Fierce at Heart (The Kincaids of Pine Harbour)

by Zoe York

  “That’s understandable.” Rafe frowns. “What does he say?”

  “It’s full of accusations about Isla, none of which align with who she really is.” She was your commanding officer. She’s had inappropriate affairs with others. That one had to be projection. You must have been on her radar for a long time. If only. Their lives might have been very different if Isla had looked at him as anything other than someone in her command. On the other hand, she wouldn’t be Isla Petersen if she had, so that wasn’t even an option. “It reads like he’s stuck in time, two years ago, like they just broke up. She had to provide her divorce certificate for us to get married, Rafe. It’s been over for a long time. He’s unhinged.”

  He handed the letter over and waited while Rafe read it. As the cop turned to the second page, his eyebrows hit the roof. He looked up. “You’re co-conspirators who will be outed?”

  Adam hated that the idiot had included that line. Nothing else in the letter referred to the bakery, and he was pretty confident Jackson had no proof of it, but he didn’t want to have to explain it to Rafe, either. The less said on that topic, the better. “Unhinged,” he repeated. “But I’m happy to go on the record about my relationship with Isla. We never had an affair when she was my officer.”

  “Just to be clear, when did your relationship start?”

  “In the summer. I ran into her at a market, we had a couple of dates, and then our relationship continued long distance when I moved home to start this job. She came to visit, fell in love with your mother’s cafe, and we decided to get married.” The truth was an exceptionally good cover story.

  “And you’re not…” Rafe rolled his eyes as he read another line from the letter. “Two frauds faking a relationship?”

  Adam doubled down on the truth. “There’s nothing fake about my marriage. Look, we’re private people. I hope you can appreciate that, but between us, when Isla bounded back into my life, it was…profound. An old friend who I suddenly saw through a new and different lens. He is clearly obsessed with the choices she has made since their divorce, and cannot process them in an appropriate way. I know you’ll want to talk to Isla, too. And at the end of the day, this is her decision to make, not mine. I’m just trying to lighten the load for her, figure out what her next steps could be so she can take them without having to jump over the hurdle of figuring out what her options are. But more than anything, I just want to protect her.”

  “That makes sense. You love your wife.” Rafe gave him a sympathetic smile, not knowing his words sliced through Adam’s chest.

  He cared for Isla more than he ever imagined. Their bond was special. How much worse would it be if they were in love? How different would it be if she had a real marriage?

  He shoved both questions away. “He came to the bakery, and then to our house. Two separate occasions, and he doesn’t live nearby. He doesn’t seem to have a clear reason for making contact, and this letter to me…”

  “It’s disturbing.”

  “Yes.”

  It was written like a warning to Adam, that he didn’t know who he had married. It listed what would happen in his marriage, and the way Adam read it, it was a twisted re-telling of what had happened, with Isla being cast in the role of the villain in Brett Jackson’s mind.

  She will drive you away and make you doubt yourself as a man. What fucking nonsense. But also, potentially dangerous. “Can he be charged with stalking her? Can we get a restraining order?”

  “Those are two separate questions. I don’t know if we can charge him, that will require an investigation. A restraining order is separate. That’s done through Family Court, and they’ll want to see compelling evidence. That could come up during our investigation, if she doesn’t already have it collected.”

  “He hasn’t threatened her.” Not yet. Not explicitly.

  “I can have a talk with him. Suggest it would be in his best interest to steer clear of her. Sometimes that’s sufficient.”

  “Any chance I could ask you to help me figure out where he is tonight? He claims to live in Owen Sound. I don’t like the idea of Isla being at home alone tonight while I’m here, but she doesn’t want me to overreact, either.”

  “Tell you what; I’ll find out what vehicles he has registered, and can make sure the detachment is aware of them. For tonight, we can try to get some eyes on a license plate, make sure it’s in front of his house and not yours. And then tomorrow I’ll go pay him a visit in uniform.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rafe handed the letter back. “Hang on to that. I may want to take a copy of it for the file.”

  Isla didn’t sleep a wink that night, not even after Adam called and told her Olivia’s husband had looked into Brett’s whereabouts. Her phone was gripped tight in her hand when she woke at dawn, to a text message from her husband.

  Adam: Coming home. Don’t want to scare you when I unlocked the door.

  Fuck. She hated that Brett had gotten into her head like this. Since she was awake, she got up and made some French toast with a leftover loaf of brioche she’d tested two days earlier.

  When she heard the door, she went to the hallway and met Adam in the foyer. He caught her tight, his arms strong, but she didn’t think she imagined that they both trembled for a second before exhaling as one.

  He tangled his hands in her hair as he kissed her, then rubbed them down her back. “How’d you sleep?”

  “You know. Shitty. But it’s morning now.” She pressed her mouth to his. Not quite a kiss. More than a kiss. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I cooked.”

  He squeezed her tight and ushered her back to the kitchen. “I was thinking we could tackle this room next? For renovations?” He kissed her temple as she tried to plate up the French toast. “What would your dream kitchen look like? Dream kitchen on a fireman’s budget, of course.”

