by Lacey Baker
Had she known her words were going to garner a particular reaction Heaven would have braced herself. As it was, the moment Preston heard her words he bolted up off the bed, sending her sprawling beneath him, her face hitting the mattress with a little more force than she appreciated.
“You saw that truck before he almost hit you?”
Adjusting herself, Heaven pushed back until she could lie back on the pillows and stare up at him. Damn, he was fine. His skin was that sun-kissed bronze all over, and she almost felt like she could simply lick him. Over and over and over again. Yeah, but he had just asked her a serious question.
“I always walk Coco the same way, to the end of Sycamore, down and straight down Duncan Road to the pier. We circle and come back the same way. That truck breezed past us on Duncan Road as we were heading down to the pier. I remember because he was driving so much faster than any of the other cars that passed us. So like I said there’s obviously someone in town who has problems with the posted speed limit.”
“Or there’s someone who has a problem with you,” he replied through clenched teeth.
In addition to the change in his tone, Preston’s brow furrowed, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
“Nobody knows me here,” was her quiet response. She wasn’t sure, but Preston seemed to be thinking really deeply about something as simple as a speeding vehicle. A speeding vehicle that almost ran her down.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “How did they find me?”
Chapter 12
“And she didn’t tell you who ‘they’ were?” Quinn asked, his voice tinged only slightly with the irritation Preston was feeling.
“She clammed up so tight I don’t think a crowbar could’ve gotten a confession out of her,” was Preston’s reply.
The brothers were standing in the small sitting area of the caretaker’s suite at the B&B. This was the room where their grandmother had stayed, an addition that had been built on when Mary Janet had decided to convert her family home into a bed-and-breakfast. At the moment Parker was living in this space, with Preston using the sofa bed whenever he was in town. Quinn had moved into the small apartment above Nikki’s parents’ garage until he and Nikki found what they were ominously calling “the perfect house.”
“You’re an attorney, man. You couldn’t get a confession out of her?” Parker asked.
Normally it would have been in a joking tone, but as the three of them collectively were thinking that a speeding truck in Sweetland was not the norm, it came off in a more accusatory tone.
A tone Preston had been giving himself all morning, but not only for the reasons Parker was.
“Whatever went on in her past, she’s not willing to talk about. And really, it’s none of my business,” Preston said. “It’s not like she came here asking for my help. She wanted my dog and now she has it.”
“But she’s still here,” Quinn interjected quietly. “Don’t you find it strange that she’s still in Sweetland after the adoption went through more than a week ago?”
“And she’s moving around here like she’s our newest resident, waiting tables in the restaurant during lunch and dinner rush, helping Michelle prepare food, caring for all the dogs when any of us are tied up. She’s even helping them make decorations for Bay Day.” Parker added the last with an arch of his brows. “This woman is a professional, Preston. She did a double chemistry major at Yale and earned her PhD in two years. She works as a biochemist at a place called Larengetics Pharmaceuticals, where she helps to develop complicated medications for rare diseases. She’s been in town for about two weeks now—wouldn’t she need to return to work soon? And what about her family? Is she calling anyone? These are questions you should be asking.”
“No, I shouldn’t!” was Preston’s overzealous retort. “She just adopted my dog. There’s nothing else going on between us.”
Neither of his brothers responded to that outburst. Preston ran a hand over his face trying to get himself together. They weren’t the ones he was angry with.
“Look, I think something’s going on as well, but I can’t make her tell me her secrets.” Nobody can make a woman tell her secrets, he thought to himself. And running phone number traces from her cell phone certainly wasn’t going to help.
He’d stormed out of Heaven’s room last night shortly after she’d made her comment about someone finding her. He’d asked her nicely, twice. And she’d refused to tell him, stating it was nothing and not a big deal. The last time he’d all but demanded she tell him what was going on.
The fact that he still knew nothing solidified his earlier statement that he couldn’t make her tell him anything.
