Page 47 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse

“Did you give them to your lighthouse friends? Or maybe you gave them to Aaron.”

“Aaron?” Something in Rebecca sparked. She knew Aaron. Yet she didn’t. Her breath quickened. But she did. Aaron. Aaron.

“Did she?” Bear asked.

Mercer’s weight on Rebecca’s legs was painful. She whimpered, trying to dislodge him.

“Aaron.” He released her chin and tapped her chest with his forefinger. “Your little brother is mixed up in this, isn’t he?”

Her brother.

Rebecca did everything she could to steel her reaction. There was no good reason to let on she couldn’t remember this Aaron—this brother—of whom they referred. But now the foggiest image danced in her mind. A young man, more than a boy but not yet full grown, light hair like hers, hazel eyes like hers ... and she remembered a smile, a laugh. Arms hugging her and then giving a playful shove.

Aaron. Her younger brother.

“Did you give them to him then?” Mercer interrupted her attempt to remember. “If you did,” his added, his voice lowering menacingly, “then he’s in a heap of trouble too.”

“No!” Rebecca retorted. She must protect Aaron, even though she could not fully remember him.

Mercer leaned into her, his face inches away, the weight of his body hurting her legs. “Then where are the papers, Rebecca?” he spat. Saliva dotted her face.

Rebecca didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She still had no idea what Mercer was talking about.

20

SHEA

The angels, not half so happy as in heaven, went envying her and me...

Annabel Lee

ANNABEL’S LIGHTHOUSE

PRESENT DAY

“WANT TO GO HOME?

Pete stood in the doorway of the lightkeeper’s bedroom, coffee mug in hand, leaning against the doorjamb.

Shea wrestled the blankets away from her shoulders as she sat up in the bed, bleary-eyed and wishing she could take a longer nap after not sleeping much last night. “What time is it?” she asked.

Pete glanced at his watch. “Three p.m.”

“No, I don’t want to go home.” Shea sprang from her afternoonnest in bed and straightened her shirt over her leggings. She ruffled her curls and then gave up and reached for a baseball cap she’d hung on the bed rail. Smashing it onto her curls, she wiped the sleep from her eyes. “I want to find out what’s going on.”

Pete frowned, the blue of his flannel shirt making his eyes more vibrant. “I don’t know if it’s safe.”

“I’m not afraid of corn-syrup blood,” Shea retorted with a small grin. If Pete should know anything about her after a decade of marriage, it was that when challenged, she stiffened her upper lip and met it. She wasn’t the type to run to the hills, cry foul, or give up.

“Then I’ll stay longer.”

Okay, that wasn’t what she’d meant. “I don’t need you to protect me, Pete.” Shea patted his chest as she slipped past him and out the door of the bedroom. He followed. “I will be fine.”

“I kinda like it here, though.” He either ignored or didn’t pick up her subtle hint that he wasn’t particularly welcome. “I’m surprised.”

“I told you that you would three years ago when I asked you to come to Silvertown for our anniversary.” Rebecca jogged down the narrow stairs to the sitting room and into the kitchen. She looked around for her purse. Finding it, she rifled inside for her keys, then remembered she didn’t have a car. “Can I take your truck?”

Pete’s expression remained placid—like usual. “Sure.”