The Cottages On Silver Beach

She studied him for a long time and he waited, quite certain she was going to show him to the door, literally and figuratively. After a long moment, she sighed. “I can’t kick you out. You paid for two more weeks and the paperwork to issue a refund would be a nightmare. Not to mention—you being predictable and all—I could see you being the kind of person who would follow through and take me to court.”

He wouldn’t, but he let her keep her illusions. “It’s a distinct possibility.”

“Beyond that, your sisters would probably have something to say about it. It’s not worth the trouble.”

He doubted Katrina or Wyn would take his side. The women of Haven Point tended to stick together, even against family at times. Cade and Marshall could attest to that.

He wasn’t about to argue, though, especially if it meant he could stay at the cottage. “You’re probably right.”

“About many things,” she retorted. “First and foremost, I need to say this one more time. Luke did not harm his wife. She was a troubled woman, Elliot. Ask anyone. She was suffering postpartum depression. She struggled with it when she had Cassie and it never really went away when she had Bridger only eighteen months later. She was angry and moody and not the woman we all knew and cared about. None of that was Luke’s fault and it’s completely unfair that he has had to shoulder suspicion all these years.”

Her words rang with a sincerity he couldn’t avoid, but he had been an investigator too long, had seen too much, to share the same kind of faith in her brother. While he still found it surprising, he had read in the file numerous reports about how depressed and angry Elizabeth had been before she disappeared.

That didn’t clear Luke, not by a long shot. If anything, he might have even more motivation to lose his temper with an unhappy wife, then somehow tried to cover it up.

“If he had nothing to do with her disappearance, wouldn’t it be in your family’s best interest if I could find some kind of evidence that might prove it?”

“Keep an open mind. That’s all I ask. Will you tell me if you find out anything new?”

She deserved nothing less. “Yes,” he answered.

By the careful way she studied him, then finally nodded, he assumed she took him at his word. “Thank you. And you promise you’re not writing a book about the case?”

“I swear.”

She bit her lip and he could tell she was already regretting her decision to allow him to stay.

“I’m sorry I snooped in your papers. I shouldn’t have spied on a guest like that. I was hoping to steal a sneak peek at your new book, but that’s still no excuse for invading your privacy. It won’t happen again.”

His face felt suddenly warm but he ignored it, touched that she would apologize despite her anger at what she had found. She was remarkable.

“The book is still in revisions, too rough for anyone else to see. You wouldn’t enjoy it at this point. A few more weeks and you can read it.”

“Really?”

“Sure. If you want to.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at her watch. “I should go.”

Do you have to?

The question welled up inside him but he sternly shoved it back before he could do something stupid like actually say it.

He reached to pick up the handle of her plastic tote of supplies and she reached down at the same time. His forehead brushed against hers and the tiny, fleeting contact burst through him like rockets exploding in the sky during Lake Haven Days.

For an instant, they gazed at each other and he could almost swear he saw awareness bloom there.

Something clutched at his insides, a fierce, long-buried longing.

No. Impossible. This was Megan. The woman who had once loved his younger brother and still grieved for Wyatt.

“Careful,” he said, his voice more abrupt than he intended. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, her expression now impassive.

He felt awkward and stupid, suddenly aware he was still sweaty from his run and his arm hurt like a mother.

He gestured to the bucket. “For the record, I won’t require housekeeping services for the remainder of my stay.”

“It’s included in the price of the rental. Twice-weekly. You’ve already paid for the service. You might as well take advantage of it.”

“Just leave towels and fresh sheets a few times a week. I can make the bed myself and take care of the rest.”

She looked as if she wanted to argue, but finally shrugged. “Your choice. I’ll instruct my staff. I certainly can’t force you to accept housekeeping services, especially when we’re shorthanded.”

She left before he could answer, leaving him to watch her walk down the steps of the porch into the afternoon sunlight.

* * *

SHE SHOULD HAVE thrown him out.

As she returned the cleaning supplies to the housekeeping cart and started pushing it back to the main inn, Megan wanted to kick herself.

She couldn’t shake the sense of impending disaster. She didn’t want Elliot anywhere near the case file on Elizabeth’s disappearance. He was a single-focused investigator, from everything she knew about the man. His siblings called him the Bulldog, for heaven’s sake. Something told her Elliot wouldn’t rest until he found answers—or twisted the facts to suit his version of the story, anyway.

No, she caught herself. That wasn’t fair. Elliot was a man of integrity and honor. He was a decorated FBI agent. He would work tirelessly until he found out what truly happened to Elizabeth. That could only be good for Luke, surely, to finally know the truth.

Still, that apprehension niggled at her. Innocent people went to prison all the time. She watched plenty of television, had seen the documentaries. A mistaken eyewitness here, a botched forensics collection there. It happened. She couldn’t let Luke be one more of those wrongly convicted.

Her phone rang just as she pushed the cart into the supply room for the staff to refill the next morning before their rounds.

She glanced at the incoming caller ID. Speak of the devil.

“Hi, Luke,” she answered. “I was just talking about you.”

A long silence met her thoughtless words. “Oh?”

She should never have brought it up. She certainly couldn’t tell him she had been conversing with a certain FBI agent about him—or that Elliot was digging into Elizabeth’s disappearance while he was in town.

“It doesn’t matter. What’s going on?”

Luke hesitated before continuing. “We’re trying to finish the trim on this house and I need a few more hours. I hate to leave the job site, especially when we’re so close to finishing, but the kids’ babysitter can’t stay late tonight. Any chance I could have her drop them off at the inn for a couple of hours?”

She thought of all she still had to do before she could head back to her cottage and work on photos again late into the night. That didn’t matter. The kids came first. “Of course. I love having them here.”

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I try,” she joked.