“Of course,” Charlotte said, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s nice that you and your grandmother get along so well.”
“Yeah. We tease a lot but we do all right. Happy she’s still with us. She keeps telling me I’m dragging my heels about getting married. Technically I’m engaged—my fiancée’s a paramedic. She’s in Boston for training.”
“Are you dragging your heels?” Greg asked.
Eric laughed. “I guess it’d help to buy her a ring. See you two later. Call if you need anything.”
After Eric left, Greg stretched out his legs and tilted his head back at Charlotte. “Still not going to tell me what Mrs. Sloan put you up to?”
Charlotte sat on the porch rail. “She was off just now to get in enough steps on her Fitbit. And who says she’s put me up to anything?”
“I do.”
“If I did agree to do anything for her, I can assure you it would be innocuous and dull compared to what you’re used to.”
“Can you assure Eric that his grandmother isn’t losing it?”
“I can say unequivocally that Evelyn Sloan seems very much on her game with me. She saw you in the hammock. She thinks you were faking being asleep.”
“Me?”
“Ah. Right. You were faking it.”
“I knew she was looking for you. Whatever she’s got you up to, she’s enjoying the drama of sneaking around. Plotting with you must be a welcome diversion to picking peas.”
“She seems to like working in her garden.” Charlotte slid off the rail. “Has anyone ever told you that you have really piercing eyes?”
“Nope. Not in as many words.”
“You must scare the hell out of people with just a look.”
He stood up. “Not everyone. I think it’d take more than piercing eyes to scare you.”
“Think so, huh?”
He grinned at her. “Oh, yeah.” He nodded toward the door. “I’ll go in and start dinner. I know it’s early, but my stint in the hammock got me in touch with how tired I am. I’m making it an early night.”
Charlotte fought back a sudden yawn, smiling at him. “Look what you made me do. I’m beat, too. An early night sounds good.”
She helped him make a simple dinner of toasted cheese sandwiches and salad. They ate out on the front porch, although the evening air quickly turned cooler than either had expected.
“It doesn’t bother me,” she said, “but we can go in if you’d like. I know you don’t like the cold.”
“I’ll grab a blanket if I need one.”
“It’s not that cold.”
“To you, maybe. I’m not big on freezing.” He sighed, settling into his wicker chair. “But this feels good after the hot desert. Do you like Scotland because it’s wet and chilly?”
She smiled, picturing her courtyard in Edinburgh. “I like Scotland because it’s Scotland.” She paused. She didn’t want to get too deep into talking about herself. “When we met the night before Samantha and Justin’s wedding, you mentioned you’d been shot. Is that true, or was that something you tell women carrying you up the stairs after you’ve passed out drunk under the table in an English pub?”
“I wasn’t drunk and I wasn’t passed out.”
“You were asleep,” she said, skeptical.
He smiled. “That is correct.”
“And getting shot?”
“I didn’t make it up.”
“It happened on the job, didn’t it?”
“Overseas. On the job.” His tone turned serious. “My team was doing site work. We ran into an ambush and I took a bullet in my shoulder. That’s why I was at my brother’s apartment over the winter and why I had time to come here in the ice and snow.”
“It was a long recovery, then?”
“Longer than I wanted. Worst part was the cat hair in the apartment. I hate vacuuming.”
Charlotte sighed. “I bet that wasn’t the worst part.”
“What happened to me happened.”
He sounded sincere, as if his simple words summed up how he felt about what had to have been a difficult ordeal. Charlotte didn’t want to press him to talk about the incident if he didn’t want to, or if she wasn’t the right person. She just had one more question. “Would you say your experience was life changing?”
He didn’t answer at once. His gaze, with those penetrating turquoise-blue eyes, was steady, as if he knew there was a backstory to her question—that it wasn’t just about him, as interested as she was in his experience. Finally he nodded. “Laura and I gave up any pretense that we wanted to be together, and I went back into the field and got promoted.”
“I’d call that life changing.”
“Because of it, I’m here now, at this pretty country inn with you.”
“It is a pretty inn, and I’m glad you’re okay.” But Charlotte found herself yawning again, unable to stop, as if the strain of their conversation—finding out he hadn’t been kidding about getting shot, imagining his ordeal—had sucked up any reserves she’d had. She waved a hand. “Sorry. It’s not you. I’m still on Scottish time but I’ll adjust.”
“You need sleep. I’ll take care of the dishes.”
She didn’t argue. “Thank you.” She got to her feet, aching, she was so tired. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Oatmeal for breakfast okay with you? Porridge, I guess you’d call it, living in Scotland. I’ll set it up and have it ready to go in case you’re up early.”
“That sounds wonderful. We have oats?”
“We do. I slipped in a can of steel-cut oats at the country store this morning. I’ll follow the recipe on the back. I’d look up a recipe for proper Scottish porridge on the internet, but we’re in a digital dead zone here.”
“There are a hundred ways to make porridge, most of them good as far as I’m concerned.” She started for the door. “Dinner was fun.”
