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“Contractors, maybe.” At least that was the theory among townspeople. She hadn’t paid that much attention. “I didn’t know anyone was staying here.”

“I want to keep it that way.”

“But the police?—”

“Won’t do anything.”

“You don’t know that.” She couldn’t help the indignation in her tone. This outsider knew nothing about her hometown or their local police force.

A muscle in his cheek tightened. “Call them if you must, but leave me out of it.”

“Why?”

“I rescued you.”

“Meaning?” But she knew exactly what he meant.

She owed him.

She pushed back from the table and got to her feet. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but…”

He stood so fast that his heavy chair tipped back. He caught it before it fell. “You can’t leave.”

Fear spiked in her chest. “You plan to stop me?”

“No, not…” He ran a hand over his head, then gripped the back of his neck and held on. “Those guys are still out there.”

She doubted they were. When they realized she’d escaped, they’d probably run. “The sooner I call the police, the better.”

He opened his mouth, snapped it shut. “I’d rather you didn’t tell them where you are.”

“Are you a squatter or something? Do the owners know you’re here?”

The smirk shifted, and for the tiniest microsecond, she thought he might smile. Wishful thinking.

“Yes. They know.”

Again, she felt he wasn’t telling her everything, but perhaps she didn’t have the right to dig into his life.

“I’m sure they’re long gone.”

The man didn’t talk much, but his face was a good clue as to what he was thinking. Right now, it told her he thought she was an idiot. “Based on what?”

“Based on…”

Well, based on…the fact that she wanted them to be gone. She’d escaped, so of course they would run. Wouldn’t they? “I can’t stay here.”

He settled in his chair again, gesturing to hers. “It’s safe here.”

“How do you know? They’ll look for me.”

“If they come, I’ll send them away. Worst-case scenario, they force their way inside. This house has lots of hiding places.”

Fine. She was safe from her pursuers for now, but what about Ford? With that threatening scowl on his face, he looked anything but safe.

“Are you a local?” he asked.

“Are you?” she shot back.

He took a breath, blew it out. “No.”

“Why are you here then? Are you a contractor?”

“I’m…” He seemed to wrestle with his answer. Or maybe he was fabricating a story. “This is between you and me.” At her nod, he said, “I’m writing a book about unsolved mysteries in small towns.”

She hadn’t expected that.

Everyone in Shadow Cove knew the story. The family who’d lived here had been murdered. She’d heard a hundred variations of the facts and even more theories about who’d done it, but the killer had never been caught.

“You’re trying to solve the mystery?”

“Just gathering facts about it and the family,” he said. “But if I solve it”—he shrugged—“that would be good publicity for the book. You’re obviously a local.”

“Why is that obvious?”

“You didn’t ask what mystery I was here to solve.”

Good point.

“Have you been here long?”

“All my life.”

That muscle in Ford’s cheek ticked again. “I assume you know everybody in town?”

“Not everybody, but?—”

“And they all know you.”

“What are you getting at?”

Rather than answer, he asked, “How did you get here this morning?”

“I parked at the trailhead and took the path down to the cove.”

He glanced toward the front of the house as if he could see through walls and doors and forest. The two-lane road diverged from the highway south of here, hugged the coast past this house and others, then met back up with the highway a couple of miles north.

Farther south, a few other properties had been built on the seaside edge of the road, though this property had to sit on a couple of acres, putting the neighbors a good distance away.

A path led from the road between the Victorian and a neighboring property. It trailed down the rocky hill to the cove. It wasn’t an easy hike, but it offered a fabulous vista. Of course, all of it was private property, but that didn’t keep visitors away.

“You parked on the road?”

“In that sandy area by the trailhead.”

“Tell me you drive a nice, nondescript Honda, preferably with dirt-covered plates.”

“Not…exactly.”

His brows lowered over angry eyes.

She might as well fess up—as if she’d done something wrong. Which she hadn’t, even if the truth was inconvenient.

“I drive a Bronco.”

“Of course you do. Any chance it’s black?” Before she could answer, he straightened and glared at her. “It’s orange, isn’t it? That bright orange?—”

“What’s wrong with orange?”

“Aside from it being the most obvious vehicle in Shadow Cove? I mean, even I’ve noticed it.”

“It’s not like I’ve been trying to hide.”

“The point is, you’re not safe. If those guys were locals?—”

“They aren’t locals.”

