Christmas Spirit

by Rebecca York

  He’d tried to stay away from her, but now, when he lowered his mouth to hers, the familiar heat flared between them.

  She didn’t resist him. As soon as their lips touched, she was kissing him back with all the passion he remembered.

  “Thank God,” he murmured against her mouth. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

  “I was,” she answered, still kissing him.

  He sipped from her, nibbled at her, pushed them both to a level of arousal that he knew was a mistake. There was nothing they could do about it now. He couldn’t carry her away from the stove and into his bedroom. Or—

  He laughed softly.

  “What?” she murmured.

  He lifted his mouth from hers and said, “I was picturing myself dragging you into the pantry and making love to you against the shelves.”

  “Oh!”

  “But when I make love to you for the first time, it’s going to be in a nice comfortable bed,” he added, then pressed his mouth more firmly to hers again, stroking his hands over her back and shoulders, then lower so that he could pull her hips against him.

  He was so far gone that his brain had stopped functioning. He wanted her and he couldn’t get the bed image out of his mind. What if he really did take her back to his room and do what they both wanted so much?

  Then he heard the doorbell ring. Moments later, footsteps sounded in the hall.

  Chelsea sprang away from him, smoothing her hair, then turning on the burner again with a jerky motion and starting to stir with such vigor that spicy sauce slopped out onto the stove.

  Twenty seconds later, the door opened, and Sophie bustled in with a large, flat box in her hand.

  “Cookies for the party,” she said, then saw that Chelsea wasn’t alone.

  “Why, Michael,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

  “I was just leaving.”

  “Have one of Mildred’s blond brownies. They’re famous in Jenkins Cove.”

  “They can’t be more famous than your own,” he managed.

  Aunt Sophie flushed with pleasure.

  Michael grabbed a brownie and made a hasty exit from the kitchen, thinking that in another minute he would have had Chelsea’s blouse off. And then what would Sophie have thought?

  Well, it would only be confirmation of what she already suspected. At least the fooling around part. The question was, did she suspect why he’d come to the House of the Seven Gables?

  No, she couldn’t. If she had, she wouldn’t have been so hospitable.

  He ate the brownie as he hurried back to his room. Grabbing his coat, he exited the B & B. The day before, he’d spent a lot of time at the Maritime Museum, poking into the history of the town, and he’d bought some books about the area at the museum’s gift shop and at some of the other shops in town.

  Now he climbed in his car and headed for the warehouse where he and Chelsea had gone two days ago.

  ***

  THE WATCHER STAYED IN THE shadows of the shed down by the dock. Maybe this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Bryant was leaving. Which left the two women in the house alone—since they hadn’t booked any other guests for the rest of the week.

  From where he stood, he had a good view of the kitchen through two big windows. He could see Chelsea standing at the counter beside the sink—working on party preparations, he assumed.

  The aunt marched in, pulled a sheet off the magnetized notepad stuck to the refrigerator and started taking notes. It looked as though she was going to the grocery store—for a ton of stuff, judging from the amount she was writing.

  Perfect!

  Now all he had to do was wait for Chelsea to leave the kitchen for a few minutes and he could have some fun with her. Well, more than fun, he hoped. Maybe he could get rid of her this morning.

  ***

  THIS TIME MICHAEL HAD NO problem finding the access road to the warehouse on his own.

  He drove up the narrow lane, keeping his eyes peeled for trouble. Once again, there appeared to be no one around, but this time he wished he was carrying a gun.

  Though he didn’t have a permit for one, he hated feeling exposed.

  After getting out of the car, he rolled back the warehouse doors on their rusty hinges and stepped into the cavernous space, feeling the familiar twinge of uneasiness.

  As they had the last time, a flock of seabirds took flight, getting out of his way as he strode to his left and stood against the wall. The birds were gone, but it still felt as if the place was occupied.

  He might have said the building was haunted. By the ghosts of indentured servants who had died in Jenkins Cove?

  He didn’t want to put it in those terms. He’d settle for saying that the warehouse gave him the willies.

  Gritting his teeth, he ignored the prickling at the back of his neck as he looked around and realized something was different from the day before.

  Last time he and Chelsea had been here, debris had littered the floor. Now it looked as though someone had swept the place clean, except for the bird droppings that had collected along the walls.

  Had the police been here? Surely they wouldn’t have swept up.

  Who had felt compelled to clean the floor? And why? Those were interesting questions.

  Maybe the guy who’d been here was using the building for something illegal. Smuggling, perhaps. Would Hammer blow that theory off, too?

  In any case, the building gave off bad vibes, and he wanted to step outside into the sunshine again. He forced himself to stay inside, listening.

  He could hear the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls. As he strained his ears, it seemed to change in tone—to a sound more like people screaming.

  Screaming?

  He shuddered and heard himself say, “Stop.”

  There was no reason for the wind to obey him, but the sound changed again. This time it was like voices whispering Chelsea’s name.

  He pressed his hands over his face, fighting to keep his equilibrium. If he stayed here much longer, he would go insane.

