by Irene Hannon
This was going to be very, very awkward.
Maybe he should have sent one of his officers to respond to Dana’s call about vandalism on her property. Pretending not to know who’d drilled holes in the bottom of her rowboat and sprayed orange paint on her dock would require some serious playacting when he was certain of the culprit.
Wayne Phelps.
It had to be him.
The man had been standing within spitting distance after church on Sunday while Dana talked about exploring Leo’s property, perhaps with her muscled neighbor in tow.
Roger exhaled and massaged his temple, his annoyance diminishing slightly. Truth be told, in Wayne’s shoes he’d be running scared too. If Dana stumbled upon the lab, his convenient setup would be history.
Besides—while he might not like the man’s methods, he had to admit he wanted Dana gone too. Trying to search for the gold right under her nose was one stressor he could do without. And he needed to spend a lot more time doing it, since his dives to date had yielded zilch . . . and the clock was ticking at Woodside Gardens.
Straightening up, he flexed his fingers on the wheel. He might officially be responding to a vandalism call, but his real job in the next few minutes suddenly clicked into crystal clear focus.
He had to convince Leo’s granddaughter to leave.
Clenching his jaw, he depressed the accelerator again.
As he pulled in behind the cabin and got out of the car, Dana opened the back door. “Thanks for coming so fast, Chief.”
“That’s what we’re here for. Shall we go down to the dock?”
“I’ll meet you in front.” She reentered the house and closed the door.
He circled the cabin, and she joined him as they walked down the slope toward the lake. “I don’t recall Pops ever saying he had any vandalism here.” Her words wobbled slightly.
“He didn’t. Or none I knew of. But those kinds of crimes have picked up in recent years. The world we live in, I suppose. Even quiet little Beaumont isn’t immune anymore.”
“Have you had other reports of vandalism?”
“Yes. The picnic grounds have been a recent target. Someone—or multiple someones—spray-painted graffiti on the tables and bleachers and left ATV ruts on the ball field. The culprits are still at large.”
They continued in silence until they reached the dock. The orange paint had been sprayed at random. No message. The rowboat was pulled halfway up the bank, the bottom peppered with sizeable holes a hand-held, battery-powered drill could produce with little effort or noise.
“The boat was tied to the dock when I discovered it, but it was taking on water and beginning to sink so I pulled it out as much as I could.” Dana crossed her arms and gripped her elbows.
“When did you notice it?”
“This morning. I saw the paint on the dock first. After I came down to investigate, I spotted the holes in the boat. Everything was fine last evening. Finn—my neighbor—and I went out for a row around twilight.”
“Did you hear anything during the night?”
“No. I only crack one window in the bedroom, and that’s at the back of the house.” She rubbed her arms, as if a chill had passed over her despite the warm spring sun. “What do you think?”
I think Wayne is trying to make you so nervous about staying out here by yourself that you’ll leave.
Roger pretended to mull over her question. “It could be the same no-accounts who are messing with the picnic grounds.” He framed his next comment with care. “So far, we haven’t seen any violence in connection with the vandalism. They appear to be targeting property rather than people. That could change, though.” He gave her a few seconds to digest that. “Do you have adequate locks on your doors?”
“Yes. I changed them after I arrived.”
“Smart move. But you don’t have phone service on the property, do you?”
“Only here, by the dock.” A flicker of fear ignited in her eyes.
“Not in the house?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” Again, he let the implications sink in, then walked around the dock area, inspecting the ground. “It doesn’t appear your visitor—or visitors—left anything behind . . . including footprints.”
“What about fingerprints?”
“I doubt they touched the dock or the boat. Or if they did, they probably wore gloves. Even the most amateur lawbreakers are too savvy to leave behind obvious incriminating evidence now, thanks to TV and movies.” He bent down, examined the holes in the boat, and stood. “I’ll take a few photos with my cell for the police report, and we’ll beef up patrols in this area, but with you being so far off the main road . . .”
Her complexion lost a few shades of color. “I don’t understand why someone would do this.”
“Vandalism is often hard to explain. Sometimes people do it for no other reason than the adrenaline rush. In any case, you should notify your insurance company. I’ll file a report by this afternoon, and we’ll be happy to provide a copy.”
“Do you think . . . is there any chance they could . . . come back?”
“The picnic grounds have been hit several times.” At least he could be truthful about that.
“Not the best news I’ve heard today.”
He didn’t try to reassure her.
After snapping a few photos, he slid the phone back on his belt. “May I ask how long you’re planning to stay at the cabin?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking indefinitely, but with this kind of stuff going on . . .”
He tried to maintain a neutral demeanor despite the sudden uptick in his spirits. If she got spooked and left, he might even be able to pull off a few daytime dives instead of skulking around at midnight. Visibility would be a lot higher too.
“I’d hate to think an incident like this would chase you away.” He tried for a commiserating tone. “On the other hand, a single woman alone in an isolated spot, with limited ability to contact anyone in case of emergency . . . I can see how that would be a cause for concern. We’ll be keeping our eyes and ears open, though. It’s possible we could get a lead on this.” He infused the last sentence with a hefty dose of skepticism.
