Shake Down

A chuckle spurted between her lips, but a throb in her head cut the sound short. She pressed the heel of her right hand against her forehead then gingerly investigated the lump forming on the crown of her skull. Her fingertips encountered a sticky substance that was likely drying blood.

“Don’t feel the area,” Shane said as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Germs.”

“Right.” Janice dropped her hand to her lap, eyeing the reddish residue on her fingers.

She must be a sight to behold. Beyond bedraggled, but why should she care? Even if this guy was cute and kind and smelled nice, she’d be gone in a few months, never to return.

Shane backed the car away from the cottage and another wave of dizziness swirled through her. As he headed the vehicle onto the dirt track that led toward the highway, Janice fought the urge to close her eyes again. If she didn’t strive to stay oriented, the dizziness could easily lead to an embarrassing upheaval from her churning stomach.

“The nearest hospital is twenty miles away,” Shane said.

“In Oak Bluffs. I checked such things out on the internet before I came to the island. With my refurbishing plans for the property, I wanted to be prepared for the off chance of an accident requiring medical attention. But I didn’t figure on needing the services of a doctor quite so soon. I’d hoped not at all.”

Shane gave her a sidelong look as they joined the sparse traffic on the paved highway. He opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it and returned his attention to the road.

“Good thing it’s early in the season,” he said at last. “When the tourists start mobbing the place, getting anywhere can be miserable. And forget about getting there fast. That’s why a lot of folks rent bicycles.”

“I may do that myself later on... Well, at least I was going to.” She scowled at her injured arm. “Now a lot of things will have to wait until I’m fit again.”

“You’re going to continue with your plans for the cottage, ma’am?”

“It’s Janice, not ma’am.” She was in too much pain to conceal her annoyance at his terminology. You’d think she was in her dotage rather than no older than he was. Probably younger, in fact.

He let out a mellow laugh. The pleasant sound smoothed her hackles marginally.

“Sorry, Janice. In my EMT training, ‘ma’am’ is standard address for an adult female.”

“You’re an Emergency Medical Technician? I should have guessed from the way you handled things back at the cottage.”

“Paramedic, actually, but I’m not practicing as such on-island.”

“You’re not from here? Of course not. You speak too crisply for a New Englander.”

His shoulders rose and fell in a slow shrug. “And your lovely drawl drips Southern honey, not sea salt.”

Janice clamped her lips closed. They’d established that neither of them was an island native, and both were here prior to the regular tourist season, so they weren’t on vacation. His familiarity with traffic conditions during tourist season said he’d been here before, but the same could be said of lots of people. Like Shane, Janice had no intention of going into her history. Not that her curiosity wasn’t piqued by this enigmatic stranger, but she could respect personal space.

Yeah, right, as her honorary niece Caroline would say. This tap and slide of verbal rapiers had energized her, chasing pain to the edges of her mind. A small grin tilted her lips. Getting to the bottom of Mr. Shane Gillum might be a pleasant distraction while she healed.

“Since I’ll be out of commission for a while do you have any suggestions for how to go about hiring someone to handle the renovations?”

He pursed his lips and tilted this head. “You’ll have to let me think about that one.”

“Fair enough. Maybe someone at the hospital will have a lead for me. What brought you to my beach in the nick of time?”

“Our daily walk.” Smiling, Shane jerked a thumb toward his dog, who offered a woof of confirmation.

“You live nearby?”

“Renting a ramshackle cabin about a quarter mile up the beach. I’ll be here for the summer. Bumming, basically. Mulling over my future.”

Had he experienced a recent trauma in his life, necessitating a change of direction? A divorce perhaps? His ring finger was as bare as hers. Or maybe his summer of discontent was due to boredom—though a career as a paramedic didn’t sound too dull. Suffering from burnout more likely. She could be brassy from time to time, but she wasn’t rude enough to ask the question outright.

“I might take up antiquing during my stay on the island,” he went on. “I’ve heard Martha’s Vineyard is a good place to pursue that hobby. Since you’re embarking on cottage renovations, I assume you own the place.” He shot her a raised-brow glance.

