Her secret or her second chance? It was her choice

Winning the lottery should have been a dream. Instead, Jessie Martin’s life is transformed into a nightmare. In order to protect herself and her family, she flees to Key West. But in a world where no one can be trusted, even paradise seems like a prison.

Breaking the rules of her seclusion to waitress at a local restaurant, Jessie suspects the owner’s sexy nephew, Logan Nash, knows she’s hiding something. Caught between the truth and lies, Jessie won’t risk anyone discovering who she really is. Even if she’s falling for this one perfect guy...

“What do you want, Logan?”

“I’m just being friendly. Here.”

Logan offered her the bag. Jessie took it. Their fingers bumped. So did her pulse rate.

“Why?”

He laughed—a low rumble of sound. “Are you always suspicious when people are nice to you?”

“You’ve made it clear you don’t like or trust me. So why are you really here?”

“Because Miri’s important to me, and she likes you.”

He tied off the kayak, then climbed onto the dock. His legs were long and tanned and lightly swirled with dark hair. Even his bare feet were sexy.

So he was attractive. Big deal.

That didn’t mean she was attracted to him... Definitely not.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever dreamed of winning the lottery? I think most, if not all, of us have. We believe that a few million dollars will solve all of our problems. When I started reading the real stories of big lottery winners, I learned that isn’t usually the case. Winning the jackpot is, in fact, a curse for most winners. That’s how this story began.

When elementary-school teacher Jessamine wins, her life is turned upside down. She’s forced into hiding and must reevaluate the things that are most important in her life—and those are not the material things she can buy. Then she finds a man she can love, but how can she ever be sure he loves her and not the fortune she’s won?

I hope you enjoy Jessamine’s journey.

Emilie Rose

USA TODAY Bestselling Author

The Lottery Winner

EMILIE

ROSE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author and two-time RITA® Award finalist EMILIE ROSE lives in North Carolina with her own romance hero. Writing is her third career. She’s managed a medical office and a home day care—neither offered half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. Her hobbies include gardening, fishing, cooking and traveling to find her next book setting. Visit her website, emilierose.com, or email her at EmilieRoseAuthor@aol.com.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

JESSAMINE MARTIN TRIED to appreciate the fingers of peach and salmon creeping over the rooftops as she walked along the Key West boardwalk, but she was too busy waiting for the new pay-as-you-go phone in her pocket to vibrate to concentrate on which tints she could blend to attain those specific hues.

She missed her family and work. As noisy and chaotic as teaching art to elementary school kids might be, the routine was normal, comforting. This unrelenting solitude wasn’t. She couldn’t even keep track of what day it was unless she checked her watch. Monday. She used to love Mondays. They represented the beginning of a week doing what she loved. That had changed the day the school board demanded she leave.

She wanted her old life back.

Gulls squawked and waddled away as she passed, and fish churned the waters of Key West Bight, waiting for the tourists who weren’t up yet to buy food pellets from the gumball machines and toss them into the water. After six weeks of walking this stretch, she could identify some of her nonhuman companions as regulars by their size, colors and scars. So sick of her own company and lack of purpose, she was almost desperate enough to talk to them.

The waterfront was quiet at the cusp of dawn. Only fishermen moved about, preparing their charter boats for a day of excitement and adventure, traveling out to the Gulf for fishing or to the Tortugas for diving. Her day would be filled with more of the same monotonous schedule she’d adopted since arriving. She’d read another of the paperbacks she’d picked up at the Key West library or do a little painting or sketching if she could rouse the muse. But even her muse yearned for the stark lines of South Carolina’s rolling hills, bare deciduous trees and thick pines.

The phone buzzed against her hip. She snatched it up so quickly she nearly dropped it as she fumbled to find the right button to answer the unfamiliar device.

“Is everyone okay?” she blurted.

“All good here. How are you, Li’l Bit? Enjoying your vacation?”

She bit her tongue on the automatic impulse to tell her brother for the zillionth time not to call her Li’l Bit and that this was in no way a vacation. But at this point, she didn’t care what Brandon said as long as he called. “Have there been any more...incidents?”

“The extra workers Dad hired and the Cherokee County deputies are keeping an eye on the orchard. And the Gaffney police have units watching your house and Leah’s and the kids’ day care.”

She’d been horrified when her brother told her even her sister’s family was in danger. Jessamine couldn’t live with herself if something happened to her precious niece and nephew.

“Can I come home?”

Silence filled her ear, and she pictured his grimace. Could she blame him? Same question. Different day. “Not yet,” he responded finally. “That dumb redhead with the local news showed up at Mom and Dad’s last night with a camera crew. She noticed that your car’s been in the same spot in the driveway for weeks and suggested the disappearance of the state’s largest lottery winner is due to foul play. She wants permission to search the orchard. She expects to find your body buried under the peach trees.”

Not the answer Jessamine had wanted. “I wish I’d never bought that stupid ticket. I only wanted change for a five.”

“Don’t be a drama queen. Millions of people would kill to be in your shoes. Literally, Jessamine. Remember that. Watch your back. And remember, you wouldn’t be in this predicament if you’d learn to say no instead of giving that mooch money every time she asks.”

Mortification burned her face. Guilty as charged. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I hope so, because being a people pleaser will take you down. Seventy percent of lottery winners end up bankrupt or dead within a few years.”

She groaned inwardly. He’d clicked into special agent mode, reciting the overprotective, stern lecture she now knew by heart.

“Brandon, please stop telling me that every time we talk,” she interjected when he paused for breath. “I heard you the first fifty-something times. You’re only contradicting yourself when you tell me to relax and have fun then try to make me scared of my own shadow.”

“I don’t want you to become a statistic.”

“I won’t.”

Okay, so maybe she hadn’t initially believed his warnings that lottery winners and their family members were exponentially more likely to be victims of violent crimes, kidnappings, blackmailing and lawsuits. At first she’d gone about her life as if nothing had changed, blaming his excessive paranoia on his job as a computer crimes investigator with the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division.

Then, after the public announcement of her win, the media storm had hit and her life had exploded. Her back door had been kicked in while she was at work and her house ransacked. Many of her belongings had been stolen. And then her car window had been shattered—twice. One of those times had been the day after she’d gotten it back from the repair shop. Next there was a burglary at her school, specifically of her classroom, which had prompted the school board to demand she take a leave of absence until her presence no longer posed a danger to the students. But the final straw had been when her parents’ house had been broken into while her mother was home alone. At that point her brother and father had “strongly encouraged” Jessamine to take a long vacation for everyone’s safety.

So here she was. Stuck in paradise. And miserable.

“You still lying low?” he asked.

“Even you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Good. Alternating your routine?”

She winced and studied the hungry seagull easing closer. As much as she liked to experiment artistically, she was a creature of habit. Routines were soothing and comforting, and comfortable was something she hadn’t been since arriving here. So...she might have wavered on that edict a little—which Mr. Rules and Regulations wouldn’t appreciate.

“I’m being very cautious. So, what else is new?” she asked in an effort to divert him.

“Mom enrolled in the concealed-carry class yesterday.”

Yet another piece of normal chipped away. Jessamine sank onto a dew-dampened bench with her back to the hungry fish. Her mother detested guns. And now she was going to carry one. Because of Jessamine. “The burglar really shook her up.”

“Getting out of the shower and finding a strange man going through your bedroom drawers tends to have that effect on people. You, Mom and Leah need to be careful. You and Leah should take the CC class, too.”

That would mean having a gun in her house. She had no problem with firearms. She’d grown up around them. Her father and brother were avid hunters. They’d taught her to shoot a weapon competently and hit a target. But she didn’t need to own a gun. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Leah has agreed to take it with you.”

She rocked her head side to side to ease the tension knotting her neck muscles. “How can me winning the lottery ruin so many lives?”

“Nobody’s life is ruined, kiddo. Your notoriety is a temporary inconvenience. Once it blows over, you’ll be fine. We all will be, with some minor adjustments and a few extra precautions.”

She shooed the inquisitive bird. “How can you be sure?”

“Because Big Brother will be watching. Not just the guys in uniform doing drive-bys, but also with the security systems we’ve installed at the folks’ and your place.”

“Afraid to step outside is no way to live.”

“I hear ya.” He paused. “Jessamine, Dad and I have come to a decision.”

His ultraserious tone and the use of her given name rather than the hated nickname trapped the breath in her lungs. “One I’m not going to like, I gather.”

“Depends on how you look at it. Remember we used a chunk of your first check to rent that house for you for three months? Well, we want you to stay there for the duration. It doesn’t make sense to throw that money away when we’re still working the kinks out of security here.”

