by Maggie Way
Her traitorous heart did a backflip as he rounded the vehicle. Wearing ancient blue jeans and a black T-shirt, his attention riveted on the broken window. Then, through the glass, his focus shifted to her. His intense inspection of her face snatched the air from her lungs.
He took the porch stairs two at a time and the sharp rap of the screen door snapping shut reached her ears a moment before he appeared beneath the living room archway.
His glittering green gaze touched over her and then swept through the room to take in the window, the spray of glass, and the rock at her feet.
“What happened here?” His casual tone belied the tension in his shoulders.
She pointed to the rock at her feet. “This came crashing through that window.”
“You were home at the time?”
She nodded and took a half step to her left. “I was right here.”
He crossed the room and examined the area, his features carefully blanked. She felt the loss of his attention like a lovesick puppy might.
If she didn’t know otherwise, she’d never guess his sea-green eyes had seen her naked or his pouty mouth had ravished hers. It was neither Luke the charmer, nor Luke the irascible grump standing in her living room.
It was Luke the cop.
“Did you see anything? A car in the driveway or someone on foot?”
“Nothing. M-my b-b-back was to the window and I ducked.” A telltale quiver crept into her voice and she cleared her throat. “I didn’t see a thing.”
“Are there any kids in the neighborhood?” he asked.
“What neighborhood? The closest house is the Cape Cod at the bottom of the hill.” Nearly a half mile away.
“That’s Ms. Beardsley. She celebrated her seventy-eighth birthday last month.”
“Maybe her grandkids are visiting?”
“She never married or had any kids that I know of.” He retraced his steps to the foyer. “I’ll do a search of the premises and see if anything obvious turns up.”
“Anything obvious? Like what?”
“Footprints, tire tracks. I’m not gonna lie, a photo ID would kick ass.”
At the first hint of his smile, her heart took notice.
“Do ten-year-olds carry ID?”
“I can hope, can’t I?” But the gravity in his eyes betrayed him.
“Y-you don’t think it’s a kid, do you?”
He scratched a spot on the back of his neck. “I don’t know.” His gaze trailed to the window and he appeared to wrestle with his next words. With a sigh, his eyes found hers. “Whoever threw that rock did it in broad daylight, with occupants in the house. And they came within a foot of hitting you. I have to consider someone meant to intimidate. That, or they’re extremely careless. Either way, the situation appears dangerous.” Then, likely in response to the way the blood drained from her head, he added, “Potentially dangerous.”
She rubbed at the ache in her temples.
“I’ll ask around town.” His tone gentled. “I’m sure someone knows of some kids visiting the island.”
“That should do w-wonders for business,” she muttered.
Luke lifted his nose in the air and sniffed. “What’s that?”
Just then, a piercing alarm shattered the quiet.
The cookies! Emily dashed from the room, through the foyer, around the oversized table in the dining room, and burst through the swinging door into the kitchen.
Smoke clouded the air and the fire alarm’s screeching wail rained down on her head as she stumbled toward the stove. She stabbed the button to turn it off and pulled open the door.
More smoke billowed into the room and mixed with the shrieking noise to forge a cocktail of chaos. Coughing, she snatched a potholder off the counter and yanked the cookie sheet from the oven. With one cookie engulfed in flames, she tossed the tray onto the stovetop and backed away.
Luke appeared at her side. The epitome of calm, he raised a fire extinguisher, extracted the pin, and blasted the stove with a spray of pressurized air and foam. He discharged a second stream of foam into the oven’s interior before he abandoned the extinguisher to the countertop and dragged a barstool away from the kitchen island. He positioned the stool beneath the smoke alarm, climbed on top, and stretching to his full height, silenced the blasted thing.
In the aftermath, the quiet was deafening. Smoke swirled before her eyes. A dollop of foam gathered at the edge of the stove and plopped onto the floor with a gooey splat.
