More Than Words: Stories of Strength: Close Call / Built to Last / Find the Way. Karen Harper

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      O’Malley waited in the hall while Marianne Wells pushed open the door to his second-floor room. The place was nice, a little quaint, probably, for his tastes, but maybe the bright colors would improve his mood. At least Marianne—she’d already told him to call her by her first name—was dressed for climbing on the rocky coastline. And the other guest, the one in the attic, was a guy.

      The scar on Marianne’s face looked like it was from a knife wound, but Brendan figured he was in a frame of mind to come to the worst conclusion. She could have slid off a sled as a kid and cut her face on ice.

      He noticed the pink towels in the bathroom.

      Pink. It was a grayed pink, but it was still pink.

      He wondered if the guy in the attic got white towels.

      “Your friend from Boston is in the room across the hall.”

      His experience as a detective kept him from choking on his tongue. “Jess?”

      “That’s right. You seem surprised.”

      And she didn’t like his surprise. He could see it in her body language. She straightened, narrowing her eyes on him, and moved to the doorway, ready for flight.

      O’Malley relaxed his manner, not wanting to get his hostess mixed up in whatever he and Jess had going on. “I’m just surprised she beat me here. I thought I had the head start.”

      “I don’t want any trouble,” Marianne said firmly. “If you don’t want Ms. Stewart here—if she’s stalking you—”

      “Jess? Stalking me? No way. It’s nothing like that.”

      “And you. You’re not—”

      “No, I’m not stalking her.”

      She seemed at least partially relieved. “I hope not.”

      He pointed to his bandaged forehead. “I was in a scrape at work a couple days ago. Jess is worried about me is all. She and I go way back.”

      “You’re a police officer, aren’t you? Were you—”

      “It was nothing.”

      Jess had been talking. O’Malley had known her since she was a recruit. She’d gone through the police academy two years after him and had done a good job on the force, but her heart wasn’t in it, not the way it was in her job as a prosecutor. She absolutely believed that the system could, should and most often did work, and that she was there to get to the truth, not advance her own career, change the world or pander to public opinion.

      O’Malley wasn’t that idealistic. Jess insisted it wasn’t idealism on her part, but a serious, hardheaded understanding of her duties as a representative of the state’s interests. She’d tried to convince him of that over one of their dinners together. But he wasn’t convinced of anything, except she was a bigger workaholic than he was and needed to take a vacation once in a while.

      And he’d wanted to make love to her.

      He’d been very convinced of that.

      After Marianne retreated downstairs, he stood out in the hall and stared at Jess’s shut door. Damn. What was she doing here?

      The three-legged puppy syndrome, he thought.

      She must have been the kind of kid who brought home injured animals, and that was what he was at the moment.

      Except he didn’t see it that way.

      He walked over to the door and stood a few inches from the threshold, wondering if he’d be able to figure out what she was doing in there. Sleeping? Plotting what she’d do once he got there? But he didn’t hear a sound from inside—no radio, no running water, no happy humming.

      No gulping.

      No window creaking open as she tied sheets together to make good her escape.

      She must have heard him talking in the hall with their hostess.

      The door jerked open suddenly, and Jess was there in shorts and a top, barefoot, her hair still damp and her skin still pink from a recent bath or shower.

      “O’Malley,” she said. “What a coincidence.”

      “Like minds and all that?”

      “Mmm.”

      “Sweetheart, there’s nothing ‘like’ about our minds.”

      But she was unflappable—she’d had longer to prepare for this moment. “I saw all those Nova Scotia brochures on your dining-room table and couldn’t resist. Funny we picked the same B and B.”

      “You’re not even trying hard to sound convincing.”

      She ignored him. “It’s adorable, isn’t it? I love the cottage touches and the raspberry theme.”

      He had no idea what she meant by “cottage touches.” He placed one hand on the doorjamb and leaned in toward her, smelling the fragrance of her shampoo. “How’s your room?”

      “Perfect.”

      He tried to peer past her. “I think it’s bigger than mine.”

      She opened the door a bit wider. “See for yourself.”

      In her own way, Jessica Stewart liked to play with fire. O’Malley stepped into her room and saw that it was shaped differently from his, but about the same size. “I didn’t see your car,” he said.

      “Really?”

      All innocence. “Did you hide it?”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