“I’m a Realtor and home stager by trade. The heir to the cottage has never lived anywhere near here and doesn’t care to do so. The cottage hasn’t been inhabited for nearly twenty years, so it’s my task to supervise the process of getting it ready to sell.”

There. She’d delivered the stock explanation she’d practiced in her mind on the flight to the island, and she’d even sounded casual about it. The words offered facts in a plausible light without betraying the whole truth that was none of anybody’s business.

“Must be an interesting career.” The frown in his voice negated his words.

She laughed then winced at a jab of pain in her head. “You don’t sound too enthused.”

Color tinted his cheeks. “No, I didn’t mean... Well, what I meant was that it’s probably fun, creative work, but it’s got to be a hassle sometimes, pleasing your clients.”

“What do you know? Somebody got the downside of my business in two seconds flat. Contrary clients. You’re a perceptive man.” She grinned. Now she was really starting to be sorry she couldn’t be totally forthcoming with a guy this savvy and sympathetic.

He answered her smile. “I don’t think that jolt on the noggin is going to have any lasting effect. You’re pretty sharp yourself. I suppose when the work’s done the owner will have to stop in and approve the work.”

“Believe me the heir wants less than nothing to do with the place. I have carte blanche, within a budget. The only ones I need to please are me and the buyer.”

“Kind of a dream job then.”

“So it would seem.”

Janice pressed her lips together. This was supposed to be a simple in-and-out job, requiring a brief investment of time doing work she enjoyed. She hadn’t counted on the complication of accidents, arranged or otherwise. It would be so nice to decide that the series of goofy mishaps was nothing more sinister than the result of a house in a state of disrepair. If not for the person standing on the porch when she’d emerged from the basement, she would probably be ready to stick to that conclusion. Now, questions reigned.

What should she make of the possibly malevolent trespasser? In her mind, the incident was eerie, but it could have simply been a curious local teenager—the figure had been too tall for a child. Or it might even have been an adult passerby. Grown-ups could be nosey, too. Then how did her mystery visitor disappear so quickly?

“Now you’re the one who sounds less than enthusiastic.”

Janice glanced at her impromptu chauffeur. His sober gaze and knotted brows questioned her, as if he sensed her troubled thoughts. She forced a thin smile. Unless she wanted to invite unwelcome inquiries, her fears and misgivings must remain her own for now.

“The whole picture changed when I messed myself up. There was a lot of work I wanted to do myself, now I— Look out!”

At a highway intersection, a midnight-blue SUV ignored a red light and roared toward her side of the lightweight car. Shane’s plunge on the accelerator plastered Janice to her seat. Face shrouded under the bill of a wide-brimmed hat, the driver of the other vehicle laid on his horn. The blast rang in Janice’s ears as the little Ford whizzed beyond the SUV’s massive bumper. The airstream of the near miss rocked the smaller vehicle.

From the backseat, Atlas let out a high-pitched whine.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Shane assured the animal.

Sucking a quavering breath into her lungs, Janice stared at his sober profile. Shane’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he kept his gaze locked on the road.

“Did you notice a license plate number?” he asked.

“Not hardly! I was too scared, and it happened so fast.”

Her whole scalp prickled and her heart continued to bunny hop around her chest cavity as she stared warily out the window at passing traffic. This was too weird. Was the whole island warning her away? She’d left the family name and all such associations behind long ago, but did someone with a vendetta against the Morans know who she was? Unfortunately the number of people with reason to hate the Morans—any Moran—was legion. Or maybe she was just being paranoid.

“Traffic doesn’t usually get so crazy this early in the season.”

Shane’s words drew her attention and she turned toward him. The droop of his lips and narrowed eyes betrayed troubled thoughts. Much like hers—only he couldn’t know being with her might carry risk. Should she tell him?

No, she’d sound nuts, and she could be totally off base anyway. Maybe she was just having the proverbial bad day. Besides, if she explained her misgivings she’d have to expose who she was, and that was out of the question when her greatest desire was to bury her Moran legacy with depth and finality. Unless, of course, she was misreading the matter. If these accidents weren’t accidents, and they weren’t related to her family name, was the folly of her misspent youth coming home to roost—again? But events just prior to her retreat to Martha’s Vineyard should have put an end to those consequences. The serial killer was dead and that was the end of the matter. Right?

