Love at First Light - Jennifer Bernard - E-Book

Love at First Light E-Book

Jennifer Bernard

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Beschreibung

One week can change everything…


 


Private investigator Ethan James has had one too many brushes with death. But his newest case should be simple—it’s just a birth-parentssearch in stunning Lost Harbor, Alaska, helping out the local police chief. But as everyone knows, strange things happen in the tiny remotetown. From day one, everything seems to go wrong. The last straw? He suddenly has a sidekick he never expected—the super sexy, endlesslyquirky local baker.


 


Nothing is more important to Sweet Harbor Bakery owner Jessica Dixon than her friends—especially her BFF, Police Chief Maya Badger. When Maya has to drop a side investigation close to her heart, Jessica is determined to prove she has her back. Of course, she knows nothing about investigating. But she has her knowledge of the area, her uncanny intuition, and of course, her trusty crystal. Oh, and the help of the ridiculously gorgeous but entirely too cynical Ethan James. What could go wrong?


 


When these opposites attract, Jessica may come down to Earth long enough to find love, while Ethan might learn to trust his heart instead of his head…if they make it out of the wilderness alive.

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LOVE AT FIRST LIGHT

JENNIFER BERNARD

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

About the Author

Also by Jennifer Bernard

PROLOGUE

The first time Ethan James nearly died was at the age of six. He’d stumbled into a hornet’s nest and gotten stung twenty-three times before his sister Olivia had dragged him away. The next time, he was ten. He went into a brief coma after reacting badly to anesthesia during surgery on his leg. No one thought he’d pull through, but lo and behold, he did. Close shave number three came when he was twelve and he’d decided that climbing a tree with his leg in a cast would be a good idea.

The brushes with death didn’t stop after he’d—despite the setbacks—survived childhood. Over the course of his career as a private investigator, a few more near-death experiences followed.

By the time he was about to turn thirty, he’d almost gotten used to the idea of flirting with the Grim Reaper.

But this one felt different.

For one, he’d never nearly drowned before. That was new. The man chasing him with a car—the cheating husband he’d been hired to follow—had forced him onto a bridge with a flood-swollen river below. It was either jump off the side or get run over by a Lexus. If he had to decide between death by Lexus or death by drowning, that wasn’t a hard choice.

He probably should have picked a less torrentially rainy day to track his target to his motel tryst outside of Fresno. Flash flood season in California could be so damn dangerous. Every year people died when they got trapped by floodwaters. He hoped everyone driving this route would be extra careful—though it might be too late for him. When his car had refused to start, he’d been forced into fleeing on foot.

Without any further thought, he leaped off the bridge, the speeding Lexus nipping at his heels like the dogs of the Underworld.

The churning water rushed toward him. He knew he had to do his best rag-doll act when he hit the water. Don’t resist. Surrender. Now. Do it. He filled his lungs with air, went limp and closed his eyes as his body collided with the river. Cold. So cold. And fast and wild. The current batted him around like a cat playing with a mouse. He tried to right himself, to work with the flow, to find the surface. He was running out of air, his lungs aching, the urge to suck in water irresistible.

And then his head hit something brutally hard and the black pain erased everything around him. No more river, no more rapids, no more Lexus, no more fear.

He was somewhere else. A meadow. Tall golden grass waved in a gentle breeze. Butterflies flitted past him on important but obscure missions. The air felt sweet on his face; his sense of smell seemed to be amplified. How was that possible if he was dead?

And there was a woman next to him in a gauzy white dress. He couldn’t see any specifics about her because the sun was shining right in his eyes. Was she an angel? The angel of death? He was dead, right? Finally? Sorrow made his heart heavy.

Then he realized that their hands were linked together. In her other hand, she held a bouquet of bright wildflowers.

A bride? Was it Olivia? Was she getting married? Was he her best man? Where was Jake?

No, none of that was right. In a flash, he understood. The groom was him. He was getting married. In a fucking meadow. He never spent time in meadows. West Covina didn’t have any, as far as he knew. “What the…?”

He sat bolt upright, finishing that sentence with a very loud “fuck?”

The meadow was gone, replaced by a gaggle of medical types wearing masks and scrubs. A strong fluorescent light shone in his eyes.

“I’m not dead?” he asked.

A doctor pushed him back down onto the gurney. “Not anymore. Stay still, please. We’re trying to keep you alive here, but you have to help us out.”

He settled back down, heart racing. His body throbbed like one gigantic all-encompassing bruise. Not anymore? That implied he’d been dead, but survived. Once again he’d slipped from death’s grasp. Incredible. Another near-death experience. And this one came with a vision.

Or, more likely, a delusion. Because one thing he knew for sure—he had no intention of getting married in a meadow. Or anywhere else, for that matter. With his medical history, he didn’t seem like a good bet for anyone he cared about.