Her spine snapped straight. “But you said the only reason to pay for three months was because it was cheaper in the long run than renting week to week.”

“And it was—is. It’s also the only way to guarantee you’d be in the same secure place while you’re away.”

“You said a month. Six weeks at the most. It’s been that. I’ve already missed Thanksgiving.”

“Turkey is turkey. It tastes the same every year. Look, we can’t make you stay, but everyone in the family will sleep easier if you do.”

“But what about Christmas? And Mom’s birthday?”

“Dad’s taking her away somewhere secret for her birthday. He won’t even tell me where. She won’t be home. We’ll have Christmas when you get back, and then we’ll really have something to celebrate.” His radio squawked in the background. “I gotta go. Love you. I’ll check in again tomorrow before my shift.”

And then the phone—her only connection with home—went dead. She lowered her hand and stared at the silent device. Loneliness welled within her.

Christmas was only twenty days away. And her mother’s birthday was three days afterward. She’d never spent either day away from her family. Pressure built in her chest, rising up to clog her throat. She wanted to scream but settled for stomping her feet. The gull got spooked and flew away. She glanced around to make sure no one had witnessed her tantrum.

Everyone dreamed of winning the lottery. It was supposed to be a good thing. For her, it had been a curse. If she could’ve afforded to give away the money, she would have. But she couldn’t. Her parents’ health insurance premiums had risen so drastically in the past year that they’d had to drop coverage, something they couldn’t afford with her dad’s Parkinson’s disease. He needed to stay on his medicines to slow the disease’s progression. Jessamine’s unexpected windfall had allowed her to reinstate their policy and get her father back on his prescriptions. Her new income had also paid for the security systems each house had suddenly required because of her blasted win.

And then there was her job—or lack of one. Would the school board let her return to work when this media thundercloud blew away? She loved teaching and missed her students. But this last round of budget cuts had been hard on the noncore classes, and she’d felt vulnerable even before her temporary dismissal.

She bounded to her feet then, and with leaden steps resumed her route toward Trumbo Road. If she didn’t get moving, she’d start bawling. She’d been exiled from her home and job, cut off from her friends—although she wasn’t sure who the real ones were anymore—and even her church family. She’d attempted to find a church to attend down here, but folks in this surprisingly tight-knit community were too inquisitive of newcomers. After visiting three she’d quit looking and settled into her own Sunday morning routine of sorts. The weeks ahead loomed like an eternity. But she’d get through them. Somehow.

Maybe when she got back to the house she’d paint the Key deer. Again. Or the hibiscus. Again. The coconut palms? A dark swoop crossed her peripheral vision, then a bird splashed down. No. Her miserable mood would be better illustrated by painting the cormorants. A quartet of the prehistoric-looking black birds frequently parked on the end of her dock and spread their drying wings like gargoyles waiting to swoop in and carry her off. And their screeching calls to each other... She shivered despite the sun’s warmth on her skin. The avian squatters creeped her out. She avoided the dock whenever they were present.

She reached the tall white fence marking the end of her route. The restaurant on the other side was quiet now. When she made her rounds again at dusk, the Fisherman’s Widow’s inside and outside tables would be packed. People would be laughing, silverware clinking, and the kitchen would be emitting heavenly scents. She hadn’t risked eating in a restaurant thus far, but she was tired of her own cooking. Maybe she’d order takeout tonight.

And then she connected the dots between her brother’s words and her financial status. She was supposed to be operating on a cash-only basis. Adding another six weeks to her stay put her in a dicey situation. She hadn’t budgeted for three months. She’d replenished her art supplies a couple of times, and in the Keys they had cost double what they did at home. That meant she’d have to be very, very frugal if she wanted to have enough money to cover the rest of her stay. Even then, she’d probably run short. And without access to her accounts, she definitely wouldn’t have money to buy Christmas and birthday gifts.

The irony of being a lottery winner and having her future secured with quarterly checks for practically the rest of her life but being short on actual cash right now didn’t escape her. Her brother had cautioned her not to use a cash machine or credit cards or she might alert someone to her location. She could ask him to send more prepaid debit cards, but he couldn’t access her accounts, either. In his rush to get her out of town, he’d failed to arrange that. He or her parents would have to use their own money to buy the prepaid debit cards until she could pay them back. Not an option she’d take until she was desperate.

So...she admitted with a sigh, no takeout. No matter how tempting. And no more art supplies.

She turned to head back for her car. A muffled cry stopped her. Was it a hurt animal? She listened until she heard it again. The whimper sounded human. She immediately recalled stories of babies discarded in Dumpsters—the restaurant’s was on the other side of that fence. But it hadn’t sounded like a baby. Had it? Undecided, she rocked from her heels to her toes.

She’d worry all day if she didn’t check.

Tamping down her brother’s dire warnings of kidnapping schemes, she clutched the can of pepper spray in her pocket, rounded the wall and approached the garbage container, then cautiously leaned forward to peer inside the open doors. She saw nothing but the dirty metal bottom. Relieved, she exhaled then recalled the trash trucks had been pulling out of the street when she’d arrived. She heard the noise again. It hadn’t come from the smelly green box beside the building after all but from behind the restaurant. Had one of the delivery people fallen? She bit her lip.

Should she check it out or mind her own business? She knew what Brandon would say. Not your problem. Go home. But she couldn’t walk away from someone in need.

As quietly as she could, she inched down the sidewalk past the closed kitchen door to the rear of the building. A woman sat at one of the patio tables with her hands to her face and her chin to her chest. Her short curly hair was a pale shade between blond and silver. Another sob escaped followed by hiccuped breaths.

Compassion compelled Jessamine forward even though caution urged her to retreat. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

The woman gasped and startled, twisting to face Jessamine. She swiped her eyes, revealing a face with enough wrinkles to make it interesting. She was petite and looked to be in her fifties or sixties. “I’m alive. So I guess I’m still in the game. Who are you?”

“Jess—” Had her story reached the Florida Keys? Would she be recognized and hounded here? “Jessie,” she amended, giving the nickname her college roommate had used.

“Hello, Jess—Jessie. I’m Miri. Short for Miriam. You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

Keep it simple. Then leave. “Yes. I heard you crying and wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you hurt?”

“Not physically. But I’ve seen better days. Would you like to join me or are you in a hurry to get to work?”

She should lie and leave. But the thought of going back to the empty house, as nice as it might be, didn’t appeal. “Um...not really.”

“Then pull up a chair. I’ll get you some coffee. My private stash. Good stuff. I don’t share it with just anyone.”

Jessamine searched for the words to politely refuse.

“Please, Jessie. Today’s the anniversary of my husband’s death. I’m feeling sorry for myself. I need better company than my own right now.”

That made two of them sick of their own company. Empathy twined through Jessamine like the flowering vine she’d been named after. She studied Miri’s blotchy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. How could she say no to a grieving widow? A couple of minutes wouldn’t hurt, would it? “Maybe a quick cup.”

Miri sprang to her feet and rushed into the building, leaving Jessamine open to an ambush of second thoughts. Brandon would needle her for being a people pleaser again.

The woman quickly returned, shouldering her way through the door carrying a coffeepot and an extra mug. “Sit. Please.”

Hoping she wouldn’t regret her decision, Jessamine perched on the edge of the chair.

Miri took her seat then poured the dark brew. “I’m sorry you caught me with my pants down, so to speak. You’d think I’d be used to waking up alone by now.”

Jessamine clutched the mug rather than offer the hug she suspected the woman needed. The rich aroma teased her senses. She took a sip and let the dark brew roll down her throat. She hadn’t bothered making coffee since coming to Florida. It seemed a waste to make a whole pot for one cup. But she immediately decided that would change—starting tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, Miri. How long has he been gone?”

“Three years. I miss that old fart.”

The acidic comment startled a smile from Jessamine.

“You ever been in love, Jess—Jessie?”

Jessamine’s smile fell. She averted her gaze. Her thumb found her bare ring finger. Yet another thing the lottery win had cost her. She would never know if a man loved her or her annuity. “I thought I was once.”

“Then maybe you know how it is. You love ’em. You curse ’em. But Jack was mine. And now he’s not. We fought. And we loved. But we fit. Know what I mean?”

She and Aaron had never disagreed on anything until he’d asked her to choose between him and her family. Not something she wanted to contemplate right now. She gulped coffee and scalded her tongue. “How long were you together?”

