Temptation Bay (A Windfall Island Novel)

by Anna Sullivan

Dex took it out of her hands.

  “So, are you going to marry me?”

  She settled gingerly back against the side of the raft, both arms wrapped around her middle. “Tell me you have a phone, and I’m yours.”

  “Not only do I have a phone, it’s waterproof.”

  “I knew it,” she shouted, but had to settle for only imagining pumping her fist into the air. “You’re such a boy scout.”

  Dex left the phone in his wet back pocket. “We can’t call anyone to come get us.”

  “What? We’re at least ten miles from shore,” Maggie said. “And I’m not going to be much help rowing.”

  “Then I’ll row.”

  “We could call Hold and Jessi.”

  His eyes cut to hers. “If you call and tell them we’re alive, he’ll bolt.”

  “Who’ll bolt?”

  “Mort.”

  Maggie lowered her eyes, not ready to see the truth in Dex’s. Not Mort, she told herself and her breaking heart. How could a kid she loved like a brother try to murder her? “Even if we assume the Piper was sabotaged—”

  “Maggie. You checked that engine from one end to the other, you said so yourself.”

  “Even if we assume,” she repeated, “Mort isn’t the only person on the island who could have done it.”

  “He’s the only person who would know how to get it past you. Do you want to risk it?” he added when she remained silent.

  “You know Jessi has to be going crazy right now.”

  “And you know she’s not a good enough actor to hide her relief from Mort.”

  “Yeah.” If Mort was the one behind the malfunction of her Piper—and who was she kidding, Maggie thought as her eyes filled? Mort was the only one with both the knowledge and the opportunity to sabotage the plane. “For what it’s worth, he tried to stop me.”

  “He didn’t try very hard.” Dex dipped the oar in the water. His muscles, cold from the water and freezing wind, protested immediately. “Next time, bring along a raft with a motor.”

  “Next time?”

  Dex blew out a breath. “Just tell me which way.”

  “West,” she said, swallowing back her tears so she could read the compass from the raft’s survival pack. “Into the sunset.”

  The sunset was just a fond memory, and Dex’s arms were like rubber by the time they made it to the small sandy shingle of shore behind Maggie’s house—which had cost him an additional mile.

  Windfall Airport was lit up like Christmas, the landing lights on and every window in the office blazing.

  “You ought to work on that upper body strength a little more,” Maggie teased.

  “Just in case I have to row ten miles again?” Dex said, not buying her light tone for a second. Not with her teeth chattering.

  She was freezing, they both were, but Dex hoped the fact that she was still lucid meant she wasn’t heading into shock.

  “The runners used to do it several times a week, Dex. Twelve miles out, twelve miles back, without motors when the night was still and the Coast Guard was out.”

  “Been doing your research?”

  She jerked up a shoulder, hissed a little at the pain.

  Dex pulled her close, rubbed at her arms, her back. “Let’s go in the house and get you into some dry clothes.”

  “I’d rather just get it over with. Before anyone realizes we survived.”

  Since Dex agreed, they made their way across Maggie’s lawn, rimed with frost. It was deathly quiet inside the lobby of the Windfall Island Airport. For a minute Dex didn’t think anyone was there. Then Jessi appeared in the doorway, eyes swollen and red from crying. She sobbed once, and launched herself at Maggie, shoving her back against Dex.

  “You’re alive,” Jessi whispered, stepping back at Maggie’s pained gasp.

  “What happened?” Hold demanded.

  “She’s hurt, give her a minute.”

  “It’s okay, Jess,” Maggie said, then answered Hold’s question. “Busted fuel line, I think.”

  “Busted?”

  “With a little help, in my opinion,” Dex put in. “Maggie managed to ditch the plane in the water, prettiest bit of flying I’ll ever see, and I’m not just saying that because she saved both our asses.”

  “You kept me from drowning.”

  Jessi held up both hands. “Wait, you almost drowned?”

  Neither Dex nor Maggie were paying attention to her anymore.

  “Not happy to see me, Mort?” Maggie said, hurt clear in her eyes.