But the feeling of that vision—that delusion—clung to his senses as he drifted back to sleep. The scent of antiseptic had joined the flowers and grasses of the meadow, all just as strong as before. He knew from experience that almost dying could change a person. Could it enhance his sense of smell? Would it do other things to him?

When he woke up next, the medical crew was gone. His girlfriend Charley sat near his bed, tapping something into her phone. She must have come straight from an appointment with a client, because she always wore white during her life coaching sessions. She said it gave her patients a sense of calm.

A tailored white linen dress, in this case. Nothing like the one in his vision. But why quibble over details?

It seemed pretty clear what he had to do next.

CHAPTERONE

Two months later

This wasn’t the first time Ethan James had found himself in trouble with the local authorities. As a private investigator, sometimes he worked with them, sometimes he got on their nerves. But they didn’t usually arrest him and toss him in jail.

Welcome to Lost Harbor, Alaska, where before last night he’d mostly been worried about bear encounters.

“We have a new police chief,” the arresting officer informed him as he fingerprinted him. “She runs a very tight ship. Sorry, man. Blame her, not me.”

“Chief Maya Badger. Yes, I know. She’s the one—“

“Nope.” The sergeant threw up a hand to stop his explanation. He was friendly enough, with a sunny smile and a fringe of white beard, like a Santa in uniform. “I’m just doing my job. Letter of the law. Following orders. Not my fault. Filling out reports. Dotting I’s and crossing T’s. Just the way she likes.”

Obviously this guy was hellbent on putting him in that cell. Ethan gave in and handed over his personal items, which didn’t amount to much—wallet, rental car keys and phone. He hadn’t even checked into the Eagle’s Nest yet. That was where he’d stayed on his previous trips to Lost Harbor; but those had been financed by clients. This trip was different.

Very different. He chuckled to himself as the sergeant steered him into the small holding cell tucked into a corner of the bullpen area of the police station. Its door had a small window, with bars in place of the glass. At the back of the cell there was another window that looked out on the inviting grove of birch trees behind the station. At least there was a view. If he had to spend a night in jail, he could do worse.

He spread his arms wide, realizing he could nearly touch both walls. “It’s a good thing Lost Harbor has such a low crime rate so I have the place to myself.”

“We’re a little cramped for space here,” the sergeant explained. “They’re building us a new station, but for now, it is what it is.”

“I’ll have to come back in a year and get arrested again,” Ethan said dryly as the cell door closed behind him. “I promise to rewrite my Yelp review.”

“Funny. Okay then, Ethan S. James. Enjoy your night.”

“It’s off to a great start, can’t lie.”

The officer snorted and shuffled off. Ethan realized he hadn’t been granted the traditional one phone call, but since it was three-thirty in the morning, he’d just suck it up until Maya Badger showed up.

She’d asked him to come here, after all. True, she hadn’t asked him to hack into the police station’s database and pull all the records related to one “Spruce Grouse,” aka S.G. But old skills never went away, and with an antiquated system like Lost Harbor’s, he could hardly be expected to ignore such a tempting opportunity to get a head start on this case.

He settled onto the bench that lined the back of the cell and stretched out his legs. His right leg was aching vaguely, with a kind of desultory whine, like a kid asking “are we there yet?” He rubbed it automatically, out of habit, even though what he really needed was a hot bath and a bed.

“You’ll have to wait, buddy,” he murmured to his leg. “Behave or I’ll switch you out for a pirate peg leg.” He’d gotten into the habit of talking to his troublesome limb when he was a kid, and had never quite shaken it.

“Eh?” shouted Sergeant Santa.

“Nothing,” he called back. “Can you keep it down? Gonna try to get some Z’s. Any chance you got some of those eye masks, like on a plane? It’s so damn light in here.”

“Teach you not to commit crimes in Alaska in the summer.”

Ethan grumbled to himself and settled his back against the wall. Was “crime” really the right word? Maya Badger, the police chief, had hired him for this case, after all. On the phone, she hadn’t set down any “rules” about “computer access.” At worst, he was just an overeager new colleague.

The light from the little window above his head cast a shadowy blue glow into the cell. From where he sat, the other window, with its aluminum bars, gave him a view of the police station’s acoustic tile ceiling. A sepia stain shaped like Florida spread across two of the tiles.

If only he could drag the bench to the front of the cell, so he could enjoy the view of the woods behind the station. Then his first night back in Lost Harbor would at least include some sightseeing. He loved this little town clinging to the edge of the Alaskan wilderness. With its magnificent setting on Misty Bay, right across from the snowcapped mountains and deeply forested slopes of Lost Souls Wilderness, it had a special mystique that had stayed with him even back in the James Agency office in humdrum West Covina, Los Angeles.

This was his third trip to Lost Harbor. He’d met Maya on his first trip, when he’d worked with her to protect Padric Jeffers, the rock star, from death threats. He respected her, but they certainly weren’t close friends.

This last time, the Alaska phone number had flashed on his phone in the middle of an argument with Charley.

His new fiancée.