“Thirty-five years. Sounds like forever, and yet it passed in the blink of an eye. We met when I came down for spring break during college. The weather was horrible, and the boats were stuck in port. He bought me a drink and asked me to dance. Lord, that man could not dance, but he’d been watching me and knew I loved to. So he tried. It wasn’t pretty,” she added with a sad smile. “By the end of that week I was in love. I didn’t want to go back to finish my senior year, but he insisted. Said if I didn’t come to my senses and still wanted to marry a fisherman after I graduated, he’d be waiting. I came back and he was.”

Why couldn’t she find a love like that? One who put her best interests first? Dark hair blew across her face. Her heart leaped and her breath caught. She spun around to see who’d sneaked up on her, but no one was there. Then she remembered the dye job. Cursing her brother’s horror stories, she exhaled, tucked the strand behind her ear and caught Miri watching her. Jessamine wanted to squirm but reached for her coffee instead.

“The weather brought Jack to me. And it took him away. He was struck by lightning during a freak sudden storm over the Gulf Stream. He fished, captained a charter boat service. I cooked his catch to help pay the bills when business was slow. That’s how I ended up with this place. I started with a food cart on the wharf, then moved up to this board-and-brick location twenty years ago.”

Miri’s resourcefulness reminded Jessamine of her mother, who baked and sold pies and canned peaches and preserves to supplement the orchard’s income. “Do you have children?”

“We were never blessed with our own, but when my sister passed I took over raising her boy. Logan grew up and moved away. But now he’s back.”

Something ominous in the last phrase piqued Jessamine’s curiosity, but she let it go. It was none of her business. As much as she wanted to linger, she could hear her brother scolding, Making friends isn’t a good idea. She set down the mug and rose. “Thank you for the coffee, Miri. I’m sorry for your loss. It sounds like you had a great marriage.”

“Oh, we did. But it’s not just missin’ Jack that has me upset. It’s the torrent of other pressures... Oh, never mind. I’ve enjoyed your company, Jessie. I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to an old lady’s problems.”

She didn’t. Glancing at the sun and acknowledging she wouldn’t be back in her compound before it fully rose, she sank back onto the chair. “You’re not old. You’re what my mama calls ‘experienced.’ So what else is wrong?”

“Truthfully, my nephew is driving me nuts. Logan moved back here after Jack died, and Lord, that boy hovers. He watches every move I make and tries to tell me how to run my business. I didn’t mind at first because...well, he needed to feel useful, but now...” She put a hand to her forehead and rolled her eyes. “I’ve had enough. Then yesterday, my best waitress called in to tell me her obstetrician has put her on complete bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. I was already one server short with our busy season just around the corner. If Logan gets wind that Carla’s gone—he never liked her because she’s...well...different—I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Don’t say anything. But Jessamine’s mouth opened anyway. “I waited tables all through college. I’m sure it wouldn’t be that difficult to train someone. You could probably have two new servers in no time.”

Miri’s hazel eyes sharpened. “Carla did all the training. Has for years. Do you have a job, Jessie?”

Jessamine’s toes curled in her sneakers. “Um...not at the moment.”

“Want one?”

Say no. “I won’t be here much longer.”

“Are you on vacation?”

“I’m kind of on a...sabbatical.” The word her father had used popped out.

“You could help me train the new hires.”

No. No. No. “Miri, I appreciate the offer, but you don’t even know me. I could be a criminal.”

“Are you?”

“No.” Jessamine sighed. Why couldn’t she lie?

“Then I know what I need to. You’re kind, compassionate and an experienced waitress. Please, Jessie. I’m desperate.”

She shouldn’t risk the exposure. “I really don’t need a job.”

“Just a week. Two at the most. Keep my customers happy and my nephew off my back while you train your replacements.”

Jessamine searched for an excuse and came up empty. You don’t owe this near stranger an explanation. Just. Say. No.

“We serve lunch and dinner Friday through Sunday but only dinner the rest of the week. I pay well. C’mon, Jessie. I need you. It would be a load off my mind if I didn’t have to close my doors because I don’t have enough staff to open tonight.”

Jessamine could practically hear the vacuum sound as she got sucked in. Filling out forms with her name and address wouldn’t be smart.

“Please?” Hazel eyes pleaded. “You’d be working with two other waitresses. One’s very experienced. The other’s not bad.”

Jessie was sick of her own company. Her vacation felt like solitary confinement. And tips were often cash. If she helped Miri, she could solve her own problem this time instead of relying on her family to send her money—money they couldn’t spare. She caved like soggy papier-mâché.

“I can help. But only if you’ll let me work for tips alone. No paycheck. No paper trail.”

Miri’s pale eyebrows shot up. Her gaze turned speculative. “Okay. You’re hired. I’ll get you a copy of Carla’s schedule. Be right back.”

Miri disappeared into the building. Again, Jessamine heard Brandon’s voice. Not smart, Li’l Bit. You should have said no. Run while you can.

But her body hadn’t obeyed the order by the time Miri returned and slid a paper and pen across the table. “I’ll need your phone number and clothing sizes.”

“I, um...”

Her cellular and home phone numbers had been hacked within hours of the lottery win announcement, and the begging calls had come around the clock from strangers, “friends” and relatives so distant no one could remember them. Their sob stories of children with cancer or single moms living in cars had been so convincing and heart wrenching that Jessamine had wanted to help them all. Her father’s intervention was the only thing that had stopped her from blowing that first check on strangers. He’d warned her she’d soon be broke if she didn’t toughen up.

Then her brother had confiscated her old phone and disconnected her house phone. He’d taken her to buy a box of disposable units from different stores, then he’d given her strict instructions to use a phone for two weeks then discard it and open a new one. She no longer kept a phone long enough to learn the number.

Miri waited. “I, um...don’t know my number.”

“None of us do anymore. It’s a push-button world these days. I’ll need it if I need to call you to change your schedule. No one will have it except me. I’ll wait while you look it up.”

Suspecting she might be making a mistake she’d live to regret, Jessamine reluctantly pulled out her phone, turned it on and wrote down the number that appeared on the screen. She added her clothing sizes and handed the paper back to Miri. The woman folded it and tucked it into her bra.

“I’ll keep it right here. No one will get it.” Miri reached across the table and covered Jessamine’s hand. “Do you need a safe place to stay, Jessie?”

The question threw her. “I have one. Thanks.”

“Are you sure? Because I have a guest room over my garage. You can stay as long as you want. And Jack left me a .30-30. Kicks like hell but gets the job done.”

Miri was offering protection and even willing to use a rifle to provide it. She must think Jessamine was running from someone—an abusive ex or something. The thoughtfulness of a stranger made her eyes sting. She squeezed Miri’s hand. “I’m good. But thank you.”

“Then I’ll see you today at three. I’ll have a uniform for you and we’ll go over my system. Jessie, I can’t thank you enough for helping me through this rough patch.”

Jessamine rose and beat a hasty retreat, kicking herself the whole way back to her vehicle. She debated not returning tonight. Miri only had her phone number. No last name. No address. Jessamine would simply have to toss this phone to avoid any calls.

But she’d promised. Miri needed her help training waitresses and running interference with the bossy nephew. Jessam—Jessie could do that. And then she’d go home with a clear conscience.

But she had to learn to say no. Starting now.

* * *

THE PRETTY BRUNETTE caught Logan’s eye even before he took his customary seat at the oyster bar. She was lean but in shape, and she had great legs. Sleek muscles flexed beneath the smooth, tanned skin revealed by the Fisherman’s Widow’s uniform of a tank top and denim skort. A thick, loose braid hung to the middle of her back with escaped strands of hair draping her cheeks.

She’d waited tables before, though not here. It showed in the easy way she carried five loaded plates on one arm, refilled glasses with a flick of her wrist and kept the hush puppy baskets full. She had an engaging smile for the customers, but tension lingered behind it.

That stiffness, combined with the way her hypervigilant gaze snapped toward the entrance each time the front door of his aunt’s restaurant opened, kept him ensnared. It was as if she feared who might walk in. He’d entered through the kitchen, so she’d missed his arrival.

His aunt came through the swinging doors and set a plate on the bar in front of him. “See what you think of this. I’m experimenting with the mahi.”

He eyed the dish. He’d spent a large part of his life being her number-one guinea pig. Most times, that was a good thing. “What is it?”

“Coconut-crusted mahi sliders with pineapple chutney.”

Sounded edible. He took a bite. The tender, flaky meat practically melted in his mouth, and the seasonings were the perfect balance between sweet and hot. He chewed, then swallowed. “This recipe’s a keeper. Who’s the new waitress?”

Miri’s gaze swung across the crowded dining room, stopping where his hovered. “Jessie. She’s a sweet girl. Experienced, too.”

“Where’s Carla? Late again?”

Miri hesitated, and he braced himself for the excuse du jour. “Carla’s doctor ordered her to stay off her feet for the rest of her pregnancy.”

