by Irene Hannon
“That’s one word for it.” He checked his watch. “And now, while I hate to end this party, I bet your lunch break is about over.”
“Unfortunately, it is. I’d invite you back later for another cruise on the lake, but I think we’re out of luck on that score.”
“The boat should be salvageable—and with some elbow grease I might be able to get rid of some of that orange paint. I’ll add it to my to-do list for tomorrow. In the meantime . . . could I interest you in a trip to town for a piece of pie at the Walleye tonight?”
“You could.”
“Seven?”
“Perfect.”
He stood, and she followed him across the porch. At the top of the steps, he turned back to her. “If you need anything, remember I’m not far away. Sound carries out here. All you have to do is yell. I leave my windows open day and night, and except for an occasional trip to town, I’m nearby.”
Her throat constricted. “I appreciate that.”
Instead of continuing down the steps, he lifted his hand with slow, deliberate intent and smoothed the hair back from her face. “You don’t need to be afraid, okay? I can get here fast. If anything at all scares you, don’t hesitate to scream. I’ll hear you.”
He was so close she could see the jagged edges of the thin white scar near the hairline on his temple. Smell his subtle, musky aftershave. Sense the steady cadence of his breathing.
All at once, an absurd longing surged through her, short-circuiting her respiration.
She wanted to throw herself into those strong arms . . . rise on tiptoe . . . and press her lips to his.
His green eyes darkened, and a spark began to sizzle in their depths. “You’ve done this to me before, you know.” His familiar baritone had dropped a few pitches.
She swallowed. “W-what?”
“Sent a message that’s very hard to resist.” He eased closer.
The warmth of his breath feathered against her forehead—and a red alert began to strobe across her mind.
Step back, Dana! Be prudent! Don’t rush the relationship, remember?
She heard the warning clearly.
Ignored it.
“What message?” As if she didn’t know.
So much for thinking he might be a flirt!
He slowly trailed his fingertips down her cheek and across her lips, his touch whisper soft.
Her eyelids drifted closed.
Oh. My. Word.
A shudder rippled through her.
“Dana?”
At his husky question, she forced her eyes open.
“I’m not in the habit of asking permission to kiss a woman . . . but I’m also not in the habit of caring a whole lot whether my impulsiveness might shoot me in the foot. Are you okay with this?”
She tried to consider his question rationally . . . but only one fact was super clear—if she kissed him, her plan to play this cautious and safe would crumble.
Because she had a feeling one kiss from Finn was all it would take for her to fall.
Hard.
Yet as she stared up at him, there was no way she could refuse.
“Yes.” Her acquiescence came out in a croak.
He didn’t give her a chance for second thoughts. Moving in, he cupped the back of her head with one hand, wrapped his other arm around her, and pulled her into the shelter of his arms.
The instant his lips met hers, Dana’s lungs stalled. She’d suspected Finn would be an excellent kisser, but this . . . this was magic.
By the time he released her, she had to cling to him to maintain her balance.
“Not bad for a first kiss.” His tone was teasing, but the rough timbre of his voice suggested he was as shaken as she was.
“Yeah.” She kept a tight grip on his arms. “Let me know when the earthquake is over.”
He chuckled, a low, sensual rumble that shifted the ground beneath her feet again. “For what it’s worth, that registered at about a nine on my personal Richter scale.”
“Same here. I definitely sustained some permanent changes in ground topography.”
“At the risk of stating the obvious, I think this calls for further exploration. How do you feel about long-distance relationships?”
A euphoric warmth filled her. “I think they can be difficult to sustain. But a few more kisses like that could persuade me to give one a try.”
“Happy to oblige.”
He attempted to tug her close again, but prudence finally triumphed and she pressed her hands against his chest. “Not back-to-back. I don’t think my heart could take it.”
Several charged seconds ticked by. Then, with a sigh, he released her. “I suppose one of us has to be practical.”
“This is moving kind of fast.”
He gave her an unrepentant grin. “Isn’t that how things work in those books you edit?”
“This is real life, not fiction.”
“And I thought women were supposed to be the romantics.”
“I am romantic.”
“Yeah?” He tipped his head. “I bet I’m more romantic than you.”
“A tough, hard-driving Army Ranger romantic? Not a chance.”
He folded his arms and propped a shoulder against the porch support. “What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for a guy you were dating?”
It took her a moment to dredge up an answer. “I planned a private picnic for his birthday, with music and homemade cake and sparklers for after it got dark.”
“Not bad.”
But not great, based on his smug expression.
“What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for someone you were dating?”
“I hired a violinist, ordered a gourmet meal—complete with waiter—from the best restaurant in town, and rented a cabana on the beach for our dinner. And it wasn’t even her birthday.”
Wow.
“Surprised you, didn’t I?” His grin broadened.
Uh . . . yeah.
“A little.”
“A lot. Come on . . . admit it.”
She held up her hands in surrender. “Fine. A lot. She must have been someone special.”