To be fair he admitted, sometime in the early-morning hours, that he shouldn’t have left her the way he did. It seemed like he was doomed to do the wrong thing, or the out-of-the-ordinary thing where Heaven Montgomery was concerned.
“You asked Parker to run the tags on that truck and you asked him to look into Heaven Montgomery. You wouldn’t do that unless you were personally invested in some way,” Quinn said in his normal logical way.
Preston squeezed the bridge of his nose, in his abnormal not-in-control way.
“I’m not sleeping with her if that’s what you’re implying,” he told them. “But yes, I did ask him to look into it because I think something’s going on.”
Parker nodded, shifting so that his leg, which was sporting a rather ugly black brace from mid-thigh to ankle, was now hanging off the side of the couch. He’d been lying on the couch when Preston entered and hadn’t bothered to sit up until this point. Quinn sat in the recliner, which was normally Parker’s spot.
“You think she’s in danger,” Parker stated. “And I agree with you. That’s why it’s probably best to keep her here where we can look out for her.”
Preston shook his head. “We’re not bodyguards.”
Quinn stood. “But we’re also not the type of men to let a woman be harmed if we can stop it.”
“I can’t stop what I don’t know, Quinn. What do you want me to do?”
“For starters I’d like to know what you’ve done to my brother,” Parker asked. “Look, the tags on that SUV came up stolen. But I can run some more in-depth reports see if there’s anything on the police radar in Boston about her. If she filed any reports against stalkers or something like that, we’ll know.”
“You should probably look into her job as well. It sounds like she might be a pretty big deal to the company. Maybe they’re the ones looking for her,” Quinn added.
“And in the meantime she stays at the inn, around our family, around us, when we have no idea who she really is?” Preston asked sarcastically.
Quinn stood, his frown momentary, only to be replaced by a look that Preston thought was akin to pity. And that made him grit his teeth a little harder.
“You’re absolutely right. Because as long as she’s here with us, nothing’s going to happen to her. And once you get your head out of the sand, you’ll realize I’m right.”
Preston left the room, then he left the house. He climbed into his own truck and drove without any real idea where he was going or what he was going to do once he got there. All he knew for sure was that he couldn’t think straight in that house, with that woman in such close proximity. It just wasn’t going to work.
* * *
“I wanted to find out if the investigation was still active.” Heaven spoke on her cell phone with Detective Johansen of the Boston Police Department.
“We have a couple of leads we’re following up on. I appreciate you calling in to let me know your location, just in case we have more questions,” he told her in his ever-so-polite-even-if-intrusive voice.
And it hadn’t really been her intention to call him and report her location. She’d wanted to find out if they already knew where she was.
“So I’m no longer a suspect?” she asked tentatively.
“I never said you were a suspect, Heaven. But you were the only one with security access to that lab the morning of
the explosion,” he said slowly, as if he expected her to fill in all the blanks for him.
She’d tried that before, to no avail, because there was nothing she wanted more than to be finished with this entire ordeal. But once she’d told the truth there was nothing else she could have done. She did not plant the explosives in the lab, and she had no idea who would have done such a thing.
“No, you didn’t. You simply questioned me like you didn’t believe a word I said when I told you everything I knew.”
“I’m sure you did tell me all you knew. Your boyfriend was pretty sure as well. And he was pretty upset when he waltzed in here to tell me to lay off you. Not in that polite of a way, but you get my drift.”
Heaven was in her room standing near a window that boasted a side view of the water and surrounding land from the house.
“Wait a minute, did you say boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend, Detective?” And the fact that someone would go to the police impersonating one made Heaven more than a little nervous.
“Geoffrey Billingsley came to see me about a week ago. He said you’d given your statement and that unless I planned to arrest you, I should back off. Before he had his lawyers get involved. You saying he’s not your boyfriend?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” she said with irritation. “He has nothing to do with this case and nothing to do with me. I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk to him about this anymore. And if you didn’t tell him where I am.”
