see. You picked a ‘mulling’ spot that held pleasant memories.”
He angled a one-sided grin toward her. “Discerning woman.”
“No, that’s my psychologist neighbor back in Denver.”
“Denver? You can’t have grown up there, either.”
Janice forced a smile. It was a little late for biting her tongue. She’d revealed a tidbit of personal information, but then, so had he with that remark about his childhood vacations. What could it hurt to tell him where she’d grown up? Refusing to do so might seem suspicious.
“I was born and raised in Wilmington, South Carolina, but I haven’t been back there since I lost my parents during my first year in college.”
Silence fell for several blinks of Shane’s eyes. “Sorry to hear about your loss,” he finally said in strained tones.
“Me, too.”
Janice clamped her lips shut. No one needed to know the details of the “loss” that still stung her heart like a thousand hornets. Maybe when she unloaded the last morsel of Moran property, she could heal and get on with her life...if dealing with the dilapidated condition of the cottage or negotiating island traffic didn’t kill her first.
To save her sanity, she was going to believe recent events were unfortunate accidents. To save her life, she was going to keep her eyes peeled and senses sharp in case they weren’t.
* * *
Seated in the waiting area of the emergency department at the Oak Bluffs hospital, Shane scowled at the blank wall opposite him. Other people’s conversations droned in one ear and out the other. That was no accidental near-miss with the SUV on the way here. The driver had accelerated toward them, intending to ram them, or perhaps he’d meant to miss them but send a message. Was the message intended for him or for Janice?
He had come to Martha’s Vineyard believing that none of the other Morans were aware of Reggie Moran’s secret stop-off at his island property shortly before his fatal plane crash. Shane had also heard that the heir to the place was a fairly distant relative who didn’t number on the crime family roster. Not that such a detail made the heir an upstanding citizen, but at least the person was not directly linked to the group that hunted Shane. However, even though the mob Morans might not be aware of Reggie’s full itinerary on the day he died, they might be bent on shaking down any and every locality connected to Reggie, even a place that he hadn’t, to their knowledge, visited for two decades.
How did Janice fit into the picture? The woman hadn’t exactly been frank about the identity of the mystery heir or her relationship to the person. Was Janice hired through friendship with the Moran heir, or was she contracted as the result of someone who knew someone, which would indicate nothing more than an arm’s length acquaintance? Either scenario was common enough, but whichever was the truth might tell him a lot about what sort of person Janice was. He’d yet to meet a Moran who wasn’t as crooked as a dog’s hind leg, and that went for their associates, too.
Had the saboteur seen through Shane’s disguise, thus making them both targets? Maybe not. The SUV had aimed for the side where Janice was sitting, and she was the one with the injured wrist and bonk on the head. He needed to find a way to get a gander at that cellar step she said gave way beneath her. If that incident was pure chance he’d eat his socks.
Neither setup with the roof or the stairs guaranteed a fatal result but would easily cause injury, just as it had done, as well as discourage someone from pursuing renovation plans for the cottage. A spooked heir might let the place go for pennies on the dollar, say, to someone needing free rein and plenty of time to ransack the property. If Shane didn’t know he wasn’t the saboteur that criteria could apply to him.
The high stakes made the battle lines fierce between the Morans and him, but if his enemies were behind the sabotage and knew Janice was only an agent, not the actual owner of the property, the arranged accident scenario made a little more sense. Shane might even encourage himself to believe his cover had not been blown. In fact, it was more essential than ever that he remain undercover. If the wrong people recognized him as Seth Grange, his presence in Janice’s vicinity would escalate the subtle hazing she was now experiencing into a death sentence in a hurry.
However, the forces who wanted the property left vacant wouldn’t take kindly to Shane Gillum’s interference on the agent’s behalf, either. Maybe Shane would face a few of those arranged accidents himself, but watching out for those was better than the bullet to the brain he’d get if the Morans pierced his cover.
The cottage was not the only place that called for a thorough shakedown. His mention of antiquing had been deliberate. Maybe Janice would let him sort through the storage unit’s contents in search of valuable items. She didn’t need to know that the item of the greatest value would be the most current, and finding it was the best way to move her clear of danger. With God’s help, maybe he could bring this terrible chapter in his life to a close without anyone else getting hurt—or at least any more hurt than she already was.
Shane consulted his watch. He needed to check on Atlas. It had been nearly an hour since Janice had disappeared into the bowels of the hospital for treatment, and Shane had left the dog in the car with a pair of the windows cracked open. Good thing the weather was cool. In a few weeks, temperatures were likely to shoot up significantly.
He rose and approached the small vending machine available to the people in the waiting area. A few coins sown into the machine reaped a bottle of water. The wastebasket next to the machine contained an empty cup that would meet canine needs.
Out in the parking lot, Atlas was sprawled in the backseat, panting lightly, tongue lolling. He seemed grateful for the water and said so with a few laps of the tongue on the hand that offered the refreshment. The dog’s big, dusky eyes smiled at Shane, and he smiled back.
Amazingly his pulse didn’t so much as skip a beat in handling this furry new friend. Shane might even keep the lovable galoot if he survived to succeed at his mission. Not that his knees wouldn’t knock and his tongue cement to the roof of his mouth if any other large dog came within ten feet of him. He wasn’t that phobia-free.
A grim smile spread Shane’s lips. Only people with similar phobias could appreciate the emotional sweat equity he had put into making friends with Atlas. Wisely, he’d chosen a breed that, though large, was also particularly friendly. Atlas didn’t seem to have an aggressive bone in his body, which made him a horrible guard dog but perfect as an identity-camouflaging companion for a guy with dog issues.
After taking Atlas on a brief walk to give him an opportunity to water a light pole, Shane returned the dog to the car and headed back into the hospital. From the hallway leading into the exam rooms, a willowy figure moved gracefully toward him, left arm in a navy blue sling.
Janice smiled when she saw him, dark eyebrows lifting toward a tousled wealth of chestnut-colored hair. He should have known straight off the bat that this was no Moran. He had yet to meet one—male or female—who didn’t sport flaming hair and ruddy brows and lashes to match. Of course, her eyes were green like the Morans’, and hair color could be changed—he should know—but dying the facial hair might be excessive. Most conclusive of all, this woman didn’t act like any Moran he’d ever met.
“Hey,” she said, halting in front of him, those green eyes frank and open. “Thanks for waiting. You didn’t need to feel obligated to do that.”
“I didn’t feel obligated at all. Glad I could be here when you needed a hand. But I guess you’re