“She’s barely pregnant.”

“She’s six months along, and her blood pressure spiked.”

He should have known the woman would find the one excuse for which she legally couldn’t be fired. He didn’t like her or her overly tattooed and pierced stoner boyfriend. They had a habit of borrowing money from Miri and never paying it back. Advances on her salary, his ass. The amounts were never deducted from the next check. His aunt was a pushover and a sucker for a sob story.

But on the positive side, Carla would be out for months. If he was lucky, she’d stay at home with her kid and never return.

“What do you know about the new girl?” With only one road on or off the islands, you tended to recognize residents quickly. “She’s not from here.”

“She’s honest and a good waitress.”

“How do you know if she’s honest? Did you do a criminal background check using the link I gave you?”

That earned him a scowl. “She says she isn’t a criminal, and I believe her.”

He didn’t like where this was going. “Did she pass the drug test?”

“I just hired her this morning, Logan. We haven’t had time for that yet.”

“You’re supposed to screen them before they start. Did you at least check her references?”

Miri grabbed a towel and wiped the bar, avoiding his gaze. “No time for that yet, either.”

“Give me her application. I’ll do it now. She can stop by the lab in the morning.” He rose and dug in his pocket for his cell phone.

“Sit down and put that thing away. Finish your dinner, Logan. I’ll get to the paperwork when I get to it. I needed Jessie tonight. You can see we’re still a couple of servers short. Everyone’s having to work seven days a week. Jessie’s covering double the tables she should be, and she’s doing it well. She even knew the computer system.”

“She’s another one of your strays, isn’t she?”

“Why must you always think the worst of everyone I hire?”

“Because you usually hire everyone else’s rejects. Is she staying in the apartment?” He’d spent time there too before he’d finished renovating his cottage.

“No, smarty-pants. Jessie has her own place. Stop trying to do my job. I’ve been running this business without your guidance for decades. I know how to hire employees. And quit being so suspicious of everyone. You’ll make yourself miserable if you don’t.”

“I’m looking out for your best interest. Do you see how she’s watching the door?”

“Let it go, Logan.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine. The Fisherman’s Widow is fine. We don’t need a watchdog.” Miri sighed. “You act like I have no sense at all.”

“You don’t when it comes to people. You’re too softhearted. You surround yourself with leeches and losers. You let them take advantage of your generosity.”

Red flagged Miri’s cheeks. “You have no room to accuse me of choosing my associates unwisely.”

He winced. Miri didn’t have a mean bone in her body. That was as close to a low blow as she’d get. Because it was true—he hadn’t always been wise. His failure to see the situation right in front of him was the reason she had no cash reserves or retirement funds.

“Speaking of leeches and losers...that one’s a prime example,” Miri added in a waspy tone. He twisted to follow her scowling gaze and spotted the private detective he employed crossing the dining room. She shot I a scathing look when he took a seat. “I wish you’d hold your business fleecings elsewhere.”

The PI ignored Miri’s insult and smiled. “Well, if it ain’t my little ray of Florida sunshine. Always a pleasure to see you, too, Miri.” He delivered the words in an exaggerated version of his New Jersey accent, which seemed to irritate Logan’s aunt even more.

“What kind of name is I, anyway?” she snapped.

“Nobody can spell Ignatius. I save ’em the trouble by keeping it short and sweet. Kind of like you do, Miriam Louise.”

Logan’s aunt stiffened at the use of her given name, then stomped back into the kitchen. Logan shook his head. “Why do you needle her?”

“She started it. She treats me like a dog shit on her shoe. That whole lip-curling thing bugs the crap out of me. And what in the hell is wrong with using my initial?”

Miri got along with everyone. Why not I? The two had been at each other’s throats since their first meeting over a year ago.

“Anything?” Logan asked the PI.

“Nope. Trail went cold in Porto Alegre, Brazil.”

“Two people can’t just vanish.” Frustration killed Logan’s appetite. He pushed the unfinished meal aside.

“Your wife and business partner have. For now. They’ll turn up eventually. Finding them depends on how much money you want to spend. Me, I’d say good riddance and cut my losses.”

“Ex-wife and ex–business partner,” he corrected. “I can’t let this go. They destroyed my reputation when they embezzled our clients’ funds. No reputable firm will hire me.”

“What’s wrong with the setup you got here? You get a free meal every night. You got a decent place to stay. You set your own hours and make enough to get by doing people’s taxes. What else do you need?”

“I want them to admit what they did and clear my name.”

“Hate to tell ya, Nash, but even if we find ’em and they’re extradited to the States and they sing like canaries, it won’t get the stench off ya. Stuff like that tends to stick.”

Logan refused to accept that. He’d done nothing criminal, and he had to prove it. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

I shrugged. “Your dime. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya. You gonna finish that?”

“No.”

I snagged the dish, pulled it closer and shoved an untouched slider into his mouth. “Damn, that woman can cook,” he said.

“What do you make of her?” Logan nodded toward the brunette waitress.

“Hot. Yours?”

“Nah. Miri’s new hire. See the way she watches the door?”

I nodded. “She got outstanding warrants? Or an abusive ex?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’d find out. Something’s got her jumpy.”

“I will. Don’t doubt it. I’ll be damned if someone else steals from Miri on my watch.”

CHAPTER TWO

JESSIE REFILLED THE last saltshaker and wiped down the table, then straightened and stretched the kinks from her spine. Her body ached from the unaccustomed exercise—but in a good way. She blinked her tired, gritty eyes. It was time to go home and remove these irritating contacts.

She stopped beside the final open window and let the peace of the empty dining room settle over her. Water lapped outside the building, and a gentle breeze drifted in. She loved the concept of a restaurant constructed on a pier so low to the water that the fish swam close enough for the customers to drop food to them and watch them gobble it up.

The music went silent, and the lights illuminating the water went dark, jarring Jessie into action. She closed and latched the window. If her brother found out she was outside the compound after dark, he’d never stop lecturing. But she should be safe. No one except her family knew she was in Key West, and it was only a half mile’s walk to where she’d parked her rental car at the opposite end of the well-lit boardwalk. She’d thought it better to keep the vehicle as far away from the restaurant as possible just in case Brandon’s paranoia wasn’t all in his head.

Miri came out of the kitchen, followed by the good-looking guy who’d been seated at the oyster bar most of the evening. Something about the way he’d scrutinized Jessie’s every move tonight had made her nervous. That uneasiness intensified now with him only two yards away. He wasn’t part of the kitchen staff, so who was he?

“You did a great job tonight, Jessie.”

“Thanks, Miri.”

Miri indicated her companion with a flip of her fingers. “Jessie, my nephew, Logan Nash.”

The one who drove the restaurateur nuts with his interference? He looked only a few years older than Jessie. His hair was as black as the cormorant’s wings and his eyes, as blue as the noon sky, stared at her with suspicion.

Jessie wrung the wet rag in her hands and nodded but said nothing and didn’t offer her hand. He nodded in return.

“Will you be back tomorrow?” Miri asked.

A wad of bills weighted Jessie’s pocket. Tonight’s tips would be enough to get by for a while. But for how long? Not six more weeks, for sure.

“I ask because someone is coming in for an interview in the morning,” Miri added when Jessie hesitated. “If she works out, I’ll have her shadow you tomorrow night.”

Jessie dug her nails deeper into the cotton. She’d promised to train her replacements. And Miri needed a buffer between her and the human cormorant. Should she risk it? Going back to solitary confinement after an evening of interacting with people sounded like torture. But no one should recognize her here. Not with her disguise.

She took a deep breath and answered, “I’ll be here,” before she could change her mind.

“Great, hon. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

Logan tugged the bank bag from Miri’s hands. “I’ll give Jessie a ride home on my way to drop off tonight’s deposit.”

Objections blossomed in Jessie’s head. Miri’s startled expression, which quickly transformed to one of worry, confirmed Jessie’s reservations. “Thanks, but I, um...have my car.”

“Miri’s is the only one in the lot.”

“I parked nearby.”

“I’ll walk you to it.”

His forceful tone made her hackles rise. It was one thing for her father or brother to boss her around—or, as they said, “strongly encourage”—but she wasn’t taking orders from a stranger. “I appreciate your offer, but I’ll be fine.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“I have pepper spray.”

His nostrils flared in obvious irritation and his mouth opened, but Miri laid a hand on his arm. “Leave her be, Logan. After her busy night, Jessie probably needs to clear her head. I always do. Thanks for taking the deposit. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She crossed to the front door and held it open in a blatant invitation for Logan to leave.