She heard a chuckle on the other end of the phone and was about to take offense, but then he continued.
“I’m happy to hear you say that. The whole time he was in my office I was trying to figure out why a lovely woman such as yourself would be involved with a pompous ass like Billingsley. He made sure I knew he had all kinds of money, as if that would make a difference in a criminal case like this. But don’t you worry, now that I know you’re not attached to him I’ll be delighted to kick him out on his ass the next time he dares show his face.”
“Thank you, Detective,” she replied before hanging up. She wasn’t sure if that remark had given him implicit permission to literally kick Geoffrey out of the office. Not that it would be a bad thing.
With a loud sigh she sat on the bed and wondered what the hell she was doing. She wasn’t a suspect; the detective had just confirmed that. It should be a relief to know they were looking in a different direction, but it really wasn’t. Deep down Heaven had always known that if she hadn’t set the explosion, someone else had. What if that someone was here in Sweetland? What if they were after her?
Her fingers moved over the cell phone. She held it in one hand and then the other, all the while staring at the window trying to figure out what her next move should be. She should leave Sweetland. If someone was here looking for her, trying to run her down, she should go someplace else. But where? This hadn’t been a running-away trip; it was supposed to be a liberating one, a finally-stand-up-and-take-charge-of-my-life one. But if she was in danger …
The knock on her door had her almost jumping off the bed. She hated being afraid, almost as much as she’d hated being wrongfully accused. Coco, who had been dozing quietly on her pillow, immediately jumped up. Barking, she raced in circles at the door until Heaven opened it.
“Hello,” Mr. Sylvester said, giving her a toothy grin.
“Hi, Mr. Sylvester.” Heaven opened the door further and willed her heartbeat to slow.
She was safe here at the B&B, she told herself. Mr. Sylvester was a harmless old man with a friendly nature. In the days since she’d been here, he’d had breakfast with her a couple of times and she’d learned that he liked to talk. About sports most of the time, but then he always wound his way back to some lesson he’d learned in his long life. Heaven found him simply adorable and just like a grandfather, if she’d ever had the opportunity to meet her own.
“Didn’t see you at breakfast this morning,” he told her, lifting his baseball cap from his head to scratch before pulling it back into place.
“I wasn’t very hungry,” she replied.
Mr. Sylvester took a step back, then reached down to lift Coco into his arms. “This little lady acts like she wants to go outside.”
“We did an early-morning walk today, before everyone else was up.” She’d decided on that because she hadn’t wanted to see anyone else.
Last night with Preston still weighed heavily on her mind, as heavily as the questions he’d raised just before storming out of her room.
“Gonna stay locked up in this room all day?” he asked.
“Probably. I have a lot on my mind today, Mr. Sylvester,” she said, hoping she sounded polite but really wanting him to leave.
“Best thing for a full mind is to get out and let some fresh air in.” He didn’t wait for her to reply, just took Coco with him and turned away.
“There’s a Read-to-Succeed fund-raiser picnic going on down at Fitzgerald Park. Lots of people there to take your mind off your troubles,” he said as he continued down the hallway.
He hadn’t turned back to speak directly to her, but Heaven knew the invite was meant solely for her. And with another sigh—she was really getting tired of sighing and feeling depressed over things she really couldn’t change—she went back into her room to slip on some shoes and freshen up before heading down to Fitzgerald Park.
* * *
Preston had no idea where he was going when he’d left the house. He’d just climbed into his truck and started driving. He went all the way across town to Yates Passage, past The Marina Resort and the palatial homes where the Fitzgeralds and the Beaumonts lived. As the richest and most influential people in the town, their homes had always been the largest and grandest. However, there was a new house just down the road from the Beaumonts. Michelle had told them it was being built by a newcomer to Sweetland by the name of Drake Sheridan, the owner of a construction company. From what Preston could see on his drive-by, the completed house was going to be just as impressive as the Beaumonts’ or the Fitzgeralds’, if not more so.