“M-my first guest arrives today.” She hated the hitch of defeat in her tone.
He slid the barstool back into place at the island. “What time?”
“Anytime between now and dinner.”
He opened the back door and then moved to the window over the sink. “Why don’t you go see if you can find someone to fix the window? I’ll deal with this mess.”
“You’d help me?” Disbelief snatched the words from her.
His features softened. “It’s obvious you need me.”
Unbelievably, she laughed. “I need a drink.”
“That’ll come later.” He picked up a towel and at the oven, began sopping up piles of white foam.
“You don’t have to do that.” She jumped to take the towel from him. “You have work to—”
“I’m off duty.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her away from the kitchen. “If there’s time, I’ll even make a fresh batch of cookies.”
She craned her neck to look at him over her shoulder. “You cook?”
His expression turned wry. “You sound shocked.”
“I am.”
“I’m offended.” But his eyes sparked with humor. “I’m a thirty-two-year-old bachelor. Yes, I cook.”
One hand on the kitchen door, she paused. “There’s an unopened package of cookie dough in the fridge—”
He made a sound in the back of his throat. “I do not bake, nor do I eat, premade cookies. Fergodssake, woman, show some respect.”
He pushed her the rest of the way through the kitchen door.
She pulled up abruptly, and he bumped into her from behind.
In the foyer, a young man stood beneath the oversize crystal chandelier, a black backpack slung over his shoulder. At their clumsy entrance, he turned.
He was younger than she’d expected. Probably in his early twenties, he was tall and lean with golden-brown hair and deep-set brown eyes.
She forced her feet to move.
Max. Max. Max. Max. “You m-m-must be M-Max.”
At her stammer, his dark eyes grew alert. Then a surprisingly warm smile transformed his youthful face. “That’s me. You must be Emily?”
She relaxed a little. “That’s me,” she repeated.
Chapter Eight
She lit up like a goddamned Christmas tree.
Luke’s face ached with the severity of his scowl.
He recognized Max. Not the particular arrangement of his symmetrical features or the uniqueness of his light hair and dark eyes, but he recognized the lean, hungry look lurking in their dark depths and the desperation that clung to his too-thin body.
Yeah, Luke knew this kid. In his ten years as a cop, he’d met a hundred just like him.
Hell, Luke was him at that age.
“This place is freaking awesome,” the kid said. “How old is it?”
“Over o-one hundred and fifty y-years old.”
Max’s gaze slid to Luke and the softness in his dark eyes shifted and hardened.
Luke folded his arms over his chest. “Hi.”
Max tipped his chin. “Hey.” He studied Luke with old eyes.
Sensing the kid’s instant and absolute distrust had nothing to do with him personally, Luke allowed his assessment.
Emily’s hands twisted in front of her. “Uh… this is… uh… Luke. He’s the… uh… he’s the cook!”
“Chef,” Luke corrected. “She pays me a fortune and I’m worth every penny.”
Max’s mouth moved in what Luke supposed was a smile, but w
ith no flash of teeth or so much as a lip quiver.
“Can I show y-y-you to your room?” Emily scurried to one of the twin staircases and started to climb.
Behind her, Max set one foot on the bottom stair and stopped, his gaze snared by the rock and the hundred tiny fragments of broken glass.
“The neighbor kid did it,” Emily burst out, her resemblance to Luke’s four-year-old niece uncanny.
Max’s brow wrinkled. “I didn’t see any other houses around.”
Feverish color painted her cheeks. “He’s, uh, visiting.”
Good God, but she was terrible liar. A deep chuckle knocked loose from his chest. He didn’t have to worry about this one deceiving him, at least. He followed them up the stairs.
Emily led them down a wide, well-lit hallway to the third door on the right. She motioned Max and Luke ahead of her.
Max flung his backpack onto the bed and continued to the French doors. When Luke stepped through the doorway, Emily’s light scent tickled his senses.
