by Terri Osburn
He stepped into the restaurant five minutes later to find Will cleaning tables as if some massive contagion had entered the building. As soon as she spotted him, the cleaning was forgotten and she sprinted in his direction. “What took you so long?” she hissed, glancing toward the bar. “They’re here.”
From her body language, he assumed the they in question was either the FBI or an alien army.
“Who’s here?” he asked.
She twitched her head to the right three times. “The reporter and photographer. They’re at the bar.” He opened his mouth to respond but Will wasn’t done. “They took my picture,” she said, the twitch migrating to her shoulder.
“Will,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets to keep from holding her still. “Are you on a new medication? Is this a reaction to something?”
“Just get them out of here.” She returned to the table she’d been cleaning, bared her teeth, and made a shooing gesture with her hands.
The woman had gone certifiably insane overnight.
“Ms. King?” Randy asked, crossing to the bar.
The blonde spun on her stool, offering a perfectly manicured hand and a blindingly white smile. “I’m Rebecca King. I hope you’re Mr. Edwards.”
“No, sorry.” He took the offered hand as catlike eyes perused every muscle on his body. Appreciation clear in their hazel depths.
“That’s too bad.” Ms. King crossed her legs, allowing the hem of her tan dress to slide up her thigh. The woman wasn’t shy about what she liked. He felt like one of the desserts in Ms. Opal’s bakery.
“I’m Randy Navarro. My business, Anchor Adventures, provides water sports, such as parasailing and Jet Skis, for the tourists.” Releasing her hand and taking a step back, he added, “I also own the fitness center. I’ll be showing you around the island while you’re here.”
“The fitness center?” the man next to Ms. King said in a pure London accent. “I never would have guessed.”
A less flattering greeting, but nothing he wasn’t accustomed to. “You must be the photographer.”
“Jude Sykes. Have camera will travel.” Fancy Pants offered a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“I trust Will has been taking good care of you so far?”
“She has,” Rebecca said. “She’s already given us a list of the island’s best sights.” A quick lick of her finger and she flipped back several pages in her notepad. “We’re staying at the Anchor Inn and Marina. Can you show us the way?”
“Sure can.” Randy looked around for Will. She’d migrated to the end of the bar, her face pale and hands visibly shaking. “If you guys could give me a minute, I need to talk to Will about something. There’s a great view of the sound off the side deck if you’d like to check it out.”
“I can get some nice late-day shots.” Jude pulled the strap to a black camera case over his head. “Take all the time you need, big guy.”
The reporter followed the lanky Brit through the side door, giving a quick smile over her shoulder and putting an extra swing in her step. He had a feeling the woman was used to getting what she wanted. That streak would end if she set her sights on adding him to her list of conquests.
Randy gave a quick wave as he joined Will down the bar. “Are you okay?” he asked her. “You look ready to crawl out of your skin.”
“I don’t like having my picture taken,” she answered, her eyes darting from him to the saltshakers she was filling. Her unsteady hand sent salt over the side.
“It’s only a picture. They probably won’t even use it.”
More grains missed the opening and she slammed the canister of Morton Salt on the counter. “I’d have to sign a consent form before they could use it, right?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess so. Did they ask you to sign one?”
“No.” She went back to work on the shakers, her hand steadier. “Do you think we could erase it off the camera?”
“What?” This had to be a joke. “You can ask him to erase it, if that’ll make you feel better. But I don’t understand. What is the big deal about having your picture taken?”
Will opened her mouth to answer, then snapped it shut. She tried again. “People will…If someone sees…” She closed her eyes, rubbing narrow fingers across her forehead. “I can’t tell you.”
Another statement that made no sense. She was hiding something bigger than a bitter breakup with some jerk. “Will, are you in trouble?”
Wide blue eyes met his. A muscle in her jaw twitched. “You better get going. You don’t want to leave them waiting too long.”
The set of her shoulders said she wasn’t going to answer his question. Pushing her would only make her close in even more. She could keep her secrets for now, but this conversation was far from over.
Randy parked his truck in front of the Anchor Inn, then walked over to the SUV rental to help the island’s VIP guests carry their bags inside. Jude slung the camera bag over his shoulder, then dragged a computer bag and large green duffel out of the back. Rebecca carried a large purse and smiled at Randy as he removed a bright blue, hard-sided suitcase from the vehicle.
Keeping his face friendly but not encouraging, Randy motioned for her to take the lead. Jude was already holding the door when she stepped up, and Randy grabbed the handle for the photographer to follow his partner inside.
The only sound in the lobby was the flap of Rebecca’s sandals as they crossed the sand-shaded tiles to reach the reservation desk. A pretty young woman with skin the color of milk chocolate ice cream raised green-gold eyes as they approached the counter.
“Yvonne, this is Rebecca King and Jude Sykes from Prime Destinations magazine. I believe they have reservations.” Randy stepped to the side so the pair could handle the details. “Ms. Granville will take care of you.” Setting the blue suitcase next to its owner, he addressed the clerk again. “Is Sam in his office?”
“He is,” she answered with a nod. “If you’re headed that way, could you let him know our guests are here?”
