“Here you are,” she muttered to herself. “Alone. You should just accept this as your fate.”
It wasn’t that Lisa really believed in fate. It was just that she knew the statistics. She’d read the Bridget Jones series, where the facts were discussed ad nauseam.
The older she got, the less chance she would ever get married.
And she would turn thirty next week.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if winter hadn’t come. Suddenly, Lisa was questioning all of her independence, her choices, and even her ability to reason.
She loved it here. Loved her restaurant. Loved her friends.
But there was just something missing.
Get over it, Lisa. Maybe this is your lot in life. And that’s okay. We all have different paths, and maybe yours is sheer and utter isolation for now. Consider it a type of hibernation. But then you can emerge in the spring, open the Crazy Chefette full-time again after a long winter hiatus, and bloom.
Out of her group of friends here on Lantern Beach, Lisa was the one who’d always wanted to get married and have kids and live the quintessential American dream. Yet she was the one furthest from the goal.
Becoming a family woman didn’t appear to be on the horizon. Nope, there weren’t even any possibilities in sight.
Lisa had figured she would meet someone at college. When she didn’t, she figured she’d meet someone on the job. When she didn’t, well . . . she moved here and figured Lantern Beach would be the best place to meet someone.
But she hadn’t.
She supposed she was married to her restaurant. It was just that during these winter months when work wasn’t busy . . . she felt restless. Maybe even a little lonely.
What was wrong with her tonight? Lisa let out a laugh and shook her head.
She turned back to her book and tried to read, but the words weren’t even registering in her mind. Her concentration was definitely shot.
She sat up straight, her senses suddenly on alert as a sound cut through the silence.
What was that?
She heard it again.
Something breaking.
Glass?
Had someone shattered one of her windows downstairs?
Her pulse raced.
What if someone had broken in? Were they trying to steal something from the restaurant—money from the register, most likely? Or was it for another purpose?
She remembered the feeling of being watched earlier.
Lisa’s heart raced even faster.
She couldn’t just sit here like a deer during open season.
She grabbed her phone and dialed Mac MacArthur. He was filling in for Cassidy, the police chief, until she returned from Texas. The man had headed the police force here for decades until he retired. But even in his retirement, he’d kept an eye on the town. It was only natural that Mac step in for Cassidy while she was gone.
Mac promised to come right out. Until then, Lisa pulled the blanket higher and waited for the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs toward her. Waited for another encounter that would have her life flashing before her eyes.
Please, Lord, protect me. And don’t let this day get any worse. I didn’t think it could, but I feel like I’m on a collision course of being proven wrong.
“I didn’t see anyone outside.” Mac stood just inside by Lisa’s back door in the area where deliveries were made to the left and the stairs to her living quarters rose to the right.
At the moment, broken shards of glass from the bottom pane of the window atop her door littered the floor. Mac had shown up ten minutes after Lisa called, looking like he’d already been dressed and ready to work.
The man was thin and wiry, with white hair and an even whiter goatee. His eyes always sparkled, and he lived to bring justice where justice was due.
Lisa crossed her arms, still feeling uneasy. Her mind had gone to the worst places—places where someone had broken in with plans to attack her. Could Braden have done this? John?
She cleared her throat, realizing her thoughts might make her seem paranoid. Maybe this was all just an accident. “Good to know that whoever did this is gone.”
Mac slipped on a glove, stooped down, and used tweezers to pull something from the wall in front of the door. Lisa gasped when she recognized the object clutched in the shiny metallic tool. But the words wouldn’t leave her mouth to confirm what her eyes had seen.
“It’s a bullet.” Mac straightened and examined her again as he slipped the bullet into an evidence bag and sealed it. “You didn’t hear gunfire?”
Lisa shook her head, wondering how she’d missed that. “Only the glass breaking.”
“Someone could have used a silencer, I guess.”
She tugged her sweater more closely around her as a chilly breeze slithered through the window. “Why would anyone do this?”
Mac sighed and rested his hands at his belt. “You know how people are. Some people just get bored this time of year. There’s nothing else for them to do so they cause trouble.”
“Well, that trouble is going to cost me money.” This was the time of year when cash got tight. Unforeseen repairs weren’t what she wanted.
Mac frowned. “Unfortunately, that happens. But I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
“Me too.” Lisa shivered and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. This day couldn’t be over quickly enough.
“You have some wood left over from hurricane season?” Mac asked. “The pieces you put over your windows?”
“I do. They’re in the shed behind the building.”
“I’ll help you cover the door so you can rest a little easier tonight,” he said. “But first I’d like to check out the rest of your place.”
“To make sure no one is inside?” Her voice sounded thin, even to her own ears. The thought of someone lurking in the dark recesses of her home was horrifying.
“And to make sure nothing has been stolen.”
“Of course.”
Lisa followed behind Mac as they inspected her space. She was glad Mac was here—she didn’t want to face this place alone, not until she knew it was safe.
Thankfully, everything was clear and nothing appeared to have been taken.
She and Mac paused in the kitchen after their walk-through.