Knowing what lay beneath the shapeless, colorless loungewear she wore, he wanted to unwrap her like a hard candy and lick his way to her surprise center.
“Holy crap,” Max breathed, looking out at the sweeping views. “There’s no one out here.”
Panic-filled brown eyes darted between Luke and the kid’s back. “We-we’re isolated, it’s true, but the island is very safe.”
Her voice sounded sweet, like sugar, and he knew she tasted the same.
Max tossed her an easy grin over his shoulder. “The isolation’s what I like most about it.”
Emily blinked. “It is?”
Luke coughed.
“I mean, great! That’s great.” She scooped up a manila folder off the nightstand and stuck out her arm.
Max lifted an eyebrow as he took it from her. “What’s this?”
“Some information about the island. Local attractions and restaurants…” She trailed off when he tossed the folder onto an accent chair in the corner of the room.
Several beats of silence filled the room. Emily looked to Luke, and he shrugged.
Abruptly, Max turned away from the balcony door. “I have a proposition for you.”
Luke straightened. “What kind of proposition?”
Max looked from Emily to Luke. “I want to rent out the entire house.”
“The entire house?” Emily squeaked.
“Why?” Luke wanted to know at the same time.
For a moment, Max appeared confused about whom to address. He settled on Emily. “I’m making a movie and I want to film it here.”
“What kind of movie?” Luke didn’t bother with his usual charm offensive.
Max scratched an itch on his collarbone. “It’s an indie film, small scale and low budget. Just an idea some film students at ESU and I came up with. We managed to raise $20,000 through a crowdfunding campaign.”
“Wh-when w-would you start? And how long w-w-would you stay?”
Luke only just stifled an exasperated groan. “You’ll need a permit.”
“Next month for a six-week shoot.” Max told Emily before his gaze slipped to Luke. “Of course we’ll obtain all the necessary approvals.”
Emily worried the pendant hanging around her neck. “The house is reserved for a w-w-wedding Halloween weekend.”
Max’s features pulled into a thoughtful frown. “To be honest, I need to work out the details of the schedule and line up my permits.” He sent a nod of acknowledgement in Luke’s direction. “Maybe I can work around that weekend.”
“How many p-people w-w-would be staying?”
“Not more than ten of us for sure.” A calculating grin curled Max’s lips. “More like five if I can figure out a way to pull it off.”
“Five people?” Luke didn’t bother to hide the skepticism in his tone. “What did you say this movie is about?”
The color heightened on Max’s cheekbones. “It’s a slasher flick.” He returned his focus to Emily. “I promise we won’t harm the house. If I want anything moved or even touched, I’ll check with you first. You’d have veto power over everything we do.”
A small smile turned up the corners of her kissable mouth.
Luke frowned. “What are you thinking?”
The whiskey color at the center of her eyes blazed. “It could bring some exposure to the inn.”
“It could,” he agreed. “If anyone bothers to watch the movie.” He inclined his head at Max. “No offense.”
“Tons taken.”
Luke ignored the kid, distracted by the way Emily worried her plump bottom lip.
“I could really use the b-business…”
A defeated sigh dragged from him. “If nothing else, you’re at full capacity for four weeks during the off-season.”
Her bright smile knocked him back, but dammit if she didn’t turn it on Max.
“Okay.”
Max smiled. “Okay?”
Emily nodded.
“Excellent.” Max unzipped the front pocket of his backpack. “I’ll contact the others.”
“Do you n-need anything from m-me?”
A cell phone cradled in his hand, Max frowned. “Do you have anyplace we can store gear and equipment? Someplace out of the way but easy to access?”
“There’s an attic space at the end of the hall. W-would that work?”
A light entered his eyes. “Sounds perfect.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, can you keep that neighbor kid away from the windows?”
She blanched.
Max held up a hand. “I’m kidding. It’s a joke.”
She blushed an adorable shade of pink and Luke couldn’t help but be charmed by it. He didn’t meet many women who blushed.
