A Home by the Sea

Thank you for joining Grace and Noah on their journey. I hope that Summer Island’s magic has touched you as it has touched me. In its fog-swept coves and quiet streets friendship runs deep, and the love of a good yarn runs even deeper.

For a detailed look at the inspiration for Jilly’s amazing desserts, try Dorie Greenspan’s Paris Sweets: Great Desserts from the City’s Best Pastry Shops. Even if you don’t cook, the book will seduce you. You can almost taste the macaroons and madeleines melting on your tongue. Grace would definitely approve.

To learn more about the arduous responsibilities of a bomb disposal expert, look for Bomb Squad: A Year Inside the Nation’s Most Exclusive Police Unit. Richard Esposito and Ted Gerstein offer an unforgettable glimpse into this small, select world.

I hope you will watch for more Summer Island books coming soon. One by one old friends will be pulled back home. And, as seasons change, each one will face secrets and betrayals—along with the healing gift of love.

With warmest wishes,

Christina

Also available from

Christina Skye

Summer Island

THE KNITTING DIARIES

Code Name

CODE NAME: BIKINI

CODE NAME: BLONDIE

CODE NAME: BABY

Draycott Abbey

TO CATCH A THIEF

DRAYCOTT ETERNAL

DRAYCOTT EVERLASTING

BOUND BY DREAMS

And coming soon

THE ACCIDENTAL BRIDE

A Home by the Sea

Christina Skye

To my wonderful editors,

Tara Parsons and Tracy Martin.

Thank you for helping me bring Summer Island to life.

And to Debbie Macomber.

Thank you for all your suggestions,

wit, kindness and generosity.

CHAPTER ONE

NOAH MCLEOD TOOK A DEEP BREATH. Wind gusted up the street, stabbing at his face. He hunched his shoulders, facing the icy gale. The cold air was actually a relief after the horrible day he’d just had.

It always took time to shrug off the work. You didn’t forget, but at least you managed to move on. If bad dreams and explosions haunted your sleep, then you shrugged those off, too.

Slowly Noah flipped up the collar of his leather coat. He focused on the cold, slipping into the moment and letting the hard edge of duty and responsibility fade, repeating the rule he had learned years before.

You have to move on. If you can’t leave the work behind, it will drive you over the edge and one day you’ll snap.

Noah had seen it happen too often. In a job where you fought mayhem and horror on a daily basis, balance was everything. He tried to remember that rule now.

After the savage day he’d just finished, he was entitled to bury his work deep and forget about responsibility. He’d been fielding emergency calls every night for a month now, and emergency calls came to his department for just one reason.

Because everyone else had failed.

His department was the place you called when you could smell the bitter edge of your own fear. You called Noah’s unit when you had an improvised explosive device or a nasty set of wires shoved into what could be a brick of Semtex. Noah was the man who always knew which wires to pull and when to back away.

Far, far away.

But tonight had been too close. He had nearly become a splatter on a concrete wall, thanks to a close encounter with a new device no one in D.C. had ever seen before. For thirty mind-blurring seconds he had looked death right between the eyes. Then he’d remembered seeing something similar in Afghanistan seven months earlier. Once Noah had seen the interior wiring, he’d made the connection. But it had been a close call.

He closed his eyes, feeling the wind pick up, rattling the windows behind him. The building where he worked was surrounded by high fences and concrete walls. For security reasons, there was no sign or business name posted. The black trucks parked outside didn’t have government plates. As far as outsiders could tell, they belonged to a civilian waste-disposal company.

But the disposal Noah did was far more dangerous.

A weight dug into his shoulders as he looked up at the top window of his lab. Inside that secure room, computers were updated nightly with data about every new model of explosive device made anywhere in the world. Each morning his team pored over that data and integrated the knowledge into their disposal procedures. No detail was ignored. His team trained hard, and Noah was proud that they were the best—and that they still had their lives to prove it.

