by Meg Tilly
Luke shrugged. “No more than the Special Forces.”
She wrapped her arms even tighter around him and buried her head in his chest. “You could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t.”
“I’m glad you quit.”
“Me, too,” he said. And he was. If he hadn’t walked away from the job, he never would have met her.
They stayed like that, in each other’s arms, with the kitchen quiet around them, until the back door opened. The hungry horde tramped into the kitchen, laughing and talking, eager to be fed.
* * *
• • •
MAGGIE LEANED BACK in her chair. So enjoyable, cooking for these big, strapping, hungry men, she thought, watching Colt scoop a third serving of scrambled eggs onto his plate.
“So, Luke,” Eve said, slathering locally made strawberry jam onto a slice of toasted sourdough bread, “tomorrow’s Friday; Saturday’s coming fast. You up for sharing your stall with us again?”
“Yes, he is,” Maggie said, smiling at Luke. “Aren’t you, honey?”
“Uh . . . I guess I am,” Luke said, looking amused.
“And I was thinking, Eve, that maybe we should consider opening a little eatery.” Maggie’s cell phone started singing from its perch on the counter. “Just a second.” She held up a finger, scooting back from the table. “Don’t let me forget what we were talking about, Eve. It’s a really good idea.” She rounded the counter and picked up her phone . . . and saw the familiar number on the screen.
Damn.
Brett again. She’d forgotten to switch off her phone after calling the police.
She did not want to talk to him. The jerk. Telling her she was frigid, treating her like his personal doormat for all those years.
She was tempted to shut it down and let it go to voice mail, as she had been doing. But continuing to avoid him meant she was allowing him to have power over her. It was best to deal with him and move on.
“Hello?” Her voice came out a little too high and cheery, as if she were hosting a children’s morning show. She cleared her throat. “What can I do for you, Brett?” That was better. She sounded brusque and businesslike.
Luke looked less than pleased. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, then lowered as storm clouds rolled across his face. He looked hard and dangerous—and sexy.
“Where the hell are you?” Brett sounded upset.
“I’m . . . I’m . . .” Maggie felt a flush of guilt—and turned her back on the counter, the one where Luke had taken her so enthusiastically less than an hour ago. On the heels of feeling guilty came a surge of anger. “It’s none of your business any longer,” Maggie snapped, “where I am or what I’m doing.”
She stalked into the living room, shutting the kitchen door behind her. No need for Luke to witness her being a virago. “Why are you calling me? We have nothing to say—”
“I’m calling because I traveled all the way up here to see you. Two flights and a fucking boat ride—”
“What?” Maggie squeaked. “You . . . came here?” She couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept. Why would he be here? Nothing on this island would appeal to Brett’s sensibilities.
“—only to discover that you aren’t where you were supposed to—”
“Hey!” Maggie cut him off. “Don’t you yell at me. I don’t answer to you. I owe you nothing.”
“I’m sorry, Maggs. You’re right.” He sounded terrible, his voice low and ragged, as if he hadn’t been sleeping or had been crying or something. “I’m in a terrible fix. I need to see you.”
Wow. Brett had just admitted she was right? Things must be bad. “What’s going on?” Maggie asked, a tinge of worry thrumming through her. “You don’t sound good.”
Yes, she was mad about the way he had handled things, and verbally castigating her over the phone on Monday hadn’t helped. But that was the way he was. Brett always behaved badly when his back was to the wall. It was important for her own healing to remember that once he’d been her friend, too. They’d spent many years together, and there had been good times as well as bad.
“Look,” Maggie said, her voice softening, “if you need another week or two to secure a loan, that’s okay. I’ll tell Pondstone Inc. to wait. You didn’t have to travel all this way.”
Maggie could hear Brett exhale heavily. She knew he was rubbing his face. He always did that when he was stressed or agitated. He was quiet for a moment.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Not on the phone. Face-to-face.” His voice was slightly muffled, as if he had his hand cupped around his mouth. “Where are you?” he asked.