Blue eyes drilled Jessie’s again. “You need to hit the clinic for a drug test before you come in tomorrow. All of our employees are tested.”

Jessie glanced at Miri, who shook her head. “I’ll manage my employees, Logan. Now go.”

His lips thinned. He looked ready to argue, but then said, “Good night.”

He left and the wind leaked from Jessie’s lungs. Only then did she notice her racing heart and damp palms. “So that’s him.”

Miri nodded. “I commend you on not getting into a car with a strange man, especially one who’s being a bossy britches, but you can trust Logan. He’s a good one. Just a little overprotective.”

“About that drug test...I’m trying to avoid a paper trail right now.”

“I suspected as much. Forget it. After the way you hustled tonight, I know you’re not using anything.”

“If you have any doubts about me working here—”

“I don’t.”

“Thanks.”

“Want me to give you a ride to your car?”

Jessie shook her head. “It’s okay. I’m just down the boardwalk.”

“I’d feel better if I watched you till you’re out of sight.” After locking the front door she led Jessie out the rear to the patio. She pulled out her phone and punched buttons. Seconds later Jessie’s phone vibrated against her hip. “Now you have my number. Save it and call if you need me. For anything, hon, and at any time. Day or night. Be careful. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then Miri sank into a chair. She reminded Jessie so much of her mother sitting on the patio and watching as Jessie walked to the end of their long driveway to wait for the school bus that it made her eyes sting.

“Good night, Miri. And thanks for...understanding.”

“There’s nothing wrong with needing a second chance.”

Jessie didn’t correct her. She backed away and waved then turned and strode off before she gave in to the overwhelming urge to hug the restaurant owner, confess all and ask her advice. But it was better if Miri didn’t know. Knowing could add her to the list of people adversely affected by being connected to Jessamine.

For the first time since being forced from her job, she felt a sense of purpose. She couldn’t protect her mother from the chaos at home, but she could protect Miri from her mess here and from her overbearing nephew.

It wasn’t until Jessie slowed to turn off Highway 1 that she realized she’d said no to Logan Nash. Funny how easy it had been to say the word to him. But he’d definitely gotten on her bad side, and like a student who seemed destined to cause trouble, he needed watching.

* * *

FOR THE FIRST time since arriving in Florida, Jessie awoke refreshed and eager to start her day. Attributing her good night’s sleep to the hustle at work, she started a pot of the exotic coffee provided with her rental, showered and dressed while it brewed, then grabbed her mug, her caddy of art supplies and her easel and headed out onto the deck.

Her brother had called twice while she was in the shower, and she debated calling him back. But for once she didn’t want to talk to him. Calling meant she might have to lie about where she’d been last night or what she’d done. Instead, she texted him to let him know she was okay and slipped her phone back into her pocket.

A flash of movement caught her eye. A trio of Key deer, none any bigger than her at-home neighbor’s rescued greyhounds, strolled through the backyard a dozen feet below. The four-legged family had become part of her morning routine.

Except for the waterfront space, the rental property was completely fenced in, but the deer somehow found their way in and back out again on a regular basis. Back home in South Carolina, the deer invading her daddy’s orchard were considered a nuisance and were dealt with accordingly, but here Key deer were a protected species. And they were welcome company. She would miss them once she returned home.

On her first day on the island she’d learned that the animals liked people food when she’d left her lunch on the table beneath the palms and gone inside for two minutes. She’d returned to find them eating her sandwich. Captivated, she’d fed them her apple, then later when she’d slipped into the library to research them, she’d discovered she’d broken the law. Feeding the deer was illegal, for their own safety. She hadn’t fed them since, but they always showed up looking hopeful. It made her wish she’d replaced her camera. It, along with her laptop, had been stolen in the first break-in, and searching for new electronics hadn’t seemed important with everything else going on. But she’d sketched her visitors multiple times.

“Sorry, guys. No food again today.”

Their big brown begging eyes filled her with a load of guilt that she tried to ignore, then the buck led his little group off into the dense green foliage bordering the fence. Juggling her load, Jessie carefully descended the stairs and dug her toes into the still cool crushed shells, then glanced toward the private pier and stopped in her tracks. The cormorants were back doing their creepy statue imitations. She couldn’t bring herself to join them. Instead she set up her chair and easel in the shade beneath the coconut tree and picked up her binoculars.

One of the birds turned his head and stared at her very much like Miri’s nephew had last night. A shiver skittered down her spine. “I’m naming you Nash,” she told the vile creature.

She filled her palette then quickly painted in the background. From this distance, the island was a blur of greens and the water blues and grays. Then she picked up a finer brush to begin the focal point. Her fingers flew across the canvas, adding detail to the birds and the long and narrow dock. As the sun climbed overhead and forced her to squint, she wished she’d brought her sunglasses outside, but she rarely bothered early in the morning. The lenses muted too many of the colors.

The rumble of a boat motor penetrated her concentration. She watched it until she was able to identify it as a regular fishing boat rather than one of long, low speedboats or diving boats that often cruised by. There was nothing remarkable enough about it to make her interrupt her work. She’d love to hire someone to teach her to dive, but her brother’s warnings and her cash situation kept her from putting thought into action.

The craft passed less than fifty yards from the end of the dock, startling the cormorants into flying away. The driver and passengers waved—most boaters did, she’d discovered—and she waved back. Eager to claim her turf before the birds returned, she grabbed her gear and hustled down the sun-bleached planks to the wider rectangle at the end.

Waves from the boat’s wake gently rocked the floating platform. She set her gear on the fish-cleaning table. The water lapping at the pylons was clear. She could see the bottom and the crab trap someone had left behind. One lone crab beat against the metal cage. Grabbing the rope, she hauled it up, opened the door and tipped over the trap. The crustacean scuttled over the edge of the boards to freedom. She pitched the wire cube back into the water with a splash. No way was she boiling a live crab and listening to it beat against the pot until it died. She shuddered.

Two cormorants swooped overhead. She waved her arms, and thankfully they landed on the dock next door—a safe two hundred yards away. She settled her canvas against the easel. The picture was coming together so quickly that it reminded her of the old weekly public television show she used to watch as a child. The instructor had whipped out a painting in an hour. She wasn’t that fast, but there was definitely something freeing about painting here with no interruptions and no audience.

The sun’s glare was intense, and once again she wished for her sunglasses. Tomorrow she’d remember to bring them, but she didn’t dare leave today or the birds might return. She checked her watch. Another hour before she had to shower and report for work.

If she was lucky, Logan Nash wouldn’t show up tonight.

* * *

SUE SLID A disposable takeout container onto the bar in front of Logan. “Miri said to tell you to take your dessert and go home. What did you do to tick her off?”

He shifted on his bar stool and drummed his fingers on the envelope containing the rejected forms. “I tried to get the new waitress to fill out her employment forms.”

He’d left his office early, bringing with him the necessary paperwork, and he’d waited out front, planning to corner Jessie before the restaurant opened and insist she complete the sheets. But Miri had spotted him and run interference, insisting that if he couldn’t stop hounding Jessie then he needed to go home.

He couldn’t figure out why his aunt was so determined to protect the waitress. So here he was again—stuck on a bar stool for an entire night watching the brunette’s suspicious behavior and learning nothing.

“What do you think of your new coworker?” he asked the sixty-something waitress who’d been with Miri since the day she’d opened Fisherman’s Widow.

“Jessie? What’s not to like? She hustles. I don’t have to cover her tables. She runs my stuff when I get behind before I even have a chance to ask. And she has the patience of a saint training the gal, who is not the brightest bulb in the box, if you catch my drift.”

He’d come to the same conclusion about the new trainee. But he wasn’t interested in her. “Where did Jessie say she’s from?”

Eyes narrowed beneath Sue’s penciled brows. “She didn’t say. In case you missed it, that flood of cruise ship passengers ran us off our feet tonight. No time for chitchat. I’d tell you to ask Jessie yourself, but you need to respect Miri’s wishes and quit trying to chat up the new employee, Logan.”

“I’m not interested in her that way.” He debated telling Sue that Jessie hadn’t gone for the required drug test or filled out the employee paperwork. The newest hire had done both. But dissing one employee to another was undoubtedly a violation of some kind. “Just keep an eye on her.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been too busy for me to mind anybody’s business except my own. You should do the same,” Sue delivered then sailed out the front door.

He lifted the lid of the box. Key lime pie. One of his favorites. But eating it would have to wait. Jessie’s trainee and the other waitress had left before Sue. That meant Jessie and Logan were the only ones left in the public area of the building. He had to act fast if he wanted to get what he needed from Jessie before his aunt interfered again.

