Trick Me, Treat Me

The heat in his stare told her he wasn’t merely talking about any phantom birthmark. She swallowed hard, trying to focus on their conversation, not the attraction still snapping between them. “How can you know all this?”

“We know a lot about the people in this inn this weekend,” he admitted. “That elderly couple?”

She raised an inquiring brow.

“Counterfeiters.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Double-check any money they give you.”

“They paid with a credit card,” she murmured, still not fully able to wrap her mind around this whole crazy scenario.

Maybe this guy was loco, maybe he was playing games with her, perhaps he was even an escapee from a mental institution. Maybe he was playing a big fat Halloween prank. Her instincts said there was more to this story than he’d said, that his charm hid as much as it revealed. Conventional wisdom told her she should be on the phone, out the door or arming herself with something sharp. That’s certainly what any quiet turtle would do.

To hell with that.

She forced the thought away. Gwen wasn’t stupid enough to react foolishly out of a need to do something reckless and exciting for a change. But something about his story rang true, though she suspected he hadn’t told her everything. Perhaps he was telling her only as much of the truth as he could.

He had identification, a briefcase full of documents and, if she wasn’t mistaken, what looked like surveillance equipment. He was also intense and charming, suave and smooth-talking. Obviously intelligent, adept at slipping in the shadows.

The CIA, or the Shop, or whatever it was, could do worse. So it wasn’t entirely impossible. And if there was any chance, whatsoever, that Miles was indeed who he said he was, she might have a dangerous criminal sleeping under her roof.

An international arms dealer, along with the ghosts, was enough to ruin any fledgling inn. At least for the 51.5 weeks of the year not involving Halloween. And that didn’t even take into account the whole “being murdered in her bed” scenario.

“All right,” she finally said. Her voice sounded both a little skeptical and a little afraid. “I’ll help you, Mr. Stone. I’ll be your ally this weekend. Tell me what you want me to do.”

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