The Cottages On Silver Beach

It didn’t matter that he was drawn to her. The feeling was definitely not mutual. She made no secret of her dislike for him. She thought he was uptight, rigid, unfeeling. Mr. Roboto.

If she only knew.

Added to that, now she was furious with him for digging into Elizabeth’s disappearance. He supposed he couldn’t really blame her.

She was waiting for a response, he realized, and it took him a moment to remember the question.

“You asked me what kind of woman I think you are. I think you’re a caring, compassionate woman who loves her brother and is loyal to him. I respect that, Megan. Believe me.”

In his line of work, he often saw the opposite, people willing to stab their best friends in the back if it would protect themselves and their own interests.

“You would do the same, if one of your family members had to face what Lucas has over the last seven years.”

“That’s probably true,” he acknowledged. He would go to the wall for any one of his siblings. “I understand your anger and your urge to defend your brother. I’ll leave the cottage if you insist, but I would rather not. I like it here. I’m not sure why, but I’ve been able to get more done on my manuscript in the last week than I have in months.”

It was true. Even before the stupid choices he had made leading up to his injury, his life had felt on hold, somehow. He had been going through the motions at the FBI, doing his job without the passion he had once brought to the work and treating his side hobby of writing the same way.

In the week since he’d come to Haven Point, Elliot felt as if he had returned to center somehow. He had managed to regain a little equilibrium, to find the peace that had been missing in Denver, probably because he had been wearing himself so thin trying to do everything.

“Why should I let you stay?”

“Because you signed a rental agreement? And because I haven’t done anything that would provide you grounds to break that agreement?”

She shrugged. “Sue me if you want to. You think I care?”

Come at me, bro. She didn’t say the words, but she might as well have.

“If I let you stay, would you promise to leave Elizabeth’s case alone? Let Marshall’s department handle it?”

He thought of the last few fevered nights of writing and the stacks of finished pages that had come out of them. He needed more of those nights and that same productivity and wanted nothing more than to agree to her demand.

His innate sense of justice and the desire to find the truth wouldn’t allow it, however. The community deserved answers. For that matter, so did Elizabeth’s children.

“No,” he said, with blunt honesty. “I can’t promise you anything of the sort.”

She made a face. “You’re so predictable. That’s exactly what I knew you would say.”

“Why did you bother to ask the question, then?”

“Idle curiosity, to see if I was right.”

She studied him for a long time and he waited, quite certain she was going to show him to the door, literally and figuratively. After a long moment, she sighed. “I can’t kick you out. You paid for two more weeks and the paperwork to issue a refund would be a nightmare. Not to mention—you being predictable and all—I could see you being the kind of person who would follow through and take me to court.”

He wouldn’t, but he let her keep her illusions. “It’s a distinct possibility.”

“Beyond that, your sisters would probably have something to say about it. It’s not worth the trouble.”

He doubted Katrina or Wyn would take his side. The women of Haven Point tended to stick together, even against family at times. Cade and Marshall could attest to that.

He wasn’t about to argue, though, especially if it meant he could stay at the cottage. “You’re probably right.”

“About many things,” she retorted. “First and foremost, I need to say this one more time. Luke did not harm his wife. She was a troubled woman, Elliot. Ask anyone. She was suffering postpartum depression. She struggled with it when she had Cassie and it never really went away when she had Bridger only eighteen months later. She was angry and moody and not the woman we all knew and cared about. None of that was Luke’s fault and it’s completely unfair that he has had to shoulder suspicion all these years.”

Her words rang with a sincerity he couldn’t avoid, but he had been an investigator too long, had seen too much, to share the same kind of faith in her brother. While he still found it surprising, he had read in the file numerous reports about how depressed and angry Elizabeth had been before she disappeared.

That didn’t clear Luke, not by a long shot. If anything, he might have even more motivation to lose his temper with an unhappy wife, then somehow tried to cover it up.

“If he had nothing to do with her disappearance, wouldn’t it be in your family’s best interest if I could find some kind of evidence that might prove it?”

“Keep an open mind. That’s all I ask. Will you tell me if you find out anything new?”

