Three Little Words

Connor answered easily enough since he was telling the truth. “Because he’s crotchety Old Man Mitchell and his illiteracy has been a shameful secret up to now. We’ve got to take this slow.”

“I see. Yes. I understand.” Her words were clipped. She was waiting for him to go.

He took the books and started to the door. “I’ll pick you up. What’s your address?”

She closed her eyes for an instant and he thought she was giving in. Instead, her lashes lifted and she stared him down. “Did you forget? I’m taking my own car. After all, I barely know you.”

“You’ve seen my ID.”

“Which proves nothing.”

“What kind of lawbreaker do you take me for?”

“That’s yet to be determined.”

He laughed. “Well, then, thanks for the free books.”

“Don’t be smart with me, Mr. Reed.”

“Yes, Marian.” He looked back once more from the open doorway and saw that she was muttering to herself. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she said the word smuggler. He shrugged to himself. Smuggler was better than some of the names he’d been called lately.

TESS WAS GRATEFUL the library had emptied for the usual early-afternoon lull. She’d get a trickle of patrons wandering in and out the remainder of the afternoon and a final rush before closing time—which consisted of anywhere from two to five stragglers, most of whom would hurry in with a movie to return.

She wasn’t sure why she’d let Connor Reed talk her into scooting off to meet his grandfather right after work, except that her heart twinged when she thought of the old man, alone for all those long, lonely winters in the lighthouse and not being able to read. She’d have gone crazy if she hadn’t had books to keep her company all this time on her own, and she was nowhere near as isolated as a lighthouse keeper.

She went into her office, a small room on the other side of the entryway. It was a nook really, formed out of a coat closet and several borrowed feet from the dining-turned-periodical room. There was space for a desk and little else. Usually the office felt too tight, but for the moment it was a welcome haven.

With a few probing questions, Connor Reed had turned her inside out.

Suddenly she felt out of sorts with what had been a cozy, settled life. Was it because she found Connor disturbingly attractive, or that his questions had brought up old memories of the time before Jared?

Both, most likely. The attraction was interesting, even exciting. The other…

She thought of life now as A.J., After Jared, forgetting that she’d once been a different person. A girl. Silly, lighthearted and ambitious—even a little bit daring. Connor’s curiosity had brought all that back to mind.

Tess’s gaze went to the framed photo beside her computer. It was a classic pose—a proud young man in flannel and jeans holding up a gleaming rainbow trout, the lake behind him speckled with sunshine. Jared Johnson—her fiancé. Forever a fiancé, frozen in time because he’d been killed in a car accident the week before the wedding.

Tess stopped, making herself breathe, remembering when the thought of Jared had caused her actual physical pain. She was long past that now, but somehow she’d never quite moved on.

She’d been just twenty-one, Jared two years older. Young to marry, but the timing seemed right. She’d graduated from college that spring and Jared had immediately proposed. She knew he’d been pushing for marriage mostly because he didn’t want her to accept a job out of the area, but she hadn’t felt stifled. She was in love. An entry-level position at a large library system far from home wasn’t as appealing as she’d once imagined it to be. Whereas the prospect of marrying her high-school sweetheart and officially joining the large, boisterous Johnson family had been irresistible.

Tess propped her chin on her hand. Eleven years had provided enough distance for her to see that marrying Jared had been the safe choice. A good choice, a happy and probably satisfying one—especially when she thought of the children they might have had—but mostly safe.

As the only child of divorced parents, security was important to Tess. Her father was long gone, barely a memory. Her mother had moved away more than a decade ago right after Tess’s high-school graduation, satisfied that she’d finished raising her daughter and was therefore free to leave a town she despised. Tess had been okay with that—she was busy with college, and besides she’d had Jared’s family, in many ways closer and more supportive than her own.

Then the accident had happened and the wedding was canceled, and she’d realized just how alone she really was. The Johnson family hadn’t wanted anything to do with her because of her part in Jared’s death. She might have been even more stricken by their abandonment if the mere sight of them—especially Jared’s brothers, who looked so much like him—hadn’t made her fall apart. The only way she’d survived was to cut herself off from contact with the life that had almost been hers.

