Книга - Perilous Homecoming

Perilous Homecoming
Sarah Varland


FATAL BOUNTYWhen former Treasure Point police officer Kelsey Jackson witnesses a murder while temporarily back in her hometown, the killer is dead set on silencing her.The antiques insurance agent didn’t see enough to know who killed the museum’s curator…but she plans to find out. And the only person offering to assist in her investigation is Sawyer Hamilton—the last man Kelsey ever thought she’d rely on.The handsome marine biologist was once Kelsey’s biggest rival, but now he’s determined to make up for the past by protecting her. And when the clues lead to shipwrecks and treasure, Sawyer will risk everything to keep Kelsey out of the hands of modern day pirates.







FATAL BOUNTY

When former Treasure Point police officer Kelsey Jackson witnesses a murder while temporarily back in her hometown, the killer is dead set on silencing her. The antiques insurance agent didn’t see enough to know who killed the museum’s curator...but she plans to find out. And the only person offering to assist in her investigation is Sawyer Hamilton—the last man Kelsey ever thought she’d rely on. The handsome marine biologist was once Kelsey’s biggest rival, but now he’s determined to make up for the past by protecting her. And when the clues lead to shipwrecks and treasure, Sawyer will risk everything to keep Kelsey out of the hands of modern-day pirates.


Brave. That was how Kelsey looked to Sawyer right now.

Brave.

Sawyer watched her draw in a breath, look behind her again and hurry toward him. When she finally reached his side she stopped.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She shook her head. Then nodded. “I’m not sure. I’m alive, but...”

“But someone tried to kill you again.”

Whoever this was meant business. Those notes weren’t made to intimidate, weren’t just bluffs. The killer had told her if she didn’t leave town he’d kill her. Clearly he meant to follow through on his promise.

He glanced around. “You don’t see anyone out there anymore, do you?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hiding somewhere. I still don’t know where he came from.”

“Let’s sit, then,” Sawyer said.

Sawyer tried to keep his distance, or at least do the best he could when he was determined not to get farther than a couple of feet from her since she was in danger. But he wasn’t touching her, wasn’t even close.

Until he noticed her hand was shaking. Then he reached out and took it in his.


Dear Reader (#ulink_80efc17e-b6b8-53ab-895e-79549a8e1d9d),

I can’t believe it’s time to leave Treasure Point! This fictional town will probably always be special to me, because it was the setting for my debut novel, and I have had a lot of fun with the characters there and the place itself. Thank you for reading my stories and being part of this fictional community with me.

When I was writing Kelsey and Sawyer’s story, I realized their spiritual thread was a little less obvious than in some of my other books. It took a while (as it sometimes does in my writing process) to figure out exactly what they were learning and then I realized (as usual) that they were learning what I have been learning lately. Right now, that’s the fact that God is not a convenient addition to our day, or an item on a checklist. He is God and He wants to have a relationship with us. That’s a huge truth that I don’t always live out the way I should, but I am glad I was reminded of it through this story.

I hope that reading this book encouraged you, or entertained you, or both, and I want to thank you again for being a reader, for loving stories. I love doing this job and am grateful for the opportunity to do it—something that couldn’t happen without you.

I love hearing from readers, and I’d love to hear from you! You can get in touch with me through email at sarahvarland@gmail.com (mailto:sarahvarland@gmail.com), find me on Facebook at facebook.com/sarahvarlandauthor (https://www.facebook.com/sarahvarlandauthor), or find me on my personal blog at espressoinalatteworld.blogspot.com (http://espressoinalatteworld.blogspot.com/).

Sarah Varland


SARAH VARLAND lives near the mountains in Alaska, where she loves writing, hiking, kayaking and spending time with her family. She’s happily married to her college sweetheart, John, and is the mom of two active and adorable boys, Joshua and Timothy, as well as another baby in heaven. Sarah has been writing almost since she could hold a pencil and especially loves writing romantic suspense, where she gets to combine her love for happily-ever-afters, inspired by her own, with her love for suspense, inspired by her dad, who has spent a career in law enforcement. You can find Sarah online through her blog, espressoinalatteworld.blogspot.com (http://www.espressoinalatteworld.blogspot.com).


Perilous Homecoming

Sarah Varland






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.

—James 1:17


To the family and friends who have been so consistent encouraging me as I worked to meet deadlines for this and other books during my first year of homeschooling—something that made for some crazy weeks. You cheered me on, told me to eat chocolate, watched my kids and reminded me of how much I love writing—which I do. I’m so grateful for all of it. Thank you.


Contents

Cover (#u68d4b047-ba61-534d-bd83-a54282cd2dff)

Back Cover Text (#u5b609d2b-e3a6-5777-a315-fb0ee50999cb)

Introduction (#uc963a539-04cd-5728-82b7-3f0856a6be46)

Dear Reader (#ulink_e23a20bf-3f08-51a7-b78e-3593b6bfef98)

About the Author (#ubec16479-36a5-5dd0-bed0-888e91ace886)

Title Page (#uad18d5e9-dcdc-5ff2-861a-79eff08610cc)

Bible Verse (#u0d82ba96-ebdf-5c51-9dc7-cc5a3126d656)

Dedication (#u8b1df57f-29b4-502e-b90b-c38cec8218a6)

ONE (#ulink_f3e12594-6dd2-5360-8fb2-1dd51f5e9519)

TWO (#ulink_6f8eb9f2-7274-5fb4-acac-7c0e5ce7c7b8)

THREE (#ulink_3abe0d48-5b7f-5218-819e-e02aa5a53bfa)

FOUR (#ulink_95b7fd2c-751f-509c-89f4-4e1d5d5f7b0d)

FIVE (#ulink_00055a0a-ced6-570b-9dfa-4561040d0077)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE (#ulink_790fa8f1-3f91-5d5c-bcb6-85f5dd563898)

Kelsey Jackson felt the way she always did at the first rumbles of thunder on a too-hot day during tornado season. The electricity in the air was almost palpable, but not in a good way. Everything about being here tonight in this stifling room gave her one of the deepest senses of foreboding she’d ever felt. But tonight was too important for her career to let all that stop her, and Kelsey was Southern, born and bred—she could put on a fake smile, laugh lightly and be pleasant, even to her worst enemy, when the occasion called for it.

That was exactly what she was going to do tonight. No, these people weren’t exactly her enemies, but they certainly weren’t friends, not after they had all turned their backs on her when she left the police force and the town under a cloud of undeserved suspicion.

Just three or four more hours’ worth of this prelaunch party for the Treasure Point History Museum, and she’d be almost home free. The rest of the work she’d been hired to undertake could be done in relative solitude, then she’d be back to Savannah, back to the life she’d been carefully creating there for the last six years.

“You look lovely tonight, Miss Jackson,” Jim Howard, the head of the historical society, said to her as he walked past. He had a woman on his arm whom Kelsey didn’t recognize.

“Thank you.” She smiled as she moved away, toward the edge of the room. She’d ended up in the middle as she was walking, but being the center of attention wasn’t exactly her thing. She was eager to get to the edge. That should help her feel less anxious.

But, Kelsey discovered quickly, even being at the edge of the crowded room where people in black-tie attire were mingling and celebrating wasn’t relaxing. Maybe she should step outside. Get some air.

Gemma O’Dell, a former classmate who was now the museum’s marketing manager, had shown her a private porch off one of the rooms on their tour of the museum earlier that day. Kelsey was fairly certain she remembered how to get to it, and from there she could step out into the cool darkness of the summer night and see if she could relax enough to get her shoulders to loosen up.

The din of voices and laughter grew quieter as she moved out of the main gallery, though there were still small clusters of people here and there in the hallways and side rooms of the museum. The way the place was set up lent itself to small conversation groups like this—it had been built to look like the antebellum plantation home that had stood on this very site for well over one hundred years, until it had been destroyed in an explosion several years before.

Kelsey moved past the library, toward the room with the porch. As she approached, she heard voices. Low. Angry?

It didn’t look like she’d be alone. She should turn around, make herself go out and be social, show the town she’d made something of herself, that she had nothing to be ashamed of.

She took a deep breath, started to swivel on her new heels and walk back the way she’d come, but...

Once a law enforcement officer, always a law enforcement officer.

Four years at the Treasure Point Police Department had honed the observational skills, the attention to detail, that she’d already possessed. Voices like these deserved to be checked out.