She deserved nothing less. “Yes,” he answered.

By the careful way she studied him, then finally nodded, he assumed she took him at his word. “Thank you. And you promise you’re not writing a book about the case?”

“I swear.”

She bit her lip and he could tell she was already regretting her decision to allow him to stay.

“I’m sorry I snooped in your papers. I shouldn’t have spied on a guest like that. I was hoping to steal a sneak peek at your new book, but that’s still no excuse for invading your privacy. It won’t happen again.”

His face felt suddenly warm but he ignored it, touched that she would apologize despite her anger at what she had found. She was remarkable.

“The book is still in revisions, too rough for anyone else to see. You wouldn’t enjoy it at this point. A few more weeks and you can read it.”

“Really?”

“Sure. If you want to.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at her watch. “I should go.”

Do you have to?

The question welled up inside him but he sternly shoved it back before he could do something stupid like actually say it.

He reached to pick up the handle of her plastic tote of supplies and she reached down at the same time. His forehead brushed against hers and the tiny, fleeting contact burst through him like rockets exploding in the sky during Lake Haven Days.

For an instant, they gazed at each other and he could almost swear he saw awareness bloom there.

Something clutched at his insides, a fierce, long-buried longing.

No. Impossible. This was Megan. The woman who had once loved his younger brother and still grieved for Wyatt.

“Careful,” he said, his voice more abrupt than he intended. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, her expression now impassive.

He felt awkward and stupid, suddenly aware he was still sweaty from his run and his arm hurt like a mother.

He gestured to the bucket. “For the record, I won’t require housekeeping services for the remainder of my stay.”

“It’s included in the price of the rental. Twice-weekly. You’ve already paid for the service. You might as well take advantage of it.”

“Just leave towels and fresh sheets a few times a week. I can make the bed myself and take care of the rest.”

She looked as if she wanted to argue, but finally shrugged. “Your choice. I’ll instruct my staff. I certainly can’t force you to accept housekeeping services, especially when we’re shorthanded.”

She left before he could answer, leaving him to watch her walk down the steps of the porch into the afternoon sunlight.

* * *

SHE SHOULD HAVE thrown him out.

As she returned the cleaning supplies to the housekeeping cart and started pushing it back to the main inn, Megan wanted to kick herself.

She couldn’t shake the sense of impending disaster. She didn’t want Elliot anywhere near the case file on Elizabeth’s disappearance. He was a single-focused investigator, from everything she knew about the man. His siblings called him the Bulldog, for heaven’s sake. Something told her Elliot wouldn’t rest until he found answers—or twisted the facts to suit his version of the story, anyway.

No, she caught herself. That wasn’t fair. Elliot was a man of integrity and honor. He was a decorated FBI agent. He would work tirelessly until he found out what truly happened to Elizabeth. That could only be good for Luke, surely, to finally know the truth.

Still, that apprehension niggled at her. Innocent people went to prison all the time. She watched plenty of television, had seen the documentaries. A mistaken eyewitness here, a botched forensics collection there. It happened. She couldn’t let Luke be one more of those wrongly convicted.

Her phone rang just as she pushed the cart into the supply room for the staff to refill the next morning before their rounds.

She glanced at the incoming caller ID. Speak of the devil.

“Hi, Luke,” she answered. “I was just talking about you.”

A long silence met her thoughtless words. “Oh?”

She should never have brought it up. She certainly couldn’t tell him she had been conversing with a certain FBI agent about him—or that Elliot was digging into Elizabeth’s disappearance while he was in town.

“It doesn’t matter. What’s going on?”

Luke hesitated before continuing. “We’re trying to finish the trim on this house and I need a few more hours. I hate to leave the job site, especially when we’re so close to finishing, but the kids’ babysitter can’t stay late tonight. Any chance I could have her drop them off at the inn for a couple of hours?”

She thought of all she still had to do before she could head back to her cottage and work on photos again late into the night. That didn’t matter. The kids came first. “Of course. I love having them here.”

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I try,” she joked.

