Harbour Falls (4 page)

Unlike the day before, today the sun was shining brightly and everything glowed in the afternoon light. Bright sunlight streamed through the foliage—just beginning to change from green to gold, orange, plum—and created a kaleidoscope of light on the road. Through the breaks in the trees, the blue ocean sparkled, a jewel off in the distance.

When we reached the last cottage, my dad helped carry everything into what was to be my home for at least the next three months—or however long it took to gather the necessary research to write my next novel. Fade Island was going to be the perfect location to conduct my own little investigation. It was quiet and private. And one of the main players, if not
the
main player in the Harbour Falls Mystery, lived less than one mile north of my new residence. The logistics were perfect.

After settling in, I walked into the living room. My father stood quietly, intently studying one of the impressionist-style paintings adorning the wall. The play of light coming through the window accentuated his salt-and-pepper hair, and it saddened me to see there was more salt than pepper. My dad stayed fit, but he was getting older. It scared me because he was all I had. My mother had passed away when I was a very young girl, and my only sibling, a much older brother, had left for college not long after. Over the years he visited occasionally, but he had his own new life in Chicago. So, for a long time, it had just been my dad and me.

I didn’t want to spend my first day on the island being maudlin, so I plopped down on the sofa and flipped up the cap on one of the bottled waters we’d brought from home. My father wasn’t
that
interested in art, so I asked, “Dad, is there something on your mind?”

“I’m just worried.” He sighed, making his way to the sofa. I scooted over, and he sat down next to me. “Just don’t get into any trouble out here, OK? Are you sure you want to start poking around in a case that’s been cold for more than four years?”

We’d been over this topic at least a dozen times since I’d been back. He knew I wanted my next novel to be based on the Harbour Falls Mystery. But he certainly had his misgivings. Not that I could blame him.

“I have to, Dad,” I tried to explain. “I need to know what really happened so I can write my book.” My dad looked away, and I added, “Hey, look on the bright side, maybe I’ll end up solving it.”

“Maddy.” His voice sounded chastising but in a half-hearted way. “Just get what you need for your research. Forget about solving this thing.” His eyes met mine. “And remember, I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“Were you able to get a copy of the case files?” I asked in a whisper.

I hated to push the issue, but I’d been secretly hoping he could pull a few strings and obtain a copy of the official documents pertaining to the Chelsea Hannigan disappearance. The files would give me a starting point, an insight into things that hadn’t been revealed to the public. Anything related to the case had been sealed to preserve the integrity of the investigation, making it nearly impossible for an individual without
some
kind of political pull to get his hands on those files.

My father, attempting to sound stern once again but failing, said, “Madeleine, I’m not kidding about you staying out of trouble. There are people here who aren’t going to take kindly to you asking questions about something most would rather forget.”

Recalling Ami’s words of warning, I conceded, “You’re right. I’ll watch my step.” It was looking like I’d have to forge forward without the case files. I picked up one of the throw pillows on the sofa and rolled a loose string between my fingers. I’d make do.

“Look,” my dad began. “I’ve thought about it a lot. You should be armed with some kind of background on this case. The fewer chains you have to rattle, the better.” I stopped picking at the loose string and looked up expectantly.

My dad harrumphed and said, “Why don’t you take a look inside the zippered compartment there in the front of that suitcase?” He gestured to a bag we’d not unpacked.

I reached over, unzipped the front pocket, and pulled out a thick folder stuffed with pages and pages of official-looking documents. A big “Classified” sticker was affixed to the front. “The case files,” I murmured.

“They’re just copies, but keep them in a safe place, Maddy,” he warned. “By safe I mean
hidden
.”

I placed the folder on the coffee table and threw my arms around my father. “Thank you, Dad. These are going to help so much. And everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

My dad tightened his arms around me. Guilt tugged at my conscience as I sensed the tension in his hold. “I love you, sweetheart. I just pray you know what you’re doing.”

I hoped so too, but I didn’t say it out loud. Instead I said, “I love you, Dad,” and clung to the one person I could always count on.

I hurried back down the stairs, locked up, and went out the back door. The small lawn in the back, perched high above the sea, offered a sweeping view of the ocean below. It was magnificent, if not a little daunting when nearing the edge. Several maple saplings lined the south end of the yard, their fiery red, orange, and yellow leaves made more vivid by a palette of violet hues in the early evening sky.

I turned toward the north end of the lawn where the forest trees were no less vibrant—but much taller and imposing—than their younger counterparts across the property. There was a break in the tree line where a dirt path winded its way through the forest. It appeared to head north along the high cliffs above the sea.

I rocked back and forth on my heels, contemplating my next move.
No time like the present for a little exploring, right?

I glanced back at the cottage, tucked my house key into a small pocket in my pants, and then started to jog along the path. I considered going back to grab my IPod but quickly squashed the idea. As I headed deeper and deeper into the woods, the sounds of birds chirping, the crashing of the waves on the rocks below, and my own footfalls lulled me into a sense of peacefulness. A sort of zone. Soon I completely lost track of time.

Darkness crept in, the birds silenced. The trees closed in on me like a crowd closing in on a guilty party. Low-hanging branches scraped at my bare arms, making me cry out. My pulse raced as my dad’s words echoed in my mind:
Just don’t get into any trouble out here, OK?

Yeah, that was going well. Just as panic began to set in, I spotted an end to the trail. Breathing a sigh of relief, I sprinted ahead to escape the blackness of the forest.
Maybe I’ll come out on the main road
, I thought.

