Another Chance at Love (Another Series Book 1)

by Suzanne Sweeney

  I open my sleepy eyes and look at the time; my phone displays six-thirty. Cole lets out a groan and sits up on the edge of the bed, retrieving his clothing from the floor.

  I run my fingertips down his spine to let him know I am awake.

  “Morning, sweetheart,” he utters quietly. He leans back against me and kisses my lips softly, sweeping my hair off my cheek.

  I brush my hand over his defined chest.

  “I have to get going,” he says with a frown.

  “I know,” I whisper, saddened by the thought.

  He brushes his fingertips down my chest to my stomach. “You have the softest skin,” he whispers and plants a kiss on my shoulder.

  “We don’t have time for this,” I warn him with a grin. Jesus, his lips are incredible.

  “I can’t help it,” he chuckles as he pulls me to my feet. “I’ll call you later.” He hugs and kisses me goodbye. I crawl back into bed and pull his pillow to my chest, enjoying the soft scent of his cologne that still lingers on the pillowcase.

  After a quick shower, I collect the few items I brought with me and find my way back down to the parking garage, leaving in the same clothes I arrived in.

  I arrive home a little before nine o’clock in the morning. I find Cait awake, showered, and sitting in the kitchen getting her daily dose of news and events from Twitter and the Internet.

  “So, what’s the plan, Stan?” she asks, taking a cautious sip of her steaming hot coffee.

  I catch her up on the events of yesterday and last night. She seems distracted as I babble on and on. She smiles, nods her head from time to time, but there’s a look in her eyes that tells me she’s not really here. She’s miles away. So I decide to add a little color to my story just to check.

  “And then I flew out to Atlanta, picked up Cole, and together we flew out to Vegas. We got married by an Elvis impersonator in a drive-through chapel. But he has a game, so we can’t start our honeymoon until tomorrow.”

  She refills her coffee cup and adds, “That sounds good.”

  “Caitlin James!” I call loudly, causing her to nearly drop her mug. “Did you hear a single word I just said?”

  “Um, yeah – sure. You’re picking up Cole tomorrow after his game in Atlanta.”

  “Wow. You really weren’t listening to a word I said. Where exactly is your head at?”

  She smiles. “Ryan picked me up from work last night and took me out for a late dinner. You’ll never believe where he took me for drinks after.”

  “Vegas?” I ask.

  “No!” she bursts out. “Rush Dessert Bar. Oh. My. God. That place is ah-mazing!”

  She’s right, of course. It’s a pretty amazing place. “Who was there?” I ask.

  “Your friend Derek was behind the bar. He introduced me to Evan McGuire.” She fans herself just recalling the meeting. “If he wasn’t married . . .” Her voice trails off as she recalls meeting the man that broke a million hearts when he and Juliette married.

  “What did you have?”

  “You better sit down for this . . . it was called ‘Smore Betta and it literally changed my life.”

  “Literally?” I ask. Cait knows how much I hate this word. The Grammar Nazi in me cringes whenever I hear this word misused and abused.

  “Literally!” she repeats enthusiastically. “Just listen and you’ll know why. It’s a chocolate soufflé with marshmallow piped on top and toasted, paired with chocolate ganache beignets with toasted graham cracker ice cream.”

  “And tell me exactly how it changed your life,” I tease.

  “It’s the most incredible thing I never knew I always wanted.” She laughs. “We’re all going back. I’m on a mission to try everything on the menu.”

  “With or without Ryan?” Cait has spent a good amount of time talking about dessert, but very little talking about the man who took her there.

  “With. Definitely with,” she grins and sighs. “He’s adorable, and smart, and a real gentleman. He has a degree in aerospace engineering from NJIT and works in Princeton designing satellite systems.”

  Wow. She’s giving me his résumé. That’s huge. I haven’t seen Cait smitten like this since she dated Dec’s roommate, Jesse. I wish I remember more details about meeting Ryan at our party a few days ago so I could have something meaningful to add, but it’s all a big blur.

  After a quick chat and a wardrobe change, I gather up my things and head straight to TitleWave. I have a lot of work to catch up on.

  The morning flies by without a moment to slow down and catch my breath. Our new breakfast menu is a tremendous hit and word has gotten out. Brie has hired another barista to try and keep up with the morning rush.

  I’d really like for Cait to do a little market research and find out what the possibilities are for us to keep up like this during the off-season with the local residents. Half the customers here are beach goers, but the other half are our local neighbors grabbing breakfast on their way to work. We need to maximize the popularity of our growing brand.

  I rush to open the doors to the bookstore to capitalize on the current customer turn out. Magazines are flying off the shelves and even a few patrons wander into our little shop after they finish breakfast.

  Strolling around outside, I am in awe at the number of people filling our tables, either sunning themselves or enjoying the shade while they eat, drink, and read happily.

  There’s one table I cannot help but notice. It’s a young family that bought a few things before they ordered breakfast. Dad is sitting with his preschool-aged daughter completing a Highlights Hidden Pictures book they just bought while mom sits with her school-aged son laughing and having fun as they complete a Mad Libs, also purchased right here. Mom and dad sip on their coffee while they engage with their kids.