“Can I get you a piece of cake?” Lisa asked. “I have some of your favorite—cayenne and chocolate.”
He grinned. “You know I can’t resist some of that.”
She cut him a piece, plated it, and gingerly placed it on the table in front of him. Mac wasted no time grabbing his fork and taking a bite. Delight stretched across his face.
“Delicious, as always. You, my dear, are a culinary genius.”
Satisfaction warmed her. “I’m glad you like it.”
Mac studied her face as he took another bite. “You can’t think of anyone who would want to shoot at your restaurant, can you? I mean, I’m assuming this is random. Is there anything I should know?”
Braden’s image flashed through her mind. No. Braden had no reason to break her window.
Sure, he’d put her in a chokehold earlier, but that didn’t mean the man had tracked her here and tried to scare her. What sense would that make?
It would make no sense. However, Lisa did give him the name of her restaurant. What had she been thinking?
Then John’s image flashed in her mind. Could he want to ruin her that much? He seemed to have a personal vendetta but . . .
“Lisa?” Mac asked, pulling her back to the present.
Whom should she mention? Anyone?
“I did have a confrontation in the grocery store today,” Lisa said, pulling her sweater over her hands.
“I heard. John?”
She nodded, hating how quickly word had spread.
“I’ll talk to him.” Mac finished and pushed his plate aside. “Unfortunately, being a jerk isn’t a crime. It should be, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll ch
eck his alibi for tonight, just to be sure.”
Lisa crossed her arms. “Thank you.”
“If you need anything, you call me, okay? I’ll be right here.”
“I always appreciate you, Mac. Thanks so much.”
As soon as he left, loneliness consumed her again. Why did everything seem to be screaming that she was in danger and that her life was falling apart?
Because, if she was honest with herself, sometimes she believed the lies. Believed that she was a hack. That her restaurant was terrible. That she had no place on this island.
Chapter Four
Braden opened his eyes and blinked.
Where was he?
Memories of Iraq filled his mind, and he waited to hear the sounds of the warzone. Hurried footsteps as soldiers ran for cover. Distant bombs. Urgent shouting.
Instead, he heard . . . birds squawking overhead. Frogs chirping. Waves crashing.
Waves? Where could he be? His skin felt entirely too chilly for the Middle East. The sounds were all wrong. Yet his body felt like it had been through a battle.
He raised his head, and his fingers rubbed against the rough wood beneath him.
Wood? He’d expected dry, gritty dirt. Rough cement. Maybe even sand.
As Braden pushed himself up, he soaked in the decking around him. The screened-in windows. The swing swaying in the breeze.
The darkness had fled. Despite the cold, the sun glared bright and strong, coming right at him from the east.
Lantern Beach, he remembered.
Last night flashed back to him. The woman who’d come into the house. The way he’d attacked her. The fear on her face.
He recalled stepping onto the screened-in porch, seeing a shadow, and then hearing . . . gunfire.
He flinched just thinking about it.
Had someone fired at him?
And he’d gotten that ominous text, the one that had indicated someone knew Braden was here on Lantern Beach. Someone unknown. Faceless. Dangerous.
He sucked in a breath and lumbered to his feet like a drunk who’d passed out cold. Once standing and steady, Braden glanced around, searching for evidence he wasn’t crazy.
He checked the screens for bullet holes, but they appeared intact.
He checked the siding. There was nothing.
Braden had definitely heard something.
He squeezed the skin between his eyes. He must have blacked out because he couldn’t remember anything after he’d heard those bangs. And, last he recalled, it had been dark outside. Now it was morning. Braden had lost a good eight or nine hours.
Eight or nine hours.
He ran a hand over his face, hating this person he’d become. Hating that he was no longer the strong, capable man who let nothing ever stand in his way.
Now he was at the mercy of his mind. At the mercy of circumstances and prescription drugs and whatever the breeze blew in.
He’d been trusting that God would bring him through this, but some days felt more uncertain.
Like now.
Lord, please help me. I don’t know what else to do. I’m at the end of the rope, and my hands are slipping. If I let go . . . I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to grab hold of any kind of lifeline again.
Braden took a few steps and nearly collapsed on the swing. His body felt heavy with burdens that no one could see but that Braden could feel—as if an albatross hung around his neck.
Pulling out his phone, he held it. His hands trembled again, reminding him of his brokenness once more.
Like he needed more reminders.
He hit the number of his psychologist, and a moment later Dr. Rick Larson’s voice came on the line.
“Braden,” he started, his voice warm and friendly. “You got to your retreat center okay, I guess.”
Dr. Larson had been working with Braden for more than a year. Braden had been friends with Thomas, Dr. Larson’s son. Four years ago, Thomas had been killed when a training exercise went wrong. Braden had remained close to the family, and it only made sense that Dr. Larson would treat him.
“I got here okay. But I already had an episode.” Braden’s stomach clenched at the memories.
Dr. Larson was quiet a moment. “Did you take your meds?”
“Yeah, I took them before I hopped in the shower yesterday.”