But that was asking too much. The trail dumped me out onto a luxurious, meticulously manicured piece of property that very obviously belonged to Adam Ward. And here I was, the newest resident on the island—
his island—
trespassing on his private property.
Not exactly subtle
.

A huge wood and stone contemporary home, with a low-pitched roof and endless walls of windows, stood before me. The house was nestled in the forest, but the surrounding trees were not nearly as dense as the ones I’d just traveled through. A few lights were on inside, and a black Porsche was parked outside the front entrance.
Shit, that means he’s most likely home. This is definitely bad.

The driveway curved off into another portion of the woods. I was sure it led to the main road, but I had no way of knowing how far I’d have to travel to reach it. The idea of getting caught traipsing down Adam’s driveway was appalling. But so was the thought of going back into the heart of the forest. To make matters worse, the air had grown chilly now that the sun was down. I wrapped my arms around myself and bounced up and down on my toes to keep warm. I knew I couldn’t stand here forever staring at Adam’s house—like some kind of a crazed stalker—so I decided to make a run for the driveway, crossing my fingers that I’d not get caught.

Just as I was about to step out of the darkness of the trees, the front door of the house opened, and the man I’d hoped to avoid—Adam Ward—walked out. I took a step back and stood frozen as I watched him descend the front steps, walking—no,
striding
— to his Porsche.

Tall and still lean but definitely more muscular. A man now, no longer a boy. Dressed in faded jeans and a pale blue button-down, untucked with the sleeves casually rolled up his forearms, he made his way to his car. The soft lights emanating from his home illuminated his slightly tousled raven hair, but his face remained shadowed. He retrieved a briefcase from the passenger side of the car, and then he straightened, the light hitting him in just the right way.
Oh my.
My memory had
not
done him justice, he was much…hotter. Still as gorgeous as ever with the same strong jaw, aquiline nose, full lips, but there was something more. Something indefinable, something feral that called to my basest instincts like a siren song.

A loud, cracking noise—like a branch breaking—came from the woods behind me, and I was reminded of the situation at hand. Adam had been on his way back into the house, but now he stopped and looked in my direction. My heart pounded fiercely; I feared it could be heard. Holding my breath and squeezing my eyes shut for a beat, I desperately prayed Adam would just go back in the damn house, so I could make my escape.

The seconds crept by slowly, and finally Adam relaxed his posture. He started back up the front steps, his stride as cool and confident as ever. As he disappeared behind the closing door, I let out my breath in a big whoosh of air.
That was close.

Then, with no warning, a large, calloused hand closed over my mouth. My scream was effectively muffled, and I promptly lost consciousness.

I woke up feeling, strangely enough, warm and comfortable. Snuggling deeper into the surface I was laying on, so buttery soft, I inhaled deeply. A spicy, masculine aroma, with just a hint of laundry detergent, filled my nose. I pulled the source of this appealing scent—some kind of fabric draped over my shoulder—to my face and drank it in.

A soft chuckle came from behind my curled-up form. My eyes flew open. I stared blankly at the pale blue material—a shirt of some sort—in my hand.
What the?

All at once the events of the evening came back to me in a rush of jumbled images. I quickly rolled away from the back of the black leather sofa I was on and almost tumbled to the floor. Sitting up abruptly, the shirt fell to my lap.

Embarrassment tore through me as I realized the soft laughter had come from the last person I cared to see at the moment—Adam Ward. Seated across from me in an overstuffed black leather chair, he was shirtless and smirking, his jean-clad legs propped up casually on a mahogany wood coffee table situated between us.

“W-where am I?” I stammered, glancing around a living room lit only by the warm glow of a crackling fire in a soaring stone fireplace. My feet rested on a Persian rug, pigmented in rich shades of chocolate and claret. I had no doubt it was a genuine.

I looked up, and Adam raised an eyebrow.
Pay attention, Maddy. You’re obviously in the house of the person whose property you were trespassing on.

“I mean,” I hastily corrected, “what happened? How did I end up here?” A chill ran through me as I recalled the calloused hand covering my mouth before everything flashed black.

Adam raked his fingers through his messy hair. There was something insanely sensual about the way his long fingers lingered in the silky, dark strands; the way his eyes, blue but stormy, studied me. “Shouldn’t I be asking
you
that question, Madeleine?”

As crazy as it was, in that moment, all I could think was:
Well, I guess he remembers me from high school
.

My fingers absently traced the collar of the blue shirt—his shirt—while I tried to think of a plausible explanation. I glanced over at Adam, his eyes taking in the lazy movement of my hand and then traveling up to my too-thin tank. Unapologetic, he met my gaze, and his mouth turned up into a wickedly suggestive smile. I stilled, suddenly feeling incredibly warm but definitely overexposed. I struggled to arrange the damn blue shirt in such a way as to cover myself, while Adam looked on with amusement.

My mind screamed danger, but my body began to feel alive in a way that had been dormant for far too long. God, the sinful thoughts this man evoked. I needed to get a grip, but no. Unable, or maybe unwilling, to stop myself, I involuntarily licked my lips and allowed my eyes to wander over the unclothed parts of his body—the curves of his biceps, the impressive breadth of his broad shoulders, the expanse of his bare chest. My gaze descended to the perfectly shaped
v
of his torso, down to his hips, and just kind of lingered there.

Adam cleared his throat. Quickly, I looked away, questioning my sanity. Had I hit my head when I fainted?