  Mort’s gaze, completely unapologetic, lifted and slid to the door.

  Dex shifted over to block him just as he saw George Boatwright appear out of the shadows at the far side of the office.

  George’s eyes, dark and shadowed in his pale face, went to Maggie. “Jessi called me when she thought you were…” He crossed the room in three strides, caught Maggie up into a hard hug that lifted her off her feet, and made her gasp in pain.

  George put her down, but kept his hands on her arms. “What the hell is going on, Maggie? Start with why you think Mort sabotaged your plane.”

  Dex came over, wrapped his arm around Maggie’s waist, and drew her over to sit. “Why don’t we let Mort explain that?”

  “Got nothing to say,” Mort muttered.

  Dex turned and punched him in the face.

  Mort staggered back, fell on his ass.

  “That’s for trying to kill Maggie. And me, even if you didn’t plan it that way.”

  Mort picked himself up off the floor, pulled his sleeve over his hand to dab at his bleeding lip. “Maggie was a paycheck. Killing you would have been a pleasure.”

  “Who hired you?” Dex said flatly.

  “Hold on a minute.” George stepped between them, his hands curling into fists. “You just admitted you tried to kill Maggie.”

  Mort cringed back, but George had more self-control than Dex. Only a little more. He caught Mort by the shirtfront, lifted him off the floor and launched him into a chair.

  “Not that I’m unimpressed with all this macho behavior,” Maggie said, “but can you leave him in one piece long enough to explain why he damaged my plane?”

  Mort’s gaze shot to her, but he only went sullen and silent.

  Maggie shot to her feet, shoving George and Dex aside to get right in Mort’s face. “You tried to kill me, after… Jesus, you’re like my brother.”

  “Brother.” He shoved to his feet, knocking Maggie back a step. “The only family I have is dying. Like you give a damn.”

  Maggie closed her eyes for a moment, her face a study in misery. “And this is how you show your mother you care?”

  “I can save her if I have enough money.”

  “So you traded her life for mine.”

  Mort sat, put his head in his hands.

  Dex almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “What I want to know is how you found out Maggie was the focus of my investigation.”

  “All I did was pay attention. Nobody ever notices me unless they need me.” He shot Dex a hate-filled glare. “When you moved out here, I got a phone call.”

  “From?”

  Mort leaned back, crossed his arms. “Not answering questions ’til I talk to a lawyer.”

  Dex scrubbed a hand back through his hair, pissed at himself for being so obvious, for being so lost in Maggie that he hadn’t stopped to think about what it might say to someone on the outside looking in.

  “Whatever you’re thinking,” Maggie said tightly, “stop it.”

  “I should have known after the rock slide.” His eyes cut to Mort. “That was you, too. And you went through my room before you were told to take Maggie out. Who gave the order?”

  Mort ignored Dex, and although Mort kept his eyes downcast, Dex could see that the kid seriously hated him.

  “I should have figured it,” he said again. Even though his interest in Maggie had been personal rather than investigatory, whoever was behind the murder attempts wouldn’t know that. When there was so much
money involved, even the rich went a little crazy. “Who paid you?”

  Mort looked up at George. “You can take me to jail now.”

  Dex stepped toward him, only to see Maggie’s eyes roll back, and when she fainted, he managed to scoop her up before she crumpled to the floor.

  Jessi rushed over, hands fluttering, but Dex was already heading for the door.

  George got there first, held it open. “I’ll deal with Mort, you take care of Maggie,” he said, though Dex could see he wished it were otherwise.

  At the moment Dex could have cared less about Mort, or George, or the Stanhope case. Especially the Stanhope case. He carried Maggie to her house, and into her bedroom, thankful his watery muscles didn’t give out halfway up the stairs.

  “You have a doctor on the island?” he asked Jessi, who was already pulling off Maggie’s boots.

  “No.”

  “What the hell do you do when somebody is sick?”

  “Maggie flies them to the mainland.”

  Dex huffed out a breath, set to helping her undress Maggie so they could get her warm.