He drove down the pier but didn’t pay as much attention as he usually would have. His mind was elsewhere.
She was in trouble. Preston knew that as surely as he knew his own name. But he wanted to ignore that fact. He wanted to act like he didn’t care and walk away. Only Quinn had been right—that wasn’t the type of man he was. He couldn’t walk away from a woman in trouble. Damn him.
No, damn her, for coming here with her secrets and pretty smile and soft skin and heated kisses. Just damn Heaven Montgomery!
He’d slapped his hands on the steering wheel in exasperation just as he was driving past Fitzgerald Park. Colorful balloons stretched skyward, blowing in the stiff humid breeze. A large inflatable castle had children laughing and playing inside and out, colored balls following them onto the grassy ground. At the park’s entrance stood a clown, with his big red nose and huge black shoes, making balloon animals. Rivulets of smoke rose above the trees, signaling a grill in action somewhere within the park’s depths. And parked just down the small path that led to a parking area was an ice cream truck with the name SCOOPAHOLIC scrolled across its side. There was a line there that stretched at least a mile—everyone wanted to taste Pia Delaney’s homemade creations.
And just as Preston figured the last thing he was in the mood for was a town gathering complete with laughing, chattering children, music blaring from the ice cream truck, and a clown trying to make everyone laugh, he saw her.
Standing in the line to get ice cream was probably the most attractive woman he’d ever seen in his life.
She wore white shorts that were a modest length at mid-thigh and still hugged her bottom and hips alluringly. Her blouse wasn’t pink—which was a color he was thinking of banning from his eyesight forevermore—but a bold lime green with something that sparkled right across her breasts, breasts that made his mouth water each time he saw them—especially since last night he’d seen them partially bared.
&
nbsp; He wasn’t going to get out of the truck. Hell, he’d already parked the truck and had his hand on the handle by the time he considered that option. Walking toward her, he swore he was just going to apologize for being a jerk last night, and then he was going to leave. He had better things to do than spend the afternoon in the park with a pretty woman.
“The peanut-butter-and-jelly flavor is fabulous! Mimi orders that every time,” Cordy Brockington-Simmons said standing behind Heaven.
Mimi, her four-year-old daughter, looked like a little replica of her mother, and from what Preston could tell the few times he’d seen her she had the same spitfire personality as the rest of the women in the Brockington family. Mimi stood next to her mother holding a bright red balloon and looking at the line as if she wanted to run all the way to the front and demand her ice cream right this minute.
Propped on Cordy’s hip in a way that should have been uncomfortable but actually seemed natural to her, was her youngest daughter, Zyra, who had the plumpest cheeks and prettiest bright gray eyes Preston had ever seen on a child. Each time he saw her he wanted to hold her, cuddle her, possibly keep her for his own. Then she either began talking or said something like “I gotta go potty,” and his mind quickly switched into anti-baby mode and he gave her back to her mother. As her father, Barry Simmons, was still away serving their fine country in the Marines, it was usually Cordy who had the kids.
“That, ah, sounds interesting” was Heaven’s reply to Cordy.
Then she looked over Cordy’s shoulder to see Preston, and the light that had been in her eyes as she, too, stared at little Zyra vanished. Preston immediately felt like an ass because there was no question that his presence was responsible for that quick change.
“Hey, Cordy. Hi, Heaven,” Preston said cordially before giving in to the urge and holding his arms out for Zyra. “And hello to you, beautiful princess,” he said when the little girl almost leapt out of her mother’s arms to come to him.
“Careful, Preston, she’s still a bit young for you to be using your charms on her,” Cordy said with a knowing smile. “Preston and Parker Cantrell are notorious for their way with women. When we were in high school every female with twenty/twenty vision and an ounce of sense was in love with them. You know Parker has that bad-boy swagger about him and Preston—”
