Page 1 of September’s Tide (Island Tales #2)

“If you don’t take your finger off the damn buzzer, I’m gonna break it off when I get this door open,” David Hannon yelled as he fumbled with the deadbolts across the front door to his apartment. His head throbbed.

Who in the hell is bugging me at this unearthly hour of the morning?

The last bolt slid out of the way and David flung the door open, glare already in place.

He growled at the sight of Juliet standing in the hallway, sunglasses perched on top of her head and holding back her long brown hair, her lips pressed together.

“What in God’s name are you doing here at this hour? ”

Juliet fired a glare back at him. “What are you talking about? It’s nine-thirty.” Her expression changed when she peered more closely at David. Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been drinking again.”

“What’s it to you, Mom ?” David ground out, unable to keep his tone devoid of sarcasm.

She ignored him and pushed past him into the apartment, her silk scarf trailing behind her.

She sniffed the air. “Christ, it reeks in here. When did you last clean this place?” Juliet dumped her capacious bag onto the hall table and headed for the kitchen.

“I’ll put on some coffee. Looks like you need it. ”

David stared after her in disbelief. “Did you want breakfast too? Gee, I’m sorry, I’ll send out for some, ’cause there’s not a damn thing in the refrigerator.” He knew sarcasm went right over her head, but he couldn’t help himself.

Juliet appeared in the doorway, coffee pot in hand.

“And as for that mom crack? Your mother wouldn’t be seen dead here, not after the way you spoke to her last time.

” She grimaced. “God, David, the state of this place. I knew I should have been round here sooner.” She disappeared back into the kitchen and soon David heard the welcome gurgle that spoke of imminent coffee.

He swiped his hand through his unruly mop of blond curls.

Christ, I need a haircut.

As he slid a hand across his cheek and felt at least three days of growth, he realized maybe he needed a little more than that. A quick glance in the hall mirror made him wince. He looked every one of his forty-six years—and then some.

“You’re a mess.”

He turned to face her. He wasn’t up to dealing with her shit.

Not today.

“Juliet, just tell me what was so goddamn important to get you over here for the first time in four months, and then you can go.” He was so weary he ached. He wanted to go back to bed, pull his comforter over his head, and tell the world to go to hell.

Juliet retreated into the kitchen and poured out two cups of coffee. She handed one to him and then leaned against the countertop, gazing thoughtfully at him. “How’s the book coming along?” The question came out sounding light and inconsequential.

David knew it was anything but.

He groaned. “You could have asked me that over the goddamn phone , woman.” He slurped his coffee noisily, wincing as it burnt his tongue.

Those brown eyes were on him, all her fire gone. “I left you alone for a while, figuring you needed some space. I kept the phone calls to a minimum. I updated your website, your blog, your social media pages, I answered your fan mail—and all because I knew you wouldn’t be doing any of it.”

David scowled. “You know how I feel about all that shit.”

Her face hardened. “Yeah, well, all that shit keeps you on the Best Sellers lists week in, week out, so don’t knock it.

” The crease between her eyes deepened. “Do you know how hard it is, inventing this whole other life for you? Everyone wants to know about James Blanchette, the reclusive writer of detective fiction. What he wears, what he likes, where he gets his inspiration….”

David huffed wearily. “I know, I know. Juliet, you do a fantastic job.” That much was true. David owed her, big time. She dealt with all of it, leaving him free to concentrate on the writing.

Except I’m not writing, am I ?

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He’d forgotten his agent was a damn mind reader on occasion. There was that intuitive look of hers, the one where David swore she could see every single thought in his head.

He turned and walked into the living room, where the late August sun was already trying to claw its way under the blinds that held the room in darkness.

He winced once more as Juliet followed him and opened the blinds fully, the light spilling into every crevice of the room. She looked around and tutted.

“You can’t live like this, you know.” She fixed her eyes immediately on the desk by the large window, where she knew he usually sat when he was writing.

The laptop’s layer of dust said more than words.

When her eyes met his, he was jolted momentarily by the understanding in her expression.

“You heard something else about the little shit, didn’t you? ”

He snorted. “Seems every day I get to hear some new tale of what he was up to while we were together. What gets me is that no one thought to tell me all of this at the time.”

Juliet groaned. “Who was it this time?”

“Remy. He couldn’t wait to share.” Not that he didn’t have his suspicions as to why Remy Dumant was bothering to tell him about Clark’s indiscretions.

Juliet barked out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, right. Remy was probably more concerned that if you bring out a new book, you’ll wipe the floor with him.

His last one was total crap and he knows you’re overdue for a new one.

Little fucker wants to psych you out, put you off your stride.