  “We could go by boat,” Jessi offered.

  “The trip would do her more harm than good.”

  “But—”

  “I know enough first aid to tell she only fainted. Her breathing is good, her heart rate is steady.” He set a hand on her forehead. “She’s not feverish, just exhausted and in pain.”

  “Mother Appelman has a way with healing. But we’d have to take Maggie to her.”

  Dex shook his head. “Sleep’s the best thing for her. We’ll have to wrap her ribs, though.”

  He sent Jessi looking for a sheet that he cut into wide strips. Jessi helped him wind them around Maggie’s ribs, not easy now that he’d seen the livid bruises along her left side. For a minute all he could think of was getting his hands around Mort’s throat and squeezing until the image of those dark purple smudges on Maggie’s pale, perfect skin faded.

  “I’d like to kill him myself,” Jessi said, patting the hands Dex had fisted so tightly they ached. “Let’s take care of Maggie for now. Mort will still be there in the morning.”

  Maggie stood under the hot water, let it beat over her head for a couple of minutes before easing back to put her midsection directly under the spray. She stayed that way until her skin started to prune and the water began to cool.

  Twenty minutes later she was dried, dressed and trying to figure out a way to re-wrap her ribs when Dex staggered to the bathroom door and leaned against the jamb, blinking in the light.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Same reason you let me sleep last night.”

  He yawned, rasped his fingers through the growth over his jaw. “I could use a shower and some coffee.”

  Maggie held out the strips of sheet. “Help me with this, and you can have the first while I see to the second.”

  He took the cloth from her, but when she lifted her arms, he simply slipped under them and pulled her close, carefully.

  Surprised, touched, Maggie turned her face into his neck and held on for a minute. Just a minute. There were still loose ends to tie up. “Let’s finish this,” she said, giving herself a moment to let him pull her into a kiss that rejuvenated her more than anything else could have.

  Less than an hour later, Dex guided her Mustang into the village. Neither of them had had much of a stomach for food, but Dex had forced Maggie to choke down a piece of toast, and she was grateful for it now, when nerves had her stomach pitching.

  No matter how somber their purpose, though, neither of them had been prepared for what they found inside George’s little station house.

  “Mort hanged himself in his cell last night,” George said as soon as they walked in, even before they saw the blanket-draped form in the tiny cell.

  Maggie sank into the single chair, let her head drop into her hands as sorrow weighed heavy on the load of worry and regret she was already carrying.

  Dex rounded on George. “What the hell happened?”

  “Guilt, regret—my guess is he couldn’t face what he’d done, couldn’t stand the thought of everyone finding out he tried to harm Maggie.”

  “That didn’t occur to you last night?”

  “I took his belt and his shoelaces,” George rasped out, his jaw so tight it was a wonder he could talk at all. “He used the sheet from the cot, wrapped it around the bars and his neck and—”

  “Mort is dead,” Maggie cut in, too exhausted and sad to even raise her voice. But it got through. “Someone has to tell his mother.”

  Dex and George backed off from each other, and fists were relaxed.

  “I’ll handle it,” George said, “right after you tell me what’s going on.”

  Dex would have refused, but Maggie met his eyes, shook her head, and he relented. The story took an amazingly short time, considering how much her life had changed in the few short weeks since Dex had walked into it.

  “I always knew Alec sent me here on behalf of the family,” Dex finished, “but it looks like one of the Stanhopes doesn’t want a descendant found. They must have hired Mort to see to it. Now Mort is dead, and he took the name of the mastermind with him. Unless you got it out of him last night.”

  George sighed heavily. “He asked for a lawyer. Can’t question him after that. Which, being a former cop, you know.”

  “Yeah.” Still it took Dex a minute to swallow his disappointment before he said, “It could be any one of the Stanhopes. Even the one who hired me.”

  “They’ll all need to be investigated,” Maggie said wearily.

  “Digging into the family history?” George asked her with a little edge to his voice.

  Dex pulled out his cell. “Suppose we find out?” He kept his eyes on Maggie as he punched in the number, as it rang, as he told the voice on the other end why he’d called.