He took her words seriously. “I don’t know what I would have done without you the last seven years,” he said quietly.

“I love them. You know I do.”

“They’re lucky to have you. So am I,” he said gruffly.

“Go Team Hamilton,” she said.

He gave a short laugh, just about all she could ever get out of him these days. “Thanks again. I owe you. I should be done about nine.”

“Perfect. Just enough time for me to fill them with sugar and get them all jacked up for you so they’re awake all night.”

“I can always count on you to have my back.”

She smiled, said goodbye, then returned her phone to her pocket. He meant his words in jest but both of them knew they were true. She would protect her family no matter what.

Even if the threat happened to come from the entirely too attractive Elliot Bailey.

* * *

SHE MANAGED TO avoid Elliot for several more days, until circumstances and the intertwined nature of their lives made that impossible.

“Isn’t this a stunning reception?” Charlene Bailey gave a happy sigh Saturday evening. “Probably the most beautiful you’ve ever photographed, wouldn’t you say?”

Megan couldn’t help but smile. “Simply breathtaking,” she answered. “Katrina makes a lovely bride.”

Charlene preened. “I always knew she would be. She was a pretty girl who grew into a beautiful young woman.”

It was true. The couple was perfect together. Bowie Callahan was lean and sexy, with longish dark hair and sculpted features, while Katrina had always turned heads. As perfect as they seemed together, the most adorable part of this particular wedding reception was the two children they were raising as their own—Bowie’s young half brother Milo and the young girl Katrina had recently adopted in Colombia.

“I wish you could have been at their wedding. Everything was perfect,” Charlene said.

“That’s what I understand. I’m so sorry I missed it.”

The pair had chosen to be married in a last-minute ceremony at a small destination wedding a few months earlier on a private island off Cartagena.

Megan would have moved heaven and earth to be there and had been planning on shooting it for Katrina, but Luke ended up needing an emergency appendectomy the day before she was supposed to leave and she couldn’t leave when he needed her.

“The backup photographer you helped us find did a wonderful job of capturing the day.”

“Is there anything else in particular you want me to shoot at the reception today? I want to be sure I don’t miss anything on your list.”

In the last five years of photographing wedding celebrations, she had learned to always ask that question of the mother of the bride. It could save a great deal of heartache later.

“I can’t think of anything, except maybe a few more shots of her brothers together over there.”

Megan tensed. She didn’t even want to talk to Elliot Bailey, let alone photograph the man. “Sure,” she answered, with what she hoped was a pleasant smile that hid any sign of nervousness.

Photographing this reception was Megan’s gift to Katrina and Bowie. What she might prefer personally in this situation didn’t matter. If Katrina or Charlene wanted her to climb to the top of the tallest pine tree and shoot the wedding from above, she would do her best. Instead, the mother of the bride was only asking for some pictures of her handsome sons.

“Any particular pose?”

“No. Just them interacting would be fine. It does a mother’s heart proud that her children enjoy each other’s company. I love seeing them together, even if they’re only comparing notes on cases.”

Was Elliot talking to Marshall about Elizabeth? Probably not. She could imagine they had scores of cases they could discuss. Their conversation didn’t necessarily need to involve her sister-in-law.

Still, nerves crackled through her stomach. Why did he have to come home and stir everything up again?

“Sure. I’ll just shoot the two of them being mad, bad and dangerous to know.”

“Exactly.” Charlene smiled. “Thank you, my dear.” With a vague air-kiss, his mother fluttered away to speak with McKenzie Kilpatrick.

Megan squared her shoulders and picked up her camera bag. She had worked hard to avoid Elliot throughout the wedding celebration but apparently that state of affairs couldn’t continue.

Sunlight glinted in the brothers’ dark hair as she walked across the impeccably manicured lawn of Bowie Callahan’s home on Serenity Harbor.

The two Bailey boys really were good-looking. Seeing them together, she couldn’t help thinking about the brother who was missing. Wyatt should have been here.

In the past year, three of the four surviving Bailey children had married. First Wyn, then Marshall, now Katrina. At each ceremony, Megan knew she wasn’t the only one who keenly felt Wyatt’s absence.

