by Irene Hannon
But on this bright Saturday morning, the strenuous climb wasn’t reducing his stress level one iota.
Not yet, anyway.
Halting at the halfway mark up the path to Pelican Point, he surveyed the placid sea and fisted his hands at his sides.
It had been bad enough to find Nicole on his doorstep eight days ago.
But he could deal with that far better than he was handling her sudden interest in Marci.
The very notion that the woman who’d captured his heart was in the sights of the blonde troublemaker chilled him to the core.
Yet the Herald editor hadn’t been at all perturbed when he’d called yesterday to pass on Lexie’s news that Nicole had staked out a bench on the wharf across from her office. Apparently she’d spotted Nicole herself on Thursday afternoon and hadn’t considered it worth mentioning to him.
Nor had she seemed too concerned that one of the Hope Harbor police officers had seen the Impala parked on Pelican Point Road, near her house.
Another shiver rippled through him—and it had nothing to do with the cloud that scuttled across the sun, blocking the warming rays.
Ben shoved his fingers through his hair. This hike was a lost cause. He wasn’t going to relax until Nicole was gone.
But who knew how long she planned to hang around?
Farther up the path, another hiker lifted a pair of binoculars and focused on a fishing boat churning the waters offshore.
Binoculars . . .
He propped a foot on a nearby rock as an idea began to percolate.
Maybe it was time for some intimidation tactics of his own.
Instead of standing by passively while Nicole watched them, why not start watching her—and be very visible doing it.
After all, two could play the stalking game . . . and as long as he stayed in public view, where there were witnesses, she couldn’t launch another smear campaign like the one she’d manufactured in Germany.
The strategy might accomplish nothing—but it was better than letting her call all the shots, as Marci had said a couple of days ago.
Resolve firming, he retraced his steps down the path and followed the coast trail until it merged with Sea Rose Lane, at the edge of town. From there, he headed toward the wharf. Marci had said she was going to work most of the day on lighthouse business, so if Nicole was still on her trail, that’s where the woman would be.
As he reached the tiny park on the north edge of town, the smell of tacos wafted his way.
Charley was cooking.
Food wasn’t high on his agenda, but that aroma was hard to resist . . . especially in light of the meager bowl of Cheerios he’d wolfed down hours ago.
The taco chef raised a hand in greeting as he caved to temptation and veered toward the food truck. “Morning, Ben. I was beginning to think I’d lost a customer.”
“No way. I’ve just been . . . occupied. With matters far less pleasant than one of your tacos.” He surveyed the wharf as he spoke. A blonde woman was sitting on a bench near the Herald office. Her back was to him, but he had no doubt about her identity—or what she was doing.
“I’ve noticed some unsettling vibes in town myself the past week or so.”
Ben pivoted around to find Charley scrutinizing Nicole too.
“Have you met her?” No sense pretending he didn’t know the woman.
“She stopped in for an order of tacos once.” Charley looked back at him. “And she asked a lot of questions.”
“About what?”
“You. And our Herald editor.” Charley inclined his head toward the grill behind him. “Would you like some lunch?”
Yeah, he would—but he was far more interested in what Charley had told Nicole.
“Sure.” He checked on her again before picking up the conversation. “She and I have an unpleasant history.”
“So I gathered.” Charley pulled some fish fillets out of the cooler.
“She told you about us?” Why would she do that, when all of her claims had been invalidated?
“No—but people communicate in many ways that don’t involve words.” He sprinkled the fish with some of his special seasoning and studied Nicole again, faint creases denting his forehead. “She’s a troubled soul.”
At the very least.
“Also dangerous.”
“Those kinds of people often are. You should be careful.”
“Trust me, I am. I’m more concerned about Marci.” No reason to pretend he wasn’t interested in the local newspaper editor. As soon as Nicole was history, the whole town would know. “She tends to be a bit on the impulsive side.”
The corners of Charley’s eyes crinkled. “Ah, but impulsiveness has its charms—and its merits. She dived headfirst into the lighthouse project, and look where that led.”
“I’m not saying it’s a negative trait. I love her spontaneity and enthusiasm. But with someone like that woman”—he nodded toward Nicole—“it can get you in hot water.”
“I’m sure Marci realizes that.”
As if on cue, the Herald editor appeared in the doorway of the office down the block and strode their direction.
Ben straightened up.
If she was in the mood for tacos for lunch too, he needed to get out of here.
Fast.
Either that, or hope she noticed him and altered her route.
A few seconds later, Marci did glance his direction.
But instead of beating a hasty retreat, she lifted a hand in greeting and crossed the street—on a collision course with him.
His heart lost its rhythm.
Hadn’t she seen Nicole?
“Um, Charley, I think I’ll pass on those tacos.” He backed away from the truck as he spoke. “Give my order to Marci.”
Without waiting for a reply, he strode away from her.
“Ben!”