Who wanted him to quit being a private investigator.

“You don’t have a real schedule.” She’d been ticking off her complaints on her fingers. “Your life is so unpredictable it’s impossible to make plans. And what about all the people who apparently want to kill you?”

“But they keep missing the mark,” he pointed out.

“You’re not taking this seriously. Are you forgetting that I’m a life coach? This is exactly the kind of thing I advise people about.”

“I’m not your client. And I enjoy my work.”

“Oh, so you enjoy nearly drowning?”

“No, that was a low point. Gotta admit.”

“Okay, what do you enjoy about it? How does it serve you?”

Ohh, that life-coach talk really got under his skin. How could he explain that it made him feel more alive than the computer work he used to do? He liked throwing his body into things. It was his body. Not the surgeon’s or the oncologist’s. His, to risk as he wanted.

She tried another approach. “You don’t want me to worry, do you? Some things have to change when you get married. You have to accept that.”

Just then, Maya’s call had come in. He’d listened to her outline the situation. Spruce Grouse, known as S.G., was a mysterious runaway girl who’d been raised in Lost Souls Wilderness by a trapper who had found her as a baby. She’d recently become eager to find out her true origins, and had asked Maya to help her. With Maya’s recent promotion to police chief, she didn’t have enough spare time to investigate the mystery of a teenage runaway’s origins.

He said ‘yes’ before they so much as discussed terms.

Before Charley could scold him, he took her hand. Cool to the touch, neutral nail polish. His future bride. Was this how her hand had felt in his vision? He couldn’t remember.

“One last job,” he told her softly. “It’s in Lost Harbor, Alaska, and it won’t involve any vengeful husbands or crazed Lexus drivers. It’s a cold case, really. We’ll be trying to figure out the true identity of a fifteen-year-old kid. I’ve been to Lost Harbor before, and it’s a tiny little fishing town with a low crime rate. I’ll be facing no danger. Should be back in a week.”

“Just one week?”

“One week.”

“Do you promise that it’ll be your last job?”

He nodded, though it took everything in him to do so. If he was going to marry her, he should try to make her happy. “Last one. You can even come with me. It’s a magical place.”

“My schedule is beyond booked, you know that. Besides, Alaska…” She shivered. “No thanks.”

One last job.

He’d never imagined that it would land him in jail on his very first night back in Lost Harbor. But whatever. It was just a few hours. As soon as Maya Badger came into the station, she’d spring him out of here.

Another thing he’d learned long ago was how to sleep in uncomfortable places and positions. He managed to doze off despite the sporadic sounds of phones ringing and voices and metal chairs screeching against the floor.

What woke him up was a smell.

Not just any smell. A divine fragrance wafting through the bars of his cell door like Tinkerbell riding an air current—if Tinkerbell was bringing him spiced coffee cake. Ever since his near-drowning, he’d been acutely sensitive to smells. It was weird, and it hadn’t faded in the months since the incident.

Light footfalls sounded on the floor outside the holding cell.

“Hello?” a female voice called. “Is anyone here? Maya?”

Ethan stiffly pushed himself off the bench to stand up. He wobbled there for a moment, gaining his balance. Come on, buddy. Don’t let me down. “Hello? I’m here. Hungry as a horse.”

The footfalls paused. “Who said that?”

“Over here. In the corner. Behind the bars. Don’t worry, I’m not dangerous, though a little breakfast might help with that. ‘Hangry’ is a real thing, you know.”

“Oh, I know, believe me. I see it firsthand every morning, as soon as the bakery doors open.” Her voice came closer, and a few seconds later she was peering through the bars at him. Rich auburn hair backlit by the office fluorescents. Curious amber eyes, a merry smile. “Who the heck are you? I don’t believe I know you.”

“Ethan S. James. Nice to meet you.” He gave her a little salute, like a military officer. “And you are?”

“Not about to introduce myself to a prisoner.”

“Good policy in general. But I’m not supposed to be in jail. It’s a mistake, and as soon as Maya realizes it she’s going to be furious and full of apologies.”

Her forehead crinkled. “That doesn’t sound like Maya. She ruined my suede jacket in a snowstorm once and she still hasn’t apologized.”

Was this girl for real? He was in jail and she was ranting about a suede jacket? Talk about frivolous. She was pretty; maybe too pretty, the kind of girl who got by on her looks. The opposite of his sister and his fiancée. He liked brains in a woman.

But clearly she knew Maya, and maybe that meant she could help him out.

“Sounds like you’re pretty close to her.”

“Besties since third grade. Except for sixth grade, half of sophomore year, and part of our early twenties. Long story. Several long stories, come to think of it. I can tell you if you’re interested, since you seem to have plenty of time. You’re literally a captive audience. Our sixth grade fight was the worst, it started when she was sitting in front of me and I pulled her braid to get her attention. I only intended to offer her some Juicy Fruit but she thought I wanted to mess with her about the half-assed job her mom had done on her hair and—“

Oh my God. Was this story going anywhere? Was it worth listening just to pry some information out of her?