So she didn’t turn around. Instead, she walked slowly into the room, like she was just another party guest—which was true.

Her heels clicked loudly on the floor, which would have been a liability if she was still a police officer. The door to the porch stood open, and she could make out shapes, just barely, in the shadows. Kelsey swallowed hard as the muscles in her neck tightened and she began to feel her pulse pounding. What exactly had she planned to do without a badge and a gun?

She glanced down at herself, but sure enough, she had nothing on her that even came close to passing as a weapon. Her cerulean-blue halter dress with the swishy skirt was definitely not dangerous, and neither was the silver bracelet she always wore on her left wrist.

Kelsey hesitated a moment too long.

She heard a crash, followed by a thump, and squinted to try to make out what was happening in the dark. The shadows weren’t there anymore...wait, one was. One person was climbing over the porch railing.

Where was the second?

She thought of the thump she’d heard, a sick feeling swirling in her stomach. Had that been the other person landing on the ground? The red clay on the ground was anything but soft, and even though this was only the second story of the museum, the ceilings were tall and it would be a good fall from this height.

No more investigating for her—she needed to go get help and discover what was happening outside the museum.

Her heels clicked down the hallway, and Kelsey glanced back once to make sure no one was following her. The hallway seemed clear, but she still shivered.

The noise of the party grew louder and Kelsey searched the crowd of guests to see if any of them were officers she knew from her time on the police force. There. Clay Hitchcock—one of the guys on the force who had continued to show confidence in her as an officer even when her last case had gone so wrong. She trusted him, and not just because they were cousins. Kelsey didn’t mind talking to him—though there were several other men within the department she was hoping to avoid during her time in Treasure Point.

“Clay, I need to talk to you.”

“All right.” He nodded without questioning her, something she appreciated.

“Something’s going on outside on the north side of the museum. I went looking for some air, heard low arguing, and then it seemed like there was a struggle outside on the porch.”

“You didn’t go out there, did you?”

She shook her head. “It didn’t seem wise.”

“Wouldn’t have been,” he agreed. “You stay here. Stay involved with the party, don’t draw any attention to yourself.”

Easier said than done. But Kelsey nodded, then watched for a second as Clay hurried away. She felt a longing to be back out there with a team of law enforcement brothers and sisters, helping justice win in the world. But she was used to pushing that feeling away.

She wasn’t a cop anymore; she was an antiques insurance agent, one who was supposed to be wowing the historical society with her personality and giving them a quote on what her company would be able to do for them in terms of insuring the antiques and historical artifacts at the museum. Since it was a private museum and not state funded, the historical society had their pick of companies and there were more than a few in Savannah they could have called. Kelsey’s boss had said that the museum’s representative had specifically mentioned her by name, and so it seemed like her connection to the town—however tenuous it was right now—was possibly the reason they were being given the first chance at this job.

She couldn’t mess this up. Kelsey took a deep breath, put her shoulders back and tried to remember that people didn’t just care about the job you did—they cared about your personality, too. She tried to soften the corners of her mouth a bit and look less like she was scowling.

Kelsey would have been successful, too, except that when she turned to walk to the refreshments table, she ran square into one of the people from her past she would have been quite happy to forget.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The man’s accent was pleasant enough. So was his voice. It was clear he hadn’t recognized her yet—understandable, since her red hair was a bit tamer now than in their high school days, smoothed down and cut in an actual style rather than frizzed and messy. She’d also switched from glasses to contacts since she’d seen him last. She might feel like the same girl inside when she looked at him, but Kelsey knew she looked nothing like she had at age eighteen, which was the last time she’d laid eyes on Sawyer Hamilton.

Hamilton, as in those Hamiltons who owned half of Treasure Point, including the land surrounding this museum. His aunt Mary had given a small parcel of land along with the museum building to the Treasure Point Historical Society, but the Hamiltons still claimed the rest of what had been an immense estate. Sawyer, like all the Hamiltons, had always had everything.

“It’s all right,” she answered even though, really, was it?

In one way, yes it was. It was all right that his gaze had swept over her, taken in her face and clearly liked what he’d seen. Maybe it was petty, but Kelsey liked the affirmation of her attractiveness from the boy who had always made her feel like less, whether he meant to or not.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” He flashed his signature grin, the one that had netted him the title of Mr. Popular in their senior class yearbook. He’d never used that grin on her before, and she was slightly ashamed at the way it gave her chills down to her painted toenails. “I’m Sawyer Hamilton.”

Kelsey smiled back sweetly. Sweet like a glass of sweet tea with twice the usual amount of sugar. Stickily sweet. “We have met, actually. I’m Kelsey Jackson. Good to see you again, Sawyer.”

At the mention of her name, his smile fell and his face paled. Still, he was handsome, with that brown hair not daring to be a bit out of place, those green-blue eyes that sparkled like he was sharing some kind of private joke with you.

Only there were no jokes between the two of them at all.

If anything, the joke had always been, and always would be, on Kelsey.

* * *

She’d grown up well—it was an understatement, but it was all his mind would articulate in that moment. “It’s good to see you again, too, Kelsey.”

Her eyebrows raised slightly and she shook her head. Then turned to walk away.

And then the lights went out. The hum of the electricity in the building—lights, air circulation—was gone all at once, but the gasps from people who’d been plunged into darkness without an explanation filled the void where silence would have been.

Sawyer didn’t move. It was just darkness, no need to panic simply because it was unexpected—although some people were concerned, judging by the sound of shuffling feet.

He tensed as something or someone brushed his left hand. He tried to move it away, but the glancing contact turned into a firm grip from a soft, small, feminine hand.

“Sawyer?”

It was Kelsey’s whispered voice. It was his turn to raise his eyebrows. A moment ago, she’d seemed eager to get away from him and now she was holding his hand? Surely she wasn’t that scared of the dark.

“Yeah.” He matched her low volume. “It’s me.”

“I need to get outside. You always carried a flashlight and a pocketknife in high school. Any chance you’ve got that flashlight now?”

“I’ve got one.”

“Great. Take me to the front door?”

It was less a request than a command, but considering the fact that nothing about this situation made sense, Sawyer wasn’t questioning anything at this point.

He pulled the small flashlight out of the inside pocket of his suit—glad he hadn’t been able to drop the habit and leave it at home. He’d dated a few girls over the years who had made fun of his tendency to be prepared, but Sawyer liked to think it came in handy now and then.

He shone the light on the floor in front of them. Kelsey didn’t release his hand, but allowed him to lead her across the mostly empty middle of the room. It seemed most of the people had pushed themselves back against the walls. There were a few other glowing spots of light in the room—apparently, despite the request from the museum board for people to leave cell phones at a table in the entryway, some people were still carrying theirs.

Finally, they reached the door.

“Thank you.”

She released his hand and then she was gone, running across the lawn with her red hair, curled at the ends, flying behind her, holding her dark blue dress up above her ankles with one hand so she could run.

* * *

Kelsey hadn’t run far from the blanketing darkness of the house when she ran almost straight into Clay. “Did you find anything?” she asked.

He nodded slowly, his face in the moonlight showing no signs of his usual lightheartedness or humor. “We did. Kelsey, it’s Michael Wingate. He’s dead.”

“The curator?” Her eyes widened as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing now, what she’d seen earlier and how they were connected.

“Blunt force trauma to the head is what we’re guessing right now. We won’t know for sure until the ME gets him to the lab.”

“Right, of course.” She nodded.

“Kels? You’re going to have to come to the station. Because if you were in that room and saw some kind of altercation on the balcony, you were the last one to see—or rather, hear—Michael alive before whoever killed him.”

“I’m coming in as a witness, right? Not a suspect.”

The look on Clay’s face said all she needed to know. Treasure Point may be the place that raised her, the happy home for her growing-up years. But almost from the day she’d turned eighteen the town had been nothing but kryptonite for her, some ridiculous weakness that rendered her powerless and made her feel sick. She wished she could just turn around and leave right now. But that wasn’t an option.

She needed this assignment in order to secure her place at the Harlowe Company, a prestigious antiques insurance company in Savannah. But Kelsey also needed this job to finish as quickly as possible, needed to get her feet as far away from this particular bit of red Georgia clay as she could. Treasure Point was nothing but trouble for her.

“Did you hear me?”

No, she hadn’t heard anything Clay had said after she’d seen the facial expression that answered all her questions. “I didn’t. What did you say?”