At her summons, he picked up his pace.
“Ben! Wait up!”
He peeked over his shoulder.
She’d broken into a jog.
Short of sprinting away, there was no way to avoid her.
He stopped and swiveled around. In the distance, Nicole rose, her attention riveted on the two of them.
Great.
“Hi.” Marci stopped three feet away and gave him a sunny smile. “I was hoping to run into you today.”
“Marci . . . Nicole is watching us.” He kept an eye on the blonde. “She’s on the wharf.”
“I know. She’s been on that bench all morning.”
“I thought we agreed to wait her out.”
“I agreed to consider it—but my patience has worn thin. So I decided to be proactive.”
He furrowed his brow. “Define proactive.”
“My pleasure.”
In one giant step, she erased the distance between them, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
Right on the mouth.
Where anyone in the vicinity could watch.
Including Nicole.
A wave of panic crashed over him.
What in creation was she thinking?
“Marci.” He wrenched his lips free and tried to pry her hands off his neck.
She tightened her grip and locked gazes with him. “I’m tired of playing by her rules, Ben . . . and following her timeline. If she wants proof we’re a couple, this should do it. Now the ball’s in her court.”
“This isn’t badminton. She plays hardball.” His alarm ratcheted up another notch, squeezing his windpipe. “You could get hurt.”
“No, I won’t. Trust me on this. I’ve got it covered.”
He squinted at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I can’t not worry about you. That’s what happens when you lo . . .” Whoops. Too soon for that word. “If you care about someone.”
“Then why don’t you play bodyguard?” Her eyes began to twinkle. “We can be together and you can keep me safe. That’s a win/win in my book.”
“I’m not trained to be a bodyguard. I’m a doctor, not a special ops soldier.”
“I don’t need a special ops soldier. All you have to do is follow me home from work today—and pick me up for church tomorrow. My house is a fortress, so I’m safe once I’m locked inside for the night. Besides, after this”—she snuggled close again—“I don’t think she’s going to wait long to make her move—if she even follows through. For all we know, she’ll accept the fact you’re taken and disappear.”
If only.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath on that score.”
“I believe in being optimistic.”
Of course she did.
That was Marci.
And now that she’d deep-sixed his hands-off strategy, he’d have to follow through on his idea and keep Nicole in his sights—at least until Marci was safely locked inside for the night.
If he was lucky, that tactic would freak the other woman out and make her rethink her own plans.
“Hey.” Marci nudged him. “You still with me?”
“Always.” He bent and claimed another kiss.
She smiled up at him. “I’m glad you got with the program.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice.” He draped an arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t I buy you some tacos and walk you back to the office? When you’re ready to leave tonight, call me and I’ll follow you home.”
“Will you stay for dinner?”
Not while Nicole was sticking close.
“Can I get a rain check? I have a few chores I need to take care of this evening.”
“Anytime.” She slipped her arm around his waist and tugged him toward Charley’s stand. “Let’s eat.”
Ben let her tow him along, sending Nicole a defiant stare over her head. He might not have chosen to tackle their dilemma as directly as Marci had, in her sometimes headstrong way, but the damage was done.
All he could do was keep Nicole in sight—and hope Marci’s optimism for a positive outcome wasn’t misplaced.
What the . . . !?
Marci bolted upright in bed and clapped her palms against her ears as a piercing alarm ricocheted off the walls in her bedroom.
She might be groggy from the deep sleep she’d finally tumbled into hours after Ben had followed her home last night, but one thing was clear.
Someone was breaking into her house.
And only one suspect came to mind.
Not what she’d expected—but Ben had warned her Nicole was unpredictable.
Vaulting out of bed, she snatched her phone off the nightstand. The security company would already be alerting the local police, but she wasn’t about to part with her lifeline.
She dashed to the bedroom door and double-checked the slider lock.
Set, as usual.
A big, burly guy might be able to kick down the heavy wooden door, but she doubted Nicole would be capable of that feat.
All she had to do was stay cool and wait for . . .
She frowned.
Sniffed.
Was that . . . smoke?
She sniffed again.
Yes.
Definitely smoke, drifting in through her open window.
As the reality slammed home, her heart stumbled.
The alarm ringing in her ears was for fire, not burglary.
It seemed Ben’s worry that Nicole might be capable of causing physical harm had been merited.
But setting a house on fire?
Definitely not what she’d expected.
Minor vandalism, yes—but the woman must be unhinged to take this kind of drastic action.
Marci gripped her phone tighter.
What to do now?
The volunteer fire department in Hope Harbor would need a few minutes to assemble once it got the alarm. . . and Nicole could be lurking nearby.
Pulse hammering, Marci crossed to the window. Peeked out.
All was dark.
No sign of flames.
She returned to the door and felt the wood panels.
Cool.
The fire wasn’t close to her room yet.
But the smoke might be.
