Charity lifted a heavily drawn brow, making Ari smile as Luke guided her toward the cold drinks and wrapped sandwiches. At the refrigerated case, Luke leaned closer to whisper, “Why does she keep staring at me?”
“Because you’re new in town and she is the nosiest and most opinionated person on the entire island,” she replied under her breath. “She wants to know your name, occupation, closest relative in Barefoot Bay and, most importantly, who you spend nights with. Be prepared, that information will be filed, evaluated, and shared with the next six customers.”
His lips drawn into a tight line, he nodded. “Good to know.” At the counter, he set down the purchases and finally met Charity’s exacting gaze.
“Luke McBain.” He reached his hand out. “Brother of Gussie, and”—he glanced at Ari and grinned—“my overnight company is still TBD.” He leaned over the counter and winked. “Can I let you know tomorrow?”
Charity was not amused, but Ari’s stomach took a drop down an imaginary roller coaster.
“You forgot your occupation,” Charity said dryly, then pierced Ari with a look. “You whisper quite loudly, you know.”
“You’ll have to guess,” he said.
She curled a lip, looking him up and down. “Well, you’re not one of the high-flying billionaires, obviously. And not built like a baseball player, so you can’t be one of them. Military? Friend of that Navy SEAL trying to pound out the great American novel?”
“Not a billionaire, baseball player, or current military. I’m a builder.”
She adjusted her glasses, showing mild interest. “Whatever you’re building, it better be to code or you’ll have the town council to answer to. And by that, I mean me.”
“Trust me, if there’s a hoop, I’m jumping through it.”
“What are you building?” she demanded.
He stared at her, and Ari laughed softly. “She won’t ring us up until she knows, Luke.”
He angled his head in acknowledgment. “A house. In North Barefoot Bay.”
“On the old Valentine property?” The woman’s many wrinkles deepened as she frowned. “You’re not the builder.”
“New builder,” he corrected, nodding to show he was impressed by her skills. “The last one was fired.”
Charity’s jaw dropped with a soft gasp. “What? No one told me.”
“And that’s a felony, I bet,” Luke joked.
But she refused to laugh. Instead, she leaned forward, her silvery eyes tapering to slits as though the whole challenge of the game turned her on. “Man died up there. You know that, Mr. Smartass?”
“I’ve heard.” Luke slid a look to Ari as if to plead for help. She shrugged. There was no getting around Charity Grambling. If you wanted to buy something at the Shell Gas Station and Super Mini Mart Convenience Store, you had to go through interrogation by either Charity Grambling or her sister, Patience Vail, and neither one was charitable or patient.
“I met that man,” she said, sounding miffed that the previous builder hadn’t reported in to tell her he’d lost the job. “He had a nasty black tattoo on his shoulder.” She almost smiled. “I nailed him but good.”
“How so?” Luke asked.
She folded her arms. “His tattoo read, ‘Only God can judge me.’ And I pointed right at the words and said, ‘Yet, here I am.’” She laughed, but it dissolved into a smoker’s wheeze.
“Clever,” Luke said.
“Been a lot of action up there, I hear,” Charity said when her cough ended.
“Not enough,” he replied.
“Then maybe you don’t know your own job, honey. Because there was some other guy in here at the crack of dawn yesterday on his way up there to do work.”
“I think you’re confused.”
That got him a deadly look. “I might be old and ugly, Green Eyes, but I am not confused. Guy stood right here, bought a Red Bull and a Mimosa Gazette, and asked if I knew any way up to Barefoot Mountain other than the road that goes past the resort.”
“Is there?” Luke asked.
“Sure, if you’re crafty and lived here long enough.” Apparently satisfied, she tapped fiery-orange nails on the cash register, and then held out her hand, demanding money.
“To pay for the privilege of being cross-examined,” Luke joked as he handed her a twenty.
She snapped it out of his hand. “I prefer to think of it as small talk,” she said. “What military?”
“’Scuze me?”
“You said ‘not current military.’ So, what branch of the military were you in?”
He didn’t answer, but stared at her as if he resented the question. But Ari knew him well enough to know he just didn’t want to answer it.
“I think you’ve interrogated this poor man enough for one day,” she said, the need to protect him strong and sudden. “And you haven’t even asked me about Willow’s wedding. Don’t you want to hear who got sloppy drunk?”
“No one. I already had five people in here telling me it was all classy and upscale and la-di-dah. Also heard that the other bridal consultant”—she pointed a talon at Luke—“your sister, roped that big-time photographer into marrying her.” Charity crossed her arms, swimming in smug. “Guess who introduced those two right here in the Super Min?”
Ari snagged the sodas while Luke took the bag of food. “I’m sure they’ll want to get married here,” he said. “And you can officiate.”
For a moment, Charity almost smiled, but then caught herself. “I like the way you think, Green Eyes.”
Ari gave Luke a light push toward the door. “You never know, Charity. We plan all kinds of weddings.”
They were out of target range and in the parking lot a few seconds later.
“Is she for real?” he asked with a mix of humor and dismay.