  Teeth clenched, he walked to the door. Still, he knew it was dangerous to simply walk outside again. Last time someone else had been here. Forcing himself to hang back in the shadows, he scanned the parking area and the woods.

  Apparently, nobody had followed him from town. Suddenly that was not reassuring.

  If the person who was lurking around wasn’t watching him, then he was watching Chelsea.

  That was why the voices had called her name.

  He shook his head. The analysis didn’t make perfect sense. Still, he couldn’t fight the urgent feeling that he had to get back to the House of the Seven Gables.

  He raced back to his car, jumped in and headed toward Jenkins Cove, blowing the speed limit to hell.

  When he pulled into the lot across from the B & B, he saw that Aunt Sophie’s car was missing. She must be out. As he started toward the house, he thought he saw someone dart behind the side of a shed down by the harbor.

  Was that the person Chelsea had seen watching the house?

  He took off at a run toward the shed, but by the time he reached the area, he saw no one.

  Then a roaring sound made him whirl.

  A boat starting up.

  Charging onto the dock, he saw a small motorboat with a low canopy top rapidly pulling into the harbor. The driver was hidden by the canopy.

  He cursed under his breath. He’d come back to town because he was worried about Chelsea—and he’d let himself be lured away to the dock.

  Turning, he trotted back to the house.

  He’d covered about half the distance when he heard Chelsea scream.

  Fear leaped inside him, and he started running flat out.

  In seconds he was at the back door. Throwing it open, he bolted into the kitchen, which was where the scream had come from.

  Chelsea was standing by the sink, looking dazed.

  “What happened?” he shouted as he ran toward her, almost slipping on the wet f
loor. Regaining his balance, he took her in his arms.

  Her lips moved, but instead of answering, she gave him a confused look.

  Being careful not to slip again, he scooped her up, then carried her to one of the kitchen chairs, where he sat down and cradled her in his lap. She had started to shake.

  “What happened?” he asked again. “Take a breath and tell me.”

  She gulped in air and let it out again. “I turned on the blender and I got a bad shock,” she whispered.

  His curse rang through the kitchen.

  “The blender,” she said again, in a strangled voice. He stared at the machine, which sat on the counter, the glass bowl full of lumpy pink and white ingredients. Then his gaze shot to the water on the floor again. “You could have gotten killed!”

  Her lips trembled, and he wrapped his arms around her, rocking her gently, silently thanking God that the shock hadn’t been worse.

  Her right hand was curled into a loose fist. He uncurled it and pressed it to his lips.

  It could have been an accident. But the way things were going, he wouldn’t bet on it.

  “Were you out of the kitchen before it happened?” he asked.

  “Why is that important?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Yes. I went up to the bathroom.”

  “And then you came back and turned on the blender?”

  She nodded. “I was going to make a salmon spread for the party.”

  “Was the floor wet when you left the kitchen?”

  “The floor?” Her gaze shot to the puddle of water on the tile.

  “Where did that come from?”

  “I’d like to know.”

  He turned so he could look at the door—which he’d left open. “The door was unlocked?”

  “It usually is during the day.”

  “So someone could have come in here and put the water on the floor. I guess you were damn lucky that the ground fault interrupter tripped.”

  Her breath caught. “Who would do that?”

  “Good question.”

  “Maybe there was a leak from the sink,” she murmured.

  “I don’t see the puddle getting bigger,” he pointed out.

  He stroked his hands over her back and shoulders. “Have you had trouble with the blender before?”

  “It was okay the last time I used it.”

  “Which was when?”

  “Yesterday.”

  He might have gotten up, strode to the blender and emptied the contents into the sink, but he couldn’t turn Chelsea loose yet.

  As he winnowed his fingers through her hair, she lowered her head to his shoulder and clasped her arms around him.

  “You think someone came in here while I was out of the room?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. I saw someone outside.”

  She gasped. “Where?”

  “Over by the dock.”

  “That’s not exactly in our yard. It could have been anyone.”

  “They took off in a boat when I went over there.”

  “Still…”

  “From now on, I’m going to stay around the house.”

  Her head jerked up. “I don’t need a babysitter!”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you did.”

  “Then what?”

  “I want to make sure you’re safe.”

  She answered with a small nod, then cleared her throat. “And are we going to call Chief Hammer?” Her voice turned edgy as she asked the question.

  “Do you want to tell him about this?”

  “No! We can’t prove anything.”

  “There could be fingerprints.”

  “You don’t think someone who would come in here to…do mischief would be careful about something like that?”

  “You’re probably right,” he conceded.

  ***

  THE MAN WHO HAD TAKEN OFF in the boat slowed the craft and lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes. This little scenario wasn’t working the way he’d expected.

  There was Chelsea in the kitchen, sitting on Bryant’s lap. He’d expected her to drop to the floor, electricity coursing through her body because he’d crossed the wires in the old metal blender. But the circuit breaker had tripped or something and turned off the damn power. Saving her life.