She chewed on her lower lip. “It would help if they’d left a clue or two.”
“Yes, it would have.” He surveyed the woods surrounding the lake. “I’m assuming they arrived on foot—unless you might have slept through the approach of a car on your drive?”
“No. I’m a light sleeper. The sound would have roused me.”
“Well, I’ll poke around for a few minutes, see if I can spot anything helpful.”
“I’ll wait on the porch.”
She retreated up the hill and took a seat in one of the rocking chairs.
For the next ten minutes, he pretended to examine the ground around the dock and along the edge of the lake. Finally, hat in hand, he joined her, pausing at the bottom of the steps that led to the porch.
“Nothing?” She remained in her chair, fingers clenched together in her lap.
“No. As I said, we’ll stay alert, ask a few questions around town. In the meantime, use some extra caution. Stay close to the house and don’t wander around at night.”
Distress tightened her features. “I can’t believe this is happening here. It’s the one place I always felt safe and protected.”
“And I’m sure you always were . . . while Leo was here. I know he doted on you.”
“The feeling was mutual.” A sudden sheen appeared in her eyes, and her throat worked. “Thank you for coming out personally, Chief.”
“I was happy to do it. Let me know if you have any more trouble.”
“I will.”
He touched the brim of his cap and circled around to the back of the house.
Two minutes later, as he rolled down the drive toward the state road, he glanced in his rearview mirror at Leo’s receding cabin. He’d accomplished his goal. Dana was shaken. Second-guessing her decision to stay at the cabin. Afraid.
But scaring women was wrong. As a law enforcement officer, he was supposed to help people, not cause them physical—or mental—harm.
All at once, the bagel he’d eaten for breakfast congealed into a hard lump in his stomach, and the trees on either side of the road blurred. Gripping the wheel with one hand, he swiped the back of the other across his lashes. The view cleared.
If only he could as easily chase away the mist obscuring the personal road ahead for him. A road that grew more rocky and twisty with each passing day.
One thing for certain—the route he was traveling was leading him into enemy territory.
And there was no going back.
Dana watched Finn assess the dock and rowboat, jaw tight, mouth flattened into a thin line, twin crevices creasing his brow, eyes narrowed.
It wasn’t difficult to discern his mood.
He was mad.
Yet when he angled toward her, she picked up another emotion in those jade-colored irises.
Concern.
He was worried about her.
Which only ratcheted up her concern.
If an ex–Army Ranger thought there was reason for continued apprehension, the anxiety she hadn’t been able to shake since Chief Burnett’s visit earlier this morning seemed more than justified.
“What did the police say?” Finn hooked the earpiece of his sunglasses over the neck of his black T-shirt, letting the shades dangle against his chest.
“He said they’d ask a few questions around town and patrol more in this area. He also said there have been other vandalism incidents in town recently and suggested I be careful.” Her voice hitched on the last word, despite her attempt to sound calm.
His frown deepened. “Did he search for clues?”
“Yes—and took some pictures. But he didn’t find anything.” She twisted her fingers together. “Do you think whoever did this might come back?”
He hesitated.
Her pulse kicked up another notch.
“I don’t see why, unless you’re being targeted for some reason.” His words were measured. Careful. “But you don’t know that many people in town . . . unless you’ve made an enemy you haven’t mentioned.”
“No.”
“Then it could be a random crime. But I want to look around a bit.” The smile he offered seemed forced. “I wouldn’t mind a glass of lemonade and a few cookies after I’m finished, if you have some on hand.”
“Always.”
“I’ll join you on the porch in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” She ascended the hill, stopping at the bottom of the steps. Finn was already prowling around the dock, bending here and there to examine anything that caught his attention.
But there wasn’t much chance he’d turn up a significant clue. The chief was a pro. He’d been at this business for decades, was well respected in town—and he’d come up empty. If there’d been anything to find, he’d have discovered it.
Yet Finn was still down by the boat when she emerged from the house a few minutes later with the tray of cookies and lemonade.
“Do you have a ziplock bag and a couple of tissues?” He called the question up to her.
“Sure.” She set the tray on the table between the rockers as he started up the hill toward her. “Give me a sec.”
She retrieved the items and handed them over. “Did you find something?”
“I’ll show you in a minute.”
He returned to the dock, plucked some object from the rowboat with the tissues, and dropped it into the plastic bag.
Two minutes later, he rejoined her and held it up. A dark gray button was inside, thread dangling from the holes. “Does this belong to you?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
“How did Chief Burnett miss it?”
“It was wedged between the seat and the side of the boat.”
“Could it have been there for a while?”
“It’s possible—but the thread isn’t dirty, and I didn’t see it while I was cleaning up the boat after I pulled it out of the shed. How long did Burnett look around?”
“Five, ten minutes. I don’t think small-scale vandalism is a high-priority crime.”