  This is why we built this place. For them and everyone else around them.

  Cait appears with her camera, snapping pictures to post online. Social media has been a great help in getting the word out.

  When there’s finally a lull, I decide it’s time to restock and organize the bookshelves. I also drift around gathering up the trash left behind – empty coffee cups, dirty napkins, and a miscellany of paper receipts and notes carelessly discarded.

  I notice a rather large paper sticking out between books in the travel section. Between two hardcovers about travelling to the tropics of Hawaii is a pencil sketch. It’s a hand holding a rose. The stem goes right through the holder’s palm and out the other side where blood is freely flowing. There’s a message scribbled beneath the hand that reads,

  I keep keep bleeding love

  There is no signature. The artist hasn’t claimed the artwork. But then again, he doesn’t need to. I recognize it immediately. And my heart sinks.

  He found me.

  I look around just to make sure he’s not here. Watching. Waiting.

  Could he be nearby, lurking just out of sight, hoping to witness the moment I find his gift? I rush out to the deck area, frantically searching the faces. Heads turn as I race through the tables, scanning for something or someone.

  I’m drawing attention to myself. Not a good idea. The moment I realize what I’m doing, I stop and slow down, taking slow deep breaths. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman standing near the boardwalk railing with a camera pointed directly at me. She’s snapping pictures in rapid succession. Everything in my periphery fades away and all I see is her and all I hear is the clicking of her lens.

  Instinct kicks in and I quickly grab my phone, point it at her and start filming as I walk towards her. “Who are you?” I shout. “What do you want? Who sent you?”

  She apparently doesn’t like being filmed any more than I do, because she puts the camera down, turns, and scurries down the boardwalk, taking off down the first side street she sees.

  I feel a strange pressure on my arm and when I turn, I find Caitlin with a death grip on my forearm. She looks at me with a horrified look on her face. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”


  “I . . . I’m not sure,” I honestly answer.

  She drags me into the office and shuts the door. “What the fuck just happened?”

  I slam the drawing on the table, along with my phone. “I found this,” I tell her. As the words form in my mouth, I can feel my emotions rolling from fear and panic into anger and fury.

  Cait walks over and examines the drawing. I can see the blood drain from her cheeks. She recognizes it, too. “Oh, my God. Kenny, where did this come from?”

  It takes longer for me to explain what happened than the whole event took. In total, the entire incident lasted less than a minute. The explanation part takes much longer.

  Cait asks to see the video. I pull it up to show her. “Do you have any idea who this is?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Not a clue.”

  We sit there in silence for a moment, neither one of us sure of the next move. Eventually, Cait gets up, walks across the room, and picks up the phone.

  “Who are you calling?” I ask.

  She waves me off, “Sh!”

  I wait patiently, listening and watching.

  “Detective Harper, please. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

  Philip arrives in my office at TitleWave with another detective, Tom Guardino. Compared to my brother, Guardino is older, taller, and portly. His hair is graying at the temples and receding at the top, but he has a strong face and dark eyes that rake the room while Philip focuses on me.

  Cait and Brie are promptly escorted out of the room by Guardino, who remains on his feet, choosing to lean casually on my desk as my brother and I take a seat at the small table.

  Philip picks up the sketch that I’ve left lying on the desk, turning it over in his hands before handing it over to Guardino.

  “It looks like the others,” Philip remarks to his partner.

  Guardino glances at it and nods. “Yeah, maybe.”

  No one speaks for a moment and all I hear is a small thud outside the door to my office. I’m quite certain that if I were to pull the door open, both Cait and Brie would spill into the room. Their ears, no doubt, are pressed tightly to the door trying to listen in to the conversation.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” Guardino observes.

  “Thank you.” I look at Philip, waiting for him to say something relevant.

  Still holding the sketch, Guardino asks, “Where did you say you found this?”

  “In the travel section,” I explain. “Between two books on Hawaii.”

  Guardino smiles at me. “When’s the last time you received anything like this?” he asks, pulling out a small notepad from his back pocket.

  “Me personally?”

  “Yes, Miss Harper, you personally.”

  “When I was living in my apartment in the city. I’ve never gotten anything here at the shore. Not at my home and not at the bookstore. This is the first.”

  “I see.” He jots something down and looks back up at me, assessing. “And when is the last time you saw him . . .” he looks down at his notes, “this Paul Marks individual.”

  A shiver travels down my spine at the mention of his name. “In court,” I answer sharply.

  Guardino considers my answer. “Are you certain?”

  “Well, I thought I saw him following me outside my publisher’s office in Manhattan last week. But by the time I got my boyfriend’s attention and I looked again, he was gone. I’m pretty sure it was just my imagination.”

  Philip leaps up from his seat. “Last week? Your publisher’s office? Tell me you’re kidding, Kensington. Please, for God’s sake tell me you’re not serious.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Why the hell didn’t I just say we were leaving Cole’s photo shoot? “Um, well, I was going to tell you, but ...”

  “Oh, good. So long as you were going to tell me at some point that you were at your freaking publisher’s office and that you might have been followed, then I guess that’s good enough.”