She shifted her camera bag higher on her shoulder, annoyed with herself for letting those sad feelings intrude on what was an otherwise lovely day.

Wyatt was gone. She couldn’t change that. She had grieved for him and the dreams they had only been in the beginning stages of building together and it was way past time she moved forward with her life.

She pushed away the little pang in her heart as she approached Wyatt’s brothers.

Marsh was the larger of the two—broad shoulders, square jaw, solid strength. That didn’t make Elliot appear any less predatory next to him. He was leaner, yes, but every bit as dangerous—the contrast between a shotgun blast or a precisely timed knife thrust.

Was it her imagination or did Elliot tense when she approached? She could read nothing in his gaze but she could swear his shoulders tightened and his head came up as if sniffing for trouble.

“Hello,” she said, trying for a casual tone.

“Hey, Meg.” Marshall smiled and she thought how much more mellow and friendly he seemed since he had married her friend Andie Montgomery. He had never been precisely unfriendly, simply too focused on work to pay much mind to her.

Elliot, she noticed, said nothing. He only watched her out of those dark blue eyes that reflected none of his thoughts.

“How’s it going?” Marsh asked. “Are you finding the photos you need?”

“Good. It’s a beautiful day and Katrina and Bowie seem so happy together. Milo and Gabi just make their happiness sweeter. Chloe and Will are taking good care of them.”

“They’re great kids,” he said, smiling fondly at his stepchildren.

“Agreed. You hit the jackpot there.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

They lapsed into a rather awkward silence and she picked up her camera and aimed it at the two of them. “Your mom sent me over here with orders to shoot a few pictures of you guys together.”

“Do you have to?” These were the first words Elliot had spoken to her that day.

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to be the one to tell your mother why I was unable to fulfill her simple request?”

Marshall chuckled. “Sure, Elliot. That can be your job.”

“It will only take a moment, I promise,” she said.

“Says every photographer, always.”

She had to smile. Elliot had a point. She wasn’t necessarily a perfectionist, but her photo shoots always took longer than she expected.

“You don’t even need to do anything. Just keep talking. She wanted me to photograph candid shots of the two of you together. The Bailey brothers in all their glory.”

Marshall rolled his eyes while Elliot gave her a look she couldn’t interpret.

He was frustrating that way. Spending so much time behind the camera lens reading and recording people’s facial expressions usually gave her some insight into their thoughts. Not Elliot’s. That whole stone-faced FBI agent thing again.

“What do you want us to talk about?” Marshall asked, clearly uncomfortable at having her lens trained on him.

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever you were talking about before I came over.”

The two men exchanged glances and the currents zinging between them made her even more suspicious about the topic of their previous conversation.

“Anything. Baseball. The weather. You can talk about the lovely dress that Samantha Fremont created for Katrina.”

The idea of these two masculine law-enforcement officers discussing their sister’s wedding dress almost made her smile.

Marshall played along. “There you go. Hey, Elliot, did you notice what Kat was wearing?”

“I think it was a dress or something. It was white or maybe yellow. Did it have lace?”

She sniffed at their teasing, though she still clicked away at her shutter. Charlene would probably love this tongue-in-cheek side of them.

“For your information,” she answered, “the gown is gorgeous, an original creation by up-and-coming local designer Samantha Fremont. It was tailor-made for Kat, specifically designed to highlight her shoulders and make her neck look longer and more graceful. Your sister is simply stunning in it.”

Both men gave her matching looks of incomprehension and she snapped away. “Sorry,” Elliot said, “but to us, Kat will always be the little pigtailed tattletale who hated being left out of anything.”

“Good thing she grew out of that,” Bowie Callahan drawled as he approached their group. “Though she still doesn’t like to be left out of things, particularly her brothers sharing such charming opinions of her. Hey, Megan.” He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. Since he had moved to Haven Point, Bowie had become one of her favorite people. Not only was he gorgeous, rich, successful and talented, Bowie was always so kind to her and all the rest of the Haven Point Helping Hands.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.