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CHAPTER THREE

B rooklynn had never understood the expression about people’s hearts being in their throats, until now.

Hers was trying to thump right out of her body.

The comfort she’d felt in this man’s arms was long gone, chased away by the cold reality of a pitch-black cave.

And a man who looked like he was sorry he’d wasted his time on her.

If this guy was a madman who’d lured her here to chain her up in his basement, then refusing to climb down those scary steps would only turn his suggestion into a demand.

But really, what were the chances?

Nobody had known she’d be in the cove on this property at dawn. She’d only just had the idea the evening before.

She’d witnessed something she still didn’t understand—a bunch of smugglers, she assumed, who also happened to be there at the same time as her.

A strange coincidence.

Being rescued by a lock-women-in-the-basement killer, who happened to be right where she needed him and knew about a secret cave?

That felt like one coincidence too many.

He probably wasn’t a murderer.

And the people who’d chased her were still out there.

It wasn’t as if she had a whole bunch of choices.

Sometimes, she wished she had Alyssa’s analytical mind. Brooklynn’s thoughts were taking her in circles.

Ford—were madmen ever named Ford?— raised his eyebrows.

“It’s fine.” Her voice was high and squeaky. She swallowed and tried again. “Lead the way.”

He stepped through the door and pulled a string that hung from an overhead light fixture.

The bare bulb was blinding, and she paused until her eyes adjusted, then followed him down six steps into a basement.

Concrete floors and walls, bare rafters overhead with ducts and pipes snaking through them. A washer and dryer against one wall beneath a rough shelf that held detergent and fabric softener. That explained the scent of laundry.

Old furniture and stacks of boxes. Tools and discarded household items, including an old Westinghouse roaster that looked like it dated back to the fifties.

A wicker couch and love seat with floral cushions that belonged in the sunshine—in 1987.

A slightly newer-looking wrought iron café table and chairs.

No chains bolted to the walls. No handcuffs lying about. Even so, she trembled with terror.

The man crossed to the base of a wooden staircase with a rusty metal railing. “Go on up. The door at the top is unlocked.”

She tried to move slowly, but fear fed fresh adrenaline into her veins, and she ran, practically hurtling to the top.

She burst through the door.

She was in a dark hallway with doors on either end. One was closed, the other open halfway, letting in enough light to give her hope. She hurried that way, pushed open the surprisingly heavy door, and stepped into a living area.

Straight ahead, windows showcased a view that had her halting. “Oh.”

The sun glimmered on the Atlantic far below, which reflected a powder-blue sky. The cove that could’ve been her grave was bathed in golden light. The trees on the headland that jutted between here and town waved in the sea breeze, the pines on it nearly as high as the house where she stood.

In the cave, she’d known they were moving upward, and of course she’d seen this Victorian on the cliff, but it seemed higher from above.

“Coffee?”

She startled and spun, taking in the man who’d stopped behind her.

One corner of his mouth quirked as if it wanted to smile, but his eyes weren’t on board. “Not sure how you forgot I was here in the one-point-six seconds it took you to bolt up the stairs.”

Outside, he’d seemed like some combination of superhero and supervillain. In here, he looked like a nice, normal man. Well, a very handsome man.

And calling him nice was giving him too much credit.

He was over six feet. Broad shoulders, muscular arms that filled out his T-shirt perfectly. Strong jaw on a square face softened by a trimmed red beard that matched his short hair.

Her best friend in elementary school had been a little boy with red hair. Unlike Ford, her old friend hadn’t even been cute by seven-year-old standards, but she’d always had a soft spot for redheads.

She’d never met one who looked like this.

Never mind the smirk he didn’t bother to hide.

Now that she was inside, now that she was pretty sure Ford wasn’t a killer, she relaxed, inhaling a deep coffee-scented breath. “Do you have tea?”

After a curt nod, he closed the door they’d come through, and it disappeared into a dark paneled wall. If she hadn’t known it was there, she’d have never found it.

Ford walked past her, going through an opening on the left, while she shifted to take in the interior of the house she’d always thought was the most beautiful structure in Shadow Cove.

If memory served, the mansion had been built in the 1870s. It still looked stately from afar, but from Dad’s boat she’d taken photos with her zoom lens and seen the signs of wear and neglect.

Those signs were less obvious inside, at least in this room.