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  He turned her in his arms, then cupped her chin in his hand, lifting her face. “I’m serious.”

  “That’s…whatever…” She glanced up at the hole in the ceiling he’d patched before she moved in. “I love this house. Whatever you want is wonderful.”

  “I want a kitchen you can bake in. If we had that, maybe you wouldn’t need to go to Mac’s this week.”

  “I can’t sell food I make in our kitchen,” she muttered, but she was smiling. It was a thoughtful idea.

  “More for me, then.”

  She pushed him gently out of the way and plated up the food. Then, as they ate, she let him draw her into a real conversation about what they might want.

  An island, for sure. A butcher block top would be cheaper than stone. Extra deep counters, too. And lots of drawers instead of cupboards. “I’m not picky about the cabinet finish or anything like that. Just lots of rolling and prep space.”

  “Then I know what I’m going to do with my vacation time in the new year.” Adam yawned. “And now, bed. Want to join me?”

  “I’m meeting Jake Foster at the bakery at nine,” she said regretfully. “I’m hoping we can get the floor and walls repaired quickly.”

  “You want me to come with?”

  “You just said you wanted to go to bed.”

  “That was before I knew there was renovation talk happening.”

  “The man is a professional. I’m going to give him keys to the bakery and then stay out of his way, and I want you to do the same.” She gave him a slow, lingering kiss. “And then I’ll crawl back into bed with you, so when you wake up…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  The satisfied, rumbling groan he let out was almost enough to make her forget the drama of the night before. But as soon as she was outside, she felt exposed all over again. She burrowed deeper into her parka and hurried to her car. She wasn’t going to walk, not today.

  At the bakery, she let herself in and held her breath as she checked the kitchen and the front of shop, but everything was as it s
hould be.

  Five minutes later, the local contractor arrived, and she gave him the paperwork she’d received from the insurance company. They would pay the hardware store directly for materials, and Jake was happy to bill them for his labour and miscellaneous supplies he already had as well. “We can get this kitchen back up and running in three days,” he promised. “Can I start today?”

  “Absolutely.” She let out a painful breath. “Oh, wow. I was worried you might not have time before Christmas and Adam would want to try and do this ourselves, and he’s capable, but…” She was babbling. She stopped and nodded. “Thank you so much.”

  “My pleasure.” He leaned in. “My wife is eager for you to be back in business.”

  “Tell her I’ll be at the farmer’s market this weekend,” she said. “And if you don’t mind me making some things at home, I can drop whatever she wants on your porch.”

  “Butter tarts?”

  “Consider it done.”

  He grinned. “I’ll be back in two hours to get started.”

  After he left, Isla texted Bailey with the update. As she was turning off the lights in the kitchen, a knock sounded at the front door.

  Carefully, cautiously, she moved to a position where she could see who it was while still staying in the shadows.

  It wasn’t her ex.

  It was Rafe Minelli, in uniform.

  Isla hadn’t met Olivia’s husband properly, but she had heard good things from Catie and from Adam, who trusted him. She hurried forward and unlocked the door, letting him step inside.

  “Isla?”

  She nodded.

  He introduced himself, which wasn’t necessary. He explained in broad strokes the conversation that he’d had with Adam the night before, and she nodded along. “He told me you talked. Thank you.”

  Rafe hesitated. Then he pulled a familiar-looking envelope from an inner pocket in his parka.

  Isla frowned. “Did Adam give that to you?”

  “No.” Rafe’s mouth tightened, and the bottom of Isla’s stomach dropped. “This letter was left at my mother’s house yesterday.”

  “Oh my God.” Isla’s knees threatened to buckle. Anne Minelli knew. Brett told her that her marriage was a lie, a fraud so she could steal this bakery from the other woman, and… She stumbled backwards, and Rafe followed.

  Officer Minelli.

  Fuck.

  Isla found a chair through dumb luck and sank onto it. The OPP officer reached for another chair. “May I?”

  “Sure.” They might as well be comfortable while she faced the music.

  “The thing is, Ms. Petersen… My mother is out of the country. Most people don’t know that, because my parents aren’t big fans of anyone knowing their business.” A faint smile teased at his mouth. “They’re in Italy, visiting my father’s family, and won’t be home until Christmas. My sister found this letter this morning.”

  His sister. Dani, wife of the contractor who was just here. What were the chances she would still want Isla’s butter tarts? “Did she read it?”

  “Yep. And then she called me. Thought I should read it, too. The charges in it are…significant. Do you have any idea what it might say?”

  She didn’t want to answer that question. “Yes,” she whispered.

  Mortified, afraid, and beneath all of that, filled with a profound guilt that she’d brought this one. What had she done to show their hand to Brett? His repeated phone calls, his appearance in the shop, the way he’d crept around town dropping letters full of lies…all of it replayed in her mind in jagged, awful chunks.

  “I’d like to hear about it from your perspective,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

  “I—” Isla wanted to tell him everything. But would doing that implicate Adam in a crime? Was getting married so she could buy the bakery something he could actually get in trouble for? “I—” She couldn’t do it. “I probably need an attorney,” she finally said. She dropped her gaze to the floor. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. From being an officer in the military to a person of interest in the most petty of small town crimes.