“If it was up to me, you’d only be a witness. But I’m afraid Davies is wanting to treat you as a suspect.”

Suspect. The word she’d only narrowly managed to avoid in the case that caused her departure from Treasure Point not too many years ago. She hated when her integrity was questioned.

“Let’s go, then.” She glanced toward the museum. “Although with that lights-off stunt not too long after what I saw on the balcony, there’s a good chance I’m going to need to be back here soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something is likely missing or vandalized. It’s going to be my job to assess that.” Her words came out tight, pointed. She felt bad that she was directing them at Clay, one of the nicest guys she’d ever known. But the prospect of being questioned about a crime she didn’t commit was enough to put anyone in a lousy mood.

Anyway, Clay was probably thinking along the same lines already. Cutting the lights was a common gambit for upscale thieves, allowing them to snatch something that had, only moments before, been in plain sight. Perhaps the curator had caught a thief in the act of tampering with the wiring prior to the blackout. Was that why he had died?

She reminded herself not to jump to conclusions. She’d barely met the curator and had been away from town too long to know the current gossip. There could be a dozen reasons someone might have wanted the man dead.

Before she could apologize, before Clay could reply, another man walked their direction, tall and a little intimidating. Lieutenant Davies.

“He read you your rights yet?”

Kelsey couldn’t stifle her laugh. “Rights? Davies, I used to work with y’all. I know my rights and if you have a brain in your head, you’ll realize I’m innocent.”

“Are you verbally assaulting an officer?” His serious face didn’t change. He’d always been a man who’d done his job well, but personally he and Kelsey had never gotten along.

She shook her head. “You know I’m not. But you also know I’m not a killer.”

“I guess we’ll see. I’ll spare you the cuffs, anyway, as long as you move slow. Let’s go get in the car.”

Kelsey followed him without another word. She climbed into the back of the police car—definitely a first for her—and looked out the window, at the museum, for as long as she could before they drove out of view.

Straight to the place where she’d first started to realize she might not be good at everything she put her hand to. She’d already faced disgrace at the Treasure Point police station. Was she about to face murder charges there, too?


TWO (#ulink_9dc2327d-4eaa-5338-ad81-ab163b839cdd)

Sawyer had gone back inside after watching Kelsey exit. But though the lights had come back on in short order, the party atmosphere had already vanished. All the guests had been herded into the main gallery, where the police had announced that no one would be allowed to leave until everyone had given a statement.

That had been over an hour ago. A young police officer Sawyer didn’t recognize had taken down his contact information and asked him some questions about the party—what his connection was to the museum, what he had seen and heard, who he had talked to. The kid had been annoyingly vague when Sawyer had tried to ask some questions of his own—namely, asking what on earth was going on. Clearly something wasn’t right here. But none of the guests he’d spoken to in the past hour had the slightest idea what the problem was, and the police were being very closed-mouthed.

He wanted answers, and while he seldom used his family name to his advantage, he started looking around for a Treasure Point police officer who might give him some information.

There. Clay Hitchcock. No use of his family name would be necessary, since the two of them had been friends, had played football together back in high school—Sawyer was the quarterback to Clay’s receiver.

“Clay!” Sawyer jogged in his direction. “I need to talk to you.”

“Is it about all this?” He gestured around him. “Because otherwise it needs to wait.”

“I’m not sure. Kelsey...”

“What about her? Did she tell you something?”

“No, she didn’t. I just... She seemed really shaken up when the lights went off. She went from acting like she hated me to asking for my help and I don’t understand what happened or where she went. I haven’t seen her since then, which is weird, since I know y’all aren’t allowing anyone to leave.”

“You spoke to her after the lights went out? What did she want?”

“Just for me to use my flashlight to help her find her way to the door.”

“So you helped her and then?”

“She ran.”

Clay nodded. “I saw her after that. She’s at the station now.”

“The police station?” Sawyer frowned. “Is she okay?” Nothing about this was making sense to him.

“She is for now. Or she will be soon. But at the moment, she’s answering some questions for us.”

“I don’t understand.”

Clay shook his head. “I’m sorry, man. It’s all I can say for now.” He started to walk away, then glanced back at Sawyer. “You and Kelsey were talking? I didn’t realize you were friends.”

They weren’t, apparently, judging by her attitude toward him. Though he supposed he hadn’t helped matters by failing to recognize her before she gave her name. Sawyer shook his head, being honest with both himself and Clay. “We’re not, really.”

“But you didn’t mind helping her?”

“Right.”

Clay ran a hand through his hair, looked around. “Listen, I know this doesn’t make a lot of sense, but something about this doesn’t feel right to me. I think they’ll let Kelsey go soon and I can’t help her because I’m needed here. We’ve taken everyone’s statements and I was just about to announce that everyone’s free to go. Do you think you could go to the station and offer to give her a ride, make sure she’s okay?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” It beat wandering around here in a suit, trying to stay calm, like one of the band members on the Titanic while it went down. “Are you two dating?”

Clay laughed. “Her mom and my mom are sisters. I’d say that’s a no.”

Cousins. How had he missed that in high school? That shouldn’t have made Sawyer as relieved as it did. He didn’t remember ever being attracted to Kelsey in high school, though he’d admired her intellect and competitive spirit. Was he that shallow that the fact that she’d grown up gorgeous had made her catch his attention? Or had he just changed enough to recognize that Kelsey Jackson might be a special kind of woman?

“I’ll go see what I can do,” Sawyer said, and Clay nodded.

“Thanks, man.”

Then the other man was gone, leaving Sawyer to jog toward his truck and wonder how this night that had started out as an obligation—a somewhat boring one, at that—had turned into some kind of secret mission to make sure a woman who couldn’t stand him was all right, safe from a threat Sawyer didn’t yet understand.

* * *

Kelsey sat in the small room that passed for an interrogation room in Treasure Point. Really, it was an old office that the officers usually used as a sort of lounge. It was where the coffeepot was, and the smell of burnt coffee filled her nose and made her ready to confess anything just so she could get out of this room, out of this town and back to her life in Savannah.

Except sheer stubbornness meant that she wasn’t about to confess when she wasn’t guilty of anything. Quite the opposite, she was one of the most promising witnesses they had. So why this treatment? They’d kept her waiting in here for nearly an hour.

The door squeaked as it began to open. Kelsey braced herself. As boring as it had been to sit here, and as eager as she was to get this over with so she could leave, she was not looking forward to any line of questioning that pointed to her as a murderer, a concept so atrocious to her she couldn’t let her mind dwell on it.

But instead of Davies’s smirk, ready for an interrogation, it was the chief’s weathered, familiar face.

“Sir! What are you doing here?”

He cracked the smallest of smiles behind his facial hair. “I work here. Although I could ask the same of you.”

Kelsey looked down.

“Listen, I talked to the lieutenant. And I’ve been over to the museum to see where all of this happened, and I talked to Clay Hitchcock. Let’s start this over, shall we?”

“How so?”

“It sounds like you have some useful information about Michael Wingate’s murder.”

Murder. Kelsey shivered.

“But I’m not looking at you as a suspect. This town and this department has had enough foh-paaahs lately.”

She tamped down the giggle that his overly Southern pronunciation of faux pas had brought on.

“Tell me what you saw, Kelsey.” He pulled out the chair across from her. Leaned back.

Kelsey weighed her options. She could still ask for a lawyer and refuse to answer any questions until counsel arrived. She was taking a chance sharing everything she knew. If someone was eager to frame her, they could twist the information she gave against her.

But she knew from her time on the force that the chief was a man of honor. She wouldn’t end up locked up without a cause, and the best thing she could do was give him the story he was asking her for, just in case any of it helped. Besides, the information would clear her name for good in case anyone was wondering. The balcony should show signs of a struggle between a pair of people much larger than she was. They might even get footprints that clearly didn’t match her heels, or other pieces of physical evidence like hairs or fibers.

“I needed some air.” Kelsey began, and she told the chief about leaving the main party area, finding a darkened room, then hearing voices and the sounds of a struggle.

“I went straight to Clay and told him and he went out to investigate. The next thing I knew, the lights were off.”

“The lights?”

“All of them, sir. Someone flipped a breaker, I would guess. But what I want to know is why? It’s not as if the murderer needed to sneak up on Mr. Wingate. The murder had already taken place. And if the darkness was to cover his escape, why bother? The museum has multiple exits. Even if he looked as though he’d been in a struggle, it would have been easy enough for him to sneak away without being seen after the body fell. Why draw attention to the fact that something was going on when he had the chance for a clean getaway?”