“Make sure you take them. Missing even one dosage can set you back.”
“I know.” Braden had heard it enough times before. Yet he still missed a dose on occasion or thought he could cope without the pills. But the doctor insisted they would eventually help him regain his life.
“This time away from everything will be good for you, Braden. The change of environment, getting away from the reminders of war . . . I think this will be the start of a season of renewal in your life.”
“I hope so.” Braden gripped the phone and stared out at the beach. Despite the relaxing sounds of the ocean in the background, his lungs were still tight—almost as tight as his muscles.
“What caused the episode? I’m assuming you blacked out again. Any idea what triggered it?”
Memories pummeled him. “I thought someone was shooting at me.”
Dr. Larson was quiet again. “I see. Why did you think that, Braden? Did something happen?”
Braden squeezed his eyes shut. “I heard . . . I heard something.”
“It could be your mind playing tricks on you.”
“I know.” Braden thought about that fact nearly every waking minute. No one needed to remind him.
“Try to take it easy. And, again, don’t forget your meds. Call me if you need anything else, okay? I’m just a few hours away.”
“Got it, doc. Thanks.” Braden hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
He paused for a second and contemplated telling Dr. Larson about attacking Lisa. He decided not to. Not now. No, he needed to sort some things out for himself first.
He ended the call and stood. Maybe a walk would help.
He lumbered down the stairs, knowing he needed a jacket in this temperature, but he didn’t care right now. Maybe the blast of cool ocean air would be good for him, like a slap in the face that would bring him back to his senses.
As Braden reached the bottom step, he crossed the driveway at the base of the stairway and started toward a path over the dune.
Before he got there, he paused and squatted. He picked up some papers on the ground.
Firecrackers.
Someone had set off firecrackers beneath the house last night, he realized.
Why would someone do that? As a prank? Did they think no one was here?
Or was there more to this story?
Braden didn’t know. And he didn’t like it.
But he was going to keep his eyes open.
Because trouble could have followed him here. Could be watching him right now. Could be waiting for the perfect time to strike.
And Braden wasn’t here to hide. No, he would fight. Maybe—just maybe—his nightmare would end, once and for all.
But first he had to figure out who was behind this.
Lisa finished prepping all her food for the day and glanced at her watch. She would open for business in ten minutes, and Tammy, her waitress, still wasn’t here, nor was she answering her phone.
Great.
Lisa hadn’t been that busy these past few weeks. But still, good help was hard to find. Knowing Lisa’s luck, the place would be slammed today. She’d already lost the majority of her employees when everyone except for island full-timers had left for the winter. In the summer, an influx of teens came here, looking for a fun summer job at the beach and a change of scenery. But that season had passed.
Despite that, Lisa was glad it was Saturday and her restaurant was open today. She needed something to occupy her thoughts. She couldn’t stop replaying her encounter with Braden last evening, not to mention the broken window and John. In fact, she’d hardly slept all night.
Instead, she’d listened for creaks and shattering gla
ss. She’d searched for hidden figures and watching eyes and men waiting to put her in chokeholds.
Still gripping her phone, she glanced at her watch. It was time for this show to get started, with or without Tammy. Right when Lisa unlocked the door and turned over the sign out front to read “Open,” someone stepped inside.
She sucked in a deep breath and drew herself back, her defenses instantly going up.
Braden.
He nodded, almost awkwardly as he stood at the entrance wearing jeans, an olive-colored shirt, and a thick khaki jacket. “I’ve been outside for an hour, waiting until you opened.”
Lisa’s throat suddenly felt dry and achy. Maybe she should call Mac. Or even Wes or Austin. They’d be here in a flash to help her out.
Instead, she swallowed hard. The fact remained that this man could break her neck in five seconds flat if he set his mind to it. She doubted anyone could stop him if he set his mind to something.
She wouldn’t jump the gun. Not yet.
She rubbed her neck, trying to ease the ache there. “You should have called. I would have told you my hours, and you might not be so cold right now. I feel terrible that you’ve been out here for so long.”
Her voice sounded stiff and breathless, but no amount of optimism could change that.
Braden shifted again and dipped his head, not seeming as much like a mercenary today. “I . . . uh, I really just wanted to apologize again for yesterday.”
The man sounded sincere. He looked sincere. Maybe he was sincere.
But Lisa reminded herself not to be too trusting. Being too trusting got her in trouble.
“It’s done and over with, so don’t worry about it,” she finally said, determined not to draw this conversation out any more than it needed to be.
“I wanted to give you this.” Braden held out an outstretched hand with something shiny in his palm.
Lisa picked up what appeared to be a bullet casing and squinted with alarm. “I don’t understand.”
Was this some kind of threat? His way of admitting he was the one who’d shot out her window last night?
“I carry one of these with me wherever I go,” Braden said, jamming his hands into his pockets. “It reminds me of the battlefield. Of how hard that time in my life was, but how necessary for the bigger picture—the picture outside myself. When I think about that, it gives me the strength to make the right choices, even when those choices are unpleasant or hard.”
Shadow of Intrigue Page 3