“What the hell did you get yourself into this time?” he asked.
I shook my head, staring out the window at the trees blurring together as we sped by, my mind still on Jeremy and the threat he posed. I hoped he dropped the idea of reconnecting and disappeared out of my life again. “You don’t need to know the details.”
“The hell I don’t,” he growled. “You’re blond, Chels. Blond. Obviously, shit got real.”
Wincing, I touched my hair self-consciously. I looked ridiculous in this color and we both knew it. “The less you know, the better. Just trust me on this.”
“But—” He sighed. “Whatever.”
I swallowed and glanced in the rearview to make sure we didn’t have a tail.
“You have to admit it’s pretty shitty that you disappeared from my life, only to show up when you need me to get you a new ID, so you can…what? Run again?” he snapped.
“I don’t just need a new ID,” I said softly. “I need Chelsea O’Kane to be legally pronounced dead. And after that, I’m not going anywhere.”
He braked, the tires squealing softly at the sudden movement, and slowly turned to me. “Dead?”
I nodded once, knowing I was asking for a lot, but it was the only way I stood a chance at coming out of this mess alive. “Can you do that?”
He stepped on the gas, pulling into the inn’s circular gravel driveway without answering, but I didn’t make the mistake of assuming his silence was a good thing. I knew better than that. The second he put the truck into park, he turned to me, scowling. “I understood why you ran. You wanted to get away from this life, from Dad’s legacy. You wanted to be clean. Normal. Legit. Right?”
That had been the plan, yeah. But apparently, I wasn’t the type of girl who got clean. Gripping my knees, I nodded, still not speaking.
Paul needed to say his piece, and I intended to let him.
“So you ran, and you never called or told me where you were. I didn’t even know if you were still alive.”
I stared at the faded gray clapboard and peeling blue shutters on the front of the house. The gardens were choked with weeds, but renovating the inside was my first priority. “I’m sorry. I was living in Miami, working as a lawyer, when things went…” I trailed off and made the kaboom motion with my hands.
“A lawyer, huh?” He stared at me, his gaze filled with pain and accusation. “You can’t get any more legit than a lawyer. Can’t remove yourself from this family any further than that, right, Chels? The only thing worse would’ve been becoming a cop.”
“I’d never—” I stared down at my legs. That’s exactly what I’d been thinking when I chose my major. I’d been so desperate to be a better person. That had been all Jeremy’s fault. Him and his do-good attitude that never faltered. “I mean, right.”
“And now you’re here, asking for a favor.…” The crisp wind, carrying the taste of salt water, buffeted the overhanging branches, casting shadows on his face. Paul continued, “Asking for my help.”
I nodded, grabbing hold of my knees.
While I’d done what needed to be done, I was older now, and I never should have cut ties with my brother, no matter what he did for a living. No matter how similar he was to our father.
Coming home to Maine meant safety, but it also meant a chance to start over, to rebuild my relationship with my brother. I needed him and this inn.
“Tell me, Chels. Was it worth it? Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No. Is that what you want to hear? I thought I could be someone who made a difference in the world, who changed things for the better, but all I did was make things worse. So that’s why I came home to the inn, to you. To start over. Again.”
Paul rubbed his forehead, letting out a sardonic laugh. “How far up shit creek are you? You going to end up in jail like Dad?”
“This isn’t some penny-ante con man scam.” I pressed my lips together and shrugged. “If I get caught? Well, let’s put it this way. You’ll never find the pieces.”
Stiffening, he dropped his hand. “Jesus.”
“Can you do it or not?”
He tapped his fingers on his thigh. “It’s not going to be easy. Declaring someone dead takes a shitload of paperwork.” He let out a long breath, drawing it out. “But I have some connections in Bangor who can pull it off, as well as the name change.”
I collapsed against the headrest. “Thank you.”
“After you’re ‘dead,’ what then? You got a plan?”
“I do what I should have done all along.” I gestured at the inn, eyeing the mildewing posts on the wrap-around porch. “Fix this place up. Open for business. Make Aunt May proud. Stay.”
He cocked a brow. “And when people ask why your last name is different?”
“Divorce.” I twisted my lips. “Or maybe I’m widowed. Whichever draws less curiosity.”
“Divorced, I think,” he said hesitantly. “You’re really staying?”
“Yes. I’m done running. Whatever happens, happens. This is where I make my stand.”
“All right.” He nodded, placed his hands on the wheel, gripping it tightly. “How do you want to die?”
Chapter 5
That night, I turned on the big-screen TV. Settling into the corner of the couch with my glass of whiskey, I tucked myself in with an afghan Aunt May had crocheted. My notebook of lists and plans for the inn’s renovation slid between me and the couch. I smiled at the roaring fire I’d managed to get going before focusing on CNN, which was covering a bombing in Kuwait.
Not a shooting in Miami.
I hadn’t eaten all day, but that was okay because I wasn’t really hungry. I didn’t need food, just some whiskey to help me survive the night ahead. Anything to help me sleep, without knocking me out so deeply I couldn’t hear danger approaching.
Even an hour of shut-eye would be nice.