“Maybe he panicked?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. Something about this feels cold-blooded to me. I don’t think it was premeditated, but I don’t think the pushing was an accident. I do think whoever the other man was, he meant to kill Wingate.”

“Solid reason for that?”

“No. Just gut instinct.”

The chief said nothing to that. She wouldn’t have expected him to—no words were necessary to remind her that her gut instinct had been wrong before. With devastating consequences for her career. In the case that had ended her tenure with the Treasure Point police department, she’d had a pair of conflicting statements to reconcile regarding a theft from Sawyer Hamilton’s wealthy, influential parents. The senior Hamiltons had pointed fingers at a former employee of theirs, a man named Scott Nicholson.

Given her own grudge against Sawyer, it hadn’t taken much for Kelsey to feel sympathy for Nicholson, a man from humble beginnings who seemed to be suffering from the Hamiltons’ prejudice. Believing in his innocence, she chose to release him from custody, not knowing that they’d find ironclad evidence against him just a few hours later. Her bad judgment meant that he almost managed to escape punishment entirely—they barely managed to catch him before he fled town.

“So, where do we go from here?” Kelsey spoke up, recognizing that she did so because the silence made her uncomfortable. Too much silence gave her time to think about the past, something she preferred to avoid.

“From here, you’re free to go. I only wanted your testimony. Davies was being a bit overzealous for justice in this case. He could have taken your statement at the scene. Bringing you down here in the back of the squad car was unnecessary.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Thank you.”

Kelsey rose to her feet and preceded the chief out of the office. She’d just turned back to him to ask about a ride when he motioned ahead of her and said “Watch out.” But it was one second too late.

This time she didn’t see the person she ran into. But the odd sense of déjà vu—mixed with the smell of his woodsy cologne—confirmed there was a good chance it was...

“Sawyer Hamilton. Good to see you.” The chief stuck a hand past Kelsey. She was more than happy to step out of the way.

Everything about taking this job had thrown her off balance—literally, it seemed. Clearly staying away from the young heir to the Hamilton name and all it entailed was her only option to regain her equilibrium. Which suited Kelsey just fine.

“Did you need to see me?” the chief asked when Sawyer offered no explanation for why he was there.

The other man’s eyes darted to Kelsey. She looked away. Why was he looking at her?

“No, sir, I actually came to check on Kelsey. I heard she was here and thought she might need a ride home.”

She’d rather walk the four miles to her family’s old farmhouse on the edge of town than accept. Four miles in the dark in heels and a dress would be preferable to—

“That’s very kind of you, Sawyer.” The chief had softened his voice to what Kelsey had used to refer to as his “fatherly” tone. He looked over at her. “I would feel better if you accepted his offer.”

What, could he read her mind?

Unfortunately, it often seemed like the answer was yes. And he’d always been kind to her, even when most in the department had written her off as a failure and a fool. Which meant that while there was a large group of people Kelsey would mouth off to in this situation without hesitation, and then do what she wanted—trek home in the dark—she couldn’t do that to the chief. She owed him better than that.

“I will, sir,” she said, forcing herself to turn to face the last man on earth she wanted anything to do with. “I’d appreciate a ride.” She forced the words out.

“I’m right out front.”

Without a backward glance, Kelsey followed him down the hall and outside. Might as well get this over with.


THREE (#ulink_79c85768-0d82-5888-8f30-a2e9693904f7)

The F-150 wasn’t what she would have guessed Sawyer Hamilton would drive. Sure, it was a nice truck, but it was the same exact one he’d driven in high school. She’d have assumed he’d moved on by now, maybe to a new BMW or something more like that.

He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. She raised an eyebrow. “Uh, thanks?”

He just laughed softly, a laugh that some women—most women—might have thought was endearing. “You’re welcome. I haven’t been gone from Treasure Point so long, Kelsey, that I forgot how I was raised.”

Another reminder that he was still a Hamilton—one of the haves when she was a have not. And while he hadn’t played any role in the fiasco where she’d lost her job, he was the man who’d chosen to compete for a scholarship he didn’t need, who’d stolen her chance to go right to college, finish in four years, and get her career moving when all of her peers had.

No, instead she’d stayed in Treasure Point, worked at the police department while she struggled to put herself though school, and now was just beginning to see the fruits of her labor, was just now approaching where she wanted to be in life.

Kelsey glared at him as he shut her door, walked around to the other side of the truck, then climbed in.

He’d barely sat down when she stopped in the middle of fastening her seatbelt. Loyalty to the chief only went so far. She wasn’t doing this to herself. “You know what? I’d actually like the walk. Thanks, though.” She reached for the door handle, but his voice stopped her.

“What problem do you have with me, Kelsey? I haven’t seen you in a decade, so I assume it must have been something in school, but I always thought we were... I don’t know, friendly rivals? Maybe even friends?”

What did it say about him that he’d counted her as a friend? She never, never would have thought the same about him.

Either way, his reminder about how much time had passed stilled her. She was an adult now. Close to successful. So far from that bitter, angry seventeen-year-old kid. Surely she could be mature, not let him get to her, right?

“Fine.”

He put the car in Reverse and maneuvered his way out of the parking lot. “Are you in the same house you were in during high school?” he asked and at her nod, he headed in that direction.

“Oh, wait, my car. It’s at the museum. Could we swing by there?”

“Sure.”

He turned around in an empty parking lot and drove back in the direction of the museum. Neither spoke for a minute, and Kelsey wanted to keep it that way, but one thing was bothering her enough that she was willing to break her “say nothing” rule.

“How did you know I was at the police station?” She braced herself as she asked the question. Had everyone seen her getting ushered into the back of the police car? She hoped not, but if so, better to know now so she could call her boss and do damage control with her job before the situation sounded worse than it was.

“I was talking to Clay. He said you might need a lift.”

“That’s all he said?” She cast a quick glance at him, meant to look away and didn’t.

Sawyer’s eyes never left the road, but he nodded. “That’s all he said.”

Kelsey studied him for another minute. He’d grown up since high school, something that should have been obvious, but that hadn’t struck her till now. He still had that confident look of a guy used to winning at everything, but his shoulders had broadened, his jawline grown even stronger. The combination should have made him look even more arrogant. And yet...

If she looked closely, a bit of the cockiness was gone. He seemed a little less intimidating than he’d always been.

Intimidating? Did she just admit she’d been intimidated by him? As they drove down the dark road, making the last few turns before the Hamilton property, she realized that yes, she had been. That didn’t mean she’d backed down from academic competition with him—that was far from the truth. But maybe her dislike of him had been rooted partly in her own insecurity?

That and his part in ruining her life. She couldn’t forget that.

It looked like most of the party had cleared out of the museum, something Kelsey knew the police department would have orchestrated. From what Sawyer had said—or rather, hadn’t said—the public didn’t know about the murder yet. The police officers would have taken everyone’s statements, but would have given as little information as possible, not wanting to bias or influence anyone’s recollections. And now that everyone was gone, they’d be hard at work establishing a perimeter around the crime scene, so they could begin their investigation.

It was funny how much Kelsey wished she was out there with them, checking for evidence, processing the scene. Police work had just been a practical fallback when her dreams of leaving town for college had come crashing down. But to her surprise, it had become something she’d enjoyed. Who knew the desire to investigate was still so strong inside her?

“There’s my car.” Kelsey motioned to the dark blue Jeep Patriot.

Wordlessly, Sawyer pulled his truck in beside it. “It really was good to see you again, I wasn’t just saying that. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah,” Kelsey replied instinctively, too startled to formulate many thoughts. Take care of herself? Why would he say that like he cared? “Uh, you, too.” She scrambled out of the truck as gracefully as she could and shut the door, breathing a sigh of relief as she did so. Hopefully their paths wouldn’t cross again while she was still in town and she wouldn’t have to examine her own attitudes toward him anymore. Those feelings were one large tangle of confusion. And Kelsey disliked confusion.

Careful to stay mostly on her toes and not sink her silver heels into the dirt to avoid rolling an ankle, she walked the few steps to her car carefully and reached for the door handle.

But...there on the windshield.

What was that?

As every alarm in her mind blared, she reached for the white rectangle, opened the envelope, which wasn’t sealed but just folded shut, and pulled a slip of paper out of it.