“We really are very safe here,” she said. “P=Plus, the island has a very, uh… active police department.”
Max let loose with a derisive smirk. “Aren’t they all?”
With a guilty glance in his direction, Emily ate her smile. “W-Well, they’re very responsive.”
A rusty laugh rattled around in Max’s chest. “It’s all good. The last thing I need are the cops hanging around this place.”
Luke turned on the stairs. “I was not interrogating him.”
From her spot on the step above him, Emily peered into his eyes. “You demanded to read the script.”
He twisted away and stomped down the steps. “Is that not a reasonable request?”
“No. It’s high-handed and overreaching.” A smile teased its way to her face. “You’re the cook, remember?”
“Chef,” he snapped.
When they reached the bottom step, the fresh scent of sea air pulled her attention to the living room where broken glass littered the floor, winking in the fading light.
Luke stiffened beside her. “I’m going to take a look around outside.”
While he disappeared through the front door, she returned to the living room. She rescued the broom from the floor where she’d deserted it in her futile dash to save the cookies from their fiery death. As she dumped the last of the glass fragments into a trash bag, she heard the sound of Luke’s voice through the broken window.
“Hey, I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. There’s been an incident at the inn...” His voice faded as he moved away.
Was he talking to the exquisite blonde? The wrench of envy irritated her. Somewhere during the nine years of her mom’s slow death, she’d lost the taste for bemoaning her perceived misfortunes. In school, she’d devoted many long hours to wishing away her stutter, her unfortunate coloring, her awkwardness. All of herself, really. Then, her mom got sick and she learned what true misfortune was.
She scooped up the bag of glass and carried it to the trash can in the kitchen. The shiny, new, immaculate kitchen, now covered in a layer of foam and filth.
She plucked her cell phone off the countertop and sent Mina a text to ask if she recalled the name of the company that had replaced the home’s custom windows last
winter.
Then she filled the farmhouse sink with warm, sudsy water and set to work. Removing the slop proved tricky and she refilled the sink twice with clean water before she’d made noticeable progress.
As she turned back to the stove with a clean basin of water, the back door opened and Mina popped her head inside.
Her eyes grew huge when she saw the kitchen. “What happened?”
Emily opened her mouth to try to explain the sequence of events that had led to the mess when a loud pounding reverberated through the house.
“Wh-what is that?”
“Noah and Luke are boarding up the window.” Mina pulled open a drawer and picked out a dishcloth.
Emily filled Mina in on the rock, though she’d apparently already learned the whole story from Noah, who’d heard it from Luke. They cleaned the remainder of the kitchen, working side by side, just as they’d done the previous winter when Mina was putting the final touches on the house. Though it’d taken only a few weeks in all, the work had given Emily a much-needed focus to her aimless life and, for a time, had helped ward off the crippling depression.
Soon, the kitchen gleamed and they followed the sounds of erratic pounding to the living room to find Noah hammering a nail into the wide plank of plywood that Luke held over the window.
Emily sank into an armchair, her head tipped to one side and her gaze riveted by the sight of Luke. Specifically, the way his black T-shirt pulled tight across his back and shoulders and his muscles rippled beneath the fabric.
With one last hammering, the wood was secure.
Luke wiped an arm across his glistening forehead, then green eyes captured hers. “I think it’s time for that drink.”
“Anyone else?” she asked.
Noah opened his mouth, but didn’t get a word out before Mina sprang up from the sofa. “I’ll help.” Her voice pitched high and she nearly knocked Emily down when she bolted from the room.
In the kitchen, Mina knocked the refrigerator door closed with her hip, beers in either hand.
“Everything all right?” Emily pulled two wineglasses down from the cupboard.
Rummaging through the drawer of utensils, Mina nodded distractedly. “Everything’s fine.”
Emily stuck the bottle opener under her nose. “What’s going on?”