“We’re doing okay as inn mates.”
She laughed. “You have an irreverent sense of humor. Let’s see how things look in the morning.”
“Sleep well, Charlotte.”
“You, too, Agent Rawlings.”
“You call me Agent Rawlings when you mention things like sleep.” He stretched out his thick legs. “Thought you might like to know that before you crawl under the covers.”
Charlotte pretended not to hear him and went inside, taking the front stairs up to her room. As she shut her door behind her, she felt a searing sense of isolation that she hadn’t expected and couldn’t explain. Jet lag, she supposed. It could be disorienting. She thought of her friends in Edinburgh and her colleagues at the institute. Were Samantha and Justin still in town, or had they left for another part of Scotland? They hadn’t left her a precise itinerary, or probably the rest of their families, either.
“Who could blame them?”
She smiled, feeling better as she pulled the curtains and shades in her room.
A bath, a book and bed—her plan for the rest of the evening. With a good night’s sleep, all her carnal thoughts about Greg would be out of her head by their porridge in the morning. Still, if she had to dream tonight, she’d rather it be about him and his piercing, knowing eyes than a repeat of her nightmare in the hammock.
* * *
With Charlotte gone up to her room and the dishes done, Greg went back outside and walked out to the street to get a decent cell signal. He texted Brody, but the Knights Bridge native and his fellow DS agent didn’t know what was up with his wife’s grandmother, either.
Want me to check with Heather and whatever brothers are here? I’ve lost track.
No. I don’t want to alarm anyone.
We’re up late talking. I’ll be subtle.
Not much about Brody Hancock was subtle but he texted back a few minut
es later.
Evelyn’s been weird since the family bought the inn. They figure it’s nostalgia.
It wasn’t nostalgia. It was something tangible. Greg was convinced of that much, despite his lack of evidence. He didn’t know why he was curious. Jet lag. Fatigue. Looking for distractions ahead of his kids’ arrival and his new job in DC. A lot of possibilities that didn’t involve Charlotte Bennett.
He typed a response to Brody.
Thanks. Have a pint for me.
Greg returned to the inn and went upstairs. It was still light out and not just because of June’s longer days. He’d hit the sack early with his Alistair MacLean novel.
He saw that Charlotte’s door was shut. Probably locked, too, if from habit rather than distrust of him.
He didn’t lock his door. If she got in, he’d manage.
Ten
Edinburgh, Scotland
Samantha had visited the maritime archaeology institute where Charlotte worked once, long before Justin Sloan had launched himself into her life. The institute offices were located in a handsome eighteenth-century stone building on a narrow street in Edinburgh’s picturesque Old Town. She and Justin had walked from their hotel to Edinburgh Castle, where they’d wandered around for part of the morning, absorbing its long history and enjoying the breathtaking views from its battlements high above the city. They’d have lunch at whatever place struck their fancy and then head north for the next stop on their honeymoon.
“The institute just happens to be on our route,” Samantha said, pausing at the front door.
Justin raised his eyebrows. “That’s your story, is it?”
“It’s true!” She grinned at him. “Close enough, anyway.”
“Would you like to stop in and say hello since we’re here?”
“I’d feel better if we did. You’ll get a real taste of my pre–Knights Bridge life.”
They entered a vestibule with a set of stairs straight ahead and open doors to the left and right. Samantha went right, entering the institute’s cluttered reception area. The receptionist, a woman in her fifties who’d worked at the institute since its founding thirty years ago, recognized Samantha right off and greeted her warmly. “We heard about your wedding,” she said. “Congratulations.”
Samantha introduced Justin. “Edinburgh’s our first stop on our honeymoon.”
“A brilliant choice, not that I’m biased. Alan’s in his office, if you’d like to see him. The door’s open. Walk right in.”
Alan Bosworth, the institute’s assistant director and a marine archaeologist himself, rose as Samantha and Justin entered his office off the reception area. It was just as cluttered, with stacks of files and books, rolled-up charts, a dusty desktop computer, a laptop, cameras and at least two printers, one of which was obviously out of use. More charts and photographs of underwater sites consumed the wall space. A window looked out on a small alley. In his early sixties, lanky and eccentric, Alan explained he’d recently returned to Edinburgh after several weeks on a project in southern England, off the coast of Cornwall.
“I missed Charlotte before she took off on leave,” he said.
Samantha frowned. “On leave?”
“Leave, yes.” He sat on a swivel chair at a sturdy walnut desk, a relic from early last century, dusty and cluttered. “She told you, didn’t she? It’s not a secret, at least not that I’m aware of.”
“I’ve been preoccupied with my wedding. We decided to stop in on a whim while we’re in town. I didn’t ask Charlotte when she was returning to Edinburgh. Do you know?”
“Edinburgh? Probably in a fortnight. To work—harder to say. She took an indefinite leave. Understandable given the circumstances but I’m sure she’ll be back. I hope so, anyway. It’s great she had your wedding this weekend. Always good to see family after a hellish scare.” Bosworth tilted back in his chair. “She did tell you about that, didn’t she?”