Typed. Naturally. No need to leave more evidence than necessary.

On autopilot, she unfolded the crisp white paper, folded precisely into three sections.

She read the words she’d somehow known were coming.

YOU HAVE TWELVE HOURS TO GET OUT OF TREASURE POINT. BE GONE BY TOMORROW MORNING OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES. PS I’M WATCHING YOU. CAN YOU SEE ME?

* * *

Sawyer had been raised to be a gentleman. No matter how cold Kelsey had been to him, he was going to sit right here in this pickup and wait until she’d climbed into her car and safely driven away. Something had happened in Treasure Point tonight, something dangerous. While he might not know what it was, Kelsey’s strange behavior and her presence at the police department—not in an official capacity, it seemed—pointed to her being involved, and possibly in danger, one way or another.

Somehow he felt even more responsible for her safety than he would have another woman. Maybe it was the knowledge that he’d gotten the scholarship she’d wanted—a pretty stupid thing to be trying to make up for a decade later. Especially since she probably didn’t remember, and how could she blame him? He’d had dreams to pursue, too, dreams his father hadn’t necessarily approved of and had told him in no uncertain terms he wouldn’t finance. So he’d worked like crazy on that speech, won the competition and double majored in business—his father’s dream for him—and marine biology—his dream for himself, one he never would have been able to reach without that scholarship. There had been other scholarships, but this one had covered nearly all the tuition. He hadn’t wanted to alienate his father by dropping the business degree altogether... And the fact was that while he’d gotten the marine biology degree, he hadn’t used it yet, hadn’t wanted to face the drama that was sure to come if he left the family business altogether.

He saw her reach for the car door and put his truck in Drive, keeping his foot on the brake. He didn’t like how all this made him feel, didn’t like revisiting the past. From his perspective, it had been a good past, sure, but something about it obviously bothered Kelsey, and he wasn’t much for analyzing things that had happened years before. Time to let it go, maybe time for him to let his guilt go over that scholarship money, then both of them could move on. It was clear she didn’t want anything to do with him.

Coming back to Treasure Point, being the official representative of the Hamilton family at this museum shindig and all the other official museum events coming up in the next month, was one of the ways he was earning his redemption for the business mistakes he’d had hanging over his head for the last year, ever since the project he’d taken a gamble on had come crashing down—along with most of his father’s respect for him. Doing this well was one way to earn that back, which was why he hadn’t protested much when the opportunity was offered to him. Aunt Mary couldn’t do it because her health was declining, and his parents had other obligations. That and Sawyer suspected that while they enjoyed their prominent position in the town, they viewed actually participating in town events to be somewhat beneath them. In any case, he was happy to do it in their place. He’d officially taken a month of paid vacation time from his father’s company, but unofficially, Sawyer was fairly certain he was through trying to make himself fit in a world where he didn’t belong. Marine biology had been his passion—here was his chance to look for a job where he could use those skills. The family obligations had provided a good excuse to take this vacation, a plus in his mind. He hadn’t anticipated that it would also give him the chance to make the past up to Kelsey, as well. Or at least try to, if she would let him.

She didn’t seem to want his regret, didn’t need his friendship. And Sawyer refused to sit around and let that nag at him.

Foot raised over the gas pedal, he looked at Kelsey again. Why was it taking her so long to get into the car?

Something about this wasn’t sitting well in his stomach. Slowly, he lowered his foot back to the floor and put the truck back into Park, almost in slow motion.

Was that something in her hands? What was she doing?

Kelsey looked over her shoulder first, then spun in his direction, eyes wide. She looked back at her car.

He rolled down the passenger side window. “You need something?”

“No.” She said it firmly, cutting him off before the whole sentence had even tumbled from his mouth. But he wouldn’t let her push him away that easily.

“Look, whatever you think of me, I’m not stupid. I can tell something’s wrong, Kelsey. Maybe you should get back in my truck.”

She turned toward him, eyes flashing. But no sound left her mouth. Neither of them had a chance to say anything before a sharp crack, like a firecracker, but with more weight, split the air.

“Get down!” he yelled, but she’d already dropped by the time he said it. Had she been downed by the gunshot or were her instincts that fast?

He was just about to push his own door open, run out there and see if she was all right when the passenger door opened and she jumped in.

Another shot rang out, just as she was climbing in. This one hit metal.

“Go!” Kelsey yelled. He was already working on it. He peeled out, tires squealing like they hadn’t since he was sixteen, and drove. He didn’t ease up on the gas till they were mostly down the drive that led out of the Hamilton estate and back to the main road.

Kelsey had pulled out her phone and had it lifted to her ear. He needed an explanation, wanted to know especially why she seemed to calm, so unsurprised by this. But he imagined she was probably calling the police, and that was more important right now.

He heard someone on the other end answer. The voice was low. Male. The chief?

“This is Kelsey. You need to know that somebody wants me dead.”

She said it calmly. Like it was a fact, nothing more, no feelings attached.

Someone wanted her dead. Why? Was it connected to whatever had happened at the museum? What had she gotten mixed up in? Uncertainty clouded the edges of his judgment. What did he really know about Kelsey Jackson? Nothing. And hadn’t he heard rumors here and there—he tried not to pay attention to small-town gossip, but it was impossible to avoid altogether—that she hadn’t left the police department on the best terms?

She set the phone down. He glanced over at her. “Where are we going?” He kept his own voice calm and measured. The chief seemed to trust her; that had to be enough for him now. He couldn’t exactly leave her on the side of the road when someone had been shooting at her ninety seconds before.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“What are you sure of?” he asked as he kept driving. He’d grown up here, knew every back road in a thirty-mile radius, minimum, and he had a full tank of gas. If driving was what she wanted, that’s what they’d do.

She looked over at him. “You really didn’t hear anything about what happened tonight?”

He shrugged. “It’s pretty clear that something happened, but the police were being pretty closemouthed about it all.” Sawyer glanced over at her, but nothing in her expression gave away any of her thoughts. She must have been one impressive cop. He turned back to the road. “Was something vandalized?” he guessed. “Or stolen?” A theft would explain the police response, but not the gunshots. What had she done that resulted in someone wanting her dead?

“Not as far as I know. But Michael Wingate is dead.”

“The curator?” The man had been around Treasure Point for as long as Sawyer could remember, but their paths hadn’t crossed much when he was a kid—he’d guess Michael was about twenty, maybe thirty years older. He’d met him formally for the first time yesterday.

“Someone pushed him off a balcony. I overheard it happening just a few minutes before the lights went out. Now someone wants me dead.”

“What was on your car that made you stop?”

“A note.” Kelsey looked down at her lap, leaned over to look at the floor. “I must have dropped it during the shooting. It said I had twelve hours to get out of town or I’d pay for it, basically.”

“They didn’t give you until morning, though.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe the note was a trap itself, just to get you to stand in one place.”

“Could be. Who knows?”

Sawyer kept driving, winding his way through the tall pine trees that towered over the darkened back roads.

Kelsey said nothing. He got the feeling she was still deciding whether or not she could trust him.

And Sawyer was trying to decide the same thing. One thing was certain, though. He wasn’t going to be able to drive away and put the dangers of Kelsey’s situation behind him.


FOUR (#ulink_47f30e0d-d07c-51c9-b3cf-3c27c3710b44)

She’d been in Treasure Point for less than forty-eight hours, and Kelsey was already on her second trip to the police station. At least this time, she was in the chief’s office, waiting for him to come back in.

“Just can’t stay away, can you?” one of the officers teased as he walked by the room. Kelsey offered a small smile back, thankful the teasing seemed to be good-natured.

Lieutenant Davies strolled through the door, piercing her with a hard glare. “It seems you’re a regular magnet for trouble, huh, Jackson?”

He’d always called her by her last name. He didn’t consistently do that to any of the male officers and it had always rankled her.

But he was one man who’d never intimidated her. “No, it just seems that this town isn’t the sweet little hamlet by the sea that some people like to pretend that it is.”

He studied her for a minute. “That’s what you’re going with? You don’t think it looks oddly coincidental to us that years ago you were in a relationship with a suspect while you were an officer, aided him in getting away with the crimes he committed, and now you’re back and there’s trouble at the museum?”