Tall windows framed with thick, ornate trim made up the ocean-facing wall. The other walls were wood-paneled. Not cheap laminate paneling, but rich dark wood, polished to a golden shine. The ceiling was crisscrossed by matching beams.

Pastel floral fabric covered the sofa, and a nearby chair-and-a-half and ottoman had a checkered pattern in coordinating mauves and greens.

There were ornate tables with carved legs, lamps with lacy fringe, and a giant area rug over hardwood floors.

Brooklynn guessed the wardrobe-style cabinet beside the oversized fireplace held one of those old, fat TV sets.

The room was clean and slightly feminine, and Brooklynn had the sense that time had stopped in the late eighties, maybe early nineties, and just restarted when she’d walked in.

“When you’re finished gawking, your tea is ready.”

She swiveled to find Ford leaning against the doorjamb between this room and the next, watching her, that enigmatic smirk on his face.

“Sorry. I was just…”

His eyebrows hiked.

She gestured to the room. “It’s amazing.”

Those brows lowered, though he seemed unsure how to respond.

“Lead the way.” She followed him through an eating area tucked into one of the hexagonal turrets. It held a round glass table surrounded by six upholstered chairs. Windows boasted views of both the sea and the yard they’d run across from the cave.

It was gorgeous.

Ford had continued through another door, so she followed, entering a kitchen just as updated as the living room had been. The appliances were beige and predated her birth. The dark cabinetry had obviously been installed before the light-and-airy decor of the current decade.

Ford stood on the opposite side of an island she guessed had been added long after the house was built.

“Milk and sugar, I assume.”

“No, thanks.” She dropped her backpack on the counter and sipped from the mug. Earl Gray, one of her favorites. “This is perfect.”

Maybe because she felt safe, everything that’d happened, and all that could have happened, suddenly turned her legs to jelly. “Mind if I…?” She didn’t finish the sentence, just made her way back into the eating area and practically fell into a chair.

Two sips of the tea made her stomach churn.

Ford settled across from her, his narrowed eyes expressing what she hoped was worry or concern, though it looked a lot like irritation.

“I think it’s all catching up to me.”

His only acknowledgment was a low grunt.

“Do you have a cracker or something?”

He went to the kitchen and returned a moment later with a loaf of wheat bread, which he plopped on the table.

Some people possessed the gift of hospitality. Ford was not one of those people.

She helped herself to a slice of bread and tore off a bite. When she’d swallowed it, she asked, “Who were those guys?”

He shrugged.

She’d known her rescuer for about twenty minutes. But something in his countenance gave her the impression he wasn’t being honest. “What were you doing out there?”

“What were you doing out there?”

“I was trying to get a shot.”

“Of the people in the boat?”

“What? No. Of the sunrise.”

“Thirty-five hundred miles of coastline in Maine, and you just happened to be on this property?”

“So did you.”

“I’m supposed to be here. I wasn’t the one trespassing.”

“This house has been abandoned for as long as I can remember. How was I supposed to know somebody was here?”

“So it’s okay to trespass as long as you don’t get caught?”

This conversation was so bizarre, her body so drained from the adrenaline, the chase, the escape, the whole…everything. She couldn’t help it.

She laughed.

He scowled. “You find this funny ?”

“It’s just… All of it.” She gestured at the house, the windows, the ocean.

“I should be home right now getting ready for work, and instead…” She giggled, sounding like a fool and not even caring.

She often laughed when she was nervous or uncomfortable, and she was both right now—to the extreme.

“I mean, you have to admit it’s a little funny. ”

He didn’t even crack a smile. “Taking pictures. Then what?”

“I heard a noise.” Her amusement faded as she recounted the events. Crossing the narrow headland, seeing those men on the dock. Them seeing her. “They were chasing me, and I was sure they’d catch me. And then you saved me.” She held his eye contact. “Thank you.”

He nodded, lips pressed closed.

A real conversationalist, this one.

The tea warmed her. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until her fear and shock faded.

After another sip, she set the mug on the table, the sound too loud in the silence. “I guess I should call the police.”

If anything, his scowl grew even scowlier. “No.”

“What do you mean, no? Who knows what those men would’ve done if you hadn’t rescued me?”

“I don’t want anyone to know about the cave. I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

Brooklynn had heard rumors in town about someone at this property. “People have seen your truck. There’s been speculation.”

“So you did know someone was here.”