by Desiree Holt
The cottage had been a godsend, sitting pretty much vacant since she’d inherited it a year ago. She’d been too busy then with her life and her hot boyfriend. But when she fled Boston, terrified, needing isolation, needing to be somewhere away from everything and everyone, it called to her like a magnet. And, luckily, this job she had fallen into was one where she could set her own hours.
The stranger on the beach below hadn’t moved from the spot on the sand. She’d seen him stop his run to look out to sea at the lobster boat as it went by. This was the first time this week she’d made the stop here, and there it was, just like the other days. Did he think it strange, like she did, that its time was so out of sync with the other lobstermen? Usually they were out on the water by six in the morning, hauling traps. This was right in the middle of lobstering season, the crustaceans being most plentiful from late April to late December.
Or was he somehow connected to Patrick Shore’s illegal business? Patrick. The. biggest mistake of her life. Oh no! Please, no! Chills raced over her skin as she wondered if he had an ulterior motive for being here.
Stop it!
She was letting her imagination run wild. Bad luck wouldn’t drop into her life twice. Would it? She was safe here. She’d made sure no one knew where she had gone. Told no one about the cottage. No one could track her.
She needed to stop thinking that way. She’d run from Boston, cursing her stupidity the entire trip. For weeks she’d ignored what her roommate and best friend had said about Patrick, as well as the warnings she’d heard from others who’d seen her with him. She was just thrilled to death that a man as rich and good looking and powerful as he was seemed to make her the focus of his world.
Then, because she was unconsciously looking for them, little things began to bother her. The nights they spent at his condo when he left her at three a.m. for a meeting.
“Restaurant. Business,” he always said.
Okay, so he owned several successful eateries. But did they really hold business meetings after the place closed and. Not in the daylight? Then there were the phone calls, coming in on a separate cell phone.
“I keep this for calls from my partners,” he told her, “so they don’t get jammed up if I’m on another call.”
She hadn’t even thought it strange the nights she’d met him for dinner at one of his places and he’d met with his partners after closing. It was the restaurant. Business, after all. Right?
As a result, she ended up turning her life upside down.
She had a short flashback to the moment she’d overheard a conversation she wasn’t meant to. It was after hours at one of the places Patrick and his partners owned. She’d met him there and was waiting to follow him to his condo. Not having to work the next day, the late hour wasn’t a problem. She had just come out of the ladies’ room when she heard them arguing, their voices w raised in a discussion including the words “drug distribution,” “larger supply,” “next delivery,” and “expand our market.”
Then someone asked Patrick something she couldn’t quite decipher, but she heard the answer as clear as if he’d been standing beside her.
“If he gives us a problem, just kill the fucker and dump him in the bay. People are used to seeing the boat go out a long distance, even at night. It would be his own fault. He shouldn’t have tried to hold us up for more money. We have to protect the shipments. All of them.”
What got to her was the almost casual tone of voice he used and shock froze her to the spot.
Yeah, she definitely should have listened when her friends warned her about Patrick, about some of the people he hung out with and the rumors they’d heard. But, idiot that she was, she’d been so mesmerized by him and so besotted she’d blown it all off. What she overheard that night had brought it all back, and she had run from the club, grateful she had her own car tonight. The sound of the back door closing behind her sounded like a cannon and, as she pulled out of the lot, she saw it open again and a man stick his head out.
Just to cover herself, she texted Patrick.
Sorry to run. You were busy. Got a call from a patient in extreme pain. Talk tomorrow.
Frightened to death, she hadn’t slept a wink that night. The next morning. she told Maxine she had to leave and swore her to secrecy.
“It’s that fucker, Patrick, right?” Max spat out. She had never liked him. “What did that arrogant asshole do? If he hit you—”
“No!” Cassie took a breath. “No, he didn’t. Please don’t ask me any questions. I’m telling my boss I was called away on a family emergency. You can tell anyone else who asks the same thing. And, Max? You’d better look for another roommate.”
Because she might never be coming back.
“What are you going to do?” Maxine asked.
“I actually have a place off the radar, but I’m not going to tell you where it is. Trust me. It’s better if you don’t know.”
Coming up with an excuse was tough because both her parents were dead and she had no siblings. Finally, she made up a cousin. Let them chase that one. At work, she told her supervisor she had a family emergency and had to leave at once. She was sorry and did not know when she’d be back. When Patrick called, she told him the same thing, using the long-lost cousin.
“Are you alright, Cassie? How is your emergency patient doing? I didn’t even know you had a cousin. You never talk about your family.”
“Much better,” she told him. “Her doctor is actually thinking she needs another surgery, so she called me.”
“And where is this emergency of yours?” he demanded.
“California.” As far from Maine as possible. “She came through for me when my parents were killed. so I feel an obligation. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
“Maybe I can come and visit you. I might have a business trip out there. Text me the info.”
“I will as soon as I get there.” Not.