“She’s a fact of life around here.”
Luke held the truck door for her and offered his hand to help her climb up, but Ari didn’t move. “Can I ask you a question, Luke?” She punctuated that by putting her hand in his.
“I feel like I’ve been asked enough.” But he closed his fingers around hers, and his eyes registered the same bolt of electricity that she felt every single time they touched. “Go ahead,” he said.
“Why are you so hesitant to tell people you’ve been in the French Foreign Legion? I mean, really, I understand you think it’s not super all-American and people don’t really understand what it is, but it feels like it’s more than that.”
He puffed out a breath that billowed his cheeks and darkened his eyes. “I don’t like to talk about it to anyone.”
She smiled. “I think we’ve been over this. I’m not anyone.”
“I know.” He looked long into her eyes, taking a slow breath and squeezing her hand. “You’re right.”
“I’m right that I’m not anyone, or I’m right that it’s more than that?”
“Both.”
* * *
The fence had been installed around the property, an ugly yellow plastic thing that ran around the perimeter and emphasized how sizable the land Cutter Valentine had inherited really was.
“Maybe he doesn’t need all this space,” Ari mused as the truck rolled up the dirt drive. “He could have a small house and put a little museum up there on the hill, like they did at Mound House.”
Luke didn’t answer, frowning straight ahead. Which wasn’t too hard to understand, considering she was cavalierly making building and design plans where she had no business making them.
“I’m sorry. I’ve done nothing but make your life more difficult and miserable since you got here,” she said softly.
But he stayed frowning, and staring, silent.
“Luke?” she asked after a beat.
“Those are weird tire marks, aren’t they?”
Pulled from her admission, she followed his gaze to the wide tracks in the dirt. “Probably the trucks from when they put the fence up.”
He shook his head. “No one should have been here.”
> “Except the guy Charity mentioned.”
“I figured she had her days mixed up.”
“She’s definitely over the top, but she doesn’t mix things up.”
He grabbed the handle and threw the door open, but stilled before getting out. “And you’re wrong, Arielle.”
“No, I’ve known Charity since I moved—”
“I mean about making my life miserable and difficult since we met.”
She sucked in a breath, not expecting the honesty in his voice or his eyes. “I…well, I’m glad of that. But I still feel like I’ve been nothing but one big, fat roadblock for you.”
“You’re not a big, fat anything. You just…get me.” He shook his head and slipped out to the ground, closing the door and leaving her to sit and wonder if he meant she “got” him or “got to” him or…what.
This time, he didn’t round the truck to open her door. Instead, he strode toward the house with purpose, leaving Ari to sit and watch, with a slow sense of dread crawling up her back.
She took a second to let it settle, cold on her heart, then pushed the door open, picnic lunch forgotten as she followed him.
“Someone’s been here,” he said, still a few feet from the front porch.
“I know.” She glanced around, looking for clues, seeing nothing, but feeling something. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
“The porch boards are lifted. Holy shit, they’re gone.” He gestured toward the window. “And what was left of the glass is gone. There used to be a big shard sticking up from that picture window.”
“Would your demo crew have started early?”
“I met with them yesterday and put them on hold. Stay here.” He held one hand up, and the other one almost automatically reached for his waist, then he seemed to remember he wasn’t armed.
Squaring his already square shoulders, he walked over the dirt foundation revealed by the missing porch boards, and his whole body stiffened in reaction. “What the hell?”
“What is it?” she asked, coming closer to the porch to see if she could peer around him.
“What the…” His voice faded, but not the sentiment, as he stepped inside the house. “Do not come in here until I check the place, Ari!” he called, halting her progress.
Torn between curiosity and fear, she stayed rooted, trying to squint into the shadows of the house. It did look different in there. It looked…bare.
He came back to the doorway, filling up the space, his expression pure shock. “Everything is gone.”
“What?” She came closer. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, everything is gone. Every wall, every door, every window, every cabinet. Every inch of this place has been torn out, down to the studs and foundation.”
The foreboding pressed on her chest, a word taking shape. Greed. Exactly the vibe she’d gotten when she’d read that note about the pearls. But this had the added sense of desperation. Maybe even panic. That’s what she felt, the word in her heart, as Grandma used to call it when the universe whispered a message. It made no sense. Nothing in the house was worth a dime except…except…
Except possible ancient treasures that few people valued in the world. “Everything?” she said, her voice a croak.
In other words, if there had been anything else in this house to find, someone had taken it.
Chapter Seventeen
Nothing made sense. Nothing. Not the way this was done, not the timing, not the work, not the…neatness of it all. Luke turned to take in the destruction, which looked like it had been done by a surgeon, not a demolition team. At least not any team he’d ever worked with.
Behind him, he heard Arielle’s footstep and soft gasp of disbelief as she gingerly entered the main room.
“Oh, Luke,” she sighed. “Who did this?”
“I don’t know.” But whoever it was, they were thorough.
The walls—the old-fashioned plaster walls—had been sledgehammered out, exposing the studs of the building. Cabinets had been torn off their studs, the ceiling pounded out to expose the rafters, and every single floorboard ripped up, leaving a concrete foundation and some studs.