His brother hadn’t been so lucky.

Frowning, Noah ran a hand through his dark hair.

You can’t go back. Matt is gone. The remote car bomb that took him is a footnote in your government training manuals now, and you all learned from it. But Matt didn’t have the resources you have.

So he’s gone. Pack it up and move on.

It was the same conversation Noah always had about this time of night after a long, demanding shift. But how did you forget a beloved brother whose generosity and laughter had touched everyone around him? The cold sense of loss had become Noah’s old friend, as familiar as his guilt. He hadn’t been able to reach his brother in time to help. There had been next to nothing left of the body after the explosion.

And Noah knew he should have been the one who died in that explosion.

He blew out an angry breath. A big storm was headed in that night. According to the weather reports, there could be a foot of snow. Maybe more. Good thing he didn’t have far to drive.

As he walked down the quiet street, Noah saw the brightly lit windows of the big townhouse on the opposite corner. He heard muted music and saw people moving inside, all diamonds and furs, dressed for a big night out. It felt odd and disconnected, like watching a movie.

Then Noah saw her.

She appeared within the frame of the window, calm and beautiful amid a throng of beautiful women. Her dark hair swung around her face and even at this distance Noah swore he could see the shimmer of her eyes. She stood right by the glass, and when she looked out light fell on the black dress she wore, brushing her high cheekbones and full mouth.

She wasn’t beautiful, Noah thought. Her nose was a little short and her chin a little too long. No, not beautiful. Yet he couldn’t look away.

Something about her touched him, made him feel as if his world was perfect and intact. Safe and stable, as if there was still decency and honor to be found if you looked for it.

He bit back a harsh laugh. His chosen work had stripped him of any such illusions. Any breath could be your last. Any friendly face could hold murderous deceit. He knew that cold truth from personal experience.

He felt something brush his neck. Snowflakes spiraled down in the dark.

He should be going.

But he couldn’t pull his gaze from that big window.

She smiled at a man in a dark suit that looked hand tailored. She toyed with her necklace and then shook her head when a waiter offered more champagne. Orchids gleamed on a pedestal beside her. The chandelier winked over her head.

She outshone everything, in nothing but a plain black dress and a necklace with one simple pearl.

A little curve of hair brushed her neck. Noah wondered how it would feel sliding against his fingers. How her skin would warm at his slow touch.

Would she—

He jammed his hands into his pockets, suddenly aware of the night and the snow. Was he off his head? He wasn’t a man to be easily distracted. He didn’t fantasize about strange women he saw through a distant window. Noah enjoyed his share of hot, uncomplicated sex, and he didn’t lack for willing partners in his bed. But he made sure that any woman in his arms knew that he was offering only a few hours of pleasure and laughter.

No strings. No future. No tears. He enjoyed a woman’s company—but he could walk away without a backward glance.

But this woman wouldn’t be easy to forget.

The knowledge made him go still. Something told Noah that this woman would trust and hope, offering her dreams and hopes in return. That trust would make her dangerous and impossible to forget. As it was, she distracted him, and she was barely visible through the window. What kind of distraction would she present if he actually met her and spoke with her?

If he touched her?

Snow brushed his neck, and Noah sighed. The storm was already pounding toward D.C. Why was he standing here, gawking like an idiot, wondering about a woman he was never going to meet?

Shift was over. He should be having a few drinks with his team by now. Maybe he’d find an easygoing woman who laughed just a little too much and wouldn’t mind that Noah almost never smiled. The potential for hot, reckless sex had seemed like an excellent idea two hours ago, when he had been staring down four red wires in a cheap metal box, on his way to becoming a dead man.

“Everything okay, McLeod? No problems with your shoulder after the blast today?”

Noah swung around at the unexpected interruption. Ed Merrill, his superior, was pushing forty and carried about twenty-five extra pounds. He had just given up smoking and his temper could be volatile. Now he was frowning as he pulled a set of car keys from the pocket of his parka.