Good thing Charley was nothing like this. They might disagree about things like the dangers of PI work, but she was a practical, sensible person just like he was. That was why people trusted her life coaching skills.

“Are you sure Maya wants you spilling all her secrets like this?” he interrupted at the first possible moment.

“Oh, none of it’s a secret. We had an epic fistfight right there in class. Hair pulling, eye gouging, the whole thing.”

“Eye gouging?”

“Attempted eye gouging,” she corrected with a shrug. “It was the class right before lunch and like you said, ‘hangry’ is a real thing. So is it appropriate for me to ask why you’re in jail?”

He was pretty sure “appropriate” wasn’t something that concerned her too much.

“Happy to tell you if you hand over one of those muffins.”

“Do you mean these freshly baked, Rainier cherry buckwheat scones with lemon-cardamom icing?”

She lifted a cardboard bakery container to the bars to give him a look. The aroma made his head spin. Spice and citrus and sugar.

“Please God, yes,” he said fervently. “Those.”

“Perhaps you’d like some coffee with them too?” A metal thermos appeared on the other side of her face. Her sunny smile, combined with the promise of breakfast, made his mood lighten for the first time since the sergeant had knocked on his rental car window.

“You have no idea.” His mouth was watering so much he could barely get the words out. “I have some money in my wallet. It’s somewhere out there, wherever they put personal items. You know what would be even better? If you could find the key and let me out. That way I can get some cash for you. And Maya won’t be quite so angry when she discovers that I’m in jail.”

She pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling, as if thinking over his proposal. “So let me get this straight. You want me to feed you breakfast, let you out of jail, and piss off my best friend by giving away her coffee?”

He snorted. Maybe she wasn’t quite as flaky as he’d imagined. “Is that a no?”

“I’ll think about it.” She winked at him. “What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll tell you all about the dire acts that put me behind bars.”

“Or…just spitballing…I could wait for Maya to show up and she could tell me.”

“Yes, but you know how police blotters are, they’re very dry and boring. I can tell you the inside story. All the juicy gory details.”

“Gory? Is there blood involved? I’m not good with blood. That’s why I picked baking instead of—”

“Medicine?”

“Fishing.” She frowned at him. “Okay, how about this? Maya never eats more than half a scone anyway because she gets so busy. I’ll give you a nice big chunk of this scone if you tell me what a well-dressed, probably good-looking-when-not-so-tired stranger is doing in our humble little jail.”

Probably good-looking. Not the most flattering description, but at least she was still talking.

“Throw in a sip of coffee and you have a deal.”

“I can do better than that.” She disappeared, taking her scones and coffee with her. He wanted to cry like a baby, watching them go.

In a minute, she came back with a paper cup of extremely dark coffee. She passed it through the bars to him. He took a whiff and made a face. “This is what’s in that thermos?”

“Oh no, this is the station coffee, they must have made it last night.”

“Good God.” He sloshed it in the cup, where it left a poisonous-looking residue on the sides.

“Yeah. That’s why I bring Maya my coffee when I want to butter her up.” She flaunted the thermos at him, and he choked back a tormented growl. “But jailbirds can’t be choosers. Here.” She broke off a piece of scone and passed it through the bars. “This’ll help it go down.”

He set the coffee aside and devoured the scone in two bites. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted, hands down.

“Well?” She waited expectantly. “Juicy details please. As agreed.”

“All right. I hacked into the police department computer system to find out more about the case Maya hired me for. Sergeant Santa got pinged that someone was on the network and decided I should contemplate my evil deeds during a quiet night in lockup.”

She frowned. “That’s it? Hacking? Not even the axe kind of hacking?”

“Not juicy enough for you? Sorry.” The incredible cherry buckwheat concoction had hit his bloodstream, making him feel much more like a regular human. “I completely agree. They should only arrest people for more exciting crimes. So maybe you could find the keys to this place and—“

“What was the case?”

“Excuse me?”

“The case Maya hired you for?”

“I probably shouldn’t talk about that. Maybe it’s supposed to be confidential.”

“Is it about S.G.? Spruce Grouse?”

He looked at her with surprise. Either it was already common knowledge or she wasn’t a bad detective herself.

“I can see by your eyebrows that it is.”

He forced his eyebrows back down to their normal position. “No comment.”

She tapped her fingers on the thermos, barely paying attention to him anymore. “If she hired you to help with that case, something must be wrong, because she’s been knee deep in that one for a while. What kind of help does she need? Who are you, anyway?”

“Okay, you can stop with the interrogation shit, Jess.” The bakery girl’s face disappeared, replaced by Maya Badger’s. She frowned at him, the light sliding off her rich dark skin. “Ethan James? What the hell are you doing in there?”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been wondering all night. Just so you know, I charge overtime for jail time.”

A frown dented her forehead. “Did I say this was a paid job? You hung up before we got a chance to discuss it.”

