The printer stopped whirring and Maya collected a sheaf of pages. She handed them over to him. “I didn’t get a chance to organize these, so just look at it as raw data. It’s everything I’ve managed to learn so far about S.G. and Edgar Murchison, the fugitive who raised her in Lost Souls. He’s in prison in Texas now on preexisting warrants.”
“Have you interviewed him?”
“He’s not talking. I have no leverage because the Texas authorities aren’t too worried about a girl who survived. They have a bunch of murders they’re pinning on him. He’s a very bad dude and S.G. is a lucky kid.”
Ethan wasn’t sure he’d call being raised in isolation by a murderer “lucky”—but at least she’d survived.
“Will I be able to interview her?”
“We’ll see. S.G.’s a funny girl. She either trusts you or she might pull her hunting knife on you. But we can talk about all that later. You go get yourself a hot shower and some rest. I’ll see you tonight. Where are you staying?”
He opened his mouth to remind her that she should be covering his expenses, but then realized, once again, that they’d never discussed terms. Awkward.
“Never mind. Here, take this voucher for the Sweet Harbor B&B. I bid for it at the last auction and haven’t got a chance to use it. Best breakfast in town. Well, you already know. You liked that scone, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he said cautiously. He wouldn’t mind more of those scones.
“Then you’re all set. See ya later. I want to know more about these ‘practical engagements’ you got going on. I like the sound of that. If I was ever going to tie the knot, it’d have to be something like that.”
Her phone was ringing and the next shift was arriving and she was practically shoving him out the door now. He felt as if he’d been caught in a whirlwind and before he knew it, he was outside the station facing his rental car, a red Jeep that had caught every pothole between here and Anchorage.
It was still not quite nine in the morning, but the blazing sunshine made it seem like high noon. He squinted and shaded his eyes, dazzled by the brilliant light bouncing off the cars in the parking lot. Everything—the blue spruce trees beyond the lot, the wild profusion of sunny buttercups at their feet--felt freshly washed and crystal clean.
He tried to catch up to what had just happened.
So wait … he was going to stay at the place that made the scones Jessica had brought? Did that mean she was going to be there too? How did he feel about that? He felt some kind of way, but he couldn’t pin it down.
His phone rang, making him start. A little knot of dread formed in his stomach. It was probably Charley, checking to see if he’d made it safely to Lost Harbor.
But it was his sister Olivia instead. He chose not to examine the sense of relief that came over him, and answered the call.
“Hey Liv, I can’t talk now, I just got out of jail and I have to check into my bed-and-breakfast.”
“Wait…what? Are you okay?”
“I’m grrrrreat.”
“You sound drunk.”
“Not drunk. Just excited to be a free man again.”
“Are you talking about your imprisonment or did you break up with Charley?”
He also chose not to examine the hopeful tone in her voice. “Of course not. I don’t break my commitments. Shame on you.”
He clicked his key fob and got into the Jeep. He did a quick check to make sure his stuff was still there—laptop, overnight bag. Nothing had been disturbed by Sergeant Santa. At least something had gone right.
“Ethan, be serious. Seems like ever since the…you know...the incident…”
“The near-drowning.”
“Yes.” He could practically hear the wince in her voice. Olivia was used to the medical crises that involved his leg, but nearly getting drowned was a very different story. She’d been phone-hovering ever since. “You’ve been acting strange since then. Not yourself.”
“That’s because I’m a new man.” He put the phone on speaker and started the car. He didn’t bother to route it through the sound system. “I told you what happened. I had a vision.”
“I know you said that, but is it really a reason to change every single thing about your life?”
“You’re so dramatic. Jesus. Look, Liv, dying made me rethink my life.”
“Stop saying that!” his sister exclaimed. “You weren’t really dead.”
“They told me I was dead for a whole minute. What do I know? I didn’t think I was dead either. I thought I was getting married. Then I woke up and saw Charley.”
He’d proposed to her with saline dripping into his veins and oxygen cannulas in his nose. He’d been a little shocked when she’d accepted.
“You weren’t yourself. That was the worst possible time to make such a drastic decision.”
“It’s done. There’s no going back. Besides, we’re very compatible.”
“Aside from her hating your job.”
“My old job.”
“Stop saying—maybe we should talk about all this another time.” Olivia obviously didn’t want to fight. He didn’t either. He and his sister were very close; or at least they had been until she’d left the James Agency to go fall in love with Jake Rockwell. He and Olivia had always stuck up for each other. But Olivia’s dislike of Charley might be a problem.
“I don’t need to talk about it. I’m getting married to Charley and you’re going to be my best man and there’s nothing else to say. I’m getting off the phone now. I don’t want to get arrested again. Once a day is enough for me.”
“You know I’m going to need the whole story soon, right? Are you starving? Did they at least feed you in jail?”
“Someone showed up with the most incredible cherry scones you’ve ever tasted. Like an angel from bakery heaven.”
“Someone?”
He recognized that hopeful tone of voice. “Someone who bakes,” he said severely. “Don’t go getting any ridiculous ideas. I don’t know what your problem is with Charley, and I don’t want to know.”