“I’m fine, sir.”

The older man studied Noah intently, missing nothing. “You did all the right things. You took safe assessment and identified the device. Then you pulled back and waited for the backup team. Everything by the book.”

“Yes, I got it right, sir.” Noah’s voice hardened. “Except the timer went wacko and spontaneously detonated, throwing me twenty feet against that concrete wall. I should have been faster—and smarter. I should have taken more precautions. I expect it in my men, so I damned well better expect it in myself.” Noah cleared his throat. “Sir.”

“Noted. But this is a new category of device here. You responded as well as anyone could, and you made the connection before it was too late. Rest assured, we’ll do a thorough review on Monday, once forensics has gutted those components. Meanwhile, don’t grind yourself up about it. Go get a beer and relax.”

“Just what I was planning to do,” Noah said quietly.

His superior turned up his collar against the icy wind. “Good. There won’t be anything new until the tech people weigh in anyway. So go somewhere dark and smoky. Female companionship highly encouraged. It’s a good night to remember you’re still alive.” Merrill’s eyes narrowed. “Are you involved with someone?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. There’ll be plenty of time for commitment once your hot time is done.”

Hot time meant working with live explosive devices. Hot time took all you had, all you were. Everyone on Noah’s team knew the truth. You sweated and you prepared and then you did it all again the next day. Not much was left behind when you closed the door and headed home.

Without thinking, Noah turned slightly. His gaze slid back to the party in the big house across the street. The woman’s hair glinted amber as she turned under the chandelier. He could almost smell her perfume as she moved, trailing a hint of something sweet but subtle. He felt a kick of hunger. Lust mixed with sharpening curiosity.

He had to meet her, just once.

“Noah, did you hear me?”

“Sorry, sir. I was just thinking about finding someplace dark and smoky.”

“You keep looking at that party going on across the street. You know the owner?”

“No, sir.”

Merrill tossed his keys up and down. “I do. That house is owned by a very wealthy media executive. Six magazines, four radio networks and three cable channels, last time anyone counted. And the woman in the window—someone you know?”

“No, sir.”

“Someone you want to know? I could wrangle an introduction.” Merrill smiled slowly. “My wife did some legal work for the owner several months back. I could walk over and pull a few strings, if you’re interested in meeting her.”

“Who?” Noah tried to look bored.

“The woman you’ve been staring at. There’s snow all over your coat, in case you haven’t noticed. The storm is due to hit in the next two hours, and they’re saying we can expect a couple of feet. So you’re going to do one of two things. You’re going to get that beer or you’re going to let me get you an introduction. Make up your mind. I want to be home in time to tuck my kids into bed,” Merrill said gruffly.

Noah rubbed his neck. He was seriously tempted. He wanted to see her face up close and hear her laugh. Suddenly he wanted a dozen things….

Forget it, pal. There’s no place for a woman like that in your life. No room for complications or commitments. Hot time doesn’t leave you anything left to share. You knew that when you signed on.

“No need, sir. Donovan’s meeting me at Wily’s Place. He owes me two hundred now, after our last two games of darts. I figure I’ll double that tonight.” Noah managed to keep his gaze steady, away from the brightly lit house across the street. He was surprised at how hard it was.

“Fine. Go and clean up. You’re entitled. But if that shoulder starts acting up, I want you into medical for evaluation immediately. Is that understood?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

A sudden gust slammed over the street, hammering snow across the nearby cars.

“Good. Now get moving. Trust me, next week is going to be a three-ring circus.” Merrill slid into a mud-spattered SUV that had seen too many miles in the past year. You were never off duty in Noah’s unit. Explosive calls could take the team anywhere on the eastern seaboard at a moment’s notice.

With a wave Merrill drove away. As the lights faded, Noah decided to walk rather than take his car. It was only two short blocks north to the small bar where his friends were waiting for him.