“Not as special as you—and definitely not special enough to consider taking on the hassles of a long-distance relationship.”
Double wow.
“I’ll give you this, Finn McGregor. You’re a man of surprises.”
“With more to come.” He winked. “Now I’ll let you get back to work.” With that, he descended the steps and set off toward the woods, whistling some peppy tune she didn’t recognize.
Once he disappeared, his whistle floated back for several more minutes. A purposeful reminder that sound carried?
Perhaps.
But she already knew that from the night he’d raced to her rescue after hearing her scream.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that again.
In the meantime, though, it was comforting to know she wasn’t quite as alone in the woods as she’d been before Finn charged into her life and changed everything.
Including her work ethic.
Dana sighed. It would be so much more fun to sit on the porch and daydream about the future and the man and that kiss.
Too bad her aggressive deadlines were locked in stone.
Turning away from the sparkling lake at last, she returned to her computer, took her seat . . . and decreased the magnification yet again. Her vision was improving as quickly as her love life.
Plus, she had tonight to anticipate. Since her first trip there with Pops and Mags, pie at the café in town had always been a happy event. And while much had changed over the past few weeks, it appeared that tradition would continue—albeit with a new cast.
Best of all, she had a feeling Pops would approve of the man who’d stepped in to take his place across the table at the Walleye.
She opened the document she was editing, pushing the vandalism incident to the back of her mind. Upsetting as it had been, it was history. Finn had even promised to
try to fix the rowboat. She needed to focus on the future, not the past.
Because there was no reason to think anything but blue skies and smooth sailing lay ahead.
12
She was still here—and that neighbor of hers was hanging around more than ever.
Wayne lowered his binoculars and spat out a word that would have earned him a whipping in his younger years. He needed to get cooking again if he wanted to stay on track with his savings plan—but wandering around on the property was getting dicey. Just because Leo’s granddaughter and her new friend hadn’t strayed too far from the lake didn’t mean she’d given up on the idea of taking a hike around the place, despite his attempt to scare her off three days ago.
And that would be dangerous. Getting caught was unthinkable . . . but having the operation shut down would be almost as bad. If the lab was discovered, his plan to ditch this place and have a real life would be history.
He couldn’t let that happen, not this close to achieving his goal.
The two figures in the distance got into the boat someone had obviously repaired and pushed off from the dock that bore faint orange marks.
Dana—perhaps with the help of her friend—had tried to erase all evidence of his warning.
He lifted the binoculars again and homed in on the cozy twosome. The man leaned close to speak, and the woman’s laugh carried across the water.
His mouth tightened as the muscled dude rowed the boat with smooth, powerful strokes while the woman trailed her fingers in the water. Must be nice to have a gorgeous babe look at you like you were some kind of superhero.
But maybe he’d get lucky too, once he left Beaumont behind and had a few bucks to throw around. Rich guys always got the girl—and based on town scuttlebutt, the guy in the boat had some high-paying, top-secret government gig.
Getting those extra bucks, however, meant he needed to start cooking again. Soon.
As the boat approached the edge of the lake closest to him, he melted back into the underbrush. Not that there was much chance he’d be spotted; those two had eyes only for each other.
The guy maneuvered the boat around and rowed back toward the cabin, biceps bulging as he displayed some serious muscle power. The kind best given a wide berth.
Yet as long as the girl was in the cabin, her friend would be around—meaning there was a definite possibility he and the muscleman might tangle.
Which brought him back to square one.
He needed Dana Lewis gone.
Compressing his lips, Wayne gripped the binoculars. Too bad she hadn’t left after his first warning. Now he’d have to ratchet up the attacks.
And while he didn’t intend her any harm, the more she dug in her heels, the greater the chance she was going to get hurt.
Someone was watching them.
Finn didn’t break rhythm as he rowed Dana back toward the cabin, nor did he alter his expression . . . but the reflective shimmer in the woods at the far end of the lake spiked his adrenaline.
Thank goodness he was able to contain his immediate, over-the-top impulse to grab her and dive into the water, where they’d be less exposed. Instead, he listened to the left side of his brain reminding him this wasn’t a combat situation. She might have had some vandalism on her place, but there was no evidence anyone wanted to harm her. The gleam could be some sort of metallic object that had gotten caught in a tree. It didn’t have to be from binoculars . . . or a rifle barrel.
“. . . working on Friday night.”
He pulled himself back to their conversation. “Sorry. I drifted for a minute. What did you say?”
She flicked some water at him. “Am I losing my luster already?”
“Hardly. Shall I stop rowing and prove it?”
“You did that already, on the dock.”
“It bears repeating.”
She laughed—an enchanting musical sound he’d been hearing more and more often in the past few days.
“When we say good night.”
He put some extra muscle into the oars, sending the boat zipping across the water.
“Anxious?” Grinning, she flicked more water at him.
“Anticipating.”