He sighed. Perfect end to a perfect night.

At least he’d gotten half of a perfect scone out of it.

CHAPTERTWO

Jessica Dixon stepped back as Maya unlocked the door of the jail cell. The man inside it—Ethan James—came limping out. Had he sustained an injury while being arrested in the parking lot? Maybe hacking was just as violent a crime as it sounded.

Ethan had wide shoulders, quiet hazel eyes, long legs encased in blue jeans. Wherever he came from, some stylist had done excellent work on his hair. Even after a night in jail, he looked good; he even smelled good, with some kind of clean citrus aftershave. Definitely different from the rough-edged guys she’d grown up with in Alaska.

And yet, she got the sense that he was pretty tough under that nicely groomed exterior. Something about his features intrigued her, as if he was a lot more than he appeared at first. Above all things, she trusted her intuition; it was probably the only thing that hadn’t let her down at some point. Her intuition told her that Ethan James wasn’t someone to mess with, and that there was a lot going on under his easy-on-the-eyes facade.

The way Maya treated him—with an unusual degree of respect—reinforced that impression.

“Let me guess,” she told the man behind the bars. “You arrived here early and my sergeant got a little overeager last night.”

“Don’t blame him. I was crossing a line, I admit. I wanted to get a jump on the research.”

“Shit.” Maya set her hands on her hips. “I’m going to look like a hypocrite if I go easy on you.”

Jessica waved the thermos of coffee and the box of scones at her. “Maya, I need to talk to you.”

“Can we do it later, Jess? I have a problem on my hands.”

She had a problem too; why else would she be here this early with coffee and bribery scones? “Okay sure, we can talk about my thing later. One crisis at a time, or so they say. Seems to me they always come in clusters.”

Ethan shot her a vaguely amused glance. She got the impression that he didn’t take her very seriously, as if she was a pesky little sister.

She didn’t like that thought at all. She wasn’t anyone’s little sister, and just because she was a little offbeat didn’t mean that she wasn’t worthy of respect.

Or did it?

Lately she’d been wondering about that very question.

She realized that both Maya and Ethan were looking at her. “What? Did I miss something?”

“You said you were leaving. That we’re going to talk about your thing later.” In her police chief uniform, Maya always looked so stern, even though Jess knew better. Maya was the kind of friend you could always count on—well, except if she was busy with an unexpected perp.

“If this is about S.G., I don’t mind sticking around. I could probably be helpful.”

Ethan’s half-smile felt wholly condescending. “Those scones are sure helpful, I’ll say that. Any chance you can rustle up a few more of those?”

A flash of anger swept through her. Just because she made sweets for a living and liked to smile didn’t mean she was a dimwit he could order around.

“Sure thing, jailbird. I live to feed breakfast to inmates. They’re so sexy, it’s the lure of the forbidden and all that. Maybe I’ll write you letters while you’re serving your time, and then we can get married and have conjugal visits and—“

“Jessica.” Maya could barely keep herself from laughing. “Take it easy on him. Ethan came up here from Los Angeles at my request. I have to deal with this situation before it gets even more awkward. But I’m grateful for the breakfast and we’ll definitely address your problem as soon as I’m done here. I’ll call you, okay? Are we good?”

As police chief, Maya knew how to manage a situation. Jessica wasn’t used to being “a situation,” but she could read the anxiety in her friend’s posture. Right now, Maya needed her to leave, and so she’d do just that—but for her own reasons. Not because Mr. Bigshot from LA wanted another scone.

“We’re good,” she assured Maya, while casting a scathing glance at Ethan James. “No sharing my Guatemalan Organic Roast with the inmates, though.”

Petty words to leave with, but she didn’t take them back. She didn’t appreciate being patronized, even by an attractive stranger.

Especially by an attractive stranger.

Even after she’d ridden her bike back to the Sweet Harbor Bakery and B&B and gone back to work in the kitchen, Jessica’s irritation didn’t fade. She rolled out the lunchtime biscuits with twice the force she usually used, nearly bending her favorite cookie cutter in the process. It wasn’t just Ethan she was mad at; they didn’t know each other, after all. He could be forgiven for dismissing her with a smile and a light word about scones.

Could be forgiven, but might not be, depending on what he did next.

No, this wasn’t about Ethan-the-handsome-jailbird. This was about her. Just because she’d been running Sweet Harbor since her mother had dumped it on her didn’t mean she couldn’t do other things. Just because she’d skipped college to take over the bakery didn’t mean she didn’t have a brain. Just because she’d never even left Alaska didn’t mean she was trapped in her comfort zone of muffins and room rentals.

Or did it?

Lately, she’d been wondering if all of those things were true. Ethan James, whoever he was, had hit a sore spot.

She busied herself with making biscuits until she noticed that Sergeant Hollister was at the display case. Ethan had referred to a “Sergeant Santa,” and he was the only one who fit that description.

