At least she still owned the land—no one could take that heritage from her. She’d owned the island since it passed to her after her parents’ death in the boating accident—the island having passed down through the Kent bloodline, eldest to eldest to her. Owning an island and leasing out the land to tenants seemed strange to many in modern society, but growing up on Talbot, it was all she’d known—her family’s island steeped in lore and legacy. A legacy she’d just lost an integral part of.
An expression that showed he understood the crushing blow of losing her family home creased Callen’s face. “I know.”
Volunteer firefighters were dousing the blaze with hoses, and the rain streaming down in a sheer blanket of cold pellets had to help.
What had happened?
Lightning seared the sky again, illuminating the smoke-smeared faces of the volunteer firefighters.
The silhouette. She’d seen a silhouette.
Had that just been a coincidence? Someone in the woods, someone watching her before her house exploded?
Thank goodness she’d left the house to check on it. If she hadn’t . . .
Her head swirled and her legs wobbled beneath her as she attempted to scramble to her feet. Where was her gun?
“Whoa, Teni.” Callen grasped her tighter. “I got you. You’re okay.”
“If I’d been inside . . .”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I know.” To her surprise, he pressed a kiss to her brow. “But you’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Did he really have her? Like he used to? Not possible.
“What happened?” Her head continued to swim as she scoured the debris-strewn ground for her weapon, finally spotting it a solid ten feet away, glistening in the fire truck’s floodlights.
“I don’t know yet,” Callen said, helping her to a fully upright position and bracing her in his steadying hold, “but I promise I’ll find out.” He directed her toward a red SUV’s lowered tailgate. “Paul’s going to check you out.”
Paul was the town paramedic, when he wasn’t on the mainland pursuing his nursing degree. Thankfully for her, he’d taken the semester off to work with his dad and earn some cash so he could return to school in the spring. While on the island, he volunteered with Talbot’s fire department, which was composed solely of volunteers, including Callen. Whenever he was on the island, Callen was on call. No wonder he’d arrived so quickly. Or at least it’d seemed quick. One minute everything was hot and black, and the next Callen was rousing her. But she actually had no idea how much time had elapsed between the two.
“Hey, Teni,” Paul said as Callen lowered her to sit on the open SUV tailgate. “I’m just going to make sure you’re okay.”
She nodded, Paul’s words muffled over the diminished ringing still assaulting her eardrums.
Paul bent, swiping a small light across her eyes, her burning home painfully visible over his broad shoulder.
Raindrops dripped off her eyelashes as she blinked, struggling to wrap her head around the fact that she’d just lost the home that had belonged to her family for generations. On the same day she’d lost her cousin. And her fiancé.
Callen anxiously paced while awaiting Paul’s assessment of Teni. She looked to be in shock, but amazingly seemed okay otherwise. She was strong, always had been. Memories of that day at Henry’s Point, him confessing to what she’d already learned through the gossip vine, her usually stiff-in-trauma lips quivering, tears spilling from her teal-green eyes, the same hue of the bay she loved so much.
Pain echoed through his heart, reverberating to his soul. That day had crushed something in them both—all because, instead of running to God, he’d tried to escape the overwhelming pain of his dad’s death in the worst of ways, and it had cost him the most important person in his life. Teni.
Clearing his throat, he looked to the team working in unison to douse the flames. For a volunteer team of islanders, they excelled at what they did. Now he just had to wait until the fire was out and the scene secure to begin his investigation. He had a head start, though. It was clear some sort of gas explosion had produced a catastrophic outward blast—evidenced by the debris field stretching out at least a hundred yards, based on what he’d passed as he rushed in to . . .
He swallowed hard.
He’d feared Teni had been in the house at the time of the explosion, feared she’d been killed, and the notion of Teni gone from this world had imploded his heart. He couldn’t breathe.
How he’d maintained his fierce pace to the scene . . . he didn’t know. It had to have been God moving his legs, keeping him going. The fear had felt paralyzing, but he’d made it to Teni’s side and, praise God, she was all right.
Gratitude to God flooded him, and he thanked the Lord she’d been out of the house. But that thought led to a question—one that had been nagging at him since finding her. What had Teni been doing outside in the storm so late at night?
So many questions rattled through his mind, so much turmoil. The chances that Julia would die in an accident on the same day Teni’s house suffered a gas explosion . . . The odds were nearly impossible. Was someone trying to kill off the Kents?
“Other than a good jar . . .” Paul said, pulling Callen from his thoughts as he stepped back to reveal Teni, “she’s just fine.”
The tension that had been wracking Callen’s body released, the adrenaline burn-off searing his limbs. Thank you, Lord.
Smoke mingled thick with the fog and dousing rain. Clearing his throat, he said, “Thanks, Paul,” in a cracked voice.
The kid nodded. Kid meaning he was almost a decade younger than he was—nearly the same age Callen had been when he’d trounced Teni’s heart.
He shut his eyes and then blinked. Tonight, God had provided him yet another chance to win back Teni’s love. He’d brought her through the fire.