  Maggie saw the answer on his face and closed her eyes, relief blowing through her like a fresh breeze.

  “Not my family history,” she said, and sank down on the edge of George’s desk, taking Dex’s hand as he came over to stand in front of her. “I’m not a match. I’m sorry, Dex.”

  Dex swiped away the single tear that was tracking down her cheek. “I’m not.”

  “But your case—”

  “Isn’t solved. Yet.”

  “So you’ll be sticking around,” George observed coolly.

  “I was sticking around anyway,” Dex said, still holding Maggie’s eyes, “Case or no case.”

  “Well, at least your romance will keep people from wondering why you’re staying on Windfall.” George sat back, then forward again, his gaze going from Maggie to Dex. “I’m not happy you didn’t bring me in from the beginning, but you were right to keep this quiet. I’ll do the same,” he continued. “I don’t want to cause a frenzy. But I’ll be keeping my eye on both of you from now on.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It took George even less time to relate what had taken place since Dex’s arrival on Windfall Island than it had taken Dex to tell him. But then, George’s audience was infinitely more knowledgeable about the case—and able to show it as he hadn’t been.

  “How are you going to handle the mother?”

  George shifted in his chair, the quiet voice bringing him back to the conversation at hand. “She’s under hospice care on the mainland, not expected to last the week. It’s a blessing she doesn’t know.”

  “It may be a blessing for her, but it was cruel to use Mort, to play on his hopes.”

  George let silence provide his agreement. “I’m sure I can convince Maggie to keep Mort’s part in all this quiet. She won’t want his memory tarnished.”

  “Not going soft on me, are you?”

  “There’s already been one death here.”

  “There might be more. Can you handle it?”

  “I know what I signed up for, what it might mean to the community here.” He wouldn’t mourn Mort, not as long as he recalled that the kid had nearly
killed Maggie. George didn’t delude himself that it might not be so black and white if there was a next time. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “But you’re still in.”

  “Yeah, I’m in.” George scrubbed a hand over his face, but it did little to ease his conscience. “As far as Keegan knows, I’m keeping his business here a secret. What about your family?” he countered. “Keegan knows it has to be one of the Stanhopes. He’ll be trying to find out which one of you wants Eugenia to stay dead.”

  That was met with silence, the considering kind, and George knew the person on the other end of the line was not prone to rash and thoughtless actions. “Your Maggie is safe, in any case.”

  “She’s not my Maggie, not anymore.”

  “She’s a friend.”

  “A friend who’s no longer in danger.” But when he thought about what had nearly happened—

  “George?”

  He sighed. “Yeah.”

  “It was a risk to try to take her out before the results were in. A very large and ill-considered risk.”

  “Desperation,” George said, “is a hard taskmaster.”

  Maggie sat on the back porch, swaying gently on her creaky old porch swing, staring out at the Atlantic. It had nearly taken her life, and now the restless waves seemed to remind her to live every day to the fullest. She’d be hard pressed to do it with Dex around. When she’d wanted the fresh air, even though it came with thin sunlight and cold wind, he’d insisted on wrapping her in every blanket in the house. But she was happy where she was—unspeakably sad over the loss of her first plane, but already thinking of ways to move forward, already excited over what her future might bring.

  And trying really hard not to wonder if Dex would be a part of it.

  He’d been gone all day—where, she didn’t know—and she’d refused to ask him. It was a matter of pride. She wouldn’t be the type of woman who had to know her man’s every thought, every move. If he still wanted to be her man…

  She shook that off. Just because he hadn’t brought up the idea of marriage again didn’t mean anything. Besides, it wasn’t like he was leaving permanently any time soon. Not until he solved his case.

  None of them seemed to have much heart for it at the moment, not after Mort. She sighed heavily. There was a cloud without a silver lining. She should have felt angry, betrayed, but she was simply hurting, for his mother, for herself. Most of all for Mort, for a friend who’d only been looking for a way to save a mother who was his entire world.