Luke blinked as the realization hit him. This wasn’t demolition—this was done by someone looking for something.
“Where did they put everything that was here?” Arielle asked.
“Good question. There’s no dumpster outside and nothing in the back. But all the trash and furniture are gone.” Luke had his phone out, clicking through contacts for the demo subcontractor on the off chance they had subbed out to someone who didn’t get the word to hold off.
It was the only explanation, he thought as he tapped the number and watched Arielle slowly walk around the foundation flooring, carefully avoiding the treacherous nails in strips of wood that had secured the floorboards.
Why the hell would they take up the floor?
The demo subcontractor was on the line in under a minute, and after Luke talked to him, it was clear he was just as perplexed. He’d done nothing to the house. Frustrated and not sure who to call next, Luke went to the back bedroom, where he found Arielle in the doorway of a closet.
“Every single wall’s been taken out,” she said, turning to him.
“It wasn’t my demo guy.”
She threw him a look. “I never thought it was, Luke. You made a promise, and I believed you.”
“Except I promised that this wouldn’t happen.” And he hated that. Inching by her, he stepped into the long, narrow closet that ran the length of the room, marveling at the work that had to have been done by some kind of professional. “This isn’t a demolition.”
“Obviously, they wanted what I want, and if it was here, they got it.”
He turned to her, frowning. “Arielle, I respect that you think there are things around this property that have some value.”
“Things? You heard the archaeologist. Artifacts, tools, weapons, utensils, some dating back a thousand years or more.”
He shook his head. “This isn’t the way to go about looking for them, even if they had street value.”
“I know you think they don’t have value, and honestly, they wouldn’t get much on the black market, I’m certain, but to some people, those artifacts are priceless.”
But to whoever had done this? Not likely. He put his hands on her shoulders, sensing how close she was to tears, feeling her tremble under his fingers. “Those kind of people don’t steal and empty out a house in the middle of the night. Someone went to an enormous amount of trouble. And who would know they were here except that archaeologist? Surely he didn’t come over here with a sledgehammer.”
“You’re right.” She glanced around. “But I’m right about the value because whoever did this was driven by greed so profound I can practically taste it.”
He inched back, searching her face. “What do you mean?”
Her shoulders sank a little, her posture narrow and defeated, as though she knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say.
“I can feel it,” she admitted, her tone suggesting she knew exactly how ridiculous that sounded. Except he was starting to get used to it, and damn it, something was wrong here. He was just desperate enough to take those feelings seriously.
“What do you feel, Arielle?”
“There’s an aura in this place of someone desperate for…money.” She averted her eyes from his intense gaze. “I’m sorry. I can’t deny what I’m feeling.”
“Don’t apologize. But those things you found in the crate aren’t worth enough to make someone greedy. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes sense to me.”
“Because you love and appreciate the historical significance they have. But if you’re feeling greed, then there’s real money involved.”
She fought a smile, the last thing he expected in this situation. “So you’re saying you believe me and my feels, Luke McBain?”
“I want to know who did this. And why.”
In the distance, he he
ard a car engine, a roar of something that wasn’t a truck like the one that had left the tracks. The sound grew closer, and whatever it was screeched to a screaming halt outside. Without thinking about it, years of training kicked in.
“Stay here until I know who that is,” he ordered.
A bit of fear darkened her eyes. “Why? Should I be scared?”
“Just careful.” He put his hand to his waist, then swore softly.
“You’re not armed,” she reminded him. “Do you feel like you should be?”
“I always do,” he admitted as a car door slammed. “Wait here.”
With a quick kiss on her forehead, he left the bedroom, every sense on alert. A footstep on what was left of the porch, a man clearing his throat, a scuff of a boot against the concrete foundation.
Luke stepped out of the hallway and came face-to-face with the last person he wanted to see right then.
“Hello, Cutter.”
* * *
Cutter Valentine? The owner of the property? Ari stepped closer to the hall, her mind whirring. Maybe he knew why this had been done. Maybe he’d ordered this without telling Luke. Maybe he knew there was something valuable here—and Native American artifacts were valuable, despite what Luke said—and that’s why he’d had this thorough demolition completed.
It all made perfect sense. And if he’d found anything, surely he was the kind of man who would donate it to a place where many more people could enjoy it.
It was time to find out who the real enemy was—because it wasn’t Luke. But if it was Cutter, she needed to get him on her side. And that wasn’t going to be done by stomping her feet and insisting he not build. She didn’t know why she knew that, but she trusted her instinct.
“You’ve made fantastic progress in here, Luke!” a booming voice echoed through the now empty house. “Great to see you.”
Ari came around the corner, observing the men shaking hands and doing a bit of an awkward bro hug. Cutter was about a half inch taller than Luke, built like a long, lean ballplayer, and not nearly as muscular as Luke. His chestnut hair was tipped with gold, his face angular and much more classically handsome than Luke’s. Even from here, his smile blinded.
Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3) Page 16