As he pulled up to the dock a few minutes later, his arm muscles were feeling the strain . . . not that he intended to share that with Dana and ruin his hero image. Vaulting onto the wooden planks, he leaned down and extended a hand, drawing her up—and straight into his arms.
She sighed and nestled against him. “Man, I so don’t want to have to work tonight.”
“I can think of more pleasant activities too.”
“Hmm.” She raised her chin and appraised him. “Come to think of it, it might be safer if I go back to work.”
“But not nearly as much fun.”
She opened her mouth to respond—but he put it to better use.
By the time they both came up for air, she was pressed tight against his chest, their heartbeats mingling.
“Go home, Finn.” She wriggled free, pushing at her rumpled hair.
Much as he wanted to stay, it was time to go. She had work to do, the electricity between them was approaching the danger level—and he needed to do a little reconnaissance.
“Are we still on for breakfast at the Walleye tomorrow?”
“Nine o’clock. It will be the highlight of my Saturday.”
“The food or the company?”
“Hmm. They do have great cinnamon rolls.”
“So much for my ego.” He brushed another kiss over her forehead. “Where’s the whistle I gave you?”
“In the house. I knew I wouldn’t need it while I was with you.”
“True. But keep it with you otherwise, okay?” The piercing, hundred-decibel safety model he’d purchased at the general mercantile wasn’t a great security system—but it was better than nothing.
Plus, she had her grandfather’s gun.
“I do. In fact, if you want the truth, I wear it around my neck.”
In other words, she continued to be spooked by the vandalism incident.
Not a bad thing in light of that glint he’d spotted in the woods, perhaps. It might end up being nothing more than a discarded fast-food wrapper that had blown into the branches . . . but the vandals could still be roaming around.
“Good. I’ll wait until you get to the porch.”
He stayed by the dock until she waved him off from behind the railing, then set off around the lake.
Once in the woods, he veered off course the instant he lost sight of her and moved in the direction of the reflection. It was slower going compared to two weeks ago now that everything had leafed out, and brambles snagged his jeans at every step.
Following the perimeter of the lake from the cover of the woods, he approached the approximate location of the reflective glimmer, slowing to a quiet skulk as he drew close.
But after a thorough search, it was clear stealth wasn’t necessary. There was no sign of anything metallic in the trees, nor was anyone lurking in the brush.
Yet someone had been there very recently.
Finn paused beside some trampled greenery in the approximate spot he’d placed the glare. In other circumstances, he might attribute the matted ground cover to an animal—but today it was too coincidental.
A quiver of unease spiraled down his spine.
Someone had been watching them.
He leaned down, doing an inch-by-inch search of the ground, broadening the radius in increments.
Nothing.
Nor was there a pattern of footprints or broken branches to indicate the direction their clandestine watcher had taken.
Finn raked his fingers through his hair and did a final three-sixty of the area.
Zilch.
Giving up, he hiked back toward his cabin, alert to his surroundings even as he mulled over his discovery. The vandalism incident had been disturbing, but based on what Dana had said about other such episodes in town, not necessarily an indication she was in physical danger.
This was different.
Spying on someone was more personal. More targeted.
More sinister.
Making a trip into Beaumont vaulted to the top of his priority list. He needed to show the button he’d found to Chief Burnett—and tell the man about today’s incident. Neither would help him solve the crime, but they might light a fire under him about asking questions around town and beefing up patrols in this area.
Finn pushed through a dense patch of thorny vines, trying to elude the prickly tentacles. They might not have a clue yet about who was taking a special interest in Dana, but he knew one thing.
He’d be sleeping with all of his windows wide open in the future.
Something was burning.
Dana pulled herself out of a deep slumber, rubbed the grit from her eyes, and got up close and personal with the digital clock on her nightstand.
Twelve-ten.
She frowned. Why would she smell smoke at this late hour? Pops’s fireplace liked to puff a little, but she’d extinguished the embers hours ago, before she went to bed.
Yet the smell was distinct, if faint.
After grabbing the oversized cardigan from the foot of the bed, she swung her feet to the floor and snatched Finn’s whistle from the nightstand.
Wincing as her toes hit the cold floor, she crept to the door, eased it slightly open, and sniffed.
The smoke smell wasn’t as strong in the hall.
She padded toward the living room, the smell dissipating as she left her room behind. That must mean it was wafting in from outside, through the bedroom window she’d cracked open an inch.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she crossed to the kitchen, flipped open the blinds—and froze.
The shed was on fire!
Pulse hammering, she raced for her purse. Dug out her cell phone. Started for the front door.
Stopped.
What if the vandals were back, and the fire was a ploy to lure her outside?
What if they were lying in wait for her?
Think, Dana!
Heart pounding, she forced her lungs to inflate. If she didn’t call 911, the shed was going to be a total loss. She had to get to the lake.
But first she’d whistle for Finn. If whoever had done this was hanging around, her Army Ranger neighbor would be here within minutes.