  Philip is angry. I knew he would be, I just didn’t necessarily want this discussion to happen right here and right now. Going to my publisher’s office wasn’t very smart. I should have known better. Suppose visiting my old stomping ground is more dangerous than I had realized? “Did I see him Philip? Is he out?”

  “No, you definitely didn’t see him,” Philip answers quickly. “He’s still locked up – where he belongs.”

  I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. But I can still feel my heart beating wildly in my chest.

  “But he’s up to something,” Guardino chimes in. “We’ve intercepted a few letters of concern. He’s trying to find you and it looks like he may have succeeded.”

  “Does Cole know?” I ask my brother.

  Philip looks at me like I’m nuts. “Of course he knows. I spoke to him the day before yesterday – as soon as he got home from his game. He cares about your safety almost as much as I do. He knows how to contact me if anything out of the ordinary happens.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask. No wonder he freaked out about . . . everything.

  “No, there is nothing funny about the situation, Kenny. Cait and Brie know, too. If I knew how to get a hold of that wildcard, Declan, I would have talked to him, too.”

  My head is spinning. Everyone around me knows more about my life than I do. It’s unsettling. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand. “If anyone deserves to know, it’s me, don’t you think?”

  “I was hoping to keep this from you for as long as possible. You’re just getting your life back. I’ve watched how you’ve struggled to gain control and once Cole showed up, you’re almost back to being the little sister I had before this piece of shit entered your life. I didn’t want to take that away from you. Kensington, believe me, all I want – all I’ve ever wanted – is for you to be happy. How could I tear that away from you?”

  Philip always knows the right thing to say to make me feel better. How can I stay mad when all he was trying to do was to protect me?

  “He knows I’m here,” I tell him, sullenly. “What do we do?”

  “We start by identifying the maker of this sketch and locating that photographer. Didn’t Paul usually sign the art he sent you?”

  “He did,” I admit.

  “Then there’s a chance that there’s no connection. There’s too much that we just don’t know yet. Do you have the pictures you took of the chick with the camera?”

  “I do. But I didn’t take pictures, I took a video.” I reach into my bag and grab my phone. “Do you have to take my phone to the station?”

  “No, not at all. Just forward me the video, to my e-mail if you can, and we’ll have someone run it through our facial recognition software and see if we get any hits.”

  I waste no time in sending him that video. As I’m pulling up the mail app and attaching the file, Philip has one more piece of advice for me.

  “Kenny, don’t be mad at your friends. Or Cole. They were just doing what I asked. And I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

  “Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” Guardino adds.

  “I’m sorry, Kenny, but Philip insisted we keep our mouths shut,” Brie apologizes. “And to be honest, I don’t know what I would have told you, anyway. Philip wouldn’t really tell us anything. All we knew was to be alert and to let him know if anything out of the ordinary happens.”

  “I’m not mad,” I admit. “I would have done the same for you.”

  “I know you would. Let’s get out of this dark and cramped office for just a little while and get a little sunshine. I think we could all use a good dose of vitamin D and serotonin right now.”

  “That’s a great idea,” added Cait. “I’ll get us some drinks. Go grab a table and I’ll meet you on the patio.”

  We find an unoccupied table in the far corner, one without an umbrella offering plenty of therapeutic rays of sunshine. A warm gentle mist is blowing off the surf and normally I would feel its calming effects, but not today. My foot is tapping at rec
ord speed and I’m biting chunks of skin from my cuticles. I never bite my cuticles.

  There are a million thoughts racing through my mind and it’s difficult to make sense of them. Paul is up to something, but Philip won’t tell me what that might mean. Did he have something to do with the man I spotted in Manhattan or was it just my imagination?

  And who was that fucking woman with the camera?

  I pull up the video and pause it when she makes eye contact with the camera. She’s not much older than me wearing a jogging suit, baseball cap and sunglasses. She has a small Yorkie dog with her. She could pass for just another face on the boardwalk – and I suppose that’s the idea. Blend in. Go unnoticed.

  How did I miss her dog the first time? I think I was so focused on her face, that I didn’t see anything else.

  Cait arrives with three large blackberry currant iced teas. Each has a large lemon wedge and is remarkably refreshing and soothing. My hand shakes a little as I bring the straw up to my lips. It doesn’t go unnoticed by either one of my friends.

  Brie places a calming hand on my knee, hoping that the small contact will quiet my frayed nerves. “Kenny, I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, but I do know this – until your brother finds out who that woman is, we don’t actually know a thing.”

  “She’s right.” Cait adjusts her sunglasses to reduce the glare from the afternoon sun. “We are not going to panic and we are not going to freak out. Got it? He’s still locked up and you’re safe.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I argue. “How exactly am I supposed to calm down?”

  “Well, I’d suggest sex, but Cole’s travelling with the team. If you’d like, I could ask Ryan to set you up with one of his friends.”

  “Ew. No thanks.”

  “Do you remember what we used to do to relax?” Brie asks.

  There were lots of ways to unwind in the Big Apple and I list them all: relaxing at the Museum of Modern Art, chilling at the New York Botanical Gardens, finding an independent film playing somewhere in the city, or my personal favorite, hanging out in BB King’s jazz club, Lucille’s.