He refused to turn around and look back. He didn’t want to see her face or the elegant line of her shoulders in that black dress. He was going to walk away and forget all about her. A woman like that could creep up on you without warning. With her calm focus and intelligence, she would keep you guessing, shaking up everything you thought was true.

And he wasn’t interested in having his world kicked out from under him, no matter how beautiful her eyes or how sweet her laugh. D.C. was a big town full of pretty women. Noah would find one tonight.

Because tonight he was going to celebrate the fact that he was alive instead of a splatter on a wall.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned north into the swirling snow.

CHAPTER TWO

GETTING DRUNK AND FINDING a pretty woman—that had been his plan.

But like a lot of things in Noah’s life, his plan didn’t work out the way he’d hoped. He’d gotten all the way to the bar when he realized his cell phone was locked in his car, parked on the street three blocks over. Noah never used his private cell phone at work. He carried his official pager at all times, but with the storm coming tonight he wanted his cell in good working order. If his family had problems, he needed to be able to contact them.

“Hey, Noah. Where are you going, buddy?” The door opened just as he was turning back, and light spilled over the thin layer of blowing snow. “First round is on the house. Second round is on me. So what are you waiting for?” Two more men from Noah’s explosives unit appeared, peering out. Laughter and smoke and low jazz spilled into the wind.

“I forgot something, Donovan. I’ll be back in ten. Make sure you keep my seat warm and my drink cold.”

The taller man nodded. “You got it.” But Joe Donovan’s eyes were troubled. He had worked with Noah since their select, top-level unit was put together, staffed by experts seconded from the FBI, the Secret Service and every branch of the military. Donovan was Noah’s closest friend and he wasn’t afraid to probe when the situation called for it. He moved down the stairs, speaking quietly. “That was one hell of a save today, buddy. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Noah said tightly.

“Glad to hear it. Next week we’ll have to figure out what to do when the next one appears. Because there’s always another one,” Donovan muttered.

“The bomb business is good these days. You know that, Joe.” Noah felt the cold trail over his face and thought about how close he’d come to dying that afternoon.

“But we’re good too. Yeah, we’re the best.” He clamped Noah on the shoulder. “And you’re gonna make us even better. Now get the lead out. Didn’t you hear there’s the mother of all storms headed our way?”

“I heard. I won’t be long.”

The door opened again. Someone shouted at Joe. He gave a wave and then vanished back inside. When Noah turned around, the street was covered by two inches of snow and more was coming down in big, fluffy flakes. Noah was glad his car had four-wheel drive.

He crossed two streets, thinking about what havoc the storm might cause. As he turned the corner, a slim figure appeared in front of the townhouse where the party looked to be in full swing. Noah’s hands tightened.

She was wearing a black wool coat now, fumbling in her pocket. No scarf. No hat. No boots. Delicate evening heels that were never meant to face snow or rain.

Noah saw her drop her gloves. She picked them up and then stopped, looking uncertainly down the street. Her face was toward the light and Noah could have sworn he saw something glinting on her cheeks. Tears?

His hands tightened again. Why was she crying? Had something happened at the party? Had that man—

Not your problem. You’re supposed to be having a nice, rowdy night in a smoke-filled room, remember? Forget about her.

Noah forced his feet on through the snow toward his old, reliable Jeep. He located his cell phone and locked up the car. Suddenly impatient, he jogged back across the street.

He turned his head. Through dancing snowflakes he saw her pass a small art gallery, open for an evening event. Then she stopped, scanning the parked cars and the nearby alley.

Noah didn’t see anything but a row of garbage cans and locked cars. What was she looking for? Had she dropped something?

He tracked her prints back to the townhouse, looking at the snow. Nothing on the ground. No scarf and no fallen purse. It didn’t make sense.

A snow truck growled past, wipers flapping, its big tires throwing up snow in sheets. When it passed, she was gone.

GRACE REFUSED TO FALL APART.