Sinking down on the SUV’s open bed, he huddled up against her, an Army green survival blanket draped across her shoulders—no doubt donated by retired Master Sergeant DeBerry during the volunteer firefighters’ supply drive. “How you holding up?”
She looked at him, those beautiful teal-green eyes, the same green as Julia’s, the same strawberry blond, long wavy hair—the two had always been inseparable and looked more like twins. He stiffened.
“What’s wrong?” She coughed, and he rubbed her back in soothing, circular strokes.
“Nothing.” No need to worry her with a random thought, though a piercing thought all the same. What if Julia’s accident was no accident? What if someone smashed Julia’s head against that buoy thinking it was Teni? They looked nearly identical, and Teni always reached the buoy first. The one day she didn’t, Julia had died.
If foul play was involved, had Teni been the intended target all along . . . or was someone trying to take out the Kents? First Julia and now Teni?
“Let’s get you out of the rain and into some dry clothes.” He’d take her back to his place until the fire was out and any work on his part could begin.
She lifted in his hold to a standing position but swayed, so he maintained his steadying embrace—his hands wrapped around her slender, toned arms.
Lifting his chin at Paul, he said, “Tell the chief to send word when the fire’s out and the scene secure.”
Paul nodded. “Will do.”
Teni bobbed along beside him, her head clearly spinning. Enough of this. He lifted her up in his arms. The woman was still as light as a bird. “We’ve got to get some meat on those skinny bones of yours.”
“I’d argue I’m fine to walk . . . but . . .” Her head lolled.
“Shhh. Just rest. I’ve got you.” To his amazement, after a moment she did, resting her head against his shoulder and fully giving in to his embrace. She felt incredibly right in his arms—then again, she always had. How could he have been so foolish? Giving in to self-pity and temptation instead of protecting the woman he loved?
They reached the clearing in the forest, his house still dark. He’d jus
t gone to bed when he heard the explosion. He quickly yanked on the closest jeans and shirt and raced downstairs, where he’d pulled on his boots and grabbed his coat off the rack by the door. Within a fog of moments, he was racing through the woods that separated his home from Teni’s, fearing the entire time that Teni was dead and he’d never get to tell her how sorry he was and that he still loved her with a consuming love.
Reaching his porch with Teni thankfully alive in his arms, he jiggled his front door open and carried her to the couch, where he gently laid her down. “I’ll grab the lights.”
As he turned on the tableside lamps, the room and Teni became clearer. She was shivering, soaked, and in shock.
“Let’s get you dry.” After taking her boots off and setting them by the door, he pulled the soaked blanket off her shoulders and slipped the yellow raincoat from her slender frame. Underneath she wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and mud-covered yoga pants.
Snagging the thick throw his mom had woven for him off the back of the couch, he wrapped it around her shoulders. At least it would be a temporary fix. She shifted to a seated position, swaying as she did so.
“Easy now,” he said. He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing hers, trying to warm her, but she was still shivering. “Let me get you some towels and dry clothes.” He shifted to move.
She clasped his arm, her hand cold and trembling. “Not yet.” She looked up at him, her eyes still wide. “Sit with me for a moment?”
“Of course.” He moved back to her side. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Never again, if she’d forgive him. But how could she after what he’d done, and after so much time had passed? Even though the engagement was called off, she’d been about to marry another man. Clearly, she’d moved on.
She leaned into him as she had so many times before. And despite the horrific circumstances surging around them, he reveled in the feel of her back in his arms. Thank goodness, she’d left the house, which led him back to the question . . .
“What were you doing out in the storm?” he asked, unable to help himself.
“I thought I heard a noise.”
He tried not to chuckle. It was storming out—blustering winds, shocks of lightning, and rumbles of thunder moving in swiftly across the bay’s dark surface. “What kind of noise?”
“I don’t know, like a creaking. Like the cellar door was opening or a storm shutter was loose, and then I saw a silhouette of someone in the woods.”
He stiffened. “You saw someone? Do you know who?”
“I definitely saw someone. I’m not sure who, but . . .”
“But?”
“I had a run-in with Jared Connor earlier.”
six
EIGHT HOURS EARLIER
“Ms. Kent.”
Knowing that sneering pronunciation of Ms. anywhere, Teni stopped short. Jared Connor. Not again, and certainly not right after Alex had broken off their engagement.
She turned to find Jared coming out of Milly’s restaurant, where she’d been looking for Julia to tell her about the broken engagement—to cry on her cousin’s, and best friend’s, shoulder.
“I need a word with you,” Jared said, stalking toward her.
Jared’s father, Darren Connor, came out of the diner behind his son, wearing his brown shoreman overalls, his everyday attire—every day except Sunday, when he wore his white dress shirt and navy tie. Always the same, but always so sweet—his gray hair combed over and a navy handkerchief sticking slightly out of his shirt pocket, available for anyone in need. He was a kind older gentleman. His son Jared was anything but kind.
“Now, son,” Darren said. “Don’t go bothering Miss Kent.” He looked at Teni with soft blue eyes, wrinkles crinkling around the edges. “I apologize.”
“Stop apologizing to her, Dad,” Jared replied, his voice heated. “So what if she owns the entire island and leases us our land? She doesn’t own us.”
