Blend, I sensed you could fill the empty place in my life . . . and that you might be destined to play a starring role in my future.”
The two seagulls that had been circling above landed about thirty feet away and sat on the sand, as if they wanted an up-close-and-personal view of the scene playing out on the beach.
Offshore, the seal belched and a dolphin executed a series of perfect jumps, leaping out of the water in a graceful arc.
Zach hitched up one side of his mouth and motioned to the menagerie. “We have an audience.”
“They’re waiting for the finale. So am I.”
“Then let’s get to it.” He held on tight to the ring with his unsteady fingers. “Over these past few months, everything I intuitively sensed about you has proven to be true. Your kindness, enthusiasm, clear sense of priorities, and ability to turn every day into a holiday have become the sunshine that warms my days—and my heart. I don’t want to rush you, but waiting won’t make me any more confident than I already am that we belong together. I love you more than I can say—and I’d be honored if you’d agree to be my wife.”
In reply, she held out her left hand.
Her fingers weren’t steady either.
“Is that a yes?”
She nodded as a tear spilled over her lashes and trickled down her cheek.
Throat tightening, he slid the ring on her finger. “Shall we seal this engagement with a kiss?”
When he leaned toward her, she pressed a hand against his chest. “Wait.”
He cocked his head. “Second thoughts already?”
“Not even close. I just . . . I wasn’t expecting this today. If I had been, I would have prepared a speech too.”
“No speech necessary. I’ll take a kiss instead.”
“But I want to tell you how much I . . . how blessed I feel to . . . what an honor . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she exhaled. “Could I be any less articulate? Your speech was beautiful.”
“It should be, after all my practice. And I get
the gist of what you’re trying to say.”
“Let me try again anyway.” She took a deep breath and locked gazes with him. “Zachary Garrett, I love everything about you. You’re principled, caring, brave, hard-working, funny, kind—and you have your head on straight. You also respect me and never try to dominate our relationship or take control of my life. If you’d waited any longer to ask me to marry you, I might have been tempted to take the lead.”
She scooted toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck, her beautiful, expressive eyes inches from his—and filled with longing and love. “Let’s make this official—and then let’s get married as soon as possible.”
“I like that plan.” Without further ado, he pulled her close and leaned down to claim their first kiss as an engaged couple.
Somewhere in the distance, a seagull cackled—but his focus was on the woman who’d become the center of his world.
And as he folded her into the shelter of his arms, his heart overflowed with gratitude.
For who could have imagined, back in his fast-paced, wheeling/dealing Chicago career, that he’d find his true calling—along with love and contentment—in a tiny town on the Oregon coast?
God’s hand had to be in it.
And perhaps Josh’s.
All at once, Charley’s revelation about his brother from months ago replayed in his mind.
“He didn’t pray for himself, Zach. He prayed for you.”
The world began to fade away as the magic of their kiss sucked him in—but in the last moments before he succumbed, he gave thanks. For his new life in a charming town with the perfect name. For the gratifying reconciliation with his father. For the much-loved and much-missed brother who was cheering him on from heaven.
And for the amazing woman in his arms, who would fill all his tomorrows with love and laughter and light.
They wanted her to take on another undercover gig?
No way.
Not happening.
But if both her boss and the head of the Crimes Against Persons unit were ganging up on her, getting out of the assignment would require finesse.
Brain firing on all cylinders, St. Louis County detective Cate Reilly crossed her legs, clenched her hands together in her lap, and surveyed the sergeant behind the desk—and the lieutenant seated beside her. Five seconds. That was all she needed to formulate a diplomatic, persuasive refusal.
Sarge didn’t give them to her.
“We’re aware you prefer not to do more undercover work, Cate. It’s not for everyone, and we appreciate you giving it a try this year.” He rested his forearms on his desk and linked his fingers. “But this is a . . . . unique . . . situation, so I’d ask you to hear us out. Lieutenant?”
The commander of the unit picked up the cue. “It goes without saying that what we discuss here stays here, no matter how this meeting ends.” He locked gazes with her.
“Of course.” After ten years with the St. Louis County PD, she knew when to zip her lips.
He gave a curt nod. “Two months ago, Gabe Laurent’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Stephanie, disappeared from a private girls’ boarding school in the far western portion of our jurisdiction, along the Missouri River. You know who Laurent is, I assume.”
“Yes.” In an era when badge holders were often painted as the bad guys, every County PD employee was aware of the software executive’s staunch—and vocal—commitment to law enforcement. “Why haven’t I heard about the girl’s disappearance?”
“We were keeping it under wraps until we determined whether it was the runaway situation it appeared to be. Only the detectives assigned to the case were privy to the details.”
“Was it a runaway?”
The lieutenant shifted in his seat. “That was our conclusion. All the pieces fit. Her backpack was gone. Her boyfriend also went missing—as did his backpack and car. Everyone our people spoke with agreed she was troubled and unhappy. That’s why her father sent her to Ivy Hill Academy. He didn’t like the crowd she was running with—or her boyfriend, slipping grades, and attitude. In addition to being a prestigious all-girl college-prep school with high academic standards, Ivy Hill is known for its rigid discipline.”