“I wasn’t in a relationship with a suspect.” Kelsey took a deep breath, pushed back memories of the past, and kept talking. She’d let a guilty man go because she’d misjudged him, that was it. How had the rumor mill managed to morph the story from the truth to something so salacious was beyond her. “I looked up all the information on the museum before I took the job here, Lieutenant. I’m well aware that there’s been trouble at the museum since the idea was barely a spark in the historical society’s eye.” The museum had suffered several bouts of sabotage in a failed attempt to avoid the discovery of a years-old murder victim on the grounds.

Davies had nothing to say to that. Keeping quiet, he set down a stack of manila envelopes on the table, took a seat at the chair opposite her and stared.

The chief walked in just then. “Kelsey, I’ve got almost all my men at the museum—they’re collecting evidence on Mr. Wingate’s death, but they also started looking for any clues as to your attacker as soon as they heard the shots fired.” He turned to Davies. “I actually need you back there now, supervising.”

The lieutenant walked out without another word to Kelsey, which was fine with her.

Although facing the chief when he was wearing his current expression was a bit intimidating.

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“You believe you witnessed a murder tonight.”

“Yes.”

“We don’t have any evidence of foul play yet, nothing except your testimony to tell us it was anything other than an accidental death.” The older man shook his head. “It’d be likely this won’t be treated as a murder, except that we went through a similar case recently. Because of that we will treat this one as though it is a homicide, whether preliminary evidence supports that or not.”

Kelsey let out a breath. At least she could let go of the worry that the department wouldn’t take this seriously.

“Did you see anything that could help us find the person responsible?”

“Just dark shapes. I heard more than I saw. As soon as I walked into that room I knew something wasn’t right. There was just a feeling...” She shook her head. “I guess that sounds ridiculous. There was no concrete reason to check things out any further, and yet I couldn’t stop myself.”

“It’s called following your instincts, Kelsey. It’s what made you such a good officer.”

She snorted.

“That last case doesn’t define you. Overall, you did good work here. Sure you don’t want to come back?”

Not an option, not for any reason. The dream she’d worked so hard for was within her reach now, and it was a sure thing. She wasn’t going back to a world of guesses and suspicions when she had certainty in her new job, that and an opportunity to see the world outside of Treasure Point.

“All right, I know when to give up.” The chief cleared his throat. “So you heard a scuffle. You’re sure you didn’t see anything specific?”

“Just shapes, sir. I could tell someone was pushed off the balcony, but I couldn’t make out any identifying features of either of the people.”

“We’ve got Shiloh there now trying to get prints from the crime scene. Maybe we’ll catch a break and she’ll find something right away.”

“Maybe,” Kelsey echoed, but she knew that as valuable as forensic evidence was, if the criminal had been extremely careful, there might not be much. Besides, there had been a number of people in and around the museum in the past few days, setting up for the event. The evidence would be difficult to find.

“As for where we go from here...tell me about what happened when you returned to the museum.”

She described the note she had found on the windshield, and the shots that had been fired shortly after. She even, grudgingly, shared Sawyer’s theory that the note might have been a ploy just to get her to stand still. She didn’t like the man, but she couldn’t deny that the suggestion made sense.

“If someone is trying to kill you, we need to take that seriously,” the chief said when she had finished.

“Sir, you know I’m capable of defending myself.”

The chief folded his arms across his barrel chest and leaned back in his chair. “You still have your Georgia concealed carry permit, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And a weapon?”

“Not on me.” Something she’d regretted most of the evening, but where was she supposed to put a holster when she was wearing a semiformal dress? Kelsey knew it could be done, but figuring out the logistics when she was a private citizen going to a party where she’d had no reason to expect trouble hadn’t been a high priority.

“Locked up at home?”

She nodded.

“Fix that. Keep it on you at all times when you go out.”

“Yes, sir.”

He was quiet for a minute, and maybe Kelsey was out of line in asking what she was about to ask, but she was tired, hungry and felt oddly chilled even though she wasn’t cold at all. The night was hot and sticky, like any June night in Treasure Point. “Is there anything else, sir?”

The chief’s heavy eyebrows did raise in surprise, but she didn’t see any judgment or anger in his eyes at her abrupt question. He’d always been very understanding.

“That’s all for tonight.”

Kelsey stood and walked toward the door.

“One more thing.”

She turned back to her old boss. “Yes?”

“Is that Hamilton boy still here?”

She laughed a little at his description. The chief was well into his sixties, though, so it made sense he’d refer to Sawyer that way.

“He’s waiting around here somewhere,” Kelsey admitted.

“If he’ll take you home, take him up on it. It’s less likely anyone will try something if there are two of you.”

“There were two of us when I was shot at.”

“I know, Kelsey, but I can’t spare anyone for a protection detail right now, so this is the best I can do.”

“I’ll ask him,” she conceded, mostly because the chief was looking at her with that protective look on his face that she recognized from her time on the force. He was a man who was never okay with one of his own getting hurt, and sexist or not, he had always seemed to be even more careful with Kelsey and Shiloh, the only two woman officers. Kelsey was afraid if she didn’t agree to ask Sawyer, the chief himself would insist on giving her a ride home.

“You do that. Good night, Kelsey. Stay safe.”

She nodded, then moved away from his door. She’d barely made it out of that hallway into the main area of the building when she spotted Sawyer. She’d half hoped he’d gone and she could find another ride, but that was apparently too much to wish for.

“Ready to go home?” he asked her.

Actually, it was about the last thing she was ready for. But she didn’t have many other options, because while running from this town, this situation, might seem unbearably tempting, it also wasn’t an option. Her job, her dreams, her life away from here depended on her sticking this out, finishing the work she’d come here to do.

“I’m ready.” She tried to sound convincing.

Thankfully, Sawyer didn’t seem to notice everything she wasn’t saying. Like the fact that she wasn’t really ready at all. The fact that she was scared.

And the fact that facing Treasure Point again, after all that had happened, was almost as scary as someone wanting her dead.

* * *

Sawyer had only just dropped Kelsey off when he heard the screams.

He turned the truck off, threw the door open and ran to where she was standing on the front porch.

“What?”

“I, uh, I thought I saw a spider.”

“You didn’t.” Sawyer didn’t believe that for a second.

“I really did. He went back in that corner.”

She motioned to a darkened corner of the porch filled with who knew what. “What is all that?” She’d always seemed so organized and attentive to little details, he was surprised she was able to live here with that mess.

“I’m not sure.”

“This is your house, right?”

“My parents’ house.”

“Where are they?”

“They moved to Savannah when I finished high school. They’ve been renting the house, but the last renters did a number on the place, as you can see, so my folks want to sell it and get out of the landlord business.”

Sawyer couldn’t stop the raising of his eyebrows. “And they’re going to sell it like this?”

“No, of course not. When I told them I would be working in the area for a few weeks, they asked if I’d start getting the place cleaned up while I was here.”

He took in the chipping blue paint—really, blue?—the unidentified mess in the corner and the general disrepair of the place. There was nothing structurally unsound as far as he could tell. It wasn’t in awful condition. But it wasn’t in great shape to sell, either. That he did know something about since, as his dad always said, “Hamiltons know real estate, son.” He decided not to comment on it, changing the subject instead. “So, what are you doing in town? You never said.”

She explained about her insurance job and the work she was doing with the museum. “I’ve got an assignment lined up in St. Simons next, so I’ll be staying in town for that, too.”

He nodded. “That explains why you were at the museum tonight—but not why someone was shooting at you. Or what happened to make you scream just now, because I know you don’t expect me to believe it was a spider.”

“I really did think I saw one.”

Something about the way she said that...

“Is that all?”

“No. And if you’re going to ask me what it was, you may as well come in. I didn’t get to eat much at the party and I’m starving.”

“You’re cooking?”

“If you consider bologna sandwiches cooking, then yes.”

“Any chance I could get one of those?”

Kelsey’s snort of laughter wasn’t quite ladylike, but it was cute when she did it. She shook her head as she stuck her key in the doorknob and pushed the door open. “Sawyer Hamilton eats bologna?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He followed her inside, noting that the inside of the house was in better condition than the outside. That made him feel better about her staying here.

“You’re a Hamilton.”

“Who still has to eat to stay alive.”

“But bologna is such...such peasant food.”

The ridiculousness of this conversation was getting to him. At least, that’s the only excuse Sawyer could formulate for what he did next. He reached for Kelsey’s hand, laid it on top of his own palm and brushed her fingers over the calluses on his fingers and palm.