That smirk—Ford’s resting-irritated-face—showed displeasure with a hint of condescension. It broadcast the question he didn’t bother to ask.

“None of the men chasing me this morning were locals.”

“You saw their faces?”

“Well, no. But the people of Shadow Cove are good, law-abiding citizens. They’re not smugglers.”

“You don’t think bad guys can live in nice towns?”

“I’m not saying?—”

“Right. Bad guys all live in bad-guy towns with names like Tombstone, or, I know. Gunpoint. Gunpoint, Wyoming. They scheme their evil schemes and then invade the sweet little Shadow Coves of the world to wreak havoc.”

Those were the most words Ford had put together at one time since she’d met him. Funny that he’d managed a whole paragraph in order to make her look and feel stupid.

“Okay, then.” She pushed back from the table. “That’s my cue.”

“Wait.” He stood as well. “Sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

“Yes, you did.” She snatched her backpack and moved toward the opening on the far side of the kitchen, which she hoped led to the front door.

“You can’t just leave.” Ford followed. “Where are you going?”

“To my bright orange SUV.”

“They could be watching it. They probably are.”

She didn’t slow, not wanting his words to register. Or to be true.

“Please, stop.”

She was halfway through a formal dining room—long French provincial table surrounded by ten matching chairs. The heavy drapes were pulled closed, blocking the natural light.

She turned to face him. “What?”

“You need to think this through.”

“I own a business. The gallery isn’t going to run itself.” Of course, Jewel would be there this morning and could open it, but it was Brooklynn’s responsibility.

And she was no more than a nuisance to Ford. She wasn’t about to stay where she wasn’t welcome.

“What gallery?”

She sighed. “A photography studio downtown.”

Eyes closed, he nodded slowly. “Light and Shadows.”

It shouldn’t surprise her he’d name it, considering there was only one in town these days.

“I have things to do. I can’t just hide here for the rest of my life.”

His eyes opened. “You think well of the people who live in your town, and that’s…fine. Great. I’m just saying, bad guys don’t all wear black and carry sidearms.”

Despite her frustration and fear, she couldn’t help but smile at the image. “I don’t know.” She gave her words a lighthearted tone. “I thought they all had handlebar mustaches they twirled when they plotted evil.”

Ford didn’t smile back. She doubted he knew how.

“You need to think about your next move.”

“I’ll wing it.” But she didn’t walk away. She didn’t want to admit that Ford might be right.

“Sticking your head in the sand isn’t a plan.”

Neither was staying here. Neither was doing nothing, not even calling the police, which seemed to be his plan.

“Your family is local?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Close enough, anyway. But Dad was back in DC.

For all his talk of retirement, he traveled as much as ever.

Mom was in Paris overseeing the remodeling of their apartment there, and Cici and Delaney had gone with her.

Alyssa had moved to Augusta a month before to be near her new boyfriend.

Kenzie was in South Carolina, where she’d lived for years.

“You need to go somewhere they can’t find you,” Ford said. “And if everyone in town knows who owns that orange Bronco, then the people following you today could put it together, so that means?—”

“I get it.”

Even if her parents and sisters weren’t out of town, she couldn’t go to them without putting them in danger too.

But the business. The contest. Not to mention all the planning she’d poured into the Old Home Days celebration that would take place in a couple of weeks.

Brooklynn couldn’t leave Shadow Cove at the height of tourism season. It was too important a time. She needed to be close.

She needed to go home.

But if she did, would the men who’d followed her this morning find her?

Ford was watching, studying her face. When she offered no solution, he said, “Make some calls, make a plan. Nobody knows this house is occupied. There’re cameras set up all around the property, obvious enough that anyone can see them.

If they’re not afraid to risk getting caught on camera and show up at my door, I’ll deal with them. ”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

His smirk—he seemed to have a whole arsenal of them—told her it was too late for that.

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll make some calls and…see what I can do.”

Not that she had a clue what that would be.

* * *

Brooklynn finger-combed her hair, which fell in waves around her face. Rather than braid it again, she pulled it into a low ponytail.

After she’d agreed to stay until she had somewhere to go, Ford had directed her to a powder room—though he certainly hadn’t called it that—tucked into a hallway off the foyer.

Just large enough for a toilet and a pedestal sink, the bathroom walls were papered in a burgundy floral. The fixtures were shiny gold.

She stared at her reflection in the gilded mirror. Nobody would know by looking at her that she’d run for her life that morning. Her fear hadn’t left any visible scars.