And that killed more people than flames.
Shifting into fast-forward, she yanked on her jeans and stowed the phone in the pocket. Then she jammed her feet into her slippers, eased the door open, and sniffed again.
A very slight haze hung suspended below the ceiling—but the air was breathable.
Get to an exit.
Now!
Excellent advice.
As long as her shaky legs didn’t give out on her.
She hurried down the hall, the shadowy light spilling from the bedroom behind her providing only marginal illumination.
Stumbled when the peppy melody of “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah” erupted from her phone.
Forcing herself to pick up the pace again, she pulled out her cell and scanned the name on the screen.
Let out a relieved breath.
Help was close at hand.
She put the phone to her ear. “It’s Marci.”
“Where are you?”
“Approaching the stairs. Is it safe to come out?”
“Yes. I’ll watch for you. I alerted the fire department.”
“So did my alarm company. Where’s the fire?”
“In the back.”
She started down the stairs. “Did you get everything?”
“More than you’ll need.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
She slid the phone back in her jeans. Exhaled.
There would be damage to contend with once the smoke cleared, but her gamble had paid off.
Nicole was history.
Middle-of-the-night phone calls were never a good omen.
Ben felt around for his cell and tried to clear the fog from his brain—but as Lexie’s name registered on the screen, his mental murkiness evaporated as fast as a Hope Harbor mist chased away by the sun.
“What’s wrong?” He swung his legs to the floor and snagged the jeans he’d tossed on a chair after returning home from the Gull at ten o’clock. Nicole had taken a swing by Marci’s house during the evening, but as far as Ben could tell, once she’d pulled into the Gull, she’d called it a night.
Maybe that assumption had been wrong.
“There’s a fire at Marci’s house. The call came in ten minutes ago. I thought you’d want to know.”
His heart missed a few beats.
Yeah, his assumption had been wrong.
“Is Marci safe?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I’m on my way to find out.”
In the background, the siren of the town fire truck began to wail.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I figured you’d want to join us. See you soon.”
The line went dead—and he went into action.
Years of trauma work overseas had taught him to move at warp speed, but he broke his own record getting to Pelican Point.
In ten minutes flat, he was on-site.
After pulling in behind a police car on the side of the road, he sprinted toward a cluster of people standing out of the way of the firefighters. Lexie, Officer Gleason, Marci—and some tall, lanky guy dressed in black that he didn’t recognize.
Marci saw him first, and she broke away from the group, jogging toward him as fast as she could in . . . he peered at her feet . . . bunny-shaped slippers?
She launched herself at him from three feet away, and he absorbed her weight, wrapping her tight in his arms.
“Are you okay?” His question came out in a croak.
“Uh-huh.” The words were muffled against his chest. “And best of all—Nicole won’t ever bother us again.”
“If we can prove she did it.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
As Lexie spoke, Ben reluctantly loosened his grip on Marci. She turned but stayed within the circle of his arms.
&
nbsp; Where she belonged.
“What do you mean?”
“We have pictures—thanks to Marci and Mr. Young here.” Lexie indicated the lanky guy, then addressed Marci. “When you asked me for the name of a reputable PI, I had no idea what you had in mind. I thought you were researching some story for the Herald. If I’d known your plan, I would have discouraged you.”
“It worked, though.”
“I can’t argue with that. It appears we have irrefutable evidence of her illegal activity.”
“What plan?” Ben puckered his brow.
Marci shrugged. “I got tired of waiting for Nicole. So I had my alarm company add a few cameras to my setup, hired Steve”—she motioned to the PI—“and gave her a reason to go after me sooner rather than later.”
Ah-ha.
Her seemingly impulsive move at the taco stand hadn’t been impulsive at all, but part of a well-orchestrated strategy to exert some control over the situation.
“So that’s what the kiss yesterday was all about.”
“Guilty as charged . . . and not in the least repentant.”
“What if I hadn’t shown up at the wharf?”
“I had plans to get you there.”
Yeah. She would have.
“You put yourself at risk.”
“I’m fine.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “And it brought this whole nasty business to a head. Although I have to admit I didn’t expect her to resort to fire.”
Lexie pulled out her phone and skimmed the screen. “Excuse me a minute.” She walked a few yards away, cell to her ear.
“I think my work here is done.” The PI extended his hand to Marci. “I’ll make sure the police have everything they need.”
“Thank you.” She clasped his fingers and did a belated introduction.
Ben shook hands with him too—but as the man walked over to talk with Jim Gleason, he gave her a stern look. “You could have told me about this, you know.”
“You wouldn’t have liked it.”
“True.”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Are you mad at me?”
“Good news, folks.” Lexie reappeared, giving him a reprieve on that answer. “We already picked up your friend. She went back to the motel, with no apparent suspicion her activity here was monitored and documented. You won’t need to worry about her anymore. The evidence we have will put her away for a very long time.”
