href="#u81daddd5-d298-524f-95b8-8739644bf6ec">Chapter Thirteen
Chapter One
Your sister is dead. The words on the screen blurred together, and Mia St. Regis slammed down the cover of the laptop to dismiss them. Why should she take the word of a ditzy psychic like Kylie Grant?
Mia stretched her arms over her head, and then slumped against the soft cushions on the love seat in the corner of the coffeehouse. Of course, here she sat in Coral Cove, but it hadn’t been Kylie’s email that had prompted her return.
She had to do something with the old ancestral home, Columbella House, before it fell into the sea. Maybe she should just let it.
She swept her computer from the low table in front of her and shoved it into her bag. Shaking back her sleeve, she glanced at her watch. She still had time to check out the family manse before it got completely dark. She’d have to make arrangements to turn on the electricity and whatever else needed connecting out there.
“Bye, thanks.” As she pushed off the love seat, she waved to the barista clearing stale breakfast goodies from the glass-enclosed shelves.
The young woman peered over the top of the glass case. “Are you really going to turn Columbella House into some kind of resort?”
Mia banged her shin against the table. “Huh?”
“You’re Mia St. Regis, right?”
“Uh, yeah.” This girl had probably been in grade school the last time Mia graced the shores of Coral Cove. How the hell did she know her identity?
“The article in the Coral Cove Herald said you were coming home to turn Columbella into a beach resort. Cool.”
Mia hitched her bag over her shoulder and strode toward the counter. She must’ve looked as ornery as she felt because the young woman dropped to her heels and took a step back.
“There was an article about me in that little paper?”
The barista bit her lip and pointed an unsteady finger with black polish on the nail toward the front door of the coffeehouse. “The papers are still in the rack if you want to read the article.”
Mia spun around and zeroed in on a wire rack near the door sporting a few throwaway papers and the Coral Cove Herald. “Definitely want to read that.”
“Okay, well, have a nice night.” The young woman had backed up a few more steps and crossed her arms.
Mia’s heels clipped across the wood floor, and then she paused by the rack and slid a paper off the top of the stack. Her jaw tightened as she took in the picture of her smiling face next to an article with the headline Columbella Heiress Has Remodeling Plans.
With narrowed eyes, she squinted at the byline—Jimmy Holt. She knew that name: some journalism dweeb from high school. So much for flying in here under the radar.
Another face on the front page caught her attention—windswept hair, high, broad cheekbones, strong chin, intense stare—Dylan Reese. She scanned that headline, too—Another Chief Reese.
So Dylan had filled his father’s shoes as police chief of Coral Cove. The single ladies in town must be licking their chops over that news. In fact, she had to wipe a little drool from the corner of her own mouth. Even though Dylan had always treated her as an annoying sister, his general gorgeousness hadn’t escaped her.
She stuffed the paper in the side pocket of her laptop case and swung out the door. She’d had a long flight from New York to San Francisco that morning, and a long drive from the city down the coast to Coral Cove. But the coffee had fortified her and she wanted a look at the old place before the darkness descended. She even had a flashlight for the occasion.
Standing by the alley entrance where she’d parked her rental, she closed her eyes and let the cool air brush her skin. Summer nights in Coral Cove never got too warm. The humidity never got too high. She filled her lungs with the salty air and exhaled slowly.
Okay, maybe she did miss a few things about her hometown.
“Chief, Chief. Someone’s in my parking space.”
Mia’s eyes flew open and she spun around. One of the merchants on Main Street had snagged the new chief and was dragging him to his private parking space…where she’d stashed her rental car.
She strode into the alley and beeped the remote. “That’s my car.”
The chief, Dylan Reese, turned a pair of dark blue eyes on her and the temperature in Coral Cove, along with the humidity, shot up a few degrees.
“That’s my private space. You can’t park there.” The merchant waved his arms around while hopping up and down next to the chief, like a bird on hot cement.
Or maybe he just seemed so agitated because Chief Reese had a silent, still presence, like he was sizing up the situation and deciding which one of them to shoot first.
Mia slid between the two men, yanked open the back door and dropped her laptop case on the seat. “Sorry. I didn’t realize Main Street had reserved parking spots.”
The little man jabbed at a metal sign over the space that read Reserved for Owner.
“Oops, my bad.”
“Give her a ticket, Chief. She’s in violation.”
“She might be in violation…of a lot of things, but she’s moving the car now, Leon.”
Leon shook a stubby finger at her. “You may own the biggest house in town, that eyesore on the coast, but you don’t own Main Street.”
Who didn’t know her identity?
Mia raised one brow. “Not yet.”
That sent Leon sputtering and muttering back to the side entrance of his antiques store.
“Making friends and influencing people already, Mia?”
She laughed and stuck out her hand. “As usual. How are you, Dylan, or should I call you Chief?”
“Dylan or Chief is a lot better than some of the names you used to call me.” He took her hand, engulfing it in a warm, rough clasp, and pulled her in for a peck on the cheek.
A brotherly peck on the cheek.
Her gaze dropped from his