“Can do.” To Rebecca and Jude he said, “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
Leaving the visitors in Yvonne’s capable hands, Randy strolled down the short hall to the right of the entrance and knocked on the door marked “Manager/Owner.”
“Come in,” responded a voice from the other side.
“Our reporter has arrived,” Randy said, stepping into the simple but elegant office. Sam Edwards was likely the only person on the island who could ever be described as elegant. There was probably a better, more masculine word for it, but Randy couldn’t think of one.
After inheriting three hotels from his uncle two years before, Sam relocated to the island to find outdated, fading businesses in need of complete overhaul. No one believed he’d stay and make a go of things. Rumor had it Sam had worked in some of the fanciest hotels in the southeast, racking up quite a reputation for high standards and high quality.
His uncle was the last of the family to live on Anchor, so it was believed Sam had no reason to stick around. But he had stuck. And he turned the Anchor Inn into a modern hotel, by Anchor standards, that could compete with any along the Outer Banks. He’d even acquired the Marina restaurant in recent months, after selling off the smallest and most dilapidated of the three properties.
They weren’t exactly drinking buddies, but Randy respected the hotelier, and they’d gotten better acquainted in the last month working on the planning committee that was tasked with bringing tourism back to the island.
“Have we made a good impression so far?” Sam asked, buttoning his suit coat as he rounded his desk.
“They stopped at Dempsey’s on the way in. Will took good care of them.” Randy left out the part about Will’s sudden bout of insanity. “They seem happy enough.”
“Good. We need to keep them that way.” Sam lifted a folder from the corner of his desk. “They’ll have the best view the inn has to offer, and I’ve given direct orders for them to receive the utmost profes
sional and friendly service while they’re here.”
Randy had never seen the man this ruffled. For someone who exuded extreme confidence at all times, the display of nerves reflected how important this article would be to the future of the island. They all had a stake in showing Anchor to its best advantage.
“Yvonne has been an excellent addition to the staff,” Sam said, tucking the folder beneath one arm and tugging down his shirtsleeves. “Remind me to thank Lola for sending her my way.”
Lola LeBlanc ran the art store on the island. An eclectic older woman originally from New Orleans, she’d reunited the year before with a man from her past. The reunion went well enough that Marcus Granville was now a permanent part of the island, and his daughter Yvonne a recent transplant as well.
As the men traveled down the hall toward the front desk, Yvonne handed two key cards over the counter to the new guests. “Here are your keys. If you ever have any questions or need anything, feel free to call down here to the desk and we’ll take care of you.”
“Thank you,” Jude said, hefting his camera case onto his shoulder. “We’ll do that.”
“Thank you, Yvonne,” Sam said, stepping into the lobby. “Ms. King, Mr. Sykes. Sam Edwards.” He extended a hand with complete control. Whatever nerves he was feeling, Sam didn’t let it show. “I’ve put together a packet on Anchor Island so you can get a little history on our home and decide how you’d like to conduct the week.”
Rebecca accepted the folder. “Our research department created a full workup, but I’m always happy to have anything extra.” After glancing at the folder’s contents, she asked, “How well do you know the bartender at Dempsey’s?”
Both men hesitated. Why was she asking about Will? Sam looked to Randy as if he were thinking the same thing, then supplied an answer. “Not that well, actually. I know she’s worked at a few businesses around the island, but Will has never been on our staff so our paths haven’t crossed enough for me to really get to know her.”
“Really? I wouldn’t expect that on an island this small.” Rebecca slid the folder into her bag. “She has one of those familiar faces, you know? So familiar I’d swear I’ve seen her somewhere before.”
“You know what they say,” Randy offered. “We all have a twin in the world somewhere.”
An awkward silence settled over the little group, until Yvonne spoke up. “I’m sure our guests would like to get settled in their rooms. Do you want me to ring for Owen to show them upstairs?”
“No,” Sam said. “I’ll take them myself.”
“Then it looks like my work here is done,” Randy said, feeling more relieved than he’d be willing to admit. “We can get started on the rest of the island tomorrow. How does nine o’clock sound?”
“Perfect,” Rebecca said. “We’ll meet you here in the lobby.”
“I don’t suppose I can get a good cup of coffee around here?” Jude asked. “I’m not really awake until I’ve had my coffee.”
“You’re in the suites, which have full kitchens, including coffeemakers,” Sam replied. “But we also have the Hava Java coffee shop not far from here if you’re looking for something only a barista could make.”
“Mr. Randy, we’ll be starting at Hava Java.” Jude picked up his bags. “That’s fun to say.”
“Great. I’ll leave you with Sam and see you in the morning then.”
Randy gave Yvonne a wink, who rolled her eyes and visibly exhaled, then bid a hasty retreat to his truck. He considered mentioning Rebecca’s line of questioning about her to Will, but decided against it. She was already spooked enough.
It had always been obvious that Will was hiding something, but until now he’d assumed she was intensely private. Based on her reaction to one casual snapshot, there was definitely more to her story.
CHAPTER 5
By the time Will arrived at Opal’s for their regular Tuesday girls’ night, Sid and Beth were seated with their desserts, including Will’s rhubarb pie. Beth looked tired, but well enough to be out getting treats.
