Page 2

Marlowe’s grin widened, and she scrambled to her feet before carefully setting her book on her nightstand. She had yet to put away most of her belongings, making the bedroom a disaster area of teenager proportions, but she had started to line her books on the special bookshelf which survived the move. It was one Marlowe’s father had built, and Bridget had paid someone to secure the tall, wide bookcase safely to the wall.

Marlowe always treated her books with the utmost care, like they were sacred treasures. It seemed she managed to fill half the shelf before becoming lost in an old favorite. It would probably take her several days to focus enough to put away the rest of her belongings, but Bridget didn’t push her. Right now, Marlowe’s books were keeping her sane with all the changes going on in her life.

Bridget wandered to her own room, where the only thing she’d taken the time to do was make her bed. It was something her mother instilled in her and her sister at a young age, and it stayed with them through adulthood. Audra Kincaid believed even if every room in her house was a cluttered mess, all was in order as long as the beds were made.

Bridget lingered long enough in her room to brush out her sweat dampened tresses and stare at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to decide if she should do more to make herself presentable. There had been a time when she would never have considered leaving her house without every hair in place, without a comfortable outfit to show off her petite figure, and without carefully applied makeup emphasizing her caramel eyes, high cheekbones and pert nose. When her life had shifted on its axis, she realized spending too much time on what she looked like wasn’t a priority anymore.

She almost missed those carefree days, but going back would mean giving up the most precious gift she’d ever received. She didn’t think she could ever do that.

With her keys in hand and her wallet hanging by a strap on her wrist, Bridget ushered her charges out of the house, setting the security alarm and locking the door behind her. The sun had set, but the street was adequately lined with streetlamps. The hour was still early for neighbors to be outside walking their pets, getting some evening exercise, taking out the trash or other tasks. The neighborhood was part of the appeal for moving to their house. She’d felt she’d stepped onto the set of an old ‘50s sitcom, and the idea of having Marlowe and Mathias surrounded by this type of atmosphere had been too tempting to pass up.

She drove out of the neighborhood and turned toward downtown Grayson Cove. They’d passed through the area earlier on their way to the new house and was surprised to find it more of a hub of activity than Bridget would have suspected. Little shops lined the main street while other staple businesses – grocery stores, a hardware store, and eateries – occupied the rest of the square.

Their house was twelve minutes from the downtown area, but the stretch of road between their house and the diner was lined with trees and the occasional home, making the drive seem longer. Traffic was light, and the number of streetlights diminished once they left their neighborhood, making the two-lane road a little trickier to navigate as dusk drifted into night.

“Car trouble,” Marlowe piped up from the back seat, drawing Bridget’s attention to the car on the side of the road under one of the few streetlights. The car’s hood was raised, and as Bridget drove passed, she saw a woman sitting in the driver’s seat. She appeared to be alone, stranded on the roadside.

“We have to help, Aunt Bridge. I can fix it,” her niece said with all the confidence which comes with being a thirteen-year-old genius.

“She’s a stranger, Marlowe. It can be dangerous to stop for a stranger on the side of the road,” Bridget cautioned, even as she kept glancing in the rearview mirror at the motorist.

“There’s three of us, and only one of her, Aunt Bridge,” Mathias pointed out quietly. “Marlowe’s probably right too. She’s never met a car engine she couldn’t take apart, put together or figure out how to make it run.”

“Someone could be hiding in the trees, waiting to ambush anyone who stops to help.” She glanced at her nephew and realized he wasn’t buying her excuse.

“You need to stop binge-watching all of those crime shows.”

She wanted to argue that truth sometimes provided the basis for those streaming TV shows she loved, but the way his face was set told her he wasn’t going to be swayed. With a sigh of resignation, Bridget pulled over to the side of the road before giving her nephew a meaningful stare.

“Hang back with Marlowe while I talk to the driver, okay? If something looks off or I get jumped, you get behind the wheel and haul ass. You make sure Marlowe’s safe before you get help for me. Understood?”

Once he nodded in agreement, Bridget slipped her canister of pepper spray from her key ring and climbed out of the car. The other woman stepped out of her car under the beam of the streetlight. Bridget almost changed her mind but forced herself to move slowly toward the woman. Her hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder, the light dancing in the fiery red tresses. Dressed casually in jeans and a purple T-shirt, the woman flashed a tentative smile at Bridget.

“Looks like you could use some help,” Bridget called inanely as she paused a safe distance away. The two women eyed each other warily.

“Yes, but I have help on the way. My fiancé should be here any minute, and he’s already called a tow truck.”

“Oh, good. Well, we wanted to stop and offer some help if you needed it. Um, I think we’ll be going then since you don’t need anything.”

“That’s sweet of you to offer. Did you say ‘we’?”

“My niece and nephew are waiting in the car, so I’ll get back to them.” Bridget started to turn, but she realized she couldn’t leave yet. “On second thought, if it’s all right, we’ll hang out at our car until your fiancé gets here. I know it seems weird, but I can’t stand the idea of leaving you out here alone with a broken-down car.”

The woman regarded her curiously. “It’s really not necessary, but if you want to wait, I can’t stop you. What’s your name?”

Bridget hesitated, not usually quick to share personal information with a stranger. Something about this woman made Bridget want to relax her guard. Being a nurse, she’d honed her ability to read people, and she was starting to believe this woman was harmless and possibly in need of a friend.

“It’s Bridget.”

“Nice to meet you, Bridget. I’m Sydney Reede. And thank you. For offering to wait with me. My fiancé shouldn’t be much longer.”

Not sure what to say, Bridget finally nodded and walked back to the car. As she reached the driver’s door, she realized Marlowe had opened the window to listen.

“What’s wrong with her car?”

Bridget shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, and she didn’t say.”

“Does she want me to look at it? I can probably fix it. Would you ask her, Aunt Bridge?” Marlowe entreated.