of lots of people. Like Shane, Janice had no intention of going into her history. Not that her curiosity wasn’t piqued by this enigmatic stranger, but she could respect personal space.
Yeah, right, as her honorary niece Caroline would say. This tap and slide of verbal rapiers had energized her, chasing pain to the edges of her mind. A small grin tilted her lips. Getting to the bottom of Mr. Shane Gillum might be a pleasant distraction while she healed.
“Since I’ll be out of commission for a while do you have any suggestions for how to go about hiring someone to handle the renovations?”
He pursed his lips and tilted this head. “You’ll have to let me think about that one.”
“Fair enough. Maybe someone at the hospital will have a lead for me. What brought you to my beach in the nick of time?”
“Our daily walk.” Smiling, Shane jerked a thumb toward his dog, who offered a woof of confirmation.
“You live nearby?”
“Renting a ramshackle cabin about a quarter mile up the beach. I’ll be here for the summer. Bumming, basically. Mulling over my future.”
Had he experienced a recent trauma in his life, necessitating a change of direction? A divorce perhaps? His ring finger was as bare as hers. Or maybe his summer of discontent was due to boredom—though a career as a paramedic didn’t sound too dull. Suffering from burnout more likely. She could be brassy from time to time, but she wasn’t rude enough to ask the question outright.
“I might take up antiquing during my stay on the island,” he went on. “I’ve heard Martha’s Vineyard is a good place to pursue that hobby. Since you’re embarking on cottage renovations, I assume you own the place.” He shot her a raised-brow glance.
“I’m a Realtor and home stager by trade. The heir to the cottage has never lived anywhere near here and doesn’t care to do so. The cottage hasn’t been inhabited for nearly twenty years, so it’s my task to supervise the process of getting it ready to sell.”
There. She’d delivered the stock explanation she’d practiced in her mind on the flight to the island, and she’d even sounded casual about it. The words offered facts in a plausible light without betraying the whole truth that was none of anybody’s business.
“Must be an interesting career.” The frown in his voice negated his words.
She laughed then winced at a jab of pain in her head. “You don’t sound too enthused.”
Color tinted his cheeks. “No, I didn’t mean... Well, what I meant was that it’s probably fun, creative work, but it’s got to be a hassle sometimes, pleasing your clients.”
“What do you know? Somebody got the downside of my business in two seconds flat. Contrary clients. You’re a perceptive man.” She grinned. Now she was really starting to be sorry she couldn’t be totally forthcoming with a guy this savvy and sympathetic.
He answered her smile. “I don’t think that jolt on the noggin is going to have any lasting effect. You’re pretty sharp yourself. I suppose when the work’s done the owner will have to stop in and approve the work.”
“Believe me the heir wants less than nothing to do with the place. I have carte blanche, within a budget. The only ones I need to please are me and the buyer.”
“Kind of a dream job then.”
“So it would seem.”
Janice pressed her lips together. This was supposed to be a simple in-and-out job, requiring a brief investment of time doing work she enjoyed. She hadn’t counted on the complication of accidents, arranged or otherwise. It would be so nice to decide that the series of goofy mishaps was nothing more sinister than the result of a house in a state of disrepair. If not for the person standing on the porch when she’d emerged from the basement, she would probably be ready to stick to that conclusion. Now, questions reigned.
What should she make of the possibly malevolent trespasser? In her mind, the incident was eerie, but it could have simply been a curious local teenager—the figure had been too tall for a child. Or it might even have been an adult passerby. Grown-ups could be nosey, too. Then how did her mystery visitor disappear so quickly?
“Now you’re the one who sounds less than enthusiastic.”
Janice glanced at her impromptu chauffeur. His sober gaze and knotted brows questioned her, as if he sensed her troubled thoughts. She forced a thin smile. Unless she wanted to invite unwelcome inquiries, her fears and misgivings must remain her own for now.
“The whole picture changed when I messed myself up. There was a lot of work I wanted to do myself, now I— Look out!”
At a highway intersection, a midnight-blue SUV ignored a red light and roared toward her side of the lightweight car. Shane’s plunge on the accelerator plastered Janice to her seat. Face shrouded under the bill of a wide-brimmed hat, the driver of the other vehicle laid on his horn. The blast rang in Janice’s ears as the little Ford whizzed beyond the SUV’s massive bumper. The airstream of the near miss rocked the smaller vehicle.
From the backseat, Atlas let out a high-pitched whine.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Shane assured the animal.
Sucking a quavering breath into her lungs, Janice stared at his sober profile. Shane’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he kept his gaze locked on the road.
“Did you notice a license plate number?” he asked.
“Not hardly! I was too scared, and it happened so fast.”
Her whole scalp prickled and her heart continued to bunny hop around her chest cavity as she stared warily out the window at passing traffic. This was too weird. Was the whole island warning her away? She’d left the family name and all such associations behind long ago, but did someone with a vendetta against the Morans know who she was? Unfortunately the number of people with reason to hate the Morans—any Moran—was legion. Or maybe she was just being paranoid.
“Traffic doesn’t usually get so crazy this early in the season.”
Shane’s words drew her attention and she turned toward him. The droop of his lips and narrowed eyes betrayed troubled thoughts. Much like hers—only he couldn’t know being with her might carry risk. Should she tell him?
No, she’d sound nuts, and she could be totally off base anyway. Maybe she was just having the proverbial bad day. Besides, if she explained her misgivings she’d have to expose who she was, and that was out of the question when her greatest desire was to bury her Moran legacy with depth and finality. Unless, of course, she was misreading the matter. If these accidents weren’t accidents, and they weren’t related to her family name, was the folly of her misspent youth coming home to roost—again? But events just prior to her retreat to Martha’s Vineyard should have put an end to those consequences. The serial killer was dead and that was the end of the matter. Right?
Janice cast around in her mind for a change of direction in this conversation and a question occurred to her. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned knowledge about the tourist season. How often have you been here?”
“When I was a kid, we came to the island for a few weeks every July. Haven’t been back since I was around twelve