“I heard she’s pushy, but I guess you have to be in that line of work,” Beth was saying as Will took her seat. “Word is the photographer’s a real charmer.”
“He is,” Will said, dropping a napkin across her lap. “British. Long hair. Pretty eyes.”
“You met him already?” Sid asked around her bite of chocolate cupcake. Sid did love her chocolate. “How did that happen?”
“They stopped in at Dempsey’s on the way into town. I didn’t know who they were at first.” If only she’d known. “I thought they were tourists.”
“That explains it.” Beth wiped her mouth. “Yvonne says the first thing the woman asked Sam Edwards was if he knew you.”
“What?” Will nearly choked on her pie. “Why would she do that? Sam doesn’t even know me.”
“That’s what he said, according to Yvonne. This King woman commented that you had one of those familiar faces, then dropped the subject.”
What could a travel reporter possibly gain from asking about Will? It wasn’t as if anyone on Anchor Island knew her secret. No one knew her face had been front page news once upon a time. And she certainly wasn’t an important enough part of the island to garner this kind of attention.
“I don’t know what she expects people to tell her,” Will said, trying to play the whole thing off. “I’m not that interesting.”
“Maybe she likes you.” Sid raised a brow.
Will remembered how Rebecca King had looked at Randy as if he belonged in Opal’s display case. “Trust me. That’s not it.”
“I’m just saying. You’re kind of hot, in that lesbian sort of way.”
Will looked at Beth, who had spit a piece of carrot cake into her hand. “Where does she get this shit?”
Beth shook her head, coughing and waving a hand in front of her face. “I don’t know, but that one nearly killed me.”
Sid smacked Beth on the back. “Take a breath, Curly. If you die, Joe will kill me.”
“Why do we hang out with her?” Will asked, trying to keep a straight face.
“Don’t look at me,” Beth said. “She’s your people.”
“No way in hell I’m claiming her.” Will noticed a day planner under Beth’s plate. “What are you hiding under there?”
“Oh.” Beth set down her fork and slid the notebook from under her plate. “This is my life at the moment. Everything for the wedding is in here.”
“I’m trying to get her to hand it over,” Sid said, slicing what was left of her cupcake into three large pieces. “The doc says no stress, and that means no more handling every single wedding detail on her own.”
“Lola tried to sneak this out of my bag, but I caught her.” Beth held the book with a death grip.
“You have to let us help you.” Will held out her hand. “I swear to you, on Sid’s life, that we’ll set everything up exactly how you want. If the slightest thing goes wrong, you can bury her at sea.”
“Who needs enemies when I have you two shits in my life?” Sid shook her head and returned her attention to her dessert. “She won’t give it to you.”
Beth handed Will the planner. “All the numbers and details are in the back.”
“What the fuck?” Sid said.
Ignoring her, Beth continued. “You’ll have to stay on the tent company to make sure they’re prepared to be here and set up at the slightest chance of rain. Opal is taking care of the cake, but make sure she knows the delivery time. The florist is over in Hatteras, so you need to make sure they schedule plenty of time in case there are ferry delays.”
Will felt the heavy weight of stress travel from Beth to herself. She’d figured everything would be done by now and she’d maybe have to arrive early to answer questions. This sounded like a full-time job, with more responsibility than she had running Dempsey’s.
And Sid’s life was on the line. Which was still a funny joke, but in all seriousness, Will had to make sure this was perfect for Beth.
“My dress arrives this Friday, so I’ll need you two to come with me for the fitting and try on your dresses.” Beth pointed a finger at Sid’s nose. “And do not argue with me. You’re wearing a dress. And heels. No boots.”
Her finger floated to Will. “That goes for both of you. I know you like the skirts-with-combat-boots look, but that’s not going to happen on my day.”
A moody, pregnant bridezilla had infiltrated Beth’s body. Will hoped the old Beth would return when the event of her life had gone off without a hitch.
Now, to make sure there were no hitches.
“We’ll be there and we’ll wear whatever you want.”
Sid opened her mouth, but Will silenced her. “We’ll wear whatever Beth wants us to wear, and we’ll like it. Right?”
“This is why I want to elope,” Sid muttered.
“If you rob me of the chance to put you in a real wedding dress,” Beth said, “I will hunt you down and beat you until you can’t get up.”
Sid blinked several times, then looked at Will. “Who is this woman?”
“I don’t know,” Will said, loading pie onto her fork. “But if this beatdown occurs, I’m selling tickets. We could make a killing.”
Beth finished her carrot cake, sat back, and yawned. “That was good. I think I might have another.” It was as if the temper she’d just displayed had dissipated into thin air. “I am eating for two, so the doctor said I could eat anything I want. Maybe I’ll try the cherry pie.”
Going from carrot cake to cherry pie sounded disgusting to Will, but then some people hated rhubarb pie and she loved it. There was simply no accounting for taste.
“Oh, one more thing,” Beth said, the cherry pie momentarily forgotten. “The tuxedos have been ordered, but Randy’s has to be specially altered. They don’t carry them in his size on the rack.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Will asked, not expecting an answer.
