Temptation Bay (A Windfall Island Novel) (32 page)

George sighed heavily. “He asked for a lawyer. Can’t question him after that. Which, being a former cop, you know.”

“Yeah.” Still it took Dex a minute to swallow his disappointment before he said, “It could be any one of the Stanhopes. Even the one who hired me.”

“They’ll all need to be investigated,” Maggie said wearily.

“Digging into the family history?” George asked her with a little edge to his voice.

Dex pulled out his cell. “Suppose we find out?” He kept his eyes on Maggie as he punched in the number, as it rang, as he told the voice on the other end why he’d called.

Maggie saw the answer on his face and closed her eyes, relief blowing through her like a fresh breeze.

“Not my family history,” she said, and sank down on the edge of George’s desk, taking Dex’s hand as he came over to stand in front of her. “I’m not a match. I’m sorry, Dex.”

Dex swiped away the single tear that was tracking down her cheek. “I’m not.”

“But your case—”

“Isn’t solved. Yet.”

“So you’ll be sticking around,” George observed coolly.

“I was sticking around anyway,” Dex said, still holding Maggie’s eyes, “Case or no case.”

“Well, at least your romance will keep people from wondering why you’re staying on Windfall.” George sat back, then forward again, his gaze going from Maggie to Dex. “I’m not happy you didn’t bring me in from the beginning, but you were right to keep this quiet. I’ll do the same,” he continued. “I don’t want to cause a frenzy. But I’ll be keeping my eye on both of you from now on.”

I
t took George even less time to relate what had taken place since Dex’s arrival on Windfall Island than it had taken Dex to tell him. But then, George’s audience was infinitely more knowledgeable about the case—and able to show it as he hadn’t been.

“How are you going to handle the mother?”

George shifted in his chair, the quiet voice bringing him back to the conversation at hand. “She’s under hospice care on the mainland, not expected to last the week. It’s a blessing she doesn’t know.”

“It may be a blessing for her, but it was cruel to use Mort, to play on his hopes.”

George let silence provide his agreement. “I’m sure I can convince Maggie to keep Mort’s part in all this quiet. She won’t want his memory tarnished.”

“Not going soft on me, are you?”

“There’s already been one death here.”

“There might be more. Can you handle it?”

“I know what I signed up for, what it might mean to the community here.” He wouldn’t mourn Mort, not as long as he recalled that the kid had nearly killed Maggie.
George didn’t delude himself that it might not be so black and white if there was a next time. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“But you’re still in.”

“Yeah, I’m in.” George scrubbed a hand over his face, but it did little to ease his conscience. “As far as Keegan knows, I’m keeping his business here a secret. What about your family?” he countered. “Keegan knows it has to be one of the Stanhopes. He’ll be trying to find out which one of you wants Eugenia to stay dead.”

That was met with silence, the considering kind, and George knew the person on the other end of the line was not prone to rash and thoughtless actions. “Your Maggie is safe, in any case.”

“She’s not my Maggie, not anymore.”

“She’s a friend.”

“A friend who’s no longer in danger.” But when he thought about what had nearly happened—

“George?”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“It was a risk to try to take her out before the results were in. A very large and ill-considered risk.”

“Desperation,” George said, “is a hard taskmaster.”

Maggie sat on the back porch, swaying gently on her creaky old porch swing, staring out at the Atlantic. It had nearly taken her life, and now the restless waves seemed to remind her to live every day to the fullest. She’d be hard pressed to do it with Dex around. When she’d wanted the fresh air, even though it came with thin sunlight and cold wind, he’d insisted on wrapping her in every blanket in the house. But she was happy where she was—unspeakably sad over the loss of her first plane, but already thinking of
ways to move forward, already excited over what her future might bring.

And trying really hard not to wonder if Dex would be a part of it.

He’d been gone all day—where, she didn’t know—and she’d refused to ask him. It was a matter of pride. She wouldn’t be the type of woman who had to know her man’s every thought, every move. If he still wanted to be her man…

She shook that off. Just because he hadn’t brought up the idea of marriage again didn’t mean anything. Besides, it wasn’t like he was leaving permanently any time soon. Not until he solved his case.

