Stormy Haven. Elizabeth Goddard

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Stormy Haven - Elizabeth Goddard Coldwater Bay Intrigue

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acted like the protector here—her law-enforcement background coming through.

      “No. He tried to shoot you. I want to catch him and find out who he is. Maybe I can get to him if I take my car.”

      Her lips hardened in a flat line as she lifted her chin. “We’ll take mine.”

      She guided him around the lodge to a single-car parking garage. They entered to find her silver GMC Terrain and climbed into the unlocked vehicle. She quickly fished the keys from the visor.

      The wind rattled the structure. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “You could stay here while I search for him.” Ian had only meant to protect her, but he had realized his mistake too late. Still... “The guy tried to kill you, Jonna. Not me. It’s safer if you stay here.” Plus, she’d just finished a six-mile jog and her energy could very well be spent, but he knew to say no more.

      Starting the ignition, she sent him a tempered glare. Wouldn’t do to glare at a guest, but Ian had insulted her.

      Jonna backed from the garage, then took off down the street. She probably wanted to speed, but rain plastered the windshield, rendering the wipers useless.

      “Careful now. I don’t know how you can see anything.”

      “I’m being careful. I know my way around. You look for the guy while I drive.” The hint of a bite edged her tone.

      Clearly, Jonna didn’t like being coddled. Ian focused on searching for the man. Had he gotten into a vehicle and left the area already? Had someone been waiting for him in a getaway car? If the storm would ease up, maybe he could actually see something, but he had a feeling their efforts were futile. His face throbbed from the punch, and his body ached from the damp cold that soaked through him as he sat dripping in her vehicle.

      As if finally realizing it was cold, Jonna flipped on the heat. Chilled air flayed him. It would take a few minutes for it to warm up. Ian almost regretted her move.

      “We weren’t that far behind him. I hope he didn’t get away.” He scanned the cars parked in the street and the few driving the road despite the sheets of rain. “Why did the guy try to shoot you?”

      He tossed the words out to get her talking. Ian had been sent to protect her from a possible attack, but he wasn’t certain she knew she was being targeted. And even if she did, she wouldn’t expect him to know about it. She didn’t know why he was here, which made his task more difficult.

      Her long, dark hair plastered to her head, she glanced his way intermittently. Droplets clung to her pale face. Even drenched she was drop-dead gorgeous.

      “I don’t know. But he was pacing me up on the ridge while I jogged the beach.”

      Guilt suffused him that she’d been running alone without him there to keep watch until it was nearly too late. He’d assumed she wouldn’t jog today. The old adage about assumptions came to mind. But that wasn’t good enough. She could have died today, and that would be another failure. Another life he’d cost.

      “You’re usually out jogging the beach too,” she said. “Where were you this morning? Not afraid of a little rain, were you?”

      “No, not a little rain. But I read the warning signs and they deterred me. I wasn’t going to jog in the storm. Why did you?” He really wanted to know the answer to that. He needed to understand her better if he was going to protect her.

      “I trusted the weather app I use to tell me when the dangerous part of the storm system would hit. According to the meteorologists, I had a couple of hours to jog. That strategy has worked well enough for me until today.”

      “You could have been swept away. There’s no surviving those violent waters.”

      “I run a storm-watching inn, don’t you think I know that?” she asked. “No need to worry about me.”

      “Maybe we should jog together from now on, if we don’t catch this guy right now.” He’d offered earlier to jog with her, but she’d insisted she needed the time alone since she ran a lodge. So he’d given her the space. If she suspected Ian had an agenda, she didn’t show it.

      He watched out the window to see if he could catch a glimpse of the guy. Indecision roiled in his gut. Hired by his uncle Gil, the Special Agent in Charge of the Department of Homeland Security’s Miami field office, Ian was here to watch over Jonna. Uncle Gil had been Jonna’s boss, and even though she’d left HSI, he still felt an obligation to keep her safe. Especially from the criminals she’d angered in her years of service. He’d made it clear he didn’t want Jonna to know Ian had been sent.

      Like most law-enforcement officers, Jonna would believe she could take care of herself—after all, she’d been trained to do so—and she would send Ian away. Or worse—she’d hightail it back to Miami, furious that someone had come to Washington to find her. Uncle Gil didn’t want Jonna back in Florida. He’d hired Ian to watch and report if he saw anything suspicious, as well as protect Jonna if necessary.

      According to Uncle Gil, three years ago, Jonna had just finished wrapping up a human-trafficking-ring case when she went missing. The department feared she was dead, but then she called Gil and explained she’d been attacked and left to die in a marsh. The guy probably thought he’d succeeded in killing her.

      She’d woken up in a hospital in a small town off the Florida coast and walked out before she answered their questions. She didn’t have the answers they were looking for—she didn’t know who had shot her or why. The injury, the whole experience of lying there in the marsh and waiting to die, had been too traumatic. In order to cope, her mind had buried those memories out of her reach.

      She resigned over the phone. Gil managed to keep the information out of the media. As far as the man who’d shot her knew, she was dead, that is, if he even questioned or came asking. But recently her name had popped up via an informant—and Gil was worried she would be targeted again.

      What could she know that would make her a target?

      “I wonder if it’s the Shoreline Killer,” she said. “I need to call the sheriff.”

      “Let’s say it wasn’t the Shoreline Killer. Could it have been a disgruntled guest?”

      Jonna quirked her face. “Are you kidding me?”

      Ian stifled a laugh. “Look, I’m not saying there’s actually anything to complain about at your lodge. Not at all. But didn’t anyone ever tell you that you can’t please all the people all the time? Just humor me. Could someone have been unhappy?”

      “Enough to try to kill me? No.”

      Ian didn’t think so either but he had to ask. “Any acquaintances outside of the lodge, then? Or...” Is there anyone from your past with a grudge? Ian couldn’t say that or he’d give himself away.

      “What’s with the questions? You sound like a detective.”

      Maybe he already had given himself away.

      “Just a concerned guest, that’s all.” And while his motives were more complex than that, he really was concerned. When Ian had learned that Jonna had gone jogging, he’d rushed out and down the landing steps to join her, even in the storm. That’s

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