“I don’t know about a scare,” Samantha said.
He winced. “Blast. Me and my bloody big mouth. Her leave has nothing to do with her work here. It’s completely voluntary. I’ve hardly seen her since her scare and I don’t have any details. She doesn’t like to talk about it.” Bosworth wrinkled up his face. “You don’t know about any of this, do you?”
Samantha shook her head. She felt Justin stiffen beside her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Charlotte hadn’t told you.” Bosworth motioned to an overstuffed love seat. “Would you care to sit down?”
“Thanks, but we won’t stay long.” Samantha calmed her breathing. “What scare, Dr. Bosworth? Can you tell us what you know?”
“Alan. Please. I don’t want to speak out of turn. Charlotte must have her reasons for not saying anything.”
“Justin and I decided to have our wedding in England and put it together quickly. Charlotte wouldn’t have wanted to trouble me with anything going on in her own life.”
“That would be like her.” Bosworth seemed to absorb his own surprise that his colleague hadn’t shared whatever had happened to her with her family. “She was on holiday in April, escorting tourist divers into historic wrecks in the west of Scotland.”
“The Sound of Mull,” Samantha said, marginally encouraged that she knew that much. “She mentioned it when I called to tell her about the wedding and ask her to be my maid of honor. We emailed a few times but didn’t talk again until later in May.”
“As I said, I don’t have the details. None of us here does. I just know something went wrong on one of the dives and she had a close call.”
Samantha inhaled sharply. “Did she have to come up fast?”
“I don’t know. She seems fine. A rapid ascent is dangerous, of course, but she’s an experienced diver and they’d have had proper equipment and medical people on hand. I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily. You saw her yourself at your wedding. Didn’t she seem fine to you?”
“Yes, but there are different levels of decompression illness.” Samantha didn’t go on. Alan Bosworth probably knew more about DCI than she did. “I suppose it’s Charlotte’s business. Thanks for your time, Alan.”
He nodded. “It’s good to see you. Give my best to your parents. We all hope Charlotte enjoys her stay in the States and comes back soon. A diving scare can be difficult, regardless of any injuries sustained. You question yourself. You start to wonder if your luck is running out.”
“You sound as if you have some experience,” Justin said.
Bosworth nodded thoughtfully. “I had a few close calls in the early days. I was lucky not to incur permanent damage—or die.” He caught himself. “I don’t mean to imply Charlotte’s incident was on that scale. I honestly don’t know the details.”
Samantha thanked him and they left. As she and Justin returned to the quaint street, she digested what Alan Bosworth had told them. “If Charlotte was cautioned against diving again—told she can’t dive—it’d be a blow.”
“A blow to her career?” Justin asked.
“Certainly to the career she has now.”
“Think your parents know what happened?”
“If I didn’t, why would they?”
“They worked with her and they didn’t get married a few days ago.”
Samantha waited until they reached an intersection before she gave up and called her father, but he told her that he and her mother had no idea Charlotte had had a diving scare or was on a leave of absence from the institute.
“Tommy mentioned on Saturday that Charlotte had saved a friend of his this spring,” her father said. “An amateur diver. I wasn’t paying close attention. You know Tommy. He always has something to say. I was focused on the wedding. It was your day.”
“Was Tommy involved in the dive that went bad?”
“I don’t know. Do you want me to find out?�
�
“No. Thanks. I’m sure she’s okay.”
“She looked fine this weekend. Enjoy your honeymoon, kid. I had a feeling you might end up in Scotland. Say hi to Justin for us.”
“I will. If you hear anything—”
“It’ll keep ten days.”
Samantha disconnected and relayed what her father had told her to Justin. “I wonder if this scare is why Charlotte jumped at the chance to stay at the inn.”
“Did it strike you as odd?”
“Not really. Not at the time. She needs to see about Max’s house in Washington and she’s been curious about Knights Bridge. Obviously she has more time on her hands than I realized.” Samantha reined in her frustration—and her worry. “I hope she knows she can talk to me.”
“What about your uncle Caleb?”
“I’m sure if he knew anything about a diving scare, he’d have said something, wedding or no wedding. If he didn’t speak up, Isaac, Keith, Ann or Eloisa would have. They have a nose for Bennett gossip.” Samantha glanced up at the gray sky, then shifted back to Justin. “Charlotte wouldn’t want me to worry about her even without a wedding and a honeymoon.”
“You two have that in common.”
“Yes, I suppose we do. Justin... Never mind.”
“You’re worried you two have drifted apart?”
Samantha nodded but made no comment.
“Charlotte was your maid of honor, Sam.”
“That’s true.”
“Maybe she’s embarrassed, or this ex-fiancé, Tommy, got inside her head again. She’ll work it out. There are a number of possible reasons why she didn’t talk to you that have nothing to do with any cracks in your relationship.”
Samantha smiled at him. “I need that Justin Sloan common sense right now. Sometimes I wonder if any of us Bennetts have common sense. I’ve always believed Max did, but you know my family.”
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