Rubbing my face, I yawned and set my drink down. I froze when someone knocked. The only person who knew I was here was Paul, and he was in Bangor taking care of my identity crisis.
Heart pounding, I stood on the scratched hardwood floors, slowly creeping forward. A floorboard squeaked under my foot and I half expected to hear gunshots, but only silence followed. I opened the drawer I’d slid my gun into, resting my fingers on the cool barrel of the Glock.
Pulling the curtains back hesitantly, I peeked outside. And damned if I didn’t want to use that gun even more than before. Gritting my teeth, I let the doorknob go, glowering out the tiny slit of the curtain opening. Fricking Jeremy Holland. He stood underneath the flickering light on the porch, holding food and a bottle of wine, the soft amber glow making him look too hot for my liking.
There was no way in hell I was letting him in.
He rocked back on his heels and knocked again. When I didn’t move, he grinned and leaned in close to the door. “I can hear you breathing.”
I winced, covering my mouth, which was stupid, because unless he’d become a superhero over the years, he was lying.
“I know you’re in there, Chelsea O’Kane. Open up.”
Announce my identity to the whole world, why don’t ya?
I hesitated, pressing my hand against the door. What were the chances of him giving up and going away? Slim to none. Jeremy would never give up on anything so long as the slightest shred of hope remained.
“I have your favorite Chinese food. General Tso’s chicken, rice, egg rolls, and red wine.” He waited, and when I didn’t unlock the door, he sighed. “If you don’t let me in, I’m going to have to assume it’s not you in there. And if it’s not you, it’s a trespasser, so I’ll have to call the police.”
I closed my eyes, counting to three. Such a damn idiot. The best way to get yourself shot was to inform a possible criminal that you were going to report him. How had he survived all these years without me around to beat some sense into him?
Oh. Right. With his pretty blond wife.
Mary Walker—no, Mary Holland.
“All
right.” He looked the door up and down before stepping back. I hoped he wasn’t about to kick it down. The damn thing wouldn’t stand a chance. “Suit yourself.” I saw him fish his phone out of his pocket.
Fricking Jeremy Holland. Pressing my forehead against the metal, I called out, “Call the cops and I’ll shoot you myself, asshole.”
He laughed, his finger hovering over the screen. “There’s the Chelsea I knew and loved.”
“You didn’t love me,” I replied coolly, resting my hand on the knob. “How’s Mary?”
He didn’t say anything to that. “Let me in.”
“No.” I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. My heart raced and my blood rushed. Knowing he was just inches away, on the other side of this door, made me feel more alive than I’d felt in…years. “Go home. Forget all about me.”
“Not happening. Why did you lie about who you were?”
“I didn’t,” I said quickly. “I’m not Chelsea O’Kane anymore.” I took a deep breath and focused on my story. It was imperative I convince him. “I was married, but he’s gone now. I kept his last name, though. Wanted to leave my ties to the O’Kanes in the past. You know the family motto, keep looking forward.”
“You got married? To who?” he asked, his voice hard.
“No one you knew.”
“Try me.” He jiggled the knob. I sucked in a breath. “Don’t make me break down the pretty pink door your aunt special-ordered all those years ago because it reminded you of a fairy palace. I just want to talk.”
I tightened my grip on the knob. “I’m talking to you now.”
“Doesn’t count.” He sighed. “Open up. Prove it’s you.”
Rolling my eyes, I turned the lock, because there was no way he was going to leave unless I told him to, and I’d promised Paul I’d contain Jeremy. Yanking it open, I glowered at him, breathing heavily because, God, he looked good. He’d changed into a flannel shirt, which was unbuttoned and hanging loosely over a tight gray T-shirt. And those jeans—God, those jeans—left nothing to the imagination. “Happy now?”
His gaze raked over me, and I swore he somehow closed the distance between us without moving, because I could feel it. When he finally met my eyes again, there was a heat that set me on fire. “No.”
“Too bad. Go home to your wife,” I said, stepping back, wrapping my arms around myself, holding on tightly. Being this close to him shook me off my axis. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be happy if she knew you were hanging around over here.”
He entered the house, shutting himself in with me. I could feel the power radiating off him, and damned if he didn’t smell exactly the same as he used to—like male, cologne, and fresh aftershave. I wanted to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in until his lips met mine like I’d fantasized about for years. Everything else faded away, but I didn’t move. That had been a onetime deal.
After sliding the lock home, he set the food and wine down on the table—the same one that held my gun. I quickly glanced at the slightly opened drawer but focused on the real threat.
Him.
He crossed the room and grabbed my chin, clearly ignoring the back the hell off vibes I was throwing his way. The second his fingers touched my skin, sparks of desire laced through my blood like heroin, as he stared at me like he had every intention of picking up where we left off all those years ago. “You’re blond.”
“Yeah,” I breathed. “So is your wife.”
His grip on me tightened. “You honestly think I would still marry Mary after you and I slept together the night before my wedding?”
Chapter 6
Jeremy held his breath, waiting for her reply. She stared at him with wide blue eyes—eyes he’d never truly forgotten, despite how much time had passed since he’d last seen them. He scanned her face, not missing the bruising on her pale throat and underneath her eye, no matter how much makeup she’d used.