None of them seemed to have much heart for it at the moment, not after Mort. She sighed heavily. There was a cloud without a silver lining. She should have felt angry, betrayed, but she was simply hurting, for his mother, for herself. Most of all for Mort, for a friend who’d only been looking for a way to save a mother who was his entire world.

“It’s been a hell of a day,” Dex said.

She kept her face turned toward the ocean, but closed her eyes, just a moment while she absorbed the relief and the joy that swirled through her as he settled at her side on the swing. “It’s been a hell of a week.”

“Think you can stand a little more drama?”

“I think I’ve had enough drama to last me the rest of my life. Or I will have had by the time you close your case.”

“And after I close my case, what then?”

Maggie rested her head back, looked up at the slice of sky she could see between the porch roof and railing. “It will be a while before I can replace the Piper, even with the insurance. I don’t think I should be making any big decisions until—”

His hand appeared under her nose. Something sparkled in the palm of it.

“Dex.” She eased back against the side of the swing, wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering. Not all the tremors were due to the cold. Who the hell knew a round of white gold circled with channel set diamonds could be so frightening?

And although her heart leapt, she had to be certain before she let herself grab the ring, and him, and hold on forever. “Are you sure, Dex? I meant it when I said I won’t be easy to live with, or easy to love. Sometimes,” she qualified when he started to object. “It’s not false modesty, and I’m not fishing for compliments.”

Dex picked up her left hand and slipped the ring on her finger. “Yeah, you’re moody and irritable and stubborn and you always want to do things your own way.”

She curled her fingers over the proposal she still hadn’t formally accepted. “I can compromise.”

Dex snorted.

“You’re no prize, either, you know.” But she didn’t take the ring off. Instead, in a rare girly moment, she held her hand up and watched the diamonds sparkle in the meager sunlight filtering through the cloud cover. It was exactly what she’d have wanted if she’d chosen for herself, something simple, understated, that wouldn’t catch on things while she was working, because God knew she’d forget to take it off. Or refuse to.

“That’s it? I’m no prize?”

“Give me a minute. I’m sure I can come up with an insult or two.” But she glanced at her left hand again and thought, what else could she do with a man who understood her so well, except marry him?

Dex slipped an arm around her and pulled her close.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “There are a lot of small airports in the Boston area. I can find one, rent some hangar space. It’ll even be cheaper as long as I’m down a plane.”

“We’ve been over this, Maggie. My job is portable. And your family is here. You’re just as important to the people of this island as they are to you.”

“Well.” She swallowed against the tears clogging her throat, but not out of pride. This was too important a moment to waste on a useless activity like crying. “What about your family?”

“You’re necessary to me. My family will understand.”

She smiled. If they were anything like him, she’d have her hands full. “I’d like to meet them sometime.”

“You will, over Christmas.”

As the blood drained from her face she shot upright and twisted around to gape at him. “This Christmas? In like two months?”

“Yeah, Christmas is non-negotiable in my family.”

Maggie slapped a hand over her stomach. “That means I’ll have to shop. What the heck am I supposed to get people I’ve never met?” She flounced back against the seat. “If things had turned out differently I could have bought a mall or something, then they could make their own choices.”

Dex laughed, pulled her close again. “You’re not sorry about the money.”

“At the moment? Yeah, I am.” She sighed, leaned into him. “Seriously Dex, am I what they want for you?”

“They want me to be happy, Maggie. You make me happy.”

“I won’t, not all the time.”

“And I’ll drive you crazy once in a while.”

She grinned. “Don’t give me reasons to change my mind. I haven’t said yes yet.”

He grinned back at her. “You said yes in the life raft.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that.”

“Near death experiences always stick in my mind.”

They both fell silent, thinking about how close they’d come to a very different reality.

“Are you?” Maggie said at length. “Sorry about the money, I mean.” She’d never wanted it, and all the complications it would bring along with it. But Dex might feel differently.

“No,” he said, and sent relief breezing through her. Not that she’d needed confirmation, but still, it felt good to hear him say he didn’t care.

“We’re alike there, Maggie. Half the fun of having anything is the satisfaction of looking at it and knowing what I put into getting it.”