“I’d rather not say.” That was the last thing in the world she needed, Maggie thought, massaging a knot that was taking up residence in her stomach—for Brett to show up on Luke’s doorstep. She couldn’t imagine that ending well.
“You’re with someone, aren’t you?” Brett said, sounding slightly accusatory.
“Again,” Maggie said, “none of your business.”
The kitchen door swung open. “Everything okay?” Luke asked.
Maggie made shooing motions, but Luke didn’t budge. Just parked himself more securely in the doorframe, his arm slung up, his hip bumping up against the wood like he was planning to stay there all day.
“Who’s that?” Brett said.
“Nobody,” Maggie said, turning her back on Luke.
Which was a mistake. He was there in two strides. “That’s not the song you were singing bent over the counter this morning,” Luke murmured in her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close so her butt was snug up against his seemingly ever-ready erection.
Jesus, Maggie thought with a mixture of irritation and pleasure. So frigging primitive. “It’s none of your business, Brett,” she said, trying to maintain her cool, but it was hard. Luke was doing a barely discernible undulation of his hips, mirroring a more intimate act while she was on the phone, trying to be proper. Maggie pushed away from him, even though her body was already thrumming, readying itself for entry.
Luke laughed low in his throat, as if he knew how swollen and wet she was getting. Stop it, she mouthed, scowling at him. He flopped in a chair, grinning at her as he slowly undid the top button of his Levi’s.
Maggie made a fierce cease-and-desist movement with her free hand.
Luke just smiled like a hungry wolf and stroked strong, tanned fingers down the straining fabric of his worn jeans. She watched him undo another button while Brett sighed heavily over the phone.
“I really fucked things up, didn’t I?” Brett said.
“Yeah.” Maggie tore her eyes away from Luke. “You did.” She made her way past the coffee table and sofa. She needed to give herself a little distance from Luke so she could think clearly.
“Will you see me, at least?”
“Brett—”
“Fifteen minutes. That’s all I ask. Face-to-face. For old times’ sake.”
Maggie stared out the window. Sunlight was sparkling on the water, dancing prisms of silver light dappling the branches and the ground around tall evergreens that swayed slightly in the wind at the cliff’s edge.
“Please, Maggie,” Brett said. “It’s important.”
An eagle launched off a tall Douglas fir tree, plummeting down toward the water and, at the last second, swooping upward, a small fish caught in its talons.
“Okay,” she heard herself say. “Where do you want to meet?”
Thirty-five
“THIS REALLY ISN’T necessary,” Maggie said for the hundredth time as she made the left-hand turn into the gravel parking lot of the Halfmoon Bay Motel.
“I, for one,” Eve piped up from the back seat of the car, where she was wedged between Gunner and Colt, “am glad Luke insisted.”
“Than
k you,” Luke said; his voice was casual, but his gaze was scanning the empty lot like it was a potential war zone.
Maggie glanced in the rearview mirror. Gunner and Colt were doing the same.
“Guys, relax,” Maggie said. “It’s just Brett.” She pulled in next to a navy blue sedan with a rental company’s name on the license-plate holder.
“Which, in my mind, is no reassurance at all,” Luke replied. “Two attempts have been made on your life in the last twenty-four hours. In instances like this, one follows the money. Your money. And it leads right back to ol’ Brett-baby.”
“Not necessarily,” Maggie said as she shifted into park and switched off the ignition. Even to her own ears, she didn’t sound convincing. “Besides, Brett would never . . .” Her voice trailed off. It was pointless to argue. Luke was right. Brett had motive and was on the island.
She unstrapped and opened the car door, not wanting to finish her sentence. Maybe Brett was the instigator. Just allowing that it was a possibility made her feel slightly nauseous. I hope not. However, there was no point in denying the fact that someone wanted her dead.