He grabbed the envelope and headed for the outside dining area, where Jessie was boxing the last of the condiments to bring inside for the night.

She glanced up when he pushed the door open and stilled. Brown eyes tracked his progress across the planks with something akin to dread.

He held out the manila envelope and a pen. “You haven’t filled out your paperwork. You can’t be employed here without filling out an I-9 and a W-4.”

She ignored the offered items. Her breasts rose and fell on three breaths. Something he shouldn’t be noticing. “That’s between Miri and me.”

“I’m her accountant. I’m required by law to have this information on all employees. I need it for payroll.”

She blinked thick lashes. Slowly. As if buying time. “I’m not on her payroll.”

That knocked him back a step. “What does that mean?”

“I work for tips.”

“You’re busting your tail for eight hours a night with no expectation of a paycheck? What are you after? Cash under the table?”

His sarcasm turned down the corners of her mouth. It wasn’t until she pressed her lips together that he realized how full they were. “No. Just tips.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s not even close to minimum wage.”

“I’m a friend helping a friend. Is that so hard to believe?”

His suspicion multiplied tenfold. “Why?”

“Why help Miri?”

He nodded. And waited. And waited.

“She’s a very nice person. And she’s hard to say no to.”

Good answer, but she’d taken too long to come up with it for it to be genuine—a clue he’d been too dense to notice when his wife had started hiding things from him. “What are you getting out of it?”

“I told you.”

“Tips are taxable income. I still need your information.”

“My accountant will deal with it in April.”

She had to be another one of Miri’s projects. He dropped the pen and papers on a nearby table and caught her wrists. Ignoring her gasp, he rolled her hands thumbs out to examine her inner forearms. No ugly track marks marred the ivory skin that clearly showed undamaged blue veins beneath the surface.

And then her warmth leached into his palms and up his arms. It spread across his shoulders then sank through his chest and gathered into a ball of heat in his gut. Desire? No way. Then he noticed her calluses. Not heavy ones, but Jessie definitely used her hands on a daily basis.

She yanked free and wiped her palms on her hips as if he’d dirtied her. “What are you doing?”

With effort, he hacked through the haze that had befuddled his brain. “Looking for signs that you use.”

“Use?” Her brow pleated. A beat of silence passed. “Drugs?”

Her wide eyes and shocked tone didn’t fool him. “It wouldn’t be the first time Miri helped someone get clean. They usually stay at her house, and it usually backfires. I end up having to help her evict them.”

“I’m not staying with her. And I don’t and never have used drugs.”

“Then why are you avoiding the drug test and paperwork? What are you hiding?”

Her cheeks flushed. She averted her face, but he didn’t believe for one moment she was that fascinated by the dark waterfront. “I told you. I’m just a friend with time on my hands.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Worried eyes focused on him. “If Miri hires known drug users, then why are you so insistent on me taking the test? Wouldn’t it be a moot point?”

He bit back a curse. She was a wily one. Then the piped-in music went silent, a signal that the kitchen had been cleaned to his aunt’s exacting expectations and it was time to lock up. He gritted his teeth. He’d learned nothing about Jessie’s motives or agenda. Sure enough, the kitchen door swung open and Miri walked out. She scanned the empty dining room, spotted them outside and headed in their direction with the kind of scowl he knew boded ill—for him. She plowed open the back door with a flat palm.

“Sue was supposed to send you home,” she told him.

“I’m waiting for you to lock up.”

“Since when do you hang around until I close?” Her gaze fell on the envelope, and her expression grew even fiercer. Miri had been a great substitute mom. He’d rarely seen her lose her temper, but when she did, it was a sight to behold. From a distance.

“Logan, butt out of my business.”

“I’m covering you—legally.”

“We’re not breaking any laws. But you’re tempting me to take my iron skillet to your head. Now go home before I ban you from my restaurant.” Her scowl could curdle milk. “You ready, Jessie?”

“Yes. I’ll, um...I’ll set these in the cooler on my way out.” Jessie ducked her head, grabbed the box of condiments and swept past him, her long dark braid swinging like a pendulum above her hips. Nice hips. Curved, but not round.

He shouldn’t be noticing.

Miri shot him one last warning glare then followed her. When Jessie returned from the kitchen, Miri rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned closer. “Let me get rid of him and I’ll walk you out,” Logan heard Miri whisper conspiratorially.

Yeah, they definitely had something going on that needed monitoring.

“Thanks, Miri, but there’s no need. I parked closer tonight,” Jessie replied with a quick glance in his direction. He averted his gaze and pretended he hadn’t been eavesdropping. Then she hustled out the front door. He held it for Miri then waited while she locked it.

“I’m not kidding, Logan. You’re overstepping your bounds.”

“I hear you, but—”

“There is no but. Go home.”

He wasn’t going to talk sense into her tonight. He kissed Miri’s cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

He pivoted toward his car.

Follow Jessie home.

The idea stopped him midstep. He palmed his keys and rolled the thought around in his head. He was already paying I as much as he could afford to track Elizabeth and Trent. If he wanted info on Jessie, he’d have to get it himself.

He stared into the gloom of the streetlights and spotted Jessie heading toward Margaret Street. Traffic was light but not so light that he couldn’t blend in. Miri got into Jack’s old truck and drove away in the opposite direction.

He hustled to his car and waited until Jessie was a block down before starting the engine. A vehicle passed him, then a second. He pulled out behind them, going slowly as if searching for a parking space but keeping Jessie in sight. She slid into a small sedan. Hanging back, he let another car pull out and get between them, then he followed Jessie’s vehicle onto Highway 1.

“This is nuts,” he muttered after she passed several mile markers. “I’m acting like a stalker.”

But Miri’s safety depended on him protecting her from further harm—financial or otherwise—and there was something about the new waitress that didn’t add up. A furtiveness that worried him since he’d seen, ignored and been burned by a similar situation.

The car between them peeled off. Finally, Jessie signaled and turned left. That posed a problem. There would be less traffic off the highway, making it harder to remain undetected. But at least he was familiar with the area since he often explored the Keys. She kept her speed slow. The street was long and straight. She’d be onto him if he stayed behind her. The first road to his left was horseshoe shaped. If he took it, he’d come out farther down the main road. He might lose her, but it was a risk he had to take. He turned and hit the gas. She passed in front of him just before he reached the stop sign. He braked and watched her taillights. Her indicator flashed by a driveway near the end of the road. He waited until she disappeared through the fence before rolling forward.

An electronic gate slid closed, blocking her driveway. Making note of the house number, he drove past and circled back, pulled off the road and killed his headlights. Each of the houses on that stretch was surrounded by tall fences of either stone or block. That worked in his favor by concealing him. He checked both directions to see if anyone was watching. It was all clear, but he felt like a criminal. With his heart racing, he exited the car and ambled up to the iron gates to look through the white bars. Nice house. But not movie-star expensive. Still, an acre of waterfront property wasn’t cheap. Jessie’s car was the only one parked beneath the house. She climbed the stairs to the front door and tapped in a code, then disappeared inside. Lights came on.

To the left of the house, he spotted a hot tub beneath a thatched roof with a pool beyond it. A lamp-lit pier stretched out into the water.

He scanned his surroundings again and spotted the discreet real estate agent’s sign. A rental, but still an expensive place, and not something a waitress could afford unless she had a rich husband or a sugar daddy. He’d noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring.

How could Jessie afford a house that rented for thousands each week? Her calluses and demeanor led him to believe she wasn’t a socialite, and her shoes were the same brand he saw in big-box stores—not designer or high-end. He ought to know—his ex had worn both. Besides, if Jessie were rich, why would she be so damned good at waiting tables?

Tonight’s investigation was only leading to more questions. Something about Jessie didn’t add up. He had to find out how she was paying for her expensive accommodations—for Miri’s sake. If Jessie’s money came from swindling others or selling drugs, then he’d have to stop her before she snookered his aunt.

CHAPTER THREE

THE HEAT OF the overhead sun penetrated Jessie’s floppy straw hat. Rivulets of sweat trickled down her bare back. It might be December, but the Keys were experiencing a heat wave.

A boat motor droned in the distance, but she was too caught up in putting the last strokes on her cormorant to look up. She’d lost count of how many boats had passed since she’d raced out here early this morning trying to get ahead of her unwanted squatters. Nightmares starring the birds had kept her awake, and she hoped getting this painting out of her head would give her peace.

She added one last daub of raw sienna to the beak, then sat back to study her work with as much objectivity as she could muster. Not bad. The bird itself was finished and lifelike enough to be creepy. She checked her watch. Noon. If she stopped now, she could take a swim before showering for work.