All she needed was one or two minutes. Time to calm down, pull herself together and take control. She was a pro at taking charge of her life, after all.

She’d pulled herself together when her mother had stopped caring about her or anything beyond the inside of a bottle. A few months later her grandmother had come down with lupus. She had died within the year. Through it all, Grace’s grandfather had done everything he could to shield her from the dark realities of her life, and Grace had gone along, putting up a brave front, always optimistic and enthusiastic.

Yes, she was famous for pulling herself together. People thought she was serene and unflappable. Grace worked hard to make them believe that because she wanted to be those things.

But now as snow dusted her face, she felt the knife twist and twist again, stabbing deep. She had lost the man she loved a year earlier. After the funeral she had managed to pull her life together, helped by friends and the complex research jobs she loved. She was actually starting to feel whole and happy again.

Then she had found the letter.

Then she’d had a call from an old friend, just bursting to give her the helpful news that the man she’d loved and lost had a wife in Thailand. And there had been more gossip about other women, scattered over his far-flung travels as a UN negotiator. He had quite a record as a lover, it turned out. Yes, it had been a nice call, just a helpful update from a concerned friend.

Grace was still trying to recover from the news, and the pain was raw. Did you ever really know a person, she wondered? Or was everything just bits and pieces of a performance?

She brushed away a tear as snow crept down her collar and in the process dropped her gloves in the swirling snow. When she bent to pick them up, she heard a low, muffled sound from the row of cars across the street.

A cry?

She crossed the street, wishing she had brought her boots. Ignoring her frozen toes, she stopped to listen.

Another sound, plaintive and soft.

The noise seemed to be coming from a small alley just beyond a nearby art gallery. A cardboard box tumbled toward her, carried by the wind. When Grace grabbed it, she saw that it was empty.

The sound came again, only this time the muted cry of pain and exhaustion tore at her heart. She plunged forward into the shadows, shivering as snow slid into her sling-back heels. Fumbling a little, she raised her small key-chain light and searched the alley.

A pair of eyes flashed against the darkness, bright in the sudden light. Grace saw a dark shape against a Dumpster near the alley’s far wall. Bending down slowly, she saw a cat half covered with snow and newspapers. As the papers moved, Grace realized there were at least three kittens huddled next to their mother, all of them half-frozen in the snow. If someone didn’t help them, they were going to die. She knew it without question.

Anger made her hands clench. Had someone dumped a pet here to avoid unwanted kittens? Had they hoped that the storm would solve their problem? In Oregon she had seen that kind of callousness too often. She knew the fear and pain of abandoned animals only too well.

But there was no time to be lost. The temperature was dropping and she needed something to hold the shivering animals. They wouldn’t survive the storm that was already pounding the outskirts of D.C.

The big cat’s eyes were dusted with snow and she seemed to struggle to move, nudging one of the kittens closer to the shelter of her body. When she saw Grace lean down, her eyes pricked forward. Then she purred softly.

Grace’s heart lurched at the sound of trust and hope. “I’ll find a warm home for you, sweetie. I promise. Let’s get you somewhere safe.” Grace scanned the Dumpster with her light, looking for a box. But most of the trash was gone; only newspapers remained in one corner. How was she going to bundle the strays back to her car, which was four blocks away?

Frustrated, she leaned down into the Dumpster and rooted through the papers inside.

“Hello?” Snow crunched behind her. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

Grace shot to her feet. A man stood at the mouth of the alley. He wore a black leather jacket and his dark hair was dotted with snow as he walked toward her.

She cleared her throat, suddenly aware of how isolated she was here surrounded by shadows. “I’m fine.” She turned around and headed toward the back door of the restaurant at the other end of the alley.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” She didn’t look back. She wasn’t taking any chances on a stranger in a dark alley.

But the cat’s low cry made her stop short. It was so cold, so lost. How could she leave them out here, even temporarily?