She stood, shoving her car keys in her pocket. Luke, Gunner, and Colt were out of the vehicle in a flash, forming a circle around her and Eve, the men facing outward.
“Seriously?” Maggie said, trying to act cool, but her mouth was dry and her heart was banging against her chest.
Now that she was here, she was glad they had insisted on coming along. Even in daylight, the motel had a depressed, abandoned air about it. Not the type of place Brett usually liked to frequent. The paint was peeling; the windows were dark. The wind was tumbling an old, empty garbage can across the parking lot.
“Kind of spooky,” Eve said, tugging her sweater’s collar higher around her neck.
“Hello?” Maggie called.
No answer.
Eve took Maggie’s hand and gave a reassuring squeeze, reminding Maggie of walking to school together on her first day of kindergarten. She had been so scared, but she had managed because her big sister was there, holding her hand, giving her strength and courage.
“Brett?” Maggie called, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
A shiver of foreboding rippled through her.
“Let’s go,” Luke said, taking her arm. “I don’t like this.”
She wanted to leave. Badly. But . . . “No,” Maggie said. “I promised I’d meet him. He traveled all this way. I can’t go back on my word.”
“Then call and arrange to meet him in a more public location,” Luke said, gently trying to usher her toward the car.
“Luke,” she said, looking him square on, “I know you’re concerned, and I appreciate your expertise, but I’m a grown woman and this is my decision to make. You didn’t hear him on the phone. I did.”
Luke opened his mouth to argue, but Maggie continued. “Yes, he treated me badly. Yes, he’s a jerk. But that doesn’t make him a killer. So he’s not in the parking lot as agreed. Maybe he’s stuck on the phone. He gave me his room number.” Maggie let go of Eve’s hand so she could smooth out the scrap of paper she had clenched in her damp fist. It was crumpled, the ink slightly smeared, but it was still legible. “Room 204. I’m going up. You can come or you can stay.”
“Jesus, Maggie.” Luke ran his hand through his hair as he stared down at her in frustration.
She held her breath. Waited. Hoped he wouldn’t call her bluff, because there was no way in hell she was going to go up there alone.
He huffed out a breath. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll come up with you. Eve, it’s best if you stay here. Gunner, Colt, you know what to do.”
“Do you want me to come with you, Maggs?” Eve asked, clearly concerned, her chin jutting out like she would take on the world if Maggie said yes.
“It’s safer here,” Luke said. “More possible escape routes, better visibility. Two of the finest men in the business guarding you.”
“Just in case I’m colossally wrong about Brett,” Maggie said, her mouth drier than chalk, “I’d rather you stay here.” She gave her sister a quick hug. “I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
“You sure?” Eve said, studying her face.
“I’m positive,” Maggie said. Then she straightened her shoulders and headed for the metal stairs on the outside of the building that led to the second floor.
* * *
• • •
LUKE LENGTHENED HIS stride. “I’ll go first,” he said as they reached the stairs. Amazingly, she didn’t argue. “Until we see what we’re dealing with, stay close, okay?”
Maggie opened her mouth.
“I know. It’s just Brett,” he said, keeping his voice calm, measured. “But I’m asking you to do this for me. As a precaution. That’s all.”
She studied his face, then gave a short nod.
He started up the stairs, keeping his footsteps quiet on the metal rungs. She followed his lead, her face pale, determined.
They reached the top and turned right. Luke glanced over the handrail to the parking lot, where Colt and Gunner were keeping watch. Gunner gave him a quick thumbs-up and continued scanning the area.
There was a noise at the opposite end of the walkway. Luke stepped in front of Maggie, reaching inside his jacket and closing his hand around the cool, smooth grip of his Glock 19. A middle-aged woman with rounded shoulders and graying hair appeared, wheeling a housekeeper’s trolley out of a room. She looked tired and worn in her stained uniform. She disappeared into the next room, leaving the door ajar. He could hear the TV flip on. A daytime soap.