“We.” Maggie looked at up at him. “What we put into building it, Dex.”

“We,” he agreed. “It’s going to take us a while to build what we want, Maggie. I was thinking a lifetime. Want to sign up?”

She lifted her hand, let the ring catch the light for a second or two before she laid her hand on his cheek. “I already did.”

Anna Sullivan was born and raised in southeastern Michigan. The seventh of nine children, her claim to fame was reading five books a week in grade school. Needless to say, her obsession with the written word only grew from there—despite a short, and misguided, foray into the world of computer science (the “sensible” job path). She still lives in Michigan, with her husband, three children, and two dogs whose life of leisure she envies but would never be able to pull off.

You can learn more at:

AnnaSullivanBooks.com

Twitter @ASullivanBooks

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J
essica Randal, Jessi to her friends and family, had been born and raised on Windfall Island, Maine. At the tender age of seventeen, her high school diploma so fresh in her hand the ink was still wet, she’d found herself pregnant and engaged. Nine short months later, the boy she’d thought her soul mate had left her high and dry, and she’d given birth to the real love of her life.

Benjamin David Randal arrived with little fuss or fanfare, a contented, happy baby who’d refused to cry even when the doctor slapped him sharply on the bottom. Seeing as he possessed the dreaded Y chromosome, Jessi knew for certain he’d give her trouble. She vowed he’d be the only man who would—as he’d be the only man in her life.

Almost eight years had passed since that life-altering day, and she’d made a good life for herself and her son. She didn’t have a college degree, but she took enough online courses so that when her best friend, Maggie Solomon, started her charter business with nothing more than a used airplane and a drive to succeed, Jessi had climbed on board and never looked back.

Maggie owned two planes and a helicopter now, along
with a pair of ferry boats. She spent as much time as she could in the air. Jessi made that possible.

As ten percent owner and one hundred percent business manager of Solomon Charters, Jessi handled the scheduling, drummed up business, kept the place stocked in everything from toilet paper to aircraft fuel, and juggled the bills to keep the wolves from the door—for the business, and for herself and her son.

All in all, she was pretty proud of herself, satisfied in her work, and fairly content with her personal life.

“Mom?”

She turned toward the sound of that voice and thought, make that deliriously happy. Looking into the face of her son, how could she not be?

“What’s up, Benj?”

He paused in the act of loading his backpack. “Where are we going on vacation next summer?”

“I’m not sure.” She gestured to his pack. “Work while you talk or we’ll be late. How about Boston, or maybe Gettysburg?” she tossed out, because summer was a long way off and she hadn’t given vacationing even a passing thought. “What do you think, Freedom Road or battlefield ghosts?”

Benji stuffed some papers in his backpack, flopped in a book, and heaved a sigh. “History stuff again?”

“I thought you liked history stuff.”

“It’s okay.” He sent her a sidelong glance. “They have history in other places.”

“Oh? What other places?”

He shrugged. “Everywhere, even Disney World.”

Jessi bit back a smile. “I don’t know, Benj. Disney World?”

“It’s not just rides and cartoon stuff, Mom. I looked it up in school.” His little voice rose with excitement as he made
his pitch. “They have animals, like in a zoo but they get to wander all over and you have to look at them from a train kind of thing. And there’s stuff about countries and presidents and science.”

“And this idea just came to you out of the blue?”

He hunched his shoulders. “Danny Mason is going with his family.”

And Danny was bragging on it to all the other kids in school. Not that Jessi could blame him; Disney World was the Paris of the pre-teen set.

“Auntie Maggie could fly us there,” Benji said, “And some of the hotels are pretty cheap—I mean,” he screwed up his face, “affordable. Some of the places are affordable, Mom, like for families, you know? So we could still stay in the park.”

But there was airline fuel, airport fees, a rental car, admission tickets and meals for a kid who ate like he had two hollow legs—and souvenirs, because why go all that way and bring back only memories? And she kept those details to herself. Bad enough that Benji had gone to the trouble of researching hotel prices; she wouldn’t have him worrying about money, not at his age.

“You’ve never said anything about Disney World before. Do you want to go just because the Masons are going?”