Maxine helped her sneak her things out of the apartment, in case Patrick or one of his friends came calling. She assured Max she’d be fine, that she’d call when she got where she was going. Leaving before dawn the next day, she shook with fear that Patrick might somehow have found her and be following her. She took as many detours as she could before finally hitting I-75 and heading north.
Cassie had called Maxine once on her cell phone when she got to Maine, as promised, just to let her know she’d arrived where she was going and was safe. Then she’d destroyed the device and activated one of the burner phones she’d bought at an electronics store when she stopped in Portland.
Patrick didn’t know about Maine or the cottage. She hadn’t been there in more than a year, since Aunt Jennie passed away and left the place to her. She’d been too wrapped up in her job, her life, and for the past few months, Patrick. She’d stopped on the way north and bought a new cell with a new number. It meant no one from Boston could call her, but that was okay. She didn’t want anyone else dragged into this or leading Patrick to her. She had to disappear.
But all of that was behind her now. She hoped. This was the next chapter in her life, as long as Patrick didn’t find her. Once a week, she drove to Bar Harbor to cash her paycheck. No bank accounts or credit cards for her. If people thought it strange she paid for everything in cash, well, a lot of people remembered her as Jennie’s niece, even though she hadn’t been there in a while, so no one said anything.
She wasn’t going to screw it up by seeing demons where there weren’t any.
She never should have started digging around on the Internet, looking for any mention of Patrick beyond what she knew, but her curiosity got the better of her. It was like a bug scratching at her.
But she knew enough to be careful. People had ways of tracking you when you did stuff like this, especially if they were on the alert for it. She’d bought a brand new laptop in Bar Harbor and set everything up under a different name, thankful for all those thrillers she’d read based around just this, her curiosity Why hadn’t she done this w
hen her roommate and others told her there was something strange about him?
Did the DEA know about him? Was he being watched? Investigated? She searched for stories on drugs in the area, stunned to discover that many shipments arrived on private boats, the exchange with suppliers taking place way out on the water. Patrick had a boat. Had he used it for that?
Maybe that’s why the old lobster boat piqued her curiosity. Or maybe her imagination was just running wild. She’d spotted it first when she happened to be at the marina for something one day. It was so out of sync with the others that she made a habit of checking it on a regular basis. She’d stopped at the overlook one day to just air out her brain, and saw it again, chugging away at least two hours later than everyone else.
After that, coming to the overlook became a habit, although her overactive imagination was probably making something out of nothing. So the old man kept different hours, leaving later and sometimes coming home after dark. So what? No way was Patrick connected to the dilapidated lobster boat, or the old man running it. His hours probably had more to do with his age than anything else. And the likelihood of Patrick even being here at any time was a product of her overactive imagination, which seemed to be just running away from her.
Then why was she feeding her curiosity about an older lobsterman who had irregular hours? Not everyone who did that was a criminal. Just forget it, she told herself in a stern inner voice. Hadn’t she had enough stress in her life?
But, just in case, I’d better put a lid on any interest. I have enough troubles.
The smart thing to do, since she had a little extra free time, was to head for Margie’s Rolling in Dough, get a double latte and two of those chocolate croissants dusted with powdered sugar, and drown her thoughts in calories. And maybe get a hug from Margie while she was at it. Her new, wonderful friend gave better hugs than any friend she’d ever had.
Determined to keep as narrow a social circle as possible, the bakery owner was one of the few people Cassie had connected with when she moved to Castile. With almost nothing in common, they had still become very close friends.
With a sigh she put the car in gear and pulled out onto the two-lane highway. As usual, she scrutinized traffic there and on the streets as she pulled into the town proper. She was pretty sure Patrick had not found her, although she was certain it wasn’t from lack of trying. She wondered if she’d ever be able to stop looking over her shoulder.
At midmorning, there was little traffic as she headed into the village of Castile. Not, she mused, that there ever was much traffic on that road. By this time, though, everyone who worked was at their jobs, the kids were in school, and the few tourists hardy enough the brave the weather were bundled up inside in front of a fireplace.
Still, it was relatively busy in the village so she considered herself lucky to find a parking spot three doors down from Rolling in Dough. The moment she opened the door, she was embraced by the seductive aromas of cinnamon and allspice and powdered sugar. Her mouth was already watering as she walked over to the display cases, waiting in line behind three other people. The man in front of her looked a little familiar, although she didn’t know why, but before she could figure it out, Margie emerged from the back, carrying a large tray of fresh muffins for the display case. Her mouth was curved in its usual grin, and one of her many colorful barrettes held her hair back on one side.
She’d never told Margie the real reason she left Boston. She couldn’t. First, it would show how stupid she’d been to fall for someone like Patrick, and second, if he ever found her, she could put Margie in danger, too, along with Bruce, her significant other. She’d never do that. Besides, as far as Cassie was concerned, she was safely away from it—she hoped—and telling someone served no purpose.