” She glanced sadly around the room. “Not that he had to try too hard, did he?”

David followed her gaze, taking in the empty beer bottles that lay strewn around the coffee table, the takeout boxes stacked up against it, the empty bags that had once contained potato chips… Dust lay everywhere, the air thick with neglect.

Christ, this looks bad .

From her vantage point next to the window, Juliet shook her head.

“Okay, this has got to stop.” She opened the window and instantly David was assailed by the noise of the traffic.

New York wasn’t the quietest place to live.

Juliet inhaled the morning air before facing him once more.

He said nothing, figuring she’d get around to the purpose of her visit at some point.

She walked over to the bookcase which contained all his books and picked up the photo frame which lay face-down on the shelf. David drew in a sharp breath. He had no wish to look at Clark’s lying, smiling face. Why he hadn’t thrown the photo out the window by now was beyond him.

Because you loved him, that’s why .

The thought cut him deeply. Even though in the end Clark had proved himself to be a lying little gold-digging bastard, David couldn’t escape the fact they’d been lovers for more than two years—until the day five months ago when David had come home early and found Clark in their bed, with his dick in someone else’s ass.

To his relief, Juliet stared at the photo for a minute, not bothering to mask the disgust she plainly felt, and then replaced it on the shelf, exactly as she’d found it. Her gaze met David’s.

“You’re getting out of here.” She set her jaw.

David blinked. “Excuse me?” Whatever he’d been expecting, this certainly wasn’t it. “And where exactly am I going?”

Juliet slipped back into the hallway and grabbed her bag. She reached into it, withdrew a plastic folder and walked over to David. She thrust it at him. “Here.” She disappeared briefly into the kitchen, emerging a few seconds later with her coffee cup. She sipped from it, her gaze focused on him.

Frowning, David opened the folder. The first thing he saw was a building that could almost have been a scaled-down version of a lighthouse, complete with small turret and white slats, a white picket fence in front of it.

David’s brow furrowed. “I am not going to New England. I hate it there.” The house was typical of the holiday homes that littered the coastline of Maine.

Juliet let out a dry chuckle, the first sign of mirth since her arrival. “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not sending you there, isn’t it?” She smirked. “Look closer, Sherlock. Read the damn thing.”

David held the folder at arm’s length, squinting, until at last he gave up and reached into his top pocket for the rimless glasses he hated. He put them on, peered once more and scowled.

“Where the hell is the Isle of Wight?”

The chuckle became a giggle. “England. I’m sending you to England—yeah, baby.” Juliet did her best Austin Powers imitation.

David’s mouth fell open. “What the fuck?” He stared at the sheet and read aloud from further down the page. “An island off the south coast of England.” He stared incredulously at her. “A fucking island ? Why in God’s name are you sending me to some rock off the coast of England?”

Juliet arched her eyebrows. “The Isle of Wight is not a rock. It’s twenty-five miles across and fourteen miles deep. It has one hundred forty thousand inhabitants, but that just about doubles in summertime.”

David almost growled. “Don’t give me the goddamn Wikipedia bio on it—tell me why the fuck you’re sending me there.” His head throbbed again.

Juliet became still. Her expression softened. “David, when was the last time you wrote anything?” He opened his mouth to retort, the lie ready, but she shook her head. “And tell me the truth. You haven’t written since you threw him out, have you?”

David closed his eyes. There was a painful tightness in his throat and suddenly it was difficult to draw a breath. He jumped when he felt the tentative touch of Juliet’s hand on his arm. He hadn’t heard her move closer. He opened his eyes. She stared at him, her expression grave.

“You need some time away. I’ve booked you into this place—it’s called the Lighthouse—for a month. You’ll be there for all of September. Your flight leaves JFK tomorrow at seven p.m.”

David stiffened. “A month? Leaving tomorrow? I can’t go tomorrow! I…I have commitments.”

“Yeah?” Juliet’s eyes glinted. “Name one.”

David faltered. “But I?—”

Juliet shook her head. “No arguments. I’ve booked everything—your plane tickets, your travel from Heathrow airport to the coast, even your ferry.

And you’ll be met when you land.” She gave him a gentle smile.

“You need this, babe. Use the time to get your head together. Take the laptop. Do some writing. It doesn’t even have to be the book.

Write anything that comes to mind. Let the place inspire you.

” She locked eyes on him. “And for God’s sake, David—leave Clark behind. ”

Whatever words David had been about to say died in his throat. He glanced at the white building which was almost blinding in the sunlit photo.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is just what I need . And then he grimaced. England? Warm beer, bad food, stuck-up people….

This could end up being the vacation from hell.