His features hardened. “A crime’s a crime.”
“Are you going to give him that?” She motioned toward the button.
“I’ll show it to him next time I’m in town. I doubt it will be of much help—but you never know.”
“Mmm.” She studied the button and shoved her hands in her pockets. “It’s kind of creepy to know someone was sneaking around out here last night while I was sleeping.” Again she tried for a casual tone. Again, a slight tremor ran through her words.
Based on his keen gaze, Finn noticed. “Yeah, it is. Do you mind if I check out your locks?”
“No.” She edged aside to allow him access to the cabin, then followed him around in silence as he inspected them, ending in the living room.
“They’re not bad—and the doors are sturdy. Under normal circumstances, your security should be sufficient . . . but I don’t like the fact you’re isolated here and the only place you get cell service is outside, by the lake.”
“The chief commented on that too.”
“You don’t by any chance have a gun, do you?”
Her heart stuttered. “Do you think I need one?”
“Not necessarily, but I’d be happier if you had a weapon.”
She swallowed. “As a matter of fact, Pops’s hunting rifle is in the back bedroom, along with some ammunition.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
“Yes. He taught me when I got older. He said it was important to be comfortable around guns if I was going to hang out in the country. He used to set up empty soda cans down by the lake and we’d have shooting matches. I was an excellent shot, by the way.”
“You remember how to load it?”
“I think so. It’s been awhile—and I haven’t had much interest in guns since the incident in New York.” The mere mention of that trauma sent a cold chill through her.
“Why don’t you go get it and let me take a look?”
It was on her lips to refuse . . . but she could almost hear Pops’s voice encouraging her to do what Finn suggested.
The man’s right, sweetie. After all that’s happened, it won’t hurt to refresh your memory. Preparation averts a lot of disasters.
Without a word, she rose and retrieved the Winchester, along with a box of cartridges.
He examined the gun, then handed it back. “Go ahead and load it.”
Calling up all that Pops had told her, she accomplished the task much faster than she expected, despite the quiver in her fingers.
“Okay. I’m satisfied. Keep it loaded and handy. Just make sure the safety’s on.”
“You know . . . none of this is making me feel real warm and fuzzy.” She double-checked the safety and rested the gun against the wall, near the door.
“It doesn’t hurt to be prepared for any contingency.” He smiled, but it came across as a mite strained. “Why don’t we have those cookies and lemonade now?”
She slipped past him as he held the door. Once seated, she inspected the vandalized dock and broke off a piece of cookie she didn’t want.
“Hey.”
At his soft summons, she turned.
“I’m sorry this happened. I know this place has always been your refuge.”
Her eyes prickled, and a tear welled on her lower lid.
No! She was not going to cry! She was stronger than that.
Mustering her self-control, she nodded. “Thanks. I guess it’s unrealistic to expect perfect things to always stay the same. Nothing good lasts forever.”
“Nothing bad, either.” His gaze held hers.
“I suppose that’s true.” Case in point—the nightmare of the New York bank robbery. Since Finn had come into her life, memories of the terror had begun to dissipate.
“But nothing can alter the perfect memor
ies you have of your visits here with your grandparents. This vandalism incident can’t change those. And there’s no reason you can’t make more great memories here in the future.”
She gave him a tentative smile, ignored the voice in her head reminding her she wasn’t the impulsive type, and took a scary leap. “I’ve already made some new ones I’ll always treasure.”
For a moment, he seemed taken aback by her frankness—but he recovered fast.
“Recently, I hope.” He smiled back with no uncertainty at all.
“Very.”
“Me too.”
She took a long drink of her cold lemonade, eying him over the rim of her glass. Was that on the level? Her admission had been sincere—but all three of the handsome McGregor siblings were chick magnets. They were probably used to flirting with women, had learned all the smooth moves, knew just what to say to . . .
“I meant that, Dana.”
She flushed as he pinned her with an intent look. The man was a mind reader too?
“And for the record, I don’t go around saying stuff like that to every woman I meet.”
Her doubts evaporated—yet there was still a snag. “I appreciate that. But I also know our situation here is temporary. You’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks, and my own plans are in limbo. Especially now.” She surveyed the dock and damaged boat again.
“That doesn’t mean we have to lose touch. In fact, I hope we don’t. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s some high-wattage electricity between us.”
“I noticed.”
“So did my brothers.” He gave her a half-hitch grin and took another cookie.
Wonderful.
“I bet they gave you a boatload of grief about it too.”
“Yeah, but I’m used to their ribbing. It’s the fate of a kid brother. We’re easy targets.”
She nibbled on her cookie. “Why do I think you can hold your own?”
“Simple. You’re a smart, intuitive woman.” He polished off his cookie and brushed the crumbs from his fingers.
“Thanks for the compliment—but it’s pretty obvious you’re not the kind of guy who puts up with a lot of guff.”
“True. I also give as good as I get.”
Amusement tickled the corners of her mouth. “It must be lively when the three of you get together.”