Her new job as the one and only librarian of the Alouette Public Library had been a godsend. The structure and duties had helped her through the worst of her grief. Eventually, she’d found her place in the world again and had learned to be happy with all she had—friends, a home, her health, a steady job.

But she’d had eleven years of that now. Maybe she was a little bored. Her escalating fantasies could be a sign that she was ready to step out of her comfort zone.

Right off, it was apparent that nothing about Connor Reed would make her feel safe. Thrilled, fascinated, aroused, but certainly not safe.

Of course, he wasn’t really a pirate or a smuggler, even though she couldn’t help thinking that he’d look good in a pair of gold hoop earrings and breeches. But then, who was he?

A click of the mouse of her tangerine iMac brought it out of sleep mode. She had a suspicion. When she’d mentioned the rumor that the lighthouse had been purchased by a famous writer, Connor hadn’t actually denied it. She couldn’t place him, but hadn’t he seemed familiar?

No, not familiar, really, except for a mental jog at his name. It was more that she’d been sharply, disturbingly aware of him. As a woman. But it was the librarian who’d solve the puzzle.

She logged on to a search engine and typed in Connor’s name. In seconds, data flashed onto her screen. Success!

With dawning horror, she scanned the information. The hollow in her stomach deepened as she clicked on the first link, which led her into the archives of a popular weekly newsmagazine. Graphics popped up, followed by text, then pixel by pixel, Connor’s photo, taken outside a courthouse. He was surrounded by reporters. His hair was shorter and he was dressed in a suit and tie, but the face was the same—drawn, serious, haunted.

She read the headline with a dry mouth. Crime Writer’s Evidence Sets Murderer Free. Roderick Strange to be released from prison. Victim’s family outraged.

My God! This wasn’t fantasy—it was real-life drama.

Beyond her wildest dreams.

CHAPTER THREE

WHILE THE WOMEN who ran the B and B debated in loud whispers that carried from the next room, Connor stood in the middle of the Bay House foyer and looked around with dull disinterest. Under normal circumstances, he’d have paid more attention to the stately Victorian architecture and tasteful surroundings. But it was growing impossible to focus on details. His eyeballs were scratchy and his lids seemed to be lined with lead. If they didn’t give him a room soon, he’d end up curled in a ball under the potted palm.

He took a few steps to the open doorway that led to a sunlit dining room, intending to hurry the process along. The hushed conversation stopped him.

“I won’t let you do it, Claire.” That was the older woman’s voice. Connor had momentarily forgotten her name, but she was short and round with dumpling cheeks and a severe gray braid that pulled her forehead taut.

“We have no other space to offer. I hate to turn away a guest when we’re struggling to turn a profit.”

“What about the attic? Won’t one of those rooms do?”

Claire Levander, who was the manager Tess had told him to seek out, made a discouraging sound. “Noah and Roxy are repairing the damage from last winter’s frozen-pipe burst.”

The innkeeper frowned at Claire. “I wish you’d stayed put. I didn’t have to worry about the prophecy going into action when you were living at Bay House full-time.”

Connor swayed on his feet. He was too tired to figure out riddles.

“Yeah, because Noah and I had sucked up all of Valentina’s wedding karma.” Claire gave a wry laugh. “Now that we’re living together and practically engaged, your ancestor needs a new victim.”

“Oh, you,” the older woman fretted. “Hush. That’s not the way to convince me to give Mr. Reed the bridal suite.”

Connor stepped forward, putting a hand on the door trim and clearing his throat. Both women whipped around. “I need a room,” he pleaded. “I’ll pay whatever you like. I don’t care if it’s a bridal suite as long as it has a bed.”

Claire, a thirtyish brunette who was very well put together, turned to the other woman. “Emmie—c’mon. What can it hurt if I give him Valentina’s bedroom?”

Emmie’s face puckered with indecision, but stubbornness won out. “No.” When Claire opened her mouth to protest, she repeated, “No. You know why.”

Connor’s heavy head dropped forward. He didn’t need this hassle. “Does it matter if I tell you that Tess Bucek sent me?”