“Are you sure? Because—“
“I’m sure. This is happening, Liv. As soon as I get back to LA, we’re doing it. She’s planning the whole thing right now.”
“Of course she is,” muttered Olivia. “Okay, I’ll shut up now. I suppose I’m just annoyed because she made you give up the James Agency.”
“Don’t want to hear it!”
“The agency I started—“
“Olivia James Rockwell. Stop it.”
“The agency you love, the job you love—“
He ended the call with his thumb and tossed the phone in the backseat. Sure, it had hurt to announce that the James Agency was closing. He didn’t really look forward to shifting into tech work. But he was good at it, and it was a safer kind of profession. And it would make Charley happy.
He drove out of the police station lot, after a quick glance at the voucher Maya had given him. Sweet Harbor Bakery and B&B, located on Beach Drive, which he knew ran along gorgeous Seafarer’s Beach. It probably had a spectacular view, since every place in Lost Harbor did. But right now, he didn’t care if it looked out on the town dump. As long as it had a bed and a shower, he’d be a happy former jailbird.
A sarcastic Asian girl with blue-streaked hair checked him in at the counter of the Sweet Harbor Bakery. She rattled off instructions in between setting out fresh croissants and serving quad shots to a group of tourists. All the guest rooms were on the second floor. His room was the one facing the ocean. He could enjoy breakfast any time after seven in the morning, and oh, by the way, the water heater was broken. She handed over a key with a fob shaped like a cupcake.
“Wait. What was that last part? About the heater?”
“Water heater. It’s broken.”
“No hot showers?”
“You must be a detective or something. Correct.”
God damn it. Why was everything going wrong on this trip?
“Is someone working on it?
Is the problem going to be fixed any time soon?”
“The owner is working on it right now. But if it’s urgent—“
In his opinion, showering after a night in jail was an urgent need, but he didn’t want to make a scene. Especially because Sweet Harbor Bakery was like a gingerbread house come to life and it smelled like a sugar factory.
“It’s all right. I’ll wait.”
“You sure?” She leaned forward and took a whiff of the air near him. “Just saying. You smell like you had a fun night.”
“Oh yeah, it was quite the party. One for the history books. Or at least the police blotter.”
She laughed, with no idea that he wasn’t joking. “I hope I can still party when I’m your age.”
“My—“ Shaking his head, he let it drop. He was only twenty-nine, but people often thought he was older than that. He liked to think it was because he was a hard-boiled detective, but possibly it had something to do with his medical history too. He’d had to grow up early. He didn’t mind the mistake, but then again, he didn’t need a nineteen-year-old consigning him to an early grave either. “Hopefully I can find my room without my cane.”
The girl laughed. “If I hear a crash I’ll come running. Make sure to grab some firewood on your way up the stairs. The heater isn’t working and a cold front’s moving in.”
“I suppose the owner’s working on the heater too?”
“No, it’s summer, we’re not too worried about it. It’s in the shop and the repair dude promised he’ll get it to us by fall.”
“Thoughts and prayers.”
With another smirk, she pointed him toward a set of worn wooden stairs just past a display of fresh-baked bread. At the base of the stairs, opposite a side door, cut birch branches were stacked against the wall. He bent down to snag a bundle as he passed.
He found his room easily enough, since there were only four of them. Inside, he heaved a sigh of relief that it was clean and inviting, with a double casement window looking out toward the beach, and a four-poster bed with a quilt patterned with sandhill cranes. A vase of fresh sunflowers sat on the nightstand next to the bed. A small woodstove took up one corner of the room.
Dropping the firewood next to the stove, he abandoned his bags and flopped backwards onto the bed. Bliss. Apparently nothing felt quite as good as a comfy bed after a night behind bars. He should have gotten arrested years ago.
Laughing at that thought, he closed his eyes briefly.
At least he thought it was briefly, but when he opened them again, jerking awake at the sound of a shout, the light in the room had changed. It lay across the floor in strips of gold, making him wish he could skate across it into the glorious day outside.
A shout caught his attention, similar to the one that had woken him up. A woman yelled, “Need a hand up here! Anyone?”
Ethan waited for an answer, but no one came running up the staircase. He rolled out of bed and stretched his arms over his head, working out the kinks. He stuck his head out into the hallway. “Still need help?”
“Yes!” a woman hollered back. “Unless you want the whole place to float away into the ocean.”
Her voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He locked his door and stepped down the hallway toward the room at the end, which had an old-fashioned WC sign on the door.
The owner must be working on the water heater. With any luck, maybe he’d get a hot shower after all.
He put his hand on the knob and pulled the door open, just as another shout rang out from inside the bathroom. “Watch out!”
Too late. A jet of water hit him right in the chest.
Cold water. Very, extremely, icy-ass-cold water that probably got pumped in from a Lost Souls glacier.
He swiped the water out of his eyes, scowling at the incompetent plumber who’d gotten him drenched from head to toe.