“Is the investigation still active?”
Sarge leaned back in his chair. “We’ve been keeping an eye out for her, but it hasn’t been our highest priority.”
No, it wouldn’t be.
Teen runaways were disturbing, but the County’s heavy homicide caseload and other serious crime investigations took precedence. The detectives were already stretched thin, and the long hours couldn’t expand much more without significant fallout—like a major decline in morale or a mass exodus.
“So why are we talking about it now?”
The lieutenant rejoined the conversation. “We’ve been asked to dig deeper.”
“By whom?”
He held up a hand. “Let me back up first. Gabe Laurent wasn’t satisfied with our conclusion or our promise to continue our efforts to locate his daughter as resources allowed. He ended up hiring a PI who turned up one piece of information that suggests there may be more to the story than a mere runaway situation.”
Ouch.
That put County in an awkward position.
“What did the PI find?”
“Two days before he disappeared, the boyfriend had been in touch with a counselor at one of the community colleges about registering for the spring term.”
O-kay.
That put a whole different spin on the case.
“In other words, he may have taken the backpack for a weekend getaway with his girlfriend, but he wasn’t planning to disappear.” Cate exhaled.
“That was Gabe Laurent’s conclusion.”
“This is starting to smell like foul play.”
“I agree.”
She furrowed her brow. “How did our people miss that nugget?”
“The boyfriend—Alex Johnson—lived with a grandmother who’s in poor health and a father who comes and goes . . . mostly to the local bar. The PI happened to be at the apartment talking with the grandmother when a financial assistance application from the school arrived in the mail.”
“She knew about his plans?”
“No—nor did the father. Based on what the PI gleaned from the counselor, Alex decided the laborer job he’d taken with a roofing company after high school graduation wasn’t going to lead anywhere and intended to continue his education.”
Uncovering that key piece of intel may have been a fluke—and a huge piece of good luck for the PI—but it was distressing nonetheless.
And Sarge and the lieutenant weren’t the type to enjoy having egg on their face, deserved or not.
Still . . . an undercover operation? Those kinds of resources were usually reserved for larger-scale operations, like the human trafficking setup she’d helped investigate for her first—and she’d hoped, last—undercover assignment.
“So we’re going back to take another look at the case. I get that.” She kept her inflection neutral. “What I don’t get is the undercover component.”
The lieutenant stood and walked over to the window. After a few moments, he pivoted back. “Pressure is being exerted to use every available tool to expedite the investigation. Gabe Laurent wants answers.” The man clasped his hands behind his back, his expression neutral save for a flare of . . . annoyance? . . . that tightened his features for a fleeting instant. “He also happens to be a big contributor to the campaigns of his state representative and the County Executive.”
Ah.
The man had called in favors. Talked to friends in high places, who’d contacted County—not with demands, but to drop a few strong hints that the case might deserve renewed focus.
Yet it didn’t explain the undercover angle.
“Why not just assign more personnel?”
The lieutenant scanned his watch and crossed to the door. “I’ll let Sarge explain the particulars to you. I’m already late for another meeting.” He
swung back to her. “I hope we can count on your help with this.”
Without giving her the opportunity to respond, he exited, closing the door behind him.
In the ensuing quiet, her pulse accelerated.
That hadn’t been a request.
He wanted her on this job.
Why?
She laced her fingers more tightly together and redirected her attention to Sarge. “You know how I feel about undercover work.” One taste had been more than sufficient to dim any allure it may have had. Who knew why it had held such appeal for—
Mashing her lips together, she severed that line of thought. It was pointless to revisit history. Her attempt to figure out what motivated a person to live a life of deception and shadows had been a bust, and it was time to move on.
Past time.
“I know, Cate—but we need you on this one.”
She waved his comment aside. “There are plenty of detectives at County who like undercover work. Why not tap one of them?”
“Because you’re the only one who can pass for a seventeen-year-old.”
Her jaw dropped as she processed that bombshell. “You want me to go in as a student?”
“Yes.”
“Sarge.” She gaped at him. “Let’s be serious here. I’m thirty-three. Seventeen is a distant speck in the rearview mirror.”
“Not that distant—and age is nothing more than a number. With appropriate hairstyle and clothes, you won’t have any difficulty convincing people you’re seventeen.”
She shook her head. “This is crazy. I could be a seventeen-year-old’s mother.”
“Cate.” Sarge leaned forward again. “When were you last carded?”
Dang.
He would bring that up.
She cleared her throat and flicked a speck of lint off her slacks. “I don’t drink.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Okay.
Fine.
She did buy wine on occasion as a gift for party hosts—as Sarge knew, since she’d not only brought a bottle to the retirement barbecue he’d thrown last summer for one of the detectives but joked about having to produce her driver’s license for the clerk.