With a glance at Nia, the blue-haired, nose-ringed server, she took over at the cash register.

“Good morning, Sergeant. Why are you trying to pay, you silly goose? You know all the Lost Harbor police caffeinate for free here.”

He covered up a yawn with the crook of his arm. “Seems like that’s only when you’re around.”

“Oh, well, the others forget sometimes.” She waved off his money. “Hey, heard you had a busy night last night.”

“Sure did. Following the new chief’s orders. Doin’ my duty.”

Poor Maya. Taking over a department of ornery old dudes was no picnic. Jessica admired her for shaking things up. If only she could do the same.

“We all appreciate everything you’re doing to keep the town safe.” She batted her eyelashes at him, knowing he was no match for her smile when she unleashed it. “Is it true you arrested a violent felon in the parking lot?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t go that far. He came easily enough. Didn’t have to fire my weapon, but I was ready.”

“I just bet you were.” Maya had told her that the Lost Harbor police rarely even drew their weapons. It just didn’t come up very often. “He would have been no match for you, I’m sure.”

He puffed up his chest. “Of course not. We’re a small town, but we can hold our own. No hotshot PI’s gonna get the best of me.”

Oh ho. Ethan James was a private investigator. Very intriguing. She smiled again at the sergeant and patted his arm. “You should go get some sleep. Those overnight shifts must be killer.”

“Thanks, dear. You’re gonna forget I just told you that about our perp, aren’t you?”

“Sure thing, Sergeant. You know me. Silent as a cheesecake.” She winked at him. “I know it’s supposed to be ‘silent as a grave,’ but that’s just too morbid for me. Cheesecakes are equally silent, at least I’ve never known one to say a word.”

He chuckled as he picked up his coffee. “Always nice to see you, Kiddo. Brightens the day. Say hello to your mom.”

“Will do.” Her smile dimmed as he left the bakery.

What was the point in passing along his greeting? Her mom wouldn’t even remember him. It was ten years since they’d dated, and she had a new husband now. He was the worst of the lot.

She went back to her biscuits and saw that they had risen enough to be slid into the big commercial oven. When her mother had started Sweet Harbor Bakery over twenty years ago, she’d done all the baking in a tiny propane unit in an RV. As soon as she’d started turning a profit, she’d invested in a real commercial oven. But old framed photos of the original Sweet Harbor kitchen still adorned the wall. The infamous yellow RV with its cheerful curtains and abundant production of muffins and sweet rolls for the local fishermen was iconic.

The photo with Jessica as a little girl poking her head out of the window to take someone’s order had even made it into a national magazine article about quirky offbeat eateries.

Yup, that was Sweet Harbor Bakery. Quirky and offbeat. Just like Jessica herself—at least according to everyone in town.

What would it take to shake that label? What would it take to inspire someone like Ethan James to look at her with something other than mild amusement?

She sighed, stirring a puff of flour into the air. Why should she care what Ethan James thought of her? He could “rustle up some scones” and shove them where the sun don’t shine, as far as she was concerned.

She had much, much bigger things to worry about. Like the certified letter from her mother sitting unopened on her office desk. Her mother’s new husband, Gary—she always mentally drew out the name in a sarcastic tone—had big plans for Sweet Harbor Bakery and B&B. He was pulling out all the stops to get her to sell.

That was why she’d rushed over to the police station with panic scones. She needed to talk this over with someone. It was such a big decision and she hated making important decisions. Little everyday decisions were no problem, but the big life-changing ones were her Achilles heel. Her fatal flaw. And Maya was so good at them.

The water pipes clanged, meaning someone had just turned on the shower upstairs. That reminded her that she had to fix the hot water heater today. Her B&B guests could handle some minor Alaska-style inconveniences, but not a lack of hot showers.

She left the biscuits for Nia to finish and hurried off to gather up her plumbing tools. Lost Harbor had very few plumbers, so she’d learned to handle such things herself. Besides, she’d much rather play plumber than make a decision. No contest.

CHAPTERTHREE

Ethan only had time for a quick meeting with Maya before things got busy at the Lost Harbor police station. They squeezed in apologies on both sides and set an appointment for later that day.

“I have some homework for you before then,” Maya told him as she turned on her computer. “Just give me a second to print my notes.”

“Sounds good. It might have to wait until after a shower and a nap, though.”

“Do I have to apologize again?” she asked wryly.

“No need,” he assured her. She’d dropped the charges, and that was more than enough for him.

“The thing about this case,” Maya explained as she tapped on her files, “it’s not in my jurisdiction. Lost Souls Wilderness is a mix of state and federal land, and since we don’t know exactly where S.G. was found, I can’t say which. I know for sure it isn’t Lost Harbor PD territory. So for me to work on it, I have to do it on my own time, after hours.”

“Which probably doesn’t leave you much time at all.”

She crossed over to the printer on the other side of the room. “Exactly. That’s why I thought of you. Padric Jeffers vouches for you, and so does Darius Boone. I was pretty excited when you agreed to come up.”