She washed out her brush then removed her hat and crossed to the edge of the dock. Arching left then right, she stretched the kinks from her spine. She curled her toes over the edge, anticipating a dip in the cool, clear water, but then she spotted the nurse shark lurking by the crab pot and backtracked. Locals claimed nurse sharks didn’t bite, but she wasn’t testing that theory. She’d settle for cooling off in the pool.

She gathered her painting supplies. Only then did she notice a boat engine’s noise—it was closer than any previous boat had come. Curious, she turned to see a center-console boat with one man on board heading straight for her dock. Her brother’s daily warnings echoed in her mind, and alarm skittered through her. Was some guy going to try to kidnap her and demand her lottery winnings for ransom?

Nervously, she mentally measured the distance to the house. The pier was more than a hundred feet long and it was fifty more across the beach to the bottom of the steps. Could she reach the house and lock her doors before the stranger caught her? No. Worse, she’d left her pepper spray inside, and her nails were clipped too short to do much damage. But she refused to become a statistic. She’d have to stand and fight and hope he didn’t have a gun. She had nothing except her easel to use as a weapon. Her best bet would be to introduce him to the nurse shark then run.

Praying she was just being paranoid but determined to be the best witness she could be if she wasn’t, she studied the vessel’s shirtless occupant. He was tallish with short, dark hair, and muscled enough that he’d be hard to fight off. Mirrored lenses covered his eyes, but his attention appeared to be fixed on her.

“Jessie?” he called out.

Logan Nash. Shock made her stomach drop. She should have recognized that square chin.

A different kind of panic set in. She wasn’t wearing her colored contacts or much of anything else. Ducking her head, she scrambled for her hat and sunglasses, shoved them on and cursed the fact that she hadn’t brought out her cover-up or even a towel. She’d bought the skimpy bikini top and low-slung boy short bottoms soon after arriving. She’d been pretending to be someone else, and she’d decided she wanted to dress like someone else, too—someone who didn’t always wear a modest one-piece. Of course, this swimsuit didn’t cover enough skin for anyone else to see her in it.

The craft thumped against the dock’s rubber edge, jarring her deep inside. He killed the engine then shoved his glasses into his thick hair, revealing blue eyes that skimmed over her then the house. “Your place?”

How had he found her? And why? “For now. What are you doing here, Logan?”

He dropped his glasses back over his eyes. “I was riding by and thought I recognized you.”

He tossed a rope toward her. It landed a yard away. She left it there. Without invitation he stepped onto the platform, rocking the surface beneath her feet, then he looped the rope through one of the metal cleats stationed around the deck and straightened.

She couldn’t see his eyes and felt exposed on so many levels as she stared at her reflection in his mirrored lenses. Dropping her gaze, she found herself entranced by the smooth curves of his pectoral muscles, the light dusting of dark curls. She’d only seen him in polo shirts and khaki pants before now, and she wished she could have kept it that way. He had the body of an athlete, from his broad shoulders to his tapered waist and long legs. Lordy, he’d be a joy to paint.

No, Jessie! She gulped, trying to dislodge the knot in her throat, and wrapped her arms around her middle.

He abruptly stepped around her to the easel holding her picture. “Did you paint this?”

“Um. Yes,” she forced out, feigning calm she didn’t feel.

She didn’t like him knowing where she lived. How would she get rid of him? “It’s a beautiful day to be on the water, but it’s supposed to storm later. Better get your trip in before it hits.”

He glanced her way, a crooked smile on his face. Her stomach swooped. “I can spare a few minutes.”

He was close—too close. And too naked. She could feel the heat emanating from him and smell his suntan lotion. The air turned thick and humid, making it hard to breathe. She shuffled backward, putting space between them, then wished she hadn’t when the distance widened her view, making it impossible to miss that he had those little dents disappearing beneath the front waistband of his trunks. Seeing those hollows up close and in person on someone you knew was a lot different than sketching them from a distance in a nude art class. The inclination to trace them came out of nowhere and was totally foreign. Her stubby nails bit into her palms.

Aaron had been a dedicated gym rat, but despite the hours he’d put in, her ex-fiancé hadn’t had a body like Logan’s.

Logan shoved up his glasses once more. “You’re an artist?”

“Oh. No. I’m an art—” Teacher. She bit her tongue on the word. “Dabbler.”

“This is really good, Jessie. You must make a lot of money selling your dabbles.”

She blinked in surprise. “Oh, I don’t sell them. Painting’s...just a hobby.”

A line creased his forehead, and his narrowed gaze focused on her. He jerked a thumb, indicating the canvas. “Do you have more of these?”

“Yes. Why?”

“May I see them?”

She pressed her bare toes against the warm dock. She didn’t share her art with anyone except her family, and these days she rarely showed them her efforts.

“Maybe some other time. I need to get dressed for work.”

“The restaurant doesn’t open until four today. You can spare five minutes. I’ll even help you carry your stuff inside so you can do it in one trip and save time.”

She didn’t want him in her house. “That’s nice of you, but I don’t think—”

“If the rest of your work is as good as this I might have a profitable proposition.”

Intrigued despite her aversion to him, she wrestled with her conscience. In the end, she caved because she didn’t know how to politely refuse. “A quick look.”

Carefully grabbing the still-wet cormorant and her paint palette, she turned and made her way to the house. He grabbed the easel and followed. Inside, she propped the canvas against the sunroom wall beside the other pieces, set the palette on the newspaper she’d left on the table and automatically reached to remove her sunglasses. Then she remembered her lack of contacts and left her shades in place. She paused to let her eyes adjust, but even then the lenses were too dark to wear inside. As much as she hated leaving Logan unsupervised in her house, she had to get her contact lenses or risk tripping over something. She ran a mental checklist. There shouldn’t be anything left in plain sight that he couldn’t see.

“Set that over there and have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

She hustled into her bedroom, shut and locked the door, then entered the bathroom and did the same. That had been too close a call. She whipped off the sunglasses and hat and checked the mirror. Familiar blue eyes stared back at her—not the cobalt blue of Logan’s. She’d inherited her daddy’s pale, silvery-blue irises. She quickly inserted the nonprescription colored contacts, then she shoved the box of dark chocolate-macchiato semipermanent hair coloring beneath the sink. Covering her blond roots would have to wait until Logan was gone. She took a moment to don a cover-up then plopped her hat back on her head and checked her image again. Her brown-eyed disguise was back in place. Even her mother wouldn’t recognize her.

She went to find then get rid of Logan. He wasn’t in the sunroom. Panic welled within her. Where was he? And what was he doing? She raced into the kitchen. Empty. Through the dining room. No Logan. She found him in the living room. He stood, fist to chin, studying the paintings and drawings she had scattered about.

He didn’t acknowledge her arrival, and his lack of response kinked nerves in her belly. Sharing her work—her serious work, not the stuff she doodled with her students—was hard. Really hard. The sensation of nakedness returned full force. She scanned her collection.

“I, um...like to experiment with different mediums. Acrylics, charcoals, watercolors, pastels...”

“You did all these?” he asked without lifting his gaze from her favorite representation of the deer family.

She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

His gaze drilled hers. “Why don’t you sell them?”

“Who would want them?”

“Jessie, your execution is excellent, and these have the local flavor that tourists love to take home to remind them of their trip. Would you be willing to sell them?”

She’d never sold a painting and couldn’t believe anyone would want to pay good money for one. “I guess...I might.”

“The same paintings have hung in Miri’s restaurant for as long as I can remember. They’re dated and faded. We could swap some of her old art with yours and market these to tourists. I’m sure you’ve seen similar setups in other restaurants with discreet price tags nearby.”

She struggled for words and found none. As a child she’d dreamed of becoming an artist, but once she’d reached college her father had said, “Choose a steady, reliable career that pays the bills and comes with benefits. Artists starve.” She’d compromised and decided to teach art. Teaching gave her an opportunity to instill her passion for creativity in others. Between the hours she taught and those spent preparing for each class, she’d had little time to pursue many personal projects until she’d been banished to the Keys. Now all she had was time.

The interest in her work was shocking, but doubly so from Logan Nash. “Why are you being nice when you’ve been nothing but confrontational up until now?”

“Because fresh art might bring more business to the Widow.”

“Miri already has more traffic than three waitresses can handle.”

“The staff shortage is a temporary situation.”

Fear battled eagerness. “I wouldn’t know how to price them.”

“I do.”

His offer sounded too good to be true. “What’s your take?”

“My take? You mean like a commission? Nothing. And I doubt Miri will want one, either. But none of these are signed. Sign this one.” He pointed to her favorite Key deer picture. “Bring it to work tonight.”