He thought about it for a second, which made her smile—and tear up just a little. How many seven-year-olds took the time to think through an answer—an answer about a proposal he’d clearly already put considerable thought and study into?

“I don’t know. I want to be a pilot, like Auntie Maggie. I guess that means I kinda want to go everywhere.”

“London? Moscow? Budapest?”

“I’m just a kid,” he said, and though his back was turned
she could tell an eye roll went along with the comment. Then he zipped his backpack and turned, giving her a sunny smile. “I’ll hit those other places when I grow up.
We’ll
hit them, Mom.”

And the tears filled Jessi’s throat so she could only smile and ruffle his hair as she nudged him toward the door. The way he assumed they’d always be a unit warmed her heart, and broke it a little, because she knew he’d leave her one day. She intended to do everything in her power to make sure he could and would. Children were meant to grow up and lead their own lives, and it was the task—and burden—of their parents to make sure they were prepared. When the time came, she’d swallow back tears again as she saw him off.

But that day was a long time coming, she reminded herself. For now, for all the days until then, he still belonged to her. Only her. “I’ve always wanted to go to Budapest.”

“Really?” He looked up at her, brown eyes alight with curiosity. “Where is that, ’xactly?”

Jessi sighed loudly and for effect. “It’s a good thing you’re going to school for a few more years if you don’t even know where Budapest is.”

“I can look it up only… how do you spell it?”

Laughing, Jessi gave him the letters after they’d climbed into the car. Benji copied them down on a scrap of paper, barely finishing before they pulled up in front of Windfall Island’s little school.

He stuffed the paper in his pocket and opened the car door, but instead of getting out, he turned to her. “We could get a dog,” he said. “Instead of going to Disney World, I mean.”

Jessi shook her head, amused. “Consolation prize?” He’d asked her for a dog at least a thousand times, but somehow he always managed to find a new angle. “Only you, Benj.”

He gave her a bright, mischievous smile. “I’ll talk you into it,” he said, tossed in a “Bye, Mom,” and jumped out of the car, too old to kiss her in front of his friends anymore.

She’d gotten used to that, even if she waited until he’d gone inside before she turned the car—and her thoughts—toward work. Best to concentrate on what she could have, what she could do. To remember that while it would be amazing to give her son a once-in-a-lifetime dream, by getting through every day, every week, every year, by sending him to college, she’d be giving him the tools to realize all his dreams.

Windfall Island perched just off the coast of Maine, a long, narrow, unforgiving spit of land edged with rocks too damn hard for even the relentlessly pounding surf of the Atlantic Ocean to wear down. Her people were just as hard and just as unforgiving, not to mention they ran the gamut from mildly eccentric to downright off-kilter.

Holden Abbot had come to Windfall Island to do a genealogy of the residents. All the residents. According to his research, the island had been settled by those on the fringes of society, sailors who’d jumped ship, men who’d broken laws, runaway slaves and fugitives from justice. They’d left a legacy of insularity, paranoia, and a severe dislike for any form of law enforcement—maybe because, over the centuries, breaking the law had often meant the difference between survival and starvation for the people of Windfall.

Laws weren’t broken on a regular basis anymore, at least not the big ones. Nowadays tourism provided. The season, however, had ended with the falling leaves and dropping temperature. The last tourist had vacated the island long before the wind became cutting and the surf turned deadly.

Hold wasn’t a tourist, but he was an outsider—which
had proved even less tolerable to the citizens of the island. At least the male citizens. The women tended to be a lot more welcoming. Rabidly so.

Except the one he wanted to get to know.

Jessi Randal seemed mostly oblivious to him, friendly, helpful, and sort of vaguely flirtatious without putting any real intent behind it. Without ever saying no, she kept him at arm’s length. Then again, he’d never outright asked her for a date because hearing her say no, well now, that would be a true rejection.

She walked in, petite, pretty, and looking so fresh and so sunny it seemed she brought spring in with her. And there, Hold thought, his blood sizzled, his nerve endings tingled, and there seemed to be a weight on his chest that made it just a little hard to breathe.