Janice cast around in her mind for a change of direction in this conversation and a question occurred to her. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned knowledge about the tourist season. How often have you been here?”

“When I was a kid, we came to the island for a few weeks every July. Haven’t been back since I was around twelve when my folks started preferring Florida, California or Mexico for our vacations.”

“I see. You picked a ‘mulling’ spot that held pleasant memories.”

He angled a one-sided grin toward her. “Discerning woman.”

“No, that’s my psychologist neighbor back in Denver.”

“Denver? You can’t have grown up there, either.”

Janice forced a smile. It was a little late for biting her tongue. She’d revealed a tidbit of personal information, but then, so had he with that remark about his childhood vacations. What could it hurt to tell him where she’d grown up? Refusing to do so might seem suspicious.

“I was born and raised in Wilmington, South Carolina, but I haven’t been back there since I lost my parents during my first year in college.”

Silence fell for several blinks of Shane’s eyes. “Sorry to hear about your loss,” he finally said in strained tones.

“Me, too.”

Janice clamped her lips shut. No one needed to know the details of the “loss” that still stung her heart like a thousand hornets. Maybe when she unloaded the last morsel of Moran property, she could heal and get on with her life...if dealing with the dilapidated condition of the cottage or negotiating island traffic didn’t kill her first.

To save her sanity, she was going to believe recent events were unfortunate accidents. To save her life, she was going to keep her eyes peeled and senses sharp in case they weren’t.

* * *

Seated in the waiting area of the emergency department at the Oak Bluffs hospital, Shane scowled at the blank wall opposite him. Other people’s conversations droned in one ear and out the other. That was no accidental near-miss with the SUV on the way here. The driver had accelerated toward them, intending to ram them, or perhaps he’d meant to miss them but send a message. Was the message intended for him or for Janice?

He had come to Martha’s Vineyard believing that none of the other Morans were aware of Reggie Moran’s secret stop-off at his island property shortly before his fatal plane crash. Shane had also heard that the heir to the place was a fairly distant relative who didn’t number on the crime family roster. Not that such a detail made the heir an upstanding citizen, but at least the person was not directly linked to the group that hunted Shane. However, even though the mob Morans might not be aware of Reggie’s full itinerary on the day he died, they might be bent on shaking down any and every locality connected to Reggie, even a place that he hadn’t, to their knowledge, visited for two decades.

How did Janice fit into the picture? The woman hadn’t exactly been frank about the identity of the mystery heir or her relationship to the person. Was Janice hired through friendship with the Moran heir, or was she contracted as the result of someone who knew someone, which would indicate nothing more than an arm’s length acquaintance? Either scenario was common enough, but whichever was the truth might tell him a lot about what sort of person Janice was. He’d yet to meet a Moran who wasn’t as crooked as a dog’s hind leg, and that went for their associates, too.

Had the saboteur seen through Shane’s disguise, thus making them both targets? Maybe not. The SUV had aimed for the side where Janice was sitting, and she was the one with the injured wrist and bonk on the head. He needed to find a way to get a gander at that cellar step she said gave way beneath her. If that incident was pure chance he’d eat his socks.

Neither setup with the roof or the stairs guaranteed a fatal result but would easily cause injury, just as it had done, as well as discourage someone from pursuing renovation plans for the cottage. A spooked heir might let the place go for pennies on the dollar, say, to someone needing free rein and plenty of time to ransack the property. If Shane didn’t know he wasn’t the saboteur that criteria could apply to him.

The high stakes made the battle lines fierce between the Morans and him, but if his enemies were behind the sabotage and knew Janice was only an agent, not the actual owner of the property, the arranged accident scenario made a little more sense. Shane might even encourage himself to believe his cover had not been blown. In fact, it was more essential than ever that he remain undercover. If the wrong people recognized him as Seth Grange, his presence in Janice’s vicinity would escalate the subtle hazing she was now experiencing into a death sentence in a hurry.

