by Helen Brenna
“What cop isn’t?”
“This guy’s been suspended without pay. Twice.”
That was different. “Any reports of 9–1–1 calls made from his house?”
“None.”
Didn’t necessarily mean anything.
“I e-mailed you a couple photos. You get them?”
Garrett pulled up e-mail on his computer and despite knowing what he’d find opened the pictures to cover bases. The first photo was the one the news had been flashing of the boy. This picture showed a kid with blond hair, but cut it shorter and dye it brown and Jason turned into Zach. The second photo was Marie Samson. He’d never seen her before. But the third, Erica Corelli, was a long-haired Erica Jackson. No question.
“Recognize any of them?” John asked.
“Yeah. I got the aunt and the kid.”
“On your island?”
“Yep.”
“No shit. What about the wife?”
“Nope.”
“We better let the dad know.”
“Hold off on that. Are they considering this a kidnapping?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you know for sure this cop is clean?”
“No.”
Garrett debated. “Do me a favor and sit tight for a little while. Something about this situation doesn’t feel right. Billy Samson is an unknown. If this turns into a custody dispute all the wife has done is sealed the case for the husband. I got my eye on the aunt, so this is the safest place for the kid. That’s what’s important.”
“You sure about this?”
“No, but when has that ever stopped me? Or you?”
John chuckled.
“This is a small island,” Garrett said. “They’re not going anywhere without me knowing about it. Keep me updated, though, okay? You find out anything that puts this kid in jeopardy, let me know.”
“Will do.”
After Garrett hung up, he stared at the picture of Erica Corelli and the thought occurred to him that he liked her better with shorter hair. Showed off her long, graceful neck. He ran his hand over his mouth, remembering their rapid-fire encounter last night in the alley. Just thinking about how soft she’d felt under his hands threatened to make him lose focus.
“What are you up to, Erica? Where’s your sister?”
So much for trying to kick her off his island. He had to convince her to tell him her side of the story. That meant Erica was going to have to feel as if she could trust him. And for a woman like that to trust a man, any man, let alone a cop, meant he had his work cut out for him.
DURING THE NEXT FEW weeks as the grass greened and the trees leafed out, the breeze coming off the lake turned warm with the promise of summer, and May flowers bloomed in the wrought iron baskets hanging from every lamppost down Main, Erica had the distinct impression Garrett was quietly watching her every move. He would show up at the most unexpected times, in the baking-goods aisle at Newman’s, at a checkout lane in Henderson’s Drugstore, or on the street as she was walking Jason home from school.
The first time she’d noticed him after finding the bike at the bottom of her apartment stairs was in front of Arlo’s stable. Jason had been with her and riding the apology gift, so rather than ignore Garrett, as she would’ve been otherwise inclined to do, she stopped. “Garrett,” she called.
In his uniform and apparently on his way to the station, he’d headed toward them. “What’s up?”
“Zach, you wanted to tell Garrett something, right?”
Jason had grinned and nodded. “Thanks, Garrett. This bike is sweet.”
“You’re very welcome.” Garrett had ruffled Jason’s hair, and Jason had zipped off down the street, leaving Garrett and Erica alone.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she’d said. “The bike, I mean.” But after Jason had seen it leaning against the stairs, she hadn’t been able to break her nephew’s heart, not after all he’d been through.
“No, the bike was completely called for,” Garrett had said. “What I shouldn’t have done—”
“Can we pretend as if the alley never happened?” She couldn’t seem to keep her gaze from searching out his hands.
“Sure.” He’d nodded.
Without another word, she’d made herself walk away. She had to focus on more important matters, like the fact that Marie had yet to call or leave a message on Erica’s cell phone.
Although Erica had the phone in her apartment reconnected and called Teddy at least every other day, he rarely had news. She kept abreast of the Chicago Police Department’s progress in locating her sister through Lynn’s computer, but the investigation seemed to have stalled and the attention the case had initially garnered had waned substantially. No one seemed to care any longer about a cop’s wife and son disappearing with her troublesome sister.
Except for Erica and Jason.
Despite the fact that their existence on Mirabelle had settled into a relatively predictable, if not comfortable, pattern, Marie was never far from their thoughts. In the mornings, Erica walked Jason to school. Then she went back to the restaurant and prepared whatever sauces and desserts were needed for the lunch and dinner menus. The initial test Lynn had done on Erica’s Italian specials had been wildly successful, so Lynn had decided to run specials every week.
After the lunch crowds came and went Erica walked back to the school to pick up Jason. They’d spend several hours together, doing his minimal homework, going for walks exploring the island or running errands before she would head back to the pub for the dinner rush. She would get Jason to bed, close down the bar and head up to the apartment to sleep until the alarm went off the next morning when the routine started all over again. Give or take, Erica was working twelve-hour days. She was exhausted most of the time, but things were working out, and she felt better having some cash stashed away for whatever might come their way.