“My pleasure. It’s always a good change of pace from California. It came at a good moment.”

Part of him wanted to ask about her friend, Jessica with the divine scones. Before his near-death experience—and before Charley—he might have tried to see her again, because she was appealing and might be fun to pass some time with while he was in Lost Harbor.

But now, he was engaged. No more flirting for him.

“Any big news in your life?” she asked as they watched the printer spit out pages.

“Well, I did get engaged since the last time I was here.”

“Congratulations.”

He grunted. He still wasn’t used to the idea of being engaged. For long stretches of time, he forgot about it.

She eyed him sideways. “Where’s that disgustingly besotted look I usually see when couples get engaged?”

He rolled his shoulders, still getting the kinks out from his night in jail. “It’s not that kind of engagement.”

“You’re not engaged to be married? You got some other kind of engagement down there in the Lower Forty-eight? We’re always behind the times up here.”

“No no, we’re getting married. It’s just not, you know, the sappy kind of engagement. Romantic. All that shit. It’s the practical kind.”

The printer stopped whirring and Maya collected a sheaf of pages. She handed them over to him. “I didn’t get a chance to organize these, so just look at it as raw data. It’s everything I’ve managed to learn so far about S.G. and Edgar Murchison, the fugitive who raised her in Lost Souls. He’s in prison in Texas now on preexisting warrants.”

“Have you interviewed him?”

“He’s not talking. I have no leverage because the Texas authorities aren’t too worried about a girl who survived. They have a bunch of murders they’re pinning on him. He’s a very bad dude and S.G. is a lucky kid.”

Ethan wasn’t sure he’d call being raised in isolation by a murderer “lucky”—but at least she’d survived.

“Will I be able to interview her?”

“We’ll see. S.G.’s a funny girl. She either trusts you or she might pull her hunting knife on you. But we can talk about all that later. You go get yourself a hot shower and some rest. I’ll see you tonight. Where are you staying?”

He opened his mouth to remind her that she should be covering his expenses, but then realized, once again, that they’d never discussed terms. Awkward.

“Never mind. Here, take this voucher for the Sweet Harbor B&B. I bid for it at the last auction and haven’t got a chance to use it. Best breakfast in town. Well, you already know. You liked that scone, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he said cautiously. He wouldn’t mind more of those scones.

“Then you’re all set. See ya later. I want to know more about these ‘practical engagements’ you got going on. I like the sound of that. If I was ever going to tie the knot, it’d have to be something like that.”

Her phone was ringing and the next shift was arriving and she was practically shoving him out the door now. He felt as if he’d been caught in a whirlwind and before he knew it, he was outside the station facing his rental car, a red Jeep that had caught every pothole between here and Anchorage.

It was still not quite nine in the morning, but the blazing sunshine made it seem like high noon. He squinted and shaded his eyes, dazzled by the brilliant light bouncing off the cars in the parking lot. Everything—the blue spruce trees beyond the lot, the wild profusion of sunny buttercups at their feet--felt freshly washed and crystal clean.

He tried to catch up to what had just happened.

So wait … he was going to stay at the place that made the scones Jessica had brought? Did that mean she was going to be there too? How did he feel about that? He felt some kind of way, but he couldn’t pin it down.

His phone rang, making him start. A little knot of dread formed in his stomach. It was probably Charley, checking to see if he’d made it safely to Lost Harbor.

But it was his sister Olivia instead. He chose not to examine the sense of relief that came over him, and answered the call.

“Hey Liv, I can’t talk now, I just got out of jail and I have to check into my bed-and-breakfast.”

“Wait…what? Are you okay?”

“I’m grrrrreat.”

“You sound drunk.”

“Not drunk. Just excited to be a free man again.”

“Are you talking about your imprisonment or did you break up with Charley?”

He also chose not to examine the hopeful tone in her voice. “Of course not. I don’t break my commitments. Shame on you.”

He clicked his key fob and got into the Jeep. He did a quick check to make sure his stuff was still there—laptop, overnight bag. Nothing had been disturbed by Sergeant Santa. At least something had gone right.

“Ethan, be serious. Seems like ever since the…you know...the incident…”

“The near-drowning.”

“Yes.” He could practically hear the wince in her voice. Olivia was used to the medical crises that involved his leg, but nearly getting drowned was a very different story. She’d been phone-hovering ever since. “You’ve been acting strange since then. Not yourself.”

“That’s because I’m a new man.” He put the phone on speaker and started the car. He didn’t bother to route it through the sound system. “I told you what happened. I had a vision.”

“I know you said that, but is it really a reason to change every single thing about your life?”

“You’re so dramatic. Jesus. Look, Liv, dying made me rethink my life.”

“Stop saying that!” his sister exclaimed. “You weren’t really dead.”

“They told me I was dead for a whole minute. What do I know? I didn’t think I was dead either. I thought I was getting married. Then I woke up and saw Charley.”