“Hey, Cassie!” Margie set the tray down on the counter behind the display case. “Satisfying your sweet tooth?”
“You bet. I have short hours today, so I thought I’d indulge myself before heading to the clinic.”
Margie leaned over the top of the display case. “I saved one of the giant chocolate muffins back just in case.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Dusted with powdered sugar and sprinkles.’”
“Oh my god,” Cassie moaned. “Bring it on. Margie, you are the best.” Then she curved her lips in a conspiratorial smile. “I don’t suppose you have any of those croissants left, do you?”
Margie laughed. “For you? Of course. Go grab that little table in the corner and I’ll bring it out with an extra-large latte.”
“Getting it. You are a goddess.”
The line had moved along, and now the man in front of her finished paying for his order. He lifted his box of pastries with his left hand, and Cassie idly noticed he held his arm at a weird angle. She turned to move to her table, accidentally nudging his arm and sending the box of goodies tumbling to the floor.
“Damn it!” he swore.
“Oh! I am so sorry. Here, let me help you.
But they both bent down at the same time, causing them to knock heads. But when she tried to straighten up, she bumped his arm again, and again he dropped the box. And, this time, the lid crumpled and coffee sloshed over the rim. He grabbed for it but missed, and the mess tumbled to the floor again.
Damn it all to hell. Nice way to call attention to herself.
“Son of a bitch.” He shook his head as he tried to scoop up the box once more. “Sorry about the language. And just so you know, I’m not usually this clumsy.”
“No, no. I wasn’t paying attention so this is totally my fault.” She stood up and made sure he had his coffee and his pastry, noticing again that he held his left arm in a strange position, as if it was injured in some way.
“I better get out of the way before I embarrass myself again.” His mouth curved in a hint of a smile, and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen mesmerized her. But was that a hint of tragedy she saw swirling in them?
What on earth?
“Since this really was my fault, how about letting me buy you a fresh cup of coffee.” She put a hand on his other arm. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
God. What was she doing? She was supposed to be keeping a very low profile, even though she didn’t think Patrick and his friends could find her here.
“That’s not necessary,” he protested.
“Margie, add another of whatever this gentleman was drinking and bring it to my table, okay? And some fresh croissants.” She looked at him. “My treat. I insist.”
“But—”
“Better not argue with her,” Margie joked. “She can get downright nasty.”
He gave her that half smile again. “Then, thanks. The coffee would be great.”
Chapter 2
Sam sat in one of the chairs at the table, unzipped his jacket, and held out his hand.
“Sam Alvarez.”
“Cassie Malone.” When she shook his hand, he probably held on a little longer than he should, but her skin was so soft and felt so good, he hated to break the contact. When she jerked her hand away, he let go with great reluctance then realized he’d probably offended her.
“Sorry. My courtesy skills are a little rusty.” An understatement if there ever was one.
“Oh, um, no problem.”
Her hair that was more golden than blonde hung loose, framing her face and emphasizing her blue eyes curtained with very dark lashes, cheeks pink from the cold, and one dimple that flashed at the right corner of her mouth when she smiled. He couldn’t help staring at her. If he’d been at the top of his form, he’d—what? Try to get in her pants? Crude, Sam. Ask her to dinner? He’d isolated himself so much, he wondered if he even knew how to behave with people anymore, especially with a woman.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you have a weird look on your face. Again, I’m sorry about your coffee and croissants.”
He gave himself a mental shake. Get it together, Alvarez.
“No, I’m fine. I—"
At that moment Margie arrived, thank the lord, with a large tray holding two coffee mugs, a plate of the croissants she’d been salivating for, and two boxes, one tied with a blue ribbon, the other with a pink one. She grabbed the original one sitting next to Sam and exchanged it for the one with blue ribbon.
“What—”
“I’m not sure what condition your goodies are in.” She smiled at him. “I know you’re new in town, so just consider it a welcome gift.” When he started to protest again, she just shook her head. “Nope. My treat. Cassie, here’s your muffin. For later. Enjoy.”
He looked across the table at Cassie. “Is she always like that?”
Cassie laughed. “Yes. She’s a force of nature. I don’t think anyone ever says no to her.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Have you known her long?”
She shrugged. “Just since I moved here, but she’s turned out to be a great friend. I think everyone in town loves Margie.”
“So, you’re…what, a new resident?” Why did his polite conversation sound so dumb? Obviously, his social skills were beyond rusty.
She took a sip of coffee. “I used to visit my aunt here, when I was younger. Not so much the past few years. I was shocked when she left her cottage to me. But I needed a change, and this was perfect. I guess I’m back to stay. At least for now.”
“Well, that’s good. I guess.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Is it?”
She shrugged. “I guess time will tell. I never spent more than a month here at any one time, and that was always in the warm season, with lots of summer residents and tourists around.”
