I still hold on to pieces of her—my partner, best friend, and beautiful wife. No matter how many dives I make or what I find out there, the truth follows me, haunting every descent.
Whatever circus Harrington brings with him, the ocean won’t care. But I do, and I need a plan to handle him before he wrecks everything in his path.
Sweat trickles down my temples as I walk up the sandy path to the Driftwood Inn & Cottages. I don’t bother to wipe it away. My mind is too busy going through what has to be done this week. Denver pads alongside me, his dark coat shimmering in the sun. His pace is steady, head swiveling as he surveys our surroundings.
Jamie tosses a water bottle from one hand to the other.
“Think Garrett’s going to micromanage us even while he’s out of town?”
“Without a doubt.” I don’t break stride. “He’ll call two more times before the day is over.”
Margaret trails a few steps behind, her arms filled with maps, while Liam brings up the rear.
“Let’s hope breakfast makes up for it,” Liam says. “I’m starving.”
“Didn’t you just eat a donut a few minutes ago?” Jamie looks up at Liam, incredulous.
“I need at least five thousand calories a day to survive, J. One donut won’t cut it, man.” Liam’s six-foot-five muscular physique showcases his Samoan heritage, making him a towering figure among us.
Ms. Connor’s breakfasts are legendary—fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon, and whatever tropical fruit dish she’s concocted. They make up for the aggravation of working for Garrett. Almost.
A breeze drifts in, carrying the faint floral scent of the inn’s garden. Overhead, gulls squawk as they circle the sky. This is shaping up to be a good morning.
Denver’s ears perk up, his tail wagging as he spots a shaggy dog lounging under a tree. As we get closer, the other dog lifts his head, one floppy ear twitching in mild skepticism. Black and gray fur with white-tipped paws. We’re an inconvenience he’s debating whether or not to deal with.
“Looks like Ms. Connor’s got a new security system.” Jamie motions toward the dog.
“Denver’s going to size him up.” His tail wags faster as he trots forward, sniffing the air toward the lounging dog. The two stare at each other briefly before the other dog flops his head back down with a huff, deciding Denver isn’t worth getting up for.
“Lazy mutt,” Jamie says. Denver’s ears flick in agreement as he returns to my side.
We reach the front door, and I knock, the solid sound echoing in the quiet morning. Denver sits at attention beside me. I knock again, thinking Ms. Connor may not hear us if she’s in the kitchen. The door opens faster than I expect and I take a step back from the woman who greets us.
Clearly, not Ms. Connor.
Her light brown eyes—the color of desert sand—meet mine with a warmth that throws me off balance. Damp, honey-brown curls frame her face and brush against her cheeks, the color perfectly matching her eyes. A fine dusting of freckles crosses her nose. She’s gorgeous, no doubt, but what catches my attention, and the rest of the crew’s, is what she’s wearing.
A tiny, tight blue bikini. The straps of her top tied loosely behind her neck, exposing her toned shoulders. A yellow beach towel is wrapped around her waist, barely covering the tops of her long legs. Her face flushes a deep rose as she fumbles with the towel, clearly aware of the five sets of eyes on her.
Jamie lets out a low whistle.
Margaret glares at him. “Really?”
Denver barks once, agreeing with her assessment.
Liam raises a brow.
“Not what I expected for breakfast,” Jamie says nonchalantly, making her cheeks darken even more.
The towel slips.
She gasps, her eyes wide with horror, scrambling to grab it before changing course to snatch a T-shirt from a nearby chair. She tries to pull it over her head.
“Dang it,” she mutters, talking to herself as she struggles with the shirt.
She’s not quick enough to prevent a peek of the bikini bottom and a clear view of her toned ass. After she gets it on, theoversized shirt barely skims her thighs, doing little to hide the skin beneath.
“Sorry, I was swimming… I didn’t… uh…” She clutches the hem of the shirt, trying in vain to pull it down. “I thought it might be an emergency.”