It was Jessica with the scones. She too was soaking wet, but at least she’d dressed for the possibility in a white tank top and paint-smudged cutoffs. Through the chaos of water he noted that her arms were strong and defined, and her auburn hair was pulled back from her face in a tousled ponytail. She had a wrench in one hand and was wrestling with some pipes behind a vintage water heater. Her legs were tanned and shapely, and she wore work boots with bright pink socks.
And despite the circumstances, he found all of that pretty freaking sexy.
Damn, this trip …
Chapter Four
Jessica scrambled to her feet, not sure if she should help Ethan or fix the valve first. The poor man was staggering backwards into the hallway. The water had hit him dead on, like a bullseye to the chest, but it had so much force that it had drenched the rest of him too.
“Step back and close the door!” she shouted over the noise of water jetting from the pipe.
“Didn’t you shut the water off?”
“Just get back!” She reached out with her foot and slammed the door in his face. Of course he would assume that they were on city water, because what else would there be in a place like Los Angeles? But the Sweet Harbor had a well, and she couldn’t very well shut all the water off while she worked on the water heater. The bakery was still open.
So she’d closed the valve that allowed water to flow to the upstairs…except something had gone wrong. Someone must have reopened the valve without checking. It had happened before. The whole system was absurdly complicated, probably because the plumber who had installed it had gone on a bender halfway through the job. That was life in Alaska for you.
She scrabbled in her pocket for her phone, which fortunately had stayed safe from the gushing water. As she clicked on the downstairs number, she did her best to reattach the old galvanized pipe into its connection. This whole system needed to be replaced. She wouldn’t be surprised if it all collapsed in a heap of scrap metal one of these days.
“Nia! Did you switch over the valves?”
“I don’t know…maybe?”
“Ugh. Just flip that switch you’re never supposed to touch.”
“But I’m not supposed to touch it.”
“Now! Before I drown in the bathroom or the entire floor disintegrates.”
“Okay. What’s that noise? Sounds like rapids.”
“Nia!”
A second later, the water stopped abruptly. Jessica shoved her phone back in her pocket and grabbed the wrench. She reset the pipe into its socket and fit the head of the wrench around the joint. This was the part where she could have used a hand before, someone to keep the pipe from shifting. Hopefully she could get it this time, before she caught a cold from being sopping wet.
But she didn’t have to do it alone; a strong hand appeared on the pipe wrench that she’d tried to clamp above the joint. Ethan, soaked to the skin, gazed down at her. “Go ahead, wrench away.”
“Thanks,” she muttered, though she didn’t feel especially grateful. First he’d been snide to her at the station, now he’d made that little comment about shutting off the water. Clearly he thought she was some kind of dimwitted country bumpkin.
Quickly, she tested the plumber’s tape she’d already wrapped around the pipe with the male end. Still good. Then she set it into the female end of the other pipe. She wrenched the fitting on until it was tight, then tested it with a tug. Solid. The entire time she worked, she was aware of Ethan’s attention on her.
Probably looking for mistakes.
She was also highly aware of his physical presence. Her intuition, that part of her that sent out feelers to people and gathered information like a busy bee, told her he had a lot of inner strength and determination, that he liked to laugh but that he wasn’t in a very good mood at the moment. He had a lot on his mind, she sensed. He’d been through something serious. And now he was here, laughing at her.
Not that she could blame him.
As soon as she was done, she took a step back from the overwhelming closeness.
“I appreciate your assistance,” she t
old him, using a formal tone to create a distance. “Although I could have done it without you, and have many times in the past, it was certainly easier with an extra hand.”
“No thanks needed if it means I get a hot shower. The surprise cold shower was better than nothing, but I’m still holding out for a hot one.” He grinned at her, showing her a whole different version of the man she’d first seen in the holding cell. That smile could make a girl’s knees melt right out from under her.
Some other girl, not her. She believed in destiny, and she knew for certain that she wasn’t destined to meet her soulmate in a jail cell.
“You’re at the head of the line,” she promised. “It’s not quite ready yet, but I’ll knock on your door as soon as it is. I might have a tiny bit of cleanup to do first.”
Since the floor was covered in a good inch of water, that was an understatement.
“Need a hand with that?”
She stared at him, trying to make out if he was serious or not. Mopping a floor wasn’t something most people were eager to volunteer for. “You’re a paying guest. Absolutely not.”
“Technically, I’m not. Maya Badger gave me a voucher.”
“Did she? You must be a VIP. She’s been saving that forever. I keep hoping she’ll use it for a hot date. I don’t suppose…?” She eyed him speculatively, remembering how Maya had treated him with such respect. With Maya, respect would have to come first—on both sides.
“I’m engaged,” he said quickly. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Really?” Strange—she hadn’t picked up any hint of a romantic attachment in her intuitive survey. Well, she’d never claimed one hundred percent accuracy.
“That’s odd.”
“Really, is it so odd?” he asked dryly. “Even jailbirds can find love.”
“Of course. It’s not that…” She shook her head impatiently and waded through the water to the wastepaper basket, which fortunately got emptied every day. She took out the liner to use the basket as a scoop. “It’s nothing.”
“What then?”
“Nothing. Really. It’s nothing that you’d be interested in.”
Love at First Light (Lost Harbor, Alaska Book 6) Page 3