Their eyes met. Held. Sawyer swallowed hard. He hadn’t expected touching her to focus all his senses quite this way, narrow his gaze to where he only saw her. Her green eyes. Staring right at him.

He dropped her hand, tried to recover his composure. “Those are a working man’s hands, Kelsey. When I’m not at work, I’m outside, doing things in the yard, working with my hands as much as I can. I guess I’m just a ‘peasant’ like you. Now, how about that bologna while you tell me what really had you spooked?”

She locked the front door behind them and nodded. “Okay, give me one minute.” And she ran up the stairs.

Not two minutes later she was back, dressed in jeans and a sleeveless button-down shirt. He couldn’t blame her. He was suffocating in his suit. He tugged at his tie, rolled it up and put it in his suit pocket, then slid out of the jacket. “Good idea with the clothes.”

“Yeah, I don’t stay dressed up any longer than I have to. Besides, I needed my gun.”

He didn’t see any gun.

Kelsey grinned, patted her hip. “It’s a good concealment holster. I got my permit as soon as I wasn’t law enforcement anymore. I let the cops do their job and I’m not out to be a vigilante with it, but as far as protecting myself goes, I’d prefer to be able to.”

Sawyer nodded. It was a common attitude in the South, and one that gave him great relief when it came to Kelsey’s safety.

“So, tell me why you really screamed.” He finally brought the subject back to the one she’d managed to dance gracefully away from two different times now.

“Any chance you’ll just let it go?”

“Nope.”

“Fine. There was another note on the door.”

“And you just stood there? Didn’t the shooter use a note earlier to get you to stay in one place so they could shoot at you?”

“Possibly—we can’t really say for sure that that was his method the first time. At any rate, he obviously didn’t shoot at me this time.”

“What did the note say?”

“Basically the same as the other.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crinkled piece of paper. “I balled it up after I read it and held it in my fist while you and I were talking.”

Back when she’d been trying to convince him that she’d been scared enough of a spider to scream. Sure.

Sawyer took the note she was offering.

YOU SEEM TO HAVE A HARD TIME LISTENING. THOSE SHOTS WERE WARNING SHOTS, SO YOU’D KNOW TO TAKE THE NOTE SERIOUSLY. YOU HAVE UNTIL SEVEN TOMORROW. NO ONE ELSE HAS TO DIE.

BUT IF YOU CHOOSE NOT TO LISTEN... YOU WILL.

“This is why you screamed?”

She shook her head. Reached into her pocket again. “I bagged it as soon as I took it upstairs.” She slid a paper bag out of her pocket and reached inside.

And pulled out a picture printed on computer paper. It was a picture of Kelsey, from tonight at the museum event. And it was marked through with something red. And sticky.

“That’s not real blood, right?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I called the police when I was upstairs. They’re sending a couple of officers over to retrieve it and process the outside of my house for any trace evidence left on the porch.”

Sawyer took it all in, absorbed the way she said it all, so matter-of-factly and full of confidence. Kelsey had been smart in high school. Quick-witted. But he didn’t remember her being this sure of herself.

“I’m glad you called them.”

“Of course I did. I wouldn’t try to handle this myself...” But her voice trailed off in a funny way, like that was exactly what she was considering doing.

She’d always been independent—he remembered that from school. He also remembered the way it had isolated her, keeping her from being really close to anyone. She’d only ever had casual friends. He doubted she’d kept up with much of anyone from high school...which meant there was no one in Treasure Point for her to lean on for support now, especially with her parents no longer living in town.

Sure, there was her cousin, Clay, but he’d be focused on police work, logging evidence and following procedure. If Kelsey did any investigating on her own, Clay wouldn’t be able to help her. So who did that leave?

Me.

The idea was crazy, but there was no question in Sawyer’s mind that Kelsey Jackson was in danger, and she didn’t need to face this on her own, even if that was how she was used to doing life. Sawyer had to be in Treasure Point, anyway, to be the face of his family at the events surrounding the museum’s opening.

When he wasn’t doing that...

He may as well be talking Kelsey into letting him tag along wherever she was going. Not that he didn’t think she could handle herself, but maybe he’d serve as a good distraction while she shot at the bad guys.

In any case, he was going to stick to her like glue, whether she liked it or not.

Sawyer was pretty sure it was going to be “not.”


FIVE (#ulink_f00a64c2-0276-5380-a5e3-8662f30b5c3b)

She dreamed about the gunshots that night, and woke with a feeling of pressure on her chest that made it hard to breathe, almost like a physical weight that reminded her of the truth that weighed on her mind—someone had threated to kill her. He’d made it clear that he would make good on those threats if she wouldn’t be bullied into leaving.

And Kelsey had no intention of going anywhere. If she left town with her work undone, she’d lose her job. Not to mention, she’d lose her self-respect if she let this town make her run away again. Logically, she knew that leaving would be the smart choice...but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Which meant today, tomorrow, as many days as this took...things were only going to get worse.

She climbed out of her car—the officers had processed it for evidence and then Clay had brought it home for her—after parking in front of the museum, and stopped to look up when she heard a noise. Her whole body tensed, ready to run or fight or whatever she needed to do. She put her hand on her hip where she could feel the reassuring lump of the gun concealed inside her waistband.

But there was no need for alarm. It was a truck pulling into the parking lot, one she recognized immediately from all the time she’d spent in it last night.

What was Sawyer Hamilton doing here?

She tried not to watch him as he parked the truck and stepped out, but like it or not, her eyes were drawn to him. He reached back into the truck for something. Sawyer stepped back out with coffee.

“What are you doing here?” She voiced the question that she hadn’t stopped mentally asking since she saw him.

“I figured you’d be here and thought you might have had a rough night.”

She stared, understanding not dawning until he reached out with the coffee cup. That was for her?

“You used to get cappuccinos in high school. I hope that’s still okay.”

“In high school?” She reached for the coffee, feeling like she could use the caffeine to get her out of this fog that seemed to have descended with Sawyer’s presence. This concern for her was the last thing she would have expected from him.

“Thank you,” she said, allowing herself a small smile. “And cappuccinos...yes, that’s still my favorite.” They hadn’t spent time together outside of their classes in high school that she could remember. Ever. So how had he...?

“I saw you order it more than once when you’d study at the bookstore.”

The old bookstore had been the only place to get coffee in Treasure Point all those years ago, and the fancy espresso machine had only lasted five years or so before the owners of the bookstore had sold it, since it wasn’t making them much of a profit. At the time, Treasure Point—with the exception of Kelsey—seemed to prefer its coffee plain. It was only recently, when Claire Phillips had returned to town after college, that more people had accepted the idea of “fancy” coffee.

“Well...thanks, then,” she repeated, then shook her head and took a long sip of that cappuccino. She closed her eyes for a second. So good.

Unfortunately, after a second, Kelsey acknowledged she had to open her eyes and get to work.

She turned away from Sawyer and walked toward the front door of the museum. She’d been scheduled to work with Michael Wingate. With him dead... Kelsey wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work anymore. The rules had changed. Would she even be allowed to work today, or was the museum still being treated as a crime scene?

The door of the museum opened just then, and a dark-haired woman stepped out. Gemma O’Dell, the marketing manager for the museum. Kelsey had met with her briefly when she’d first arrived back in town.

“Kelsey, you came.”

“Were you doubting that I would?”

“We weren’t sure with...” she shot a glance at the two police cars parked at the edge of the lot “...with everything that happened yesterday,” she finished. “Matt almost didn’t let me come to work today.” She said the last part with a grin and Kelsey knew she didn’t really mind the overprotectiveness of her husband, Matt O’Dell.

“So, will I be working with you today?”

Gemma shook her head and moved her hand to the baby bump that was quite obvious. “Even though I don’t officially go on maternity leave until the baby comes—”

“You’re due any day?” Kelsey guessed. She didn’t have much experience with babies or childbirth, but she was fairly certain that Gemma’s stomach had no more room for expansion, so she figured it must be close.

Gemma nodded. “Yes, and Matt wants me to do as much work from home as I can these last couple of weeks. Or days. I’m voting days.”

Kelsey laughed. “I’m sure you are.”

“Anyway, especially with the murder, here at the museum is not somewhere he wants me spending a lot of time. Not that there’s any reason to assume there will be more crimes. You shouldn’t be worried.”

Oh, if only Gemma knew.

“I’m not going to let it stop me from doing my job,” Kelsey reassured the other woman.