  Across from her, the big black boots shifted on the hardwood floor, the uniformed legs they were attached to moving forward. She lifted her head enough to see he was leaning his elbows on his legs now, trying to make eye contact with her.

  She didn’t want that. She didn’t want that at all.

  The letter came into view in his outstretched hand. “Do you want to read it?”

  “I’d rather not,” she muttered.

  “You know what my sister said when she called me about this? She said, and I quote, ‘Someone really has it out for the new baker in town. Someone who is not well.’ And I knew immediately what she was talking about, because I’d already read one of his letters. The one he wrote Adam.”

  “I didn’t read that one, either.”

  “Adam doesn’t want you to.”

  She jerked her head up. “Oh?”

  The officer’s face was soft and full of kindness. Maybe it’s a trap. “Your ex-husband says a lot of nonsense in both letters, but none of it is anything you need to be sorry for.” He glanced around. “I like what you’ve done with the place, by the way.”

  “Is this some kind of entrapment? A sting?” She laughed weakly. “And now who sounds like she’s not well?”

  “You’ve been put through a lot by someone who you thought was firmly in your past.” Rafe shrugged. “You’re entitled to a bit of a meltdown. Have at it. This is no sting, I promise you that.”

  “He thinks he knows some things about me. About my relationship with Adam.” The words soured on her tongue. “Whatever he thinks, it’s not exactly true. But you should know, because it might come out some other way, that it’s not entirely not true, either.”

  “What are you saying?”

  She took a deep breath. Fuck it. She wasn’t going to lie to Anne’s son, not while she stood in her former cafe. “When Adam and I got married, it was in part so I could buy this cafe from your mother for a dollar. That was a factor. I can’t deny it, and if Brett is going to expose that, I’d rather it come from me. But Adam—you need to know—”

  Rafe grinned. “Look, there’s no question in the minds of anyone in town about how your husband feels about you. I promise you, anyone who claims otherwise will get laughed out of the village.”

  Isla said a small prayer of thanks that Adam was so good at playing the doting husband. “Right. Exactly.”

  “The only question remains, what do you want done about your ex? Two letters left in one day, clearly intended to intimidate you…that’s cause for him to be arrested. I’m not sure what charges would stick, but a conversation in an interview room can go a long way.”

  “You’re really not upset that I schemed a bit to get this place?” A bit was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that question, too. Isla’s chest hurt as she waited for the answer.

  Rafe looked around one more time. “I love my mother very much,” he finally said. “But she has a stubborn streak a mile wide. This vacation to Italy? My father’s been waiting to take her on it for five years. She needed to let go of the cafe, and finding a local buyer to practically give it away to was the only thing that worked in the end. You did us all a favour. My lips are sealed, and so are Dani’s. Plus, we all like your butter tarts better, but don’t ever tell my mom that.”

  “Oh my God,” Isla said, her body shaking in relief. “No, that’s just between us.”

  “Good. And about Brett?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’d rather try to deal with him myself? Safely, I promise. I have some unfinished business with him and the military. I want to file a complaint with the military police.”

  Her initial strategy when she’d left Brett had been to starve the narcissist of attention. She thought it had worked, but as part of her life was online, he’d been able to spin a story that kept him centred in his version of her life.

  No more of that.

  There would be no bi
g showdown with him. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing how angry she was with him. She would deal with this in the most savage way she could imagine—by blading him in the back to the army.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Adam slouched in the driver’s seat of his pickup truck, glowering at the low slung building just inside the gates of the base.

  It had been a few years since he’d been here as a soldier, but it hadn’t changed much.

  His role here today was strictly that of driver, and when Isla finished inside, being whatever kind of emotional support person she needed, even though he was starting to doubt he was the right guy for that job.

  Two days had passed since Isla came home and woke him up, apologetic, but knowing he would want to hear as soon as possible that Brett—that Jackass, which was a better name for the guy—had left Anne Minelli a letter, too.

  He held her hand as she placed a call to the military police on the base and set up this appointment to make a formal complaint.

  The military had let her down two years earlier when she tried to be re-located away from a man she knew was emotionally abusive. Their failure at that point had led directly to the events of this week, with an officer stalking his ex-wife, a veteran, and she wasn’t going to let that go this time.

  It would start with this complaint. If it didn’t end with Brett Jackson being moved across the country, away from her, then she would pursue other legal options.

  Or Adam would rearrange the guy’s body parts to the point of dysfunction.

  Ideally, it wouldn’t get to that point, although Adam had run through that interaction in his head many times. How he’d make the guy see that his twisted point of view was all wrong. But that was a fantasy. That wasn’t how grown-ups dealt with their problems.

  And Isla being harassed by her ex wasn’t the only thing on Adam’s mind. Now that he knew the full depth of how much Jackson had betrayed her, the weight of Adam’s own decisions grew each time he thought about the choices he’d made, casually, without enough consideration of what he was asking her to give up.