  Too bad, because she was still a problem that needed to be solved. Of course, the guy who’d hired him was getting a little worried about how things were going. But the watcher was on top of it. If the boss wasn’t going to take drastic measures, somebody needed to do it for him.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a car pulling up in the parking area near the B & B. Aunt Sophie returning from the grocery store. Well, maybe it was time to head across the harbor before one of them spotted him.

  ***

  A NOISE AT THE BACK DOOR made both Michael and Chelsea start.

  “Who left this door wide open?”

  Aunt Sophie walked into the room, holding two bags of groceries. Her gaze shot to the couple sitting on the kitchen chair.

  “Well!” she said. “Pardon me for barging in.”

  Chelsea leaped up, then started to speak rapidly. “I had an accident. Michael heard me scream, and he came in to find out what happened.”

  “And what did happen?” Sophie asked.

  “The blender gave Chelsea a bad shock.”

  Her aunt gasped. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  Michael cleared his throat. “Have you ever had anyone coming into the house making trouble for you?”

  She stared at him as if he’d asked her if she’d recently taken a rocket ship to Mars. “Of course not. Why are you asking?”

  “Because there was water on the kitchen floor and Chelsea didn’t spill any.”

  As he spoke, Chelsea knelt down, opened the cabinet below the sink and felt inside.

  “It’s dry,” she murmured.

  “You haven’t seen anyone lurking around here?” Michael pressed.

  The older woman’s face wrinkled. “Sometimes we get kids making mischief. Once I had some boys throw eggs at the front door.”

  Chelsea winced. “You never told me about that.”

  “It only happened once—a few years ago.”

  “But nobody’s come in and done anything in the house?”

  “Not that I know about,” she said.

  “Well, I think it might be a good idea to keep the doors locked,” Michael said.

  “Young man, I operate a bed-and-breakfast. How can I possibly keep the doors locked?”

  “You give your guests keys,” he said. “Like you do when they come back after hours.”

  “You give out a bunch of keys, and someone’s going to lose one,” Sophie objected. “And if I do it, people will think we’ve got security problems in town.”

  “Possibly. But I hope you’ll consider taking that precaution.”

  “I will. But you’re the only guest here now,” she pointed out.

  “I can take a key to a locksmith and get some made for you,” Michael offered.

  Sophie’s expression changed. “You’re serious about this.”

  “Very serious.”

  Chelsea sighed, then walked to a drawer and took out a key and handed it to him. “I’ll go to the locksmith with you.”

  He’d been hoping she’d say that, but he hadn’t wanted to be the one to suggest it.

  “Let’s clean up first,” she said. She started sopping up the water with paper towels.

  Michael pulled the plug on the blender cord in one quick motion. Then he turned the blender over and examined the bottom. It looked as though someone might have fooled with the casing, but he couldn’t be sure because he didn’t know the condition of the appliance.

  When Chelsea walked back to the counter and reached for the blender, he saw her hand was shaking. But she lifted off the glass container and emptied the contents into a mixing bowl, which she put into the refrigerator.

  Then she grabbed
her coat. “We’ll bring in the groceries,” she told her aunt.

  When they’d transferred the groceries to the house, they stepped outside again.

  “I’m not used to being stalked,” she said.

  “That makes two of us.”

  “But it looks like they’re after me.”

  “I’m the one who almost got hit by a car.”

  “Yes. But it still could have been an accident.”

  “You believe that?”

  “I don’t know!” She kept her face turned toward the harbor, but she gave him a sidewise look. “Show me where the guy was standing and where his boat was moored.”

  Chapter Ten

  Chelsea felt her throat tighten as they walked toward the harbor area. When Michael reached for her hand, she jumped. “Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “People will know there’s something between us.”

  His voice took on an intimate warmth. “I want them to know.”

  Chelsea could not manage a reply.

  They walked the rest of the way, holding hands. She wasn’t used to anything like that, but she told herself to relax. He was putting his mark on her. It was a strange sensation, yet she couldn’t deny that she liked it.

  Still, she warned herself not to like it too much. What would happen when he left Jenkins Cove? She shoved that thought to the side and let him lead her to the place where he’d seen someone watching the house.

  “This is the shed,” he said, pointing to the small wooden building. “Who owns it?”

  “The company that takes tourists on little cruises up and down Jenkins Creek. They own a boat that’s in dry dock now. They use the shed for storage. But this is the off-season, and it’s not running.”

  “Which means anybody could have been around here.” He walked to the shed and rattled the door. It was unlocked. Stepping inside, he looked around. He saw some folding chairs, some life preservers and some packages of plastic cups. In the middle of the floor was a crumpled brochure. He stooped to pick it up, then stepped outside into the sunlight and smoothed it out.

  Chelsea looked over his shoulder. “It’s one of those maps that the chamber of commerce gives out. They distribute thousands of them every year.”

  “But look at this.” He tapped his finger on the map. “Some of the landmarks are circled. Like your house, for example.” He slipped the map into his pocket.