Her blond hair was…out of character.
She was beautiful, of course. Nothing would ever change that. But Chelsea as a blonde was like seeing the White House painted purple. Her lips were as plump and tempting as he remembered, and the attraction between them was as strong as ever. He’d missed her more than he’d thought possible. It felt like it was just yesterday that they had gotten drunk, kissed for the first time, and ended up naked in bed together…the night before his wedding to another woman.
That had been the shittiest thing he’d ever done.
And somehow the best, too.
“You didn’t marry her?” she asked softly, swallowing hard. She winced, like it hurt to do so. It took all his control not to pull her into his arms, hug her close, and demand she let him help her with what she was going through. “I thought we both moved on.”
“How could I, after what we did?” he asked angrily. Even if it hadn’t been morally wrong, he’d realized the truth that night. It had always been Chelsea.
She gripped her arms tighter, letting out a little laugh. “You loved her. What happened that night was…” She faded off and he stiffened. If she said it was a mistake, he’d show her just how much of a mistake it wasn’t.
She sighed. “It was wonderful. But it was just a night. We both knew where your heart really belonged.”
Yeah, he had thought he’d known, too. Until he kissed Chelsea and saw just how very wrong he’d been. He ran his thumb over her jawline softly. “A man who truly loves a woman isn’t going to sleep with someone else the night before their wedding. My relationship with Mary was over the second you and I kissed.”
“Lots of things were,” she muttered, pulling free from his touch and backing up a few steps. “You shouldn’t be here, Jeremy.”
“Because your name change magically erased our connection?” he asked dryly.
“No.” She shook her head. “Because I don’t want you here. You’re part of my past—a past I have no inclination to revisit. I’m moving on. Starting fresh.”
“Funny, because right now, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be with, revisiting memories.” After years of searching, he’d be damned if he wanted to waste any more time playing games now that he’d finally found her again. He wasn’t that same stupid kid he’d been before—the one who had been too blind to see what he wanted until it was too late.
She shook her head, biting down on her lower lip. “Well, that sucks for you, because I’m not interested. You broke my heart before. I won’t let you do it again.”
“You broke mine, too,” he said softly—honestly—trying his best to act as unthreatening as possible. If he pushed too hard, she’d take off again. If you looked up flight risk in the dictionary, her picture would be next to the definition. “Why are you here? What are you running from?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
Too quickly.
“We both know that’s not true,” he said, stepping closer to her. She stiffened but stood her ground as he reached out and tugged on the lock of hair that always fell into her face. He missed her normal chestnut color. “What trouble did you get into after you left?”
“The kind that’s none of your business,” she spat back, yanking her hair out of his grasp. “It stopped being your business when you asked Mary to marry you.”
“I left her at the altar. For you.”
“Not for me,” Chelsea argued, shaking her head. “I was gone.”
“Yeah.” He stopped once their toes touched. “Guess I didn’t know just how gone you were.”
“Poor you. Go home, Jeremy.”
“I brought you some dinner. Something tells me you haven’t eaten all day, and even if you don’t want me here, you need to at least take the food.”
She shook her head, biting down on her lower lip. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” he asked, cocking a brow.
“Taking care of me. This isn’t just like old times. Take your food, and yourself, out of here. I’m not the same girl I was back then.”
He reached out and brushed her hai
r out of her face. “I’m not the same boy, either. This time around, I know what I want—and I plan on getting it.”
She sucked in a breath, her cheeks flushing. “Good for you. Should I clap?”
“Why are you so angry with me?”
“I’m not angry,” she shot back. “I’m busy.”
He cast a quick glance around the inn, which was in shambles and empty except for the two of them. “Clearly.”
She pointed to the door.
“All right, all right. I’m going.” Laughing, he turned around, opening the door and stepping outside, leaving the food on the table. The second he was on her porch, she started to swing the door shut, but his deep voice made her stop what she was doing. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Chelsea.”
“Don’t count on it,” she shot back, her voice clipped. “I’ll be too busy here.”
“Curious,” he said, his tone soft.
She scoffed at him. “Haven’t you heard what happened to the cat?”
He cocked a brow. “No.”
“Curiosity killed it.”
And with that, she slammed the door in his face, locking it immediately.
But underneath the anger in her voice, he heard it. The fear that caused the slight tremor in her words. Chelsea wasn’t the type to be frightened, so if she was scared of something, or someone? He was going to get to the bottom of this.
Even if it did kill him.
Which it very well might.
Chapter 7
The next day, I slept late in an attempt to ward off the hangover pounding inside my temples, but it didn’t get the memo and lingered like a bitch. Should’ve stuck with whiskey instead of moving to the wine Jeremy had brought over. Now I trudged up the cracked cement walkway that led to the front porch, juggling supplies from the hardware store. Pamela Mayberry ran the place now, since her father retired down to Boca Raton. Pamela peppered with me questions, trailing me around the store as I made my selections. It was only through the grace of God that I managed to carry on a polite conversation without snapping. You can take the girl out of a small town, but that small town will never forget her.
The McCullagh Inn in Maine Page 2