And she was adjusting to living with a young boy. She’d worked out trade-offs on playdates with Sarah. Erica had Sundays off, so she took Brian all day. He’d stay overnight in their apartment and she got both boys to school on Monday mornings. Sarah took Jason Friday nights and an occasional afternoon until bedtime.
All things considered, Jason was doing okay. He and Erica were getting along the way a close aunt and nephew should. He and Brian were quickly on the road to becoming best friends and riding their bikes all over the main part of town, he was comfortable sleeping over at Sarah’s apartment, and he occasionally looked forward to school. Once or twice every week Jason even went up to the stable to hang out with Arlo, and from what Erica could tell they enjoyed each other’s company.
Erica and Jason’s lives were slowly, irrevocably becoming intertwined with each other and with the people of this island. Nothing brought that point home better than Lynn calling Erica to her office one morning after the lunch crowd had cleared out.
“Yeah, what’s up?” She’d been on her way to the walk-in cooler for ingredients to prep the roasted red pepper white sauce.
“The feedback’s coming in on your specials.”
“And?”
“I’ve decided I want to do an entirely new menu.” Lynn sat back in her chair. “Will you help me?”
It was a loaded question. This wasn’t a simple let’s-throw-the-noodle-against-the-wall-to-see-if-it-sticks kind of venture. Erica could tell by the look in Lynn’s eyes that she could afford neither the financial nor emotional drain of a failure.
What if Marie called, needing help or wanting Jason back home? What if Billy found them and she was forced to leave the island? She’d been living day to day, and tomorrow everything could change.
Even so, Erica didn’t want her new—she had to admit it—friend to fail. “Yeah, I’ll help.”
Lynn smiled and pointed to the chair next to her desk. “Then sit down. Let’s do this together.”
Over the course of the next hour, she convinced Lynn they needed a smaller, more eclectic menu and an expanded wine and beer list for the tourists,
and Lynn helped her understand that sometimes the tourists were looking for down-home cooking, a bit of an escape from the fancy city food. In the end they hashed out a menu together.
“You giving us your recipes this time?” Lynn asked with a smile.
“Ever heard of job security?” Erica laughed. “But I will print the menus off on your computer like I did with the special inserts,” she said.
“That’d be nice.”
“Now all you need are some renovations in the restaurant or at least a little redecorating, and you’ll be set.”
Lynn chuckled. “You’re about as subtle as a barbed fishing hook, you know that?”
“Sorry.” Erica glanced away.
“You’re right, though.” Lynn sighed heavily. “Mirabelle’s had a rough couple of years with a slowdown in tourists. Business has been tough. Arlo and I have been barely breaking even.”
“You’ll bring in more business with a fresh new look.”
“I know.”
“I hear talk about two new municipal pools and a golf course opening next week.”
“At the last town council meeting, the hotel owners said they were fully booked all the way through next summer.”
“Then maybe now is the right time to put a small investment into the place. Before the tourists start arriving.”
“What were you thinking?”
Erica went through all the plans that had been running through her head these last weeks. “There’s a lot I can do myself to keep the costs down.”
“We’ll get a bid and see what we can manage.” Lynn’s eyes lit with excitement. “If Garrett can get his part done for a reasonable investment before the summer season starts, I’m all in.”
Garrett? Erica’s stomach pitched at the thought of him. Of course, he’d be doing the remodeling. When so much of the rest of her life was in a state of complete and total upheaval, this snag seemed par for the course.
GARRETT’S ESTIMATE ON COSTS for his part of the project came within the amount Lynn felt she could put toward refurbishing the pub, so she closed both the restaurant and bar, despite the locals’ fervent protests, until they were finished with all the redecorating and remodeling.
For Lynn’s sake, Erica decided to put aside her differences with Garrett and work like crazy to get everything done in time. The next several days were a flurry of activity with people constantly coming and going. Although Erica could hear Garrett gutting the bathrooms, tearing out carpet and pounding this and that, she saw him only in passing and made a point of never being alone with him.
Lynn had given her a tight budget for redecorating, forcing Erica to prioritize. The first thing she did once Lynn had given the go-ahead was to order a variety of plants that would cozy up the atmosphere. Next were new, trendy votive holders for the tables, cloth napkins, new menu covers, a few new light fixtures and small carafes to hold silk greens and flowers. She’d put out the word to every employee to scrounge up various shapes and sizes of frames at garage sales, and she ordered inexpensive posters or printed stock photos off the Internet to fill the frames. All of the updated decorations, she hoped, would give the place the warmth it’d been lacking without turning it all feminine as Arlo had warned.
While Erica waited for everything to arrive, she and Lynn pored over the menu, discussing changes, ordering wines and new food items. Once Lynn had made her final decisions, Erica designed new menus and was alone in Lynn’s office, printing them out when Garrett poked his head through the doorway.
He hadn’t shaved that morning, and the growth of beard covering his face, though heavy, looked quite a bit lighter in color than his hair. Although she still felt emotionally stung by what had happened in the ally, her libido was telling her in no uncertain terms to let it go. She found herself having to resist the urge to reach out and trail her hand along his cheek to find out if his beard was indeed as soft as it looked. This was going to be a long week.
