your favor, you don’t look like an investigator.”
Ian glanced down at his well-worn T-shirt, his threadbare jeans and grinned. “Dane says I’m going through a late rebellion stage. I worked five years behind a computer at the CIA in a suit and a tie.”
“Ah,” Avery said. “A research geek.”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
Avery’s booming laugh filled the room. “Hell, no. I’m an avid fan of Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan, and that’s what he was.”
Ian grinned. “I’m a fan of Jack’s, too.” He set his water bottle down. “Let’s say you’re not making a mountain out of a molehill. What do you think is going on here?”
Frustration flickered across Avery’s face. “All of the incidents so far seem to have been targeting the hotel. Some guests were upset when the air-conditioning system was off for a day, and it may have resulted in some bad word of mouth. But if the chef hadn’t discovered the poisonous mushrooms or if that woman had seriously injured herself when she took that tumble down the stairs, the publicity could have seriously damaged the reputation of Haworth House. The hotel could have taken a huge hit financially.”
Ian nodded. “So the Brightman sisters may have an enemy who is upset with their success.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. But I can’t think of who that might be.”
“Then the sooner I get started the better. What’s my writer name by the way? You’ll have to register me under it.”
“Any objection to going with Jack Ryan?”
“None at all.” But as Avery moved past him, Ian put a hand on his arm. “Just put me in a room close to Jillian’s. In the event you’re not being paranoid, I’d like to be close in case the threats escalate.”
Avery’s expression hardened. “You think she might be personally in danger?”
“You’re afraid of that, too,” he said. “That’s part of the reason you don’t want the sisters informed about the threats. If they thought the hotel was really in danger, they’d all come back.”
Avery studied him for a moment. “I’m glad I called you, Jack. Let’s get you registered.”
3
AS JILLIAN STEPPED OUT of the law offices of Bisson and Tanner, she barely restrained herself from doing a happy dance right there on the sidewalk. Ever since she’d decided that interior design was where her true talents lay, she’d been dreaming of eventually opening her own store. But it hadn’t been until she and her sisters had bought Haworth House and turned it into a hotel that she’d started to believe she could turn her particular dream into a reality.
Oh, she knew she was taking a risk—starting a new business venture so soon after opening the hotel. But once she’d seen the Kellys’ bookstore on Main Street and discovered that it was available, she simply hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to buy it ahead of schedule. A whole two years ahead of schedule.
Walking to the edge of the sidewalk, she glanced up and down the main street of the small village that was becoming so familiar to her. The sharp, sudden blast of the ferry’s horn had her turning right to watch it pull away from the dock. Brightly colored umbrellas adorned the patio of a restaurant close to the water. Across the street from where she stood was the crowded coffee shop, Uncommon Grounds, with its green-and-white-striped awnings. In the block up from that was a gift shop and a bank, and directly across from the real estate office was what was going to be her new antique store.
Just thinking about it had her heart skipping a beat. The key in her hand and the papers she’d just signed in Myron Bisson’s office had made it really hers.
The Kellys, a couple in their seventies, had run a bookstore there for over forty years, but they’d wanted to have more time to visit grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Right now they were in Ireland doing just that. They’d signed the papers before they’d left, and the key had just been waiting for her.
Opening her fist, Jillian stared down at it. Risk taking was not new to her. And she’d paid the price for her tendency to rush into things. But convincing her sisters to buy Haworth House had paid off, and she just had a feeling she was on a roll.
This time she gave in to the impulse to do a little happy dance. A part of her wanted to run up the street, open the door of the old bookstore and just look at the place that was now hers.
Another part of her wanted to share the good news with someone. She could call Avery, of course. He would have come with her if he could have gotten away. Instead she started up the street toward Molly Pepperman’s boutique on the corner. Molly had been the first friend she’d made in Belle Bay, and she’d introduced her to the Kellys. And now they would be fellow retailers.
She’d taken a few steps toward her destination when her attention was diverted by a silver-toned SUV pulling into a parking space directly across from her. Something moved through her then—and she sensed who the driver was even before he opened the door. It was him—the tall, lanky stranger she’d nearly smashed into and very nearly kissed.
While she’d been in Mr. Bisson’s office, she’d been successful at putting that memory out of her mind. But as he emerged from the car, the details flooded her system with a vengeance. He took his time locking the car, and all the while awareness prickled along her nerve endings, her pulse raced, and the air seemed to thicken around her.
She couldn’t drag her gaze away from him as he headed down the sidewalk toward the pier. The worn jeans and T-shirt hugged a long, lean body, and the aviator sunglasses added to the appeal. The man had a great deal of eye candy going for him.
Something close to panic bubbled inside her. The eye-candy factor didn’t fully account for the intensity of her reaction to him. On the ride into town, she’d almost convinced herself that her initial response had been the result of her near-death experience. But why was it happening again?
Her heart was thudding, her blood heating in her veins. It was ridiculous. The man was a perfect stranger.
And that was when the memory slammed into her—a bare-fisted punch that had her backing into a nearby planter and sitting down hard on the edge.
Good grief. Could her reaction to this man be related to the parchment she’d pulled out of that damn fantasy box she’d found in Hattie’s secret room?
No. She pressed her hands to her head to stop the spinning. Hattie Haworth’s fantasy box was something that only a very few people were aware of. She and her sisters knew. And Naomi had probably told Dane. In the media blitz surrounding the arrest of Naomi’s exfiancé, Michael Davenport, the fact that Hattie’s ghost was alive and well, so to speak, at the hotel had leaked to the press. But the existence of her fantasy box had been kept private. And she’d never told anyone—not even Naomi and Reese—the fantasy she’d pulled out.
You will experience all of the sensory delights and adventure that come with being swept away by a stranger.
There was no denying it. The hunky stranger had swept her away. For those few breathless moments on the hillside, she’d forgotten everything else.
Closing
