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Raven

I was sitting on my deck, minding my own business, when a scream cut through the salty air.

I sat up, ears tuned.

“Damn it, Mike, stop it!” a woman’s voice shouted.

Another scream followed, this one edged with frustration and coming from down the beach. I hesitated—just for a second—but curiosity won out.

When I spotted the commotion, I laughed.

A woman lay sprawled on the sand, a dripping-wet golden retriever bouncing around her like a lunatic. Tail wagging like a propeller, he darted into the waves and then back to her, leaping and splashing, soaking her all over again.

She groaned and sat up, clearly exasperated, before grabbing a tennis ball and flinging it into the ocean. Mike—if that was his name—tore after it, and to my surprise, she followed, sprinting into the waves before diving beneath them like a mermaid swimming out into the waves.

I watched for a beat too long. And yeah—she had a body that didn’t quit. But I turned away before I started looking like a creep.

I went inside and started making lunch. Halfway through my burger, another scream—sharper this time, with a thread of real distress—snappped me to my feet.

I bolted to the beach.

The woman was treading water offshore, one arm crossed over her chest. On the sand, Mike pranced proudly with something dangling from his mouth.

I knew it was her bikini top before I saw that red string hanging out of the dog's mouth.

I couldn’t help the grin. I called out to her, “Need some help?”

Her eyes widened. She ducked beneath the water and popped back up. Debated.

“Can you grab my top from Mike?” she finally called, voice tight with embarrassment.

“Sure thing.”

I took a step toward the dog, who saw me as part of the game. He danced just out of reach, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. Then he bolted into the surf again.

I chuckled. “He’s really committing to this game.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered, watching her dignity bob away with the waves.

I pulled off my T-shirt. “Here, take this. I doubt he’s giving that thing up anytime soon.”

I balled it up and lobbed it her way. She caught it—barely—and I turned around to give her privacy.

A minute later, she stepped out of the surf, dripping wet, my shirt clinging to her curves as it hung down past her bikini bottoms.

“Thanks,” she said, brushing a wet strand of blonde hair from her cheek. “Mike’s still young. He doesn’t listen to a word I say.”

I shrugged. “He’s a puppy. That’s what they do. Bit of training, he’ll settle down.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“I’ll wash your shirt and bring it back,” she added, suddenly shy.

That’s when I really saw her. Sun-kissed skin, lean muscle, legs that went on for days. And something about the way she stood—casual, confident—like she didn’t need attention to own a room. She had stormy blue eyes. I hurriedly looked away when I realized I was starings

“I’m Beatrice Jones,” she said, offering a hand.

I took it, momentarily forgetting my name.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Uh—Raven Ledger,” I managed. “Just down the beach.” I nodded toward my deck, where my German Shepherd, Mandy, sat like a statue, watching everything.

“She’s huge,” Beatrice said, eyeing Mandy warily. “Is she tied up?”

“No, Mandy doesn’t need a leash.” I whistled. Mandy stood instantly, alert. “She listens.”

I called her over, and Mandy trotted obediently to my side.

Beatrice crouched slightly. “Hello, Mandy. You’re beautiful.” She glanced toward the water. “I wish Mike minded like that.”

“He will,” I said. “Takes time, and consistency.”

She sighed. “Thanks again for the shirt. I should go.” Then, as if realizing how see-through wet cotton could be, she turned and jogged away.

“Nice meeting you, Beatrice,” I called.

She tossed a glance over her shoulder and waved.

I was still smirking when I walked back up to the house. But my gut didn’t quite settle. Mandy hadn’t moved during that whole interaction. Except for once, when her ears perked sharply and her head turned up toward the dunes like she saw or heard something I didn’t.

That’s odd.

* * *

The next morning, I was in the office when I heard River talking about the new neighbor.

“She’s a firefighter,” he said. “Kat met her and invited her to the barbecue this Saturday. Thought we could all have dinner on the beach. She’s bringing her brothers—they all live together, and apparently, she volunteered them to help cook.”

“I met her yesterday,” I said, then told them about her dog Mike and the bikini top incident.

Cyclone laughed. “That retriever? He broke into my house and passed out on my sofa. Their back door was open. No one was home. I walked him back and shut the door.”

I leaned back in my chair, thinking about Beatrice and how Mandy had growled last night around midnight. Something was bothering my dog.

“I love barbecues,” Lori said as she waddled into the office, one hand on her stomach. “When are we having a barbecue?”

“Saturday,” Gage replied. “You can make fruit salad, I’ll make potato salad.”

She smiled. “Deal.”

He kissed her. “I’m starving. Let’s go home.”

“Actually… I’m ready to go to the hospital,” she said, gripping her belly.

Gage stiffened. “What? Are you in labor? Don’t you still have two days?”

“She just said she’s in labor,” I said, already moving. “Go get her bag. I’ll walk her to the car.”

“What bag? Wait—what am I supposed to do?” Gage looked panicked. “I talked myself through this, but I feel fuzzy. What am I going home for?”

“Sweetie,” Lori said, gritting her teeth through a contraction, “you’re getting my damn bag.”

He bolted.

We barely made it to the porch before her water broke.

Lori and I locked eyes.

“Oh, crap,” she muttered.

“Back to the house,” I said, steadying her.

By the time we made it to their deck, Gage came barreling out with the bag.

“I thought we were going to the—what the hell?”

“Her water broke. She’s not going anywhere.”

“What do you mean she’s not going anywhere? We have to get to the hospital! This is too—”

“Breathe,” I said calmly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

But Gage… bolted. Not back inside. Down the damn beach.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

“Maybe he panicked,” Lori said, breathing through the pain.

A few minutes later, Gage returned, dragging someone behind him.

“Sweetheart,” he panted, “this is our neighbor. She’s a firefighter. She’s going to help!”

“Beatrice,” I said, surprised but relieved.

She didn’t hesitate. “Let’s get her inside.”

“Strip the bed,” I told Gage.

“What?!”

Beatrice ignored him, moving straight to Lori. “How far apart are your contractions?”

“Two minutes,” I answered for her.

“Then we need to move fast.”

I turned to Gage. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

“Whiskey?” he echoed, like the word didn’t compute.

“Now,” Beatrice said, pointing her finger at Gage. “Out! You are making this more stressful for your wife. You can come back after I have her in bed.”

He scrambled. When I found him again, he was downstairs rubbing his neck.

“She yelled at me,” he mumbled. “Told me to find my drink.”

“You panicked?”

He nodded. “Lori’s so damn brave. I just… I hate seeing her in pain.”

I handed him a shot of whiskey. “Then go be with her. Don’t talk. Just hold her hand.”

He nodded and trudged upstairs.

I followed him out onto the deck, and something stopped me cold.

Mandy stood rigid at the edge of the stairs, staring down the beach—ears forward, hackles raised.

I followed her gaze. A single set of boot prints cut through the sand, leading up to the dunes… and stopping just short of the back fence.

I glanced toward the surf—nothing but wind and waves. But I knew what I saw.

Mandy didn’t bark for nothing.

Someone had been watching.

And they’d been close.

Too close.

Who the hell would be watching our houses?