However, the forces who wanted the property left vacant wouldn’t take kindly to Shane Gillum’s interference on the agent’s behalf, either. Maybe Shane would face a few of those arranged accidents himself, but watching out for those was better than the bullet to the brain he’d get if the Morans pierced his cover.

The cottage was not the only place that called for a thorough shakedown. His mention of antiquing had been deliberate. Maybe Janice would let him sort through the storage unit’s contents in search of valuable items. She didn’t need to know that the item of the greatest value would be the most current, and finding it was the best way to move her clear of danger. With God’s help, maybe he could bring this terrible chapter in his life to a close without anyone else getting hurt—or at least any more hurt than she already was.

Shane consulted his watch. He needed to check on Atlas. It had been nearly an hour since Janice had disappeared into the bowels of the hospital for treatment, and Shane had left the dog in the car with a pair of the windows cracked open. Good thing the weather was cool. In a few weeks, temperatures were likely to shoot up significantly.

He rose and approached the small vending machine available to the people in the waiting area. A few coins sown into the machine reaped a bottle of water. The wastebasket next to the machine contained an empty cup that would meet canine needs.

Out in the parking lot, Atlas was sprawled in the backseat, panting lightly, tongue lolling. He seemed grateful for the water and said so with a few laps of the tongue on the hand that offered the refreshment. The dog’s big, dusky eyes smiled at Shane, and he smiled back.

Amazingly his pulse didn’t so much as skip a beat in handling this furry new friend. Shane might even keep the lovable galoot if he survived to succeed at his mission. Not that his knees wouldn’t knock and his tongue cement to the roof of his mouth if any other large dog came within ten feet of him. He wasn’t that phobia-free.

A grim smile spread Shane’s lips. Only people with similar phobias could appreciate the emotional sweat equity he had put into making friends with Atlas. Wisely, he’d chosen a breed that, though large, was also particularly friendly. Atlas didn’t seem to have an aggressive bone in his body, which made him a horrible guard dog but perfect as an identity-camouflaging companion for a guy with dog issues.

After taking Atlas on a brief walk to give him an opportunity to water a light pole, Shane returned the dog to the car and headed back into the hospital. From the hallway leading into the exam rooms, a willowy figure moved gracefully toward him, left arm in a navy blue sling.

Janice smiled when she saw him, dark eyebrows lifting toward a tousled wealth of chestnut-colored hair. He should have known straight off the bat that this was no Moran. He had yet to meet one—male or female—who didn’t sport flaming hair and ruddy brows and lashes to match. Of course, her eyes were green like the Morans’, and hair color could be changed—he should know—but dying the facial hair might be excessive. Most conclusive of all, this woman didn’t act like any Moran he’d ever met.

“Hey,” she said, halting in front of him, those green eyes frank and open. “Thanks for waiting. You didn’t need to feel obligated to do that.”

“I didn’t feel obligated at all. Glad I could be here when you needed a hand. But I guess you’re kind of stuck letting me use your car to drive back out to my place. I can drop you off wherever you’re staying and then get another neighbor to follow me in my Jeep while I return your vehicle.”

Her gaze went solemn. “That seems like an awful lot of bother. Glad I don’t have to put you to it. I’m staying at the cottage, which is apparently right next to your place. I think I can handle letting you drop yourself off then taking the wheel the rest of the way home.”

“You’re joking, right? The place is falling apart around you, and you’re going to sleep there? What about a bed...chairs...a table...food? Of course, you can always eat out in Chilmark or Menemsha. In fact, I can recommend any number of the seafood places, but—”

Janice cut him off with a wave of the hand and a laugh. “I appreciate your concern, Shane, but you should see the trunk of the car. It’s stuffed with more than luggage. After I flew in this morning, I spent a few hours in Edgartown picking up anything I thought I might need to rough it for a few days. Besides, the electricity should be on by the time we return, and a guy is coming tomorrow to check out the pipes and the water heater before getting the water service restored. I’ll be fine.”

Shane puffed out a long breath and scratched his head. “You don’t exactly strike me as the ‘roughing it’ type.”

“Oh, really! What type do I strike you as?” Her tone teased, but her eyes narrowed.