He’d proposed to her with saline dripping into his veins and oxygen cannulas in his nose. He’d been a little shocked when she’d accepted.

“You weren’t yourself. That was the worst possible time to make such a drastic decision.”

“It’s done. There’s no going back. Besides, we’re very compatible.”

“Aside from her hating your job.”

“My old job.”

“Stop saying—maybe we should talk about all this another time.” Olivia obviously didn’t want to fight. He didn’t either. He and his sister were very close; or at least they had been until she’d left the James Agency to go fall in love with Jake Rockwell. He and Olivia had always stuck up for each other. But Olivia’s dislike of Charley might be a problem.

“I don’t need to talk about it. I’m getting married to Charley and you’re going to be my best man and there’s nothing else to say. I’m getting off the phone now. I don’t want to get arrested again. Once a day is enough for me.”

“You know I’m going to need the whole story soon, right? Are you starving? Did they at least feed you in jail?”

“Someone showed up with the most incredible cherry scones you’ve ever tasted. Like an angel from bakery heaven.”

“Someone?”

He recognized that hopeful tone of voice. “Someone who bakes,” he said severely. “Don’t go getting any ridiculous ideas. I don’t know what your problem is with Charley, and I don’t want to know.”

“Are you sure? Because—“

“I’m sure. This is happening, Liv. As soon as I get back to LA, we’re doing it. She’s planning the whole thing right now.”

“Of course she is,” muttered Olivia. “Okay, I’ll shut up now. I suppose I’m just annoyed because she made you give up the James Agency.”

“Don’t want to hear it!”

“The agency I started—“

“Olivia James Rockwell. Stop it.”

“The agency you love, the job you love—“

He ended the call with his thumb and tossed the phone in the backseat. Sure, it had hurt to announce that the James Agency was closing. He didn’t really look forward to shifting into tech work. But he was good at it, and it was a safer kind of profession. And it would make Charley happy.

He drove out of the police station lot, after a quick glance at the voucher Maya had given him. Sweet Harbor Bakery and B&B, located on Beach Drive, which he knew ran along gorgeous Seafarer’s Beach. It probably had a spectacular view, since every place in Lost Harbor did. But right now, he didn’t care if it looked out on the town dump. As long as it had a bed and a shower, he’d be a happy former jailbird.

A sarcastic Asian girl with blue-streaked hair checked him in at the counter of the Sweet Harbor Bakery. She rattled off instructions in between setting out fresh croissants and serving quad shots to a group of tourists. All the guest rooms were on the second floor. His room was the one facing the ocean. He could enjoy breakfast any time after seven in the morning, and oh, by the way, the water heater was broken. She handed over a key with a fob shaped like a cupcake.

“Wait. What was that last part? About the heater?”

“Water heater. It’s broken.”

“No hot showers?”

“You must be a detective or something. Correct.”

God damn it. Why was everything going wrong on this trip?

“Is someone working on it? Is the problem going to be fixed any time soon?”

“The owner is working on it right now. But if it’s urgent—“

In his opinion, showering after a night in jail was an urgent need, but he didn’t want to make a scene. Especially because Sweet Harbor Bakery was like a gingerbread house come to life and it smelled like a sugar factory.

“It’s all right. I’ll wait.”

“You sure?” She leaned forward and took a whiff of the air near him. “Just saying. You smell like you had a fun night.”

“Oh yeah, it was quite the party. One for the history books. Or at least the police blotter.”

She laughed, with no idea that he wasn’t joking. “I hope I can still party when I’m your age.”

“My—“ Shaking his head, he let it drop. He was only twenty-nine, but people often thought he was older than that. He liked to think it was because he was a hard-boiled detective, but possibly it had something to do with his medical history too. He’d had to grow up early. He didn’t mind the mistake, but then again, he didn’t need a nineteen-year-old consigning him to an early grave either. “Hopefully I can find my room without my cane.”

The girl laughed. “If I hear a crash I’ll come running. Make sure to grab some firewood on your way up the stairs. The heater isn’t working and a cold front’s moving in.”

“I suppose the owner’s working on the heater too?”

“No, it’s summer, we’re not too worried about it. It’s in the shop and the repair dude promised he’ll get it to us by fall.”

“Thoughts and prayers.”

With another smirk, she pointed him toward a set of worn wooden stairs just past a display of fresh-baked bread. At the base of the stairs, opposite a side door, cut birch branches were stacked against the wall. He bent down to snag a bundle as he passed.

He found his room easily enough, since there were only four of them. Inside, he heaved a sigh of relief that it was clean and inviting, with a double casement window looking out toward the beach, and a four-poster bed with a quilt patterned with sandhill cranes. A vase of fresh sunflowers sat on the nightstand next to the bed. A small woodstove took up one corner of the room.

Dropping the firewood next to the stove, he abandoned his bags and flopped backwards onto the bed. Bliss.