“It’s fine, Mr. Connor,” Teni said. Jared always had a mind of his own and an opinion to share—and always a strong one, at that. While Jared was more than a handful of years older than she was, they’d attended the same school for many years. Everyone from kindergarten through high school attended the one schoolhouse on Talbot Island.
While Darren was a hard-working shoreman—a man Teni greatly respected—Jared, though an excellent shoreman, liked to stir up trouble, especially with her.
Darren’s wife, Marybeth, stepped to her husband’s side—waiting, watching, as she always did. Marybeth clung to her grandmother’s ways, holding tight to the superstitions of the elders’ ancestors. The eldership was a practice the island’s inhabitants had done away with decades ago, but their descendants still clung to it. Marybeth and those like her were always warning other townsfolk about this or that, disliking the few remaining Pocomokes—the original natives to the island, Callen included.
Why Teni’s great, great—and so on through the generations—grandfather ever leased to superstitious or prejudiced landholders, or created the eldership in the first place, she’d never know, but among the handful still on the island, many held tight to their traditions—including Jared.
He stopped a mere foot from her. “You’ve got to stop the ferry service.”
Not this again.
“It disturbs the sea life, the wildlife, and pollutes our water, which supports many of our livelihoods. Not to mention, it brings throngs of tourists traipsing on our shores. They don’t respect the land or our ways.”
Throngs was an exaggeration. Yes, the island had tourists, but their impact in any negative way was minimal, and on the positive side, they brought lots of money to the island. “As I’ve explained numerous times, lots of the residents on Talbot rely on the tourists and the income they bring for their livelihood.”
“Because you’ve made them dependent on it. I mean, seriously, look at the pathetic shopkeepers giving away our local treasures to the mainlanders.”
“They aren’t giving them away. They are being paid for their beautiful crafts and local food items.”
“At least you got the local part right.”
“Jared, I appreciate your perspective and concerns, but the ferry system on the Chesapeake is one of the best. It only runs Memorial Day through Labor Day, and only two days of the week even then.” To be honest, she preferred the island when the ferry stopped running and Talbot became solely inhabited by the locals again, but many of the locals—especially the younger people—had stepped away from living off the bounty of the Chesapeake Bay, and they needed a way to support themselves. The tourist season—minimal as it was—provided that much-needed source of income.
Teni had made the decision to allow the ferry service only after a vote, and it was made for the sake of the townsfolk, not her personal preference. Her grandfather had taught her that owning an island and leasing out the land was a huge responsibility—one that required dedication, business sense, and respect.
“So that justifies selling out our island?” Jared asked, his foot tapping an anxious melody on the leaf-strewn ground.
“I’m not selling out anything.”
He took a step closer, getting in Teni’s face, as he often had when she was young. But she was no longer a little girl waiting for Callen Frost to swoop in and rescue her from a bully. She was a police officer, working for National Resources. Her livelihood was literally to protect and safeguard Maryland’s waterways. No one cared more about preserving the bay than she did.
“You need to rethink your position,” he said, his tone gruff, his glare harsh.
She folded her hands rather than fidget with them. “I’ve already given it careful consideration.”
“So you’re saying you won’t reconsider?” he asked, his tone growing more heated, urgent. The distance between them evaporated as his angry face grew ever closer to hers until she could feel his breath on her skin.
She held her ground, refusing his attempt to force her to step back, to cower as she had as a child. Jared was
a bully then and he was a bully now. She squared her shoulders. “That’s correct.”
“This. Isn’t. Over,” he snapped, his posture rigid.
“I’m afraid it is.”
“Or so you think.”
Her eyes narrowed. Was that a threat? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smiled, but there was only cruelty in it. “You’ll see.” He turned, striding into the woods before she could reply.
“I’m so sorry about him,” Darren said. “The boy’s just—”
“No need to apologize, Mr. Connor,” she said quickly, stopping his unnecessary apology. “Jared’s his own man and free to express his opinions.” But certainly not a veiled threat.
“Thanks, Miss Kent. You have a good day now.” Darren lifted the brim of his hat in a courteous gesture. Always the gentleman.
“Mr. Connor, how many times must I ask you to call me Teni?”
He smiled and turned back to the diner while Marybeth moved closer—lines spidering out from her tight, pale lips.
“Jared’s not wrong, you know,” she nearly hissed, so gritted were her teeth—her hatred for Teni no secret. “You’re threatening our way of life.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. We held the decision to a vote, and the majority voted in favor of the tourist business during the summer.”
“The vote wasn’t unanimous, and you allowed everyone to vote.”
Teni’s gaze narrowed. “So?”
“So, it should have been limited to the original settlers’ families. To the elders’ families.”
“All of the families on Talbot are descendants of the original settlers and locals. Or . . .” She linked her arms across her chest and cocked her head. They’d had this argument before. “Are you suggesting those of Pocomoke descent—those who were here first—shouldn’t get a vote?” Hard to believe anyone was that backward in their thinking, but sadly, she knew that was the case with Marybeth.
“That’s precisely what I’m saying.” Marybeth sneered.
The Cost of Betrayal Page 16