Shane scrambled for the right words. He’d better not blow this deal now! He cleared his throat. “Would you think badly of me if I say ‘soft dinner music and caviar on toast points’?”

“You’d put me in with the snooty set?”

“No, I was picturing more the grace and elegance set.”

“Hmm.” She tapped her lower lip, but a smile peeked out. “I’ll accept that.”

“Whew!” Shane passed a mock wipe across his forehead with the back of his hand, and she laughed.

“Does the doc say you’re free to go?” he asked.

Janice lifted the sling-clad arm a few inches. “A hairline crack in a wrist bone, along with a bad sprain, as you thought. They gave me a short cast. And no stitches in my head, just a butterfly dressing. My brain seems sufficiently un-addled to require an observation stay in the hospital, so yes, I’m ready to blow this Popsicle stand.”

Her bright gaze, brimming with wry humor, shot sparks of interest through him. He quenched them quickly.

“What did they give you for pain meds? Maybe you shouldn’t drive at all.”

“Nothing stronger than extra-strength ibuprofen.”

“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to spend a night at a comfy hotel or B and B in Oak Bluffs. I could come get you in the morning.”

Please let her agree to a night away from the cottage.

He needed a chance to scout the place—check for signs of intruders, even use his amateur lock-picking skills to enter the premises and do whatever he could to make sure no more unpleasant surprises awaited the unsuspecting occupant. Who knew? He might even find what he was looking for and put an end to the threat altogether. It was the least he could do for someone thrust into a dangerous situation not of her own making.

But Janice shook her head. “I’m stubborn to a fault. That place is not going to get the best of me. I have a job to do, and I mean to see it through.”

Shane studied the lifted chin and determined gaze of the woman before him. She meant what she said. In that case, it behooved him to stick to her as closely as possible, not only in hope of discovering what he needed to find, but to offer what protection he could.

“Are you still looking for someone to take over the nonprofessional tasks for you?”

Her eyes glinted like emeralds. “You know someone?”

Shane spread his arms. “You’re looking at him.”

He gazed into her wide eyes. What if she said no? His heart throbbed in his chest. How would he keep tabs on the situation? But what if she said yes? How would he keep himself objective and detached when the smiles this woman sent his way dizzied him like a knock on the noggin?

THREE

Janice’s eyes popped open to find hazy fingers of dawn plucking at the edges of yellowed shades. Fat chance she’d get any more sleep. She’d struggled for the few hours she’d obtained. The hazardous events of yesterday haunted her.

What should she make of all the crazy things that had happened? True accidents or arranged? Was someone out to get her, or was she just skittish from her recent brush with death in Denver or because of the taint of her birth family? How could she know the difference? Probably not by running away, though the option appealed like a high, dry cave in a monsoon. She couldn’t live life huddled in the dark behind stone walls. Whatever was going on, she had to face it. Maybe yesterday was a fluke and today would be smooth sailing. No way to find out until she got up and plunged into the tasks ahead.

Janice gathered her muscles to sit up but subsided with a huff onto her inflated mattress. Her battered body objected to a perky start. Scowling, she looked around her Spartan surroundings in the larger of the cottage’s two bedrooms. The only adornments were gossamer cobwebs dangling from the ceiling. The few utilitarian objects scattered about had come inside with her.

Her suitcase yawned open in one corner. A lamp she’d bought in Edgartown sat on the floor in the opposite corner. Nothing decorated the weathered walls, not so much as a mirror, which she no doubt badly needed. She ran her tongue over her teeth. A toothbrush would be welcome, also.

There was a silvered mirror in the dilapidated bathroom, a toothbrush in her suitcase and jugs of water in the kitchen to take care of her liquid ablutions until the water was restored whenever the plumber came today. Provided the plumbing still worked after all this time, she’d be able to take a shower. Until then, she would have to be downright eighteenth century in caring for her personal needs.

The notion had been in the category of minor inconvenience until her accidents of yesterday. Now the simplest activities could be a challenge, but she’d manage. She had to. Staying at a public place and answering well-meant questions from strangers was out of the question when she’d come here for privacy and anonymity.