“I need some help with something,” he said. “There’s no one else here.”
Meaning she was a last resort. At least they were in agreement on something. “What do you need?”
Custom windows had been ordered for the new entrance and wouldn’t arrive until the end of the week, so he’d started in the bathrooms. “The fixtures in the women’s—” He looked down at the menus coming out of the printer. “Did you design these?”
“Yeah. For Lynn.”
He began reading one, but the printer kicked out another on top of the first.
“You can pick it up,” she said, somewhat reluctantly.
He put his gloved hands in the air. “Even if I took these gloves off, my hands are probably still filthy.”
She picked one out of the stack and held it up for him. Why she would care about his opinion was anyone’s guess, but she was more than a little worried about this gamble paying off for Lynn.
“Flatbreads. Quesadillas. Garlic shrimp,” he read off several selections. “Lasagna. Penne arrabiata. Buffalo chicken sandwich. Dry rubbed salmon.”
“What do you think?”
He glanced up at her. “You’re asking me?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m far from an expert on menus,” he said. “I’m getting hungry just looking at it, if that helps.”
“So you think it’s a good menu?”
He read through the rest of it. “I’d order all but a couple things, so you’ll get me coming back. I like, too, how you kept some of the island favorites in that Down Home section.” The tone of his voice was surprisingly reassuring, his smile comforting.
She looked away, swallowing.
“It’ll work. Don’t worry.”
She glanced at him, her suspicions aroused. “So what’s up with the Mr. Nice Guy? Last time I checked,” she said, leaning back in Lynn’s desk chair, “you were wanting me on a one-way ferry to the mainland.”
“Maybe I was wrong.”
“Maybe?”
He looked away, apparently forming his words. “The Duffys have needed to do something like this with their pub for a long time. They needed a nudge. What you’re doing here for Lynn…is nice. You’re good for her.”
“So all of a sudden you’re—”
“You can quit with the tough-guy business yourself, okay? You and I both know it’s an act.” He shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “I thought we’d agreed what happened in the alley a couple weeks ago, didn’t happen.”
She studied him, trying to figure his angle. That she could tell, he didn’t have one. This was for Lynn. “All right. What did you need?”
“Come with me.”
She followed him into the women’s bathroom. He’d already ripped out the old flooring, replaced the counter and sinks and was in the process of installing the fixtures. Unfortunately, Erica found something oddly sexy about his efficiency.
“The faucets aren’t lining up with the pipes.” He got down on the floor and scooted under the sink on his back. “I need you to hold them in place while I fit them together down here.”
“Okay.” Her eyes were glued to his legs sticking out from under the vanity counter. He was wearing loose-fitting jeans, but the line of his thigh muscles were clearly outlined as he lifted one knee. And that bulge in his groin…Oh, lord.
“Erica? What are you doing up there?”
“Oh, sorry.” She grabbed the faucet for the first sink and held tight while it vibrated with his movements.
He grunted and his legs shifted. He reached for the pipe wrench on the floor and tightened the pipe. “Let’s go to the next one.” A few minutes later, the fixtures were installed and he came out from under the counter. “Thank you.”
“No problem. How long will the bathroom take?”
“The last thing I have to do in here is lay the tile this afternoon, then I’ll finish with the men’s by tomorrow night.”
“That’s fast.”
“It’s what Lynn needed. I told her I’d take a few days away from the station.”
“Make hay while the sun shines.”
Maybe she’d been wrong about him, too. Maybe he did fit here on Mirabelle. “What would this island do without you?”
He grinned. “Hire a new police chief.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GARRETT FINISHED BOTH bathrooms and started in the next day on building and installing a wine rack for the wall separating the bar from the dining area. A simple box frame with shelves crisscrossing to form storage areas for bottles of wine, he expected to finish by the end of the day. That is, unless he kept getting distracted by a certain female working in the same general area.
Erica didn’t have enough time to repaint the entire place, so she was giving the dingy white walls in both the bar and restaurant a wash of heavy cream-colored paint. The end result was a faux-stucco appearance, surprisingly sophisticated for such a simple task. Unfortunately for Garrett, it was this exact process that threatened to turn his one day job into two.
He found himself tuning in to every movement she made. Whether she was bending over for paint, reaching up toward the wall or climbing up and down a ladder, she exhibited grace and control, not to mention the most incredible curves. He was surreptitiously eyeing those exact curves when someone cleared her throat behind him. He spun around to find Lynn standing with her hands on her hips.
“She sure can work wonders with paint,” Lynn said, having apparently come up behind him through the kitchen door.
“Yeah.” He imaged Erica could work wonders on a lot of things.
“Doesn’t look much like trouble now, does she?” Lynn whispered.
“We both know looks can be deceiving,” he whispered back. Erica was far enough away in the other room that, as long as they were quiet, she wouldn’t be able to hear what they were saying.
“Not actions, Garrett. She’s been nothing but helpful since day one.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “If you let your guard down for one minute, you might be surprised by the results.”