“What’s new, Mississippi?” She peeled a puffy coat the color of fresh lemons off her curvy little body, and when she turned and leveled her bright smile and dancing green eyes at him, he couldn’t have kept a thought in his head with duct tape and wire mesh.

“I know you Southern boys like to go slow, but it can’t possibly take this long for you to come up with an answer. You only need one word, like
fine
or
good
.”

Being from the South, Hold generally took his time over, well, everything. Jessi made him feel a powerful impatience; he just didn’t want her to see it. So he sat back, folded his arms and played it cool.

“Unless you’re up to something nefarious and you don’t want to tell me about it.”

“Not me.” Unless, Hold thought, she considered it nefarious to picture her naked. Which she probably did.

“Okaaay, so let me try this again. What’s new?”

“Not a blessed thing, darlin’.”

“Well, then.” She sat at her desk, and although the phone began to ring, she only looked over at the old-fashioned wall clock, which stood at one minute to eight.

She waited, watched the second hand sweep its measured way around the dial to dead on the hour, then plucked the receiver off the ancient black desk phone and said brightly, “Good Morning, Solomon Charters. Hold Abbot?” She looked over at him, grinning hugely. “Let me see if he’s around.”

Hold slashed a hand across his throat, shook his head, even got to his feet, prepared to beat a hasty retreat before he had to talk to the Windfaller on the other end of that call, probably female and ready with a proposition he’d have to find a non-insulting way to fend off. He’d just about run out of charm, and for a man who hailed from a part of the county where charm was as much a part of the culture as pralines, that was saying something.

Jessi rolled her eyes, but said into the phone, “He’s not here, Mrs. Hadley.” After a “Yes,” a couple of “Mm-hmmms,” and some scribbling, she said, “Good-bye,” and hung up the phone, holding out a pink message slip. “How about dinner?”

Hold crossed the room to brace his backside against her desk, just near her right elbow. “Sign me up, sugar.”

“Boy, you’re good at that,” Jessi said. “The little lean, the eye contact, and the way you call me sugar in that slow, easy Southern drawl. Smooth as Bourbon. Laureen Hadley is a goner.”

“Who? What?”

“Laureen Hadley. You’re having dinner with her tonight.” Jessi handed him the pink message slip. “Eight sharp, which is quite the sacrifice for Mr. Hadley since, according to Mrs. Hadley, eating that late will wreak havoc on his digestion.
Mr. Hadley is always one taco away from complete intestinal meltdown, so that’s really no big surprise.”

Hold stared at the slip a minute, then wadded it up and tossed it in the trash. “I’m not having dinner with the Hadleys. I’m busy tonight.”

“Of course you are,” Jessi said in a way that told him she thought she knew exactly what he’d be busy doing. Or rather whom.

She reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a stack of pink message notes and handed them over. “Take your pick.”

Hold dropped them in the trash. “I’m busy then, too.”

“Why do you encourage them if you’re not interested?”

“I don’t encourage them.”

She twisted around in her chair, rolling it back a couple feet so she could stare at him, brows arched. “What do you call flirting?”

“Harmless fun. A way to pass the time, make a woman feel good about herself.”

“Harmless for you, maybe. Around here it’s like making yourself the only bone in a roomful of starving dogs. Once they get done swiping at one another, the last one standing is only going to feel good once she…”

“Gnaws on me a little while?”

She gave him a slight smile. “For starters.”

“You made your point, Jessica. From now on I’ll only flirt with you.”

“At least I know you don’t mean it.” She rolled back to her desk, pulled a stack of paperwork over in front of her.

“What makes you think I don’t mean it?”

“I don’t know; maybe the fact that you flirt with, oh, every woman between legal and dead? What would make me any different?”

“I don’t know,” he parroted, “maybe the fact that I’m attracted to you?”

She rolled her eyes.

“It’s true, Jessica, I’m saving myself for you. Ask any woman between legal and the grave. They’ll tell you I’m all talk and no action.”

“I have no interest in your love life.”

Not for long
, Hold thought as he pushed off her desk. And he was running out of patience. Sure, he’d only been there a couple of weeks, and while he’d wanted Jessi from the moment he saw her, he’d decided to give her time to get used to the idea. She was, however, being purposely,
stubbornly
, obtuse.