Maggie exhaled behind him. “Well, that answers that question,” she whispered. “It’s a functioning motel.”
“Just barely, by the looks of it,” Luke answered, keeping his voice low.
She smiled at him, and it caught him low in the gut.
“What?” she asked, tipping her head.
“Nothing,” he replied. They continued on. Room 202 . . . 203 . . . and then they were there.
“I’m scared,” Maggie whispered, her hand clutching the back of his jacket.
“Make sure to stay behind me. If I say run, then run. Get to Gunner and Colt. They’ll keep you safe.”
“And who will keep you safe?” she whispered fiercely. “I’m scared, but I’m staying.”
Figures, he thought, shaking his head. And yet it was one of the reasons he had fallen so hard for her.
He rapped on the door.
No answer.
Tried the doorknob.
It turned easily in his hand.
He paused, took a breath, and turned to her. “Maggie. I need you to go downstairs.” Something in his face must have convinced her—or maybe she felt it, too. Whatever the reason, he was grateful when she nodded, slowly turned, and retraced her steps.
Once she was in the stairwell, he swung the door open, already knowing what he was going to find. Death left a certain miasma, a certain taste and texture to the air around it.
Thirty-six
BY THE TIME they had finished giving their statements to the police and headed home, it was almost noon. Eve had taken over the wheel, and Luke had wedged himself into the back so he could keep his arms around Maggie, who was badly in shock.
“I can’t believe he shot himself,” she kept saying through chattering teeth, over and over, while uncontrollable shakes coursed through her. “And in the face, of all things. He was so vain. It just doesn’t make sense.”
Luke agreed with her assessment, although for entirely different reasons. The placement of the gun was off—the scene seemed staged. Add to that, no serial number on the frame. The slight scent of perfume was almost indiscernible through the coppery smell of warm blood, but it was there, a lingering afternote.
Could be a plant. Could be a clue.
Did
n’t matter. The important thing was that the police had ruled it a suicide, at least initially, and Luke hadn’t corrected their assumption. The fiscal reasons that had made him suspicious of Brett’s motives could send unwanted attention in Maggie’s direction.
Her shaking had lessened by the time they arrived back at his property, but she was still wringing her hands.
The small pebble he’d put on the gate was undisturbed. Luke checked the perimeter system. No evidence of anyone entering. That was good. He nodded to Colt and Gunner, and they loped off in opposite directions, disappearing quietly into the woods.
Once he had checked the perimeter of the house and the doors and windows, he disarmed the house security system and gave Samson the “release” command. Only then did the women enter the house. Luke booted the system back up, then went into the kitchen. He made coffee for Maggie, cream and one sugar, and a mug of peppermint tea with honey for Eve.
When he returned to the living room, the two sisters were ensconced on the sofa, Eve’s arm around Maggie’s shoulder, Samson lying at their feet. The sisters were talking quietly. Eve looked up when Luke entered, gratitude in her eyes.
“I’m thinking,” Luke said, handing them the hot beverages, “that I should contact the Saturday market coordinator. It’s late notice, but there might be a seasonal vendor who would like to take my spot.”
Maggie’s head snapped up. “Over my dead body,” she said, eyes blazing, and then she flinched, the fire draining from her eyes. “What a terrible phrase that is. Never thought of it like that before.”
She looked down at the mug of coffee cupped in her hands as if she were just now seeing it. She brought it to her mouth, her hands shaking slightly, pretended to take a sip, then placed it on the coffee table.
Luke knelt down so that he was eye level with her. Her face was so pale. “You sure you’re up to it? Might be a bit of a scramble to get everything ready. Especially with us sharing the kitchen.”
“Your kitchen is enormous, Luke,” Maggie said. “You’ve got your multideck oven for your breads, and I can commandeer your Viking Tuscany range, which”—she attempted a smile—“I’ve been longing to do since I first laid eyes on it.”