“Great. I’ll let you get started and I’ll be in my office for about an hour. After that, I’m headed home, but you can call me if you need anything. Do you need any help from me, or do you know where to get started today?”

“You can head to your office,” Kelsey assured her. “I know where to go and what to do.” As exhausted as Gemma looked already, Kelsey was relatively certain she wasn’t going to be bothering her. Gemma was one of the few full-time staff members at the museum, which meant that she was in for a day of answering worried phone calls and dealing with the public response in reaction to the murder. Clearly, she had enough on her plate, and Kelsey wouldn’t add to it.

With a relieved smile, Gemma went back inside, heading toward her office. Kelsey started to enter the building as well, but the manners her mother had drilled into her made her turn around to finish her conversation with Sawyer first.

“Are you coming in?” she asked. “Did you have some business with the museum today?”

“No, I just came by to check on you.”

Kelsey blinked. “You...what?”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable but sincere. “I just came by to check on you,” he repeated. “And to make sure you wouldn’t be here by yourself, after those threats last night.”

That was unexpected. But she tried to brush it off. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted. She pointed to the cop cars. “I won’t be here alone.”

“Good—that’s good.” He looked awkward, as if he had something to say, but wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Finally, he blurted out, “Let me know if you’re going to be on your own later, okay?”

“Why?”

“So I can come over.”

“But why?” This wasn’t making any sense. “You don’t have to look after me. I’m not your responsibility, and I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he replied, taking the wind right out of her sails. “Dealing with threats and attacks isn’t something anyone should have to do on their own. I know the police will do what they can, but they have lots of responsibilities to handle, whereas I’m here in town with time on my hands. I can help. I want to help. Will you let me?”

He looked so hopeful that Kelsey couldn’t bring herself to say no—it would feel like kicking a puppy. An unwanted puppy who seemed to want nothing more than to get underfoot. So, fine, she’d agree to let him help, and then she’d just conveniently forget to contact him later. Problem solved.

Satisfied with her assurance that she’d let him know when she needed him—which would be at a quarter past never—Kelsey went inside and got to work.

She spent the day wandering the museum, estimating the value of some of the antiques that she could identify easily, and researching others to figure out comparisons that would tell her what they might be worth. She’d done the job before, many times, but always with direct supervision. It was a big vote of confidence from her employer that she was being allowed to do this, as well as another job, on her own.

Kelsey was supposed to spend tomorrow in St. Simons at the estate that was her other large project right now. At first, the Treasure Point Historical Society hadn’t been excited at the prospect of her attention being divided, but Kelsey had insisted she could handle both of the jobs. Her boss hadn’t given her a choice about the museum job, since the town had asked for her specifically, but the Medlin Estate was something that would advance her career more, and she wasn’t giving that up for anything.

Kelsey knew she could do it, but it was still overwhelming to think about, which was why—on her way back into town—she pulled her car into the parking lot that connected to the coastal trail. She exhaled even before she got out, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders as she thought about running. It was one of the best ways she knew to relieve stress.

She’d changed into running clothes before leaving the museum, so she climbed from her car, set her phone to her running playlist and put it on her armband. Hesitating for a second, she pulled the phone back out for a second and sent a quick text to Sawyer, just to let someone know where she was. She regretted the message the moment she’d sent it. Sawyer didn’t need to know where she was, especially since the day had been quiet and it seemed like maybe...like maybe the threat from last night hadn’t been as big as she’d feared.

Then again, Michael Wingate’s body was in the McIntosh County morgue right now, so Kelsey knew that wasn’t true.

Either way, the text message was sent and Kelsey needed this run, had plenty of things in her brain that needed to be sorted out.

She started out at a comfortable pace and eased into her workout. The first thought her mind landed on was Sawyer. Nope. She wasn’t going there. She sped up a little, felt her feet pound the ground a little harder at the thought of the boy-turned-man who’d thrown her so off balance earlier in the day.

No. No matter what, she wasn’t going to think of him right now.

Instead she thought about work. Had Matt overreacted by keeping Gemma away from the museum for now? Kelsey wanted to say yes, especially since she didn’t want to believe she was truly in danger from her work there...but what other reason could someone have for killing Michael Wingate if it wasn’t connected to his job?

She pushed herself a little harder. Today had been calm. Boring, even. She’d walked through most of the exhibits, accompanied by an officer. He was a younger guy, not a native of the town, but he seemed nice enough, even if his couldn’t-be-more-than-twenty-one-year-old self kept calling her “ma’am.” She loved Southern charm and manners, except when they made her feel like she was much older than pushing thirty.

Kelsey had gotten a lot accomplished as far as her insurance job, but where the investigation was concerned, she wished she could have spent time in the room where the murder had taken place. She’d remembered while she was working that Michael had acted strangely around one exhibit in there in particular, like there was something about it that made him uncomfortable. It was the most fascinating exhibit in the museum—there wasn’t any doubt about that. Many of the rooms and exhibits focused on Treasure Point’s history in general, but this particular exhibit was exclusively geared toward Treasure Point’s pirate history. Blackbeard was only one of the many pirates who had loved this corner of the Eastern Seaboard for all its barrier islands, mysterious swamps and places to hide smuggled goods.

It was Treasure Point’s little claim to fame, its most valuable asset as a town trying to grow its tourist trade, as well as its greatest liability. The last few years had seen an upswing in crime for many of the reasons pirates had frequented the area years before.

The exhibit was interesting, but she hadn’t seen anything in there worth killing over. Most of it talked about shipwrecks that had happened over a hundred years ago.

Who would kill over that?

Kelsey shook her head, picked up the pace a little. She was coming up on the parking lot. One more lap, she told herself, and then she’d jump into the water to cool off, take a swim in her workout clothes—she had a spare towel in her car she could sit on—before heading back to the house to tackle a few cleaning projects there and eat another sandwich for dinner.

She’d had more fun having that impromptu dinner with Sawyer last night than she liked to admit.

Sawyer? Where had that come from?

She ran faster. Enough of that.

The second lap went quickly, and then she was carefully picking her way along the narrow game trail through the woods that led to the beach. Not many people accessed the beach from here, but it had always been a favorite place of hers to swim. The main beach of Treasure Point wasn’t very big, and as a result it was usually crowded.

Kelsey liked having this quiet space to herself.

She narrowly avoided some thorns and pushed her way through the last bit of underbrush until she emerged onto a clearer area, where the dirt of the forest gradually gave way to sand. It was a unique area, in general and environmentally, and Kelsey loved everything about it. This was why, though she’d longed for a big city, she’d settled on Savannah rather than somewhere farther like Atlanta, or even Charleston. This place would always be home in a way, and Savannah was the most similar to Treasure Point.

Kelsey waded into the waves, the water felt good against her hot skin after the initial jolt of cold. The waves lapped against her and she let herself float on them, relax with them and even stayed there on her back for a few minutes, looking up at the blue sky dotted with cotton-ball clouds.

The sound of the waves hitting the beach was loud, but the noise relaxed her. After a few minutes of floating she moved upright again, swam a little closer to the shore since she’d drifted. Then she found the two trees in the distance she liked to use as markers for herself and swam a few laps.

Finally, exhausted, she lay on her back again, exhaled the stress of the day into the warm salty air and let herself relax.

Something snatched her arm, jerked her underwater before Kelsey could react, before she could draw in one more long breath of air to sustain her.

She kept her eyes open even though the salty ocean water stung, but her attempts to see her attacker were useless. The water here was far from clear, and though the sun was shining, all she could see were particles and a shape. Definitely human. She struggled, fought to get away, and managed to wrench her arm free before throwing herself toward the shore and kicking with every bit of strength she had left.

Was that someone on the beach? Did her attacker have an accomplice?

She kicked harder, moved her arms in the freestyle motion, only to be jerked backward again by the man—she was fairly certain that the shape was too large to be a woman—and pulled back under. This time she’d taken a breath, so she had more energy to fight.

Still, as she kicked and struggled, she knew that she didn’t have long. She couldn’t keep holding her breath, but to stop trying was to give up and die.

And Kelsey wasn’t a quitter. Never had been. Wasn’t about to start now.

“Kelsey!”

She heard the shouts from the beach. Was the person she’d seen someone on her side, not her attacker’s?

The knowledge gave her confidence to give this struggle all she had, and she landed one solid kick to her opponent’s gut.





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