Her heart beat double time. She bit her lip, dug her toes into the plush rug and searched his face. He looked sincere, and she really wanted to believe his compliments. She was tempted—so very tempted—to test her fledgling artist’s wings.

What would her father and Brandon say? She ached to call and ask their advice. But she couldn’t. Telling them about this opportunity meant telling them about her job—something they definitely wouldn’t approve of.

“Jessie, at least show this one to Miri. If she doesn’t agree that your work could be an asset to the Widow, then you’ve lost nothing.”

Except her pride. Logan had gotten her hopes up. How would she feel if no one wanted it? She had to take the chance or forever regret it. “Okay.”

He nodded. “See you in a few hours.”

She walked him out then caught herself checking out his broad shoulders and strong back as he descended the stairs. She shut the door a little harder than necessary and locked it, then pressed a hand over her pounding heart. She didn’t release her pent-up breath until he’d boarded his boat and driven away.

Logan liked her work. Someone outside her family actually liked her work. What’s more, he thought that others might, too. Joy and pride bubbled inside her. She danced in place, then sobered.

Putting herself out there meant possible criticism. Could she handle it? Then again, if this venture was a total flop, her family and friends—if she had any left after the lottery debacle—would never have to know. She’d go back to real life and leave her childish dream of becoming an artist behind forever.

* * *

WHEN THE KITCHEN door swung open, Miri checked the clock. The restaurant didn’t open for two hours. But instead of one of the kitchen staff, Logan’s investigator walked in. Ignatius was the last person she wanted to see.

“He’s not here,” she told him and experienced a twinge of shame at her nasty tone. Being a business owner meant being polite to everyone—even parasites. That was especially true in Key West. As cosmopolitan as the city seemed, it was truly a small community.

“I’m not here to see Logan. I’m here to see you.”

Suspicion trickled through her like water through a cracked levee. “Why?”

He removed his ball cap, revealing a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, and shifted on his feet. The big goofball looked so uncomfortable, her protest that the public wasn’t allowed in her kitchen stayed locked behind her clenched teeth.

“Today’s my daughter’s birthday. She and her girls are meeting me here for dinner tonight. I need it to be...special.”

Not even close to what she’d expected him to say. “I appreciate your business. I’ll do my best to resist the urge to poison you.”

“No. You don’t...” He hadn’t laughed. Had she expected him to? “I’m not explaining this well. Bethany and I... We don’t... We’re not close.”

That wasn’t a surprise. “What did you do to piss her off, Ignatius?”

“Don’t call me that. It reminds me of Catholic school.”

“It’s your name. I is only a letter. What did you do to turn your daughter against you?” she pressed.

His cheeks turned ruddy. “I wasn’t there for her and her mother when she was young. I worked all the time, trying to make detective. Then when Bethany was sixteen, Eileen split and moved down here. I couldn’t afford to come down more than once a year, so I didn’t get to see my daughter or granddaughters much. Other than birthday and Christmas cards and social media, we don’t communicate.”

“Why try to change that now?”

“Because Sydney and Chloe are the spittin’ image of their mama, and when I see their pictures online I realize how much I missed of Bethany’s childhood. I want a chance to do right by those girls.”

Sympathy surged like a storm tide inside Miri. She wished Logan’s father would have a similar revelation before it was too late. “How old are they?”

“Ten and twelve.”

She gave him bonus points for knowing their ages. “Have you bought your daughter a present?”

“Yeah.” He dug into his pocket, pulled out a small, unwrapped jewelry box and shoved it toward her. “Just picked it up.”

She took it and lifted the lid. A gold heart necklace with three different-colored gemstones sparkled on the satin liner. The little tab said fourteen karat. It wasn’t junk.

“Those are Bethany and the girls’ birthstones,” he added. “I special ordered it.”

Kudos to him. He’d spent time and effort and had even planned ahead. She’d have expected him to just grab the closest thing—from the clearance rack, if his clothes were anything to go by. She snapped the box shut and handed it back. “She should like it.”

“Ya think?” He sounded so hopeful. Someone ought to tell him he was too old to have that puppy-dog look in his eyes.

“I think she will. What about a cake? Not that our desserts aren’t delicious, but a cake would be a personal touch.”

His dumbfounded expression gave her the answer. He hadn’t thought of that. Two of the kitchen staff came in. She greeted them then motioned Ignatius toward the dining room. She wanted him out of the sanctuary of her workspace.

“I have a friend who’s a baker. I’ll get something special from her. What’s Bethany’s favorite dessert?”

He shrugged, and his cheeks darkened again. “Does she hate anything?” Another shrug. “Allergies?” Same response. Miri sighed. She didn’t know whether to feel sorry for the guy or be angry with him for knowing nothing about his child. “Which birthday is it?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“Not a milestone, then. I’ll put you in Jessie’s section. She has a way with our younger customers that’ll put the girls at ease. And I’ll seat you right over there.” She pointed at the table she usually reserved for honeymooners. “It’s quieter so you can talk, and you can see the fish on two sides. Your granddaughters won’t have to fight for the best seat.”

“I...thanks, Miri. I appreciate it.”

“Now I need a favor from you.”

“Name it.”

“Drop Logan’s case.”

His expression turned from gratitude to pugnacity in a blink. Probably his cop I’m-writing-you-a-ticket face. “If I do he’ll just hire somebody else.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear even if she suspected it was true. “He’s so focused on finding his ex-wife he won’t even date anyone else.”

Green eyes searched her face. “Have you dated anyone since your husband passed?”

Taken aback by the unexpected attack, she struggled for an answer. “We’re not talking about me.”

“You’re accusing the man of not moving on with his life. I’m just saying, you might want to look in the mirror.”

She straightened to her full height at the offensive remark and opened her mouth to tell him where to go. But then she spotted the bartender close enough to overhear. With tremendous effort, she reined in her temper. Having a business to run required her to mind her manners no matter the provocation. Word got around. She couldn’t afford to tell the fathead what she thought of his rotten psychoanalysis skills. Not here. Not now. But one day...

“Leave dinner to me. We’ve got you covered.”

“Thanks, Miri. I owe ya.”

“Yes. You do.”

Logan plowed through the kitchen door into the dining area like a man on a mission. His eyebrows jacked up when he saw Ignatius, but he didn’t slow until he was beside them.

“You look all nice and tanned. Did you take the morning off?” Miri asked him.

“I’ve been out on I’s boat. Did you know Jessie’s an artist?”

She struggled with the news that Logan and Ignatius knew each other well enough to share expensive toys, then the rest of his comment sank in. “And you know that how?”

“I saw her work. She’s very talented.”

Compliments after he’d been pressuring her to fire Jessie? Miri picked up a weird vibe. Logan might not be a teenager anymore, but she could still read him pretty well. “Where did you see her art?”

He glanced at the PI, confirming her suspicions that these two were in cahoots, then Logan met her gaze. “At her house.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. Jessie had been very careful about not disclosing her address, and she and Logan didn’t get along. Jessie wouldn’t have shared that information with him.

“How do you know where she lives?” she pressed, suspecting she already knew the answer.

He paused. “I followed her home last night.”

“Logan Na—”

He flung up a hand. “She’s staying in a very expensive gated waterfront rental home. A place a waitress can’t afford on tips alone. If she’s into something illegal, I don’t want you caught in the web. Today I checked out her house from the water side and saw her painting on the dock.”

Shocked to hear her suspicions confirmed, she snapped, “Logan Chancellor Nash, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Then she remembered the bartender. Luckily, he’d gone to the back for stock.

“I’m protecting you.”

“By stalking my waitress?” she whispered then glared at Ignatius. “You used to be a cop. Tell him that’s illegal.”

“You peek in her windows?” Ignatius asked.

“Of course not.”

“You planning to harm her?”

“No.”

“She know you followed her?”

“No.”

Ignatius shrugged. “Not a problem then, as long as it doesn’t become a habit.”

Miri wanted to kick the infuriating idiot in the shin for encouraging her nephew. “It’s a problem for me!”

Logan ignored her outburst and turned to his friend. “I didn’t see anything suspicious. There were no signs of drug paraphernalia in her house, and no sign of other cars in the driveway. But how’s she paying for the place? Rich husband? Boyfriend? Lover? Selling drugs?”

“Valid questions,” Ignatius replied.

Miri poked a finger at Logan’s chest. “That’s none of your business. I’ve told you before, leave Jessie alone.”

Heaven help the poor girl if she discovered Logan’s actions. She was already spooked about someone or something.

“She didn’t know what I was really looking for when I asked to see more of her work. She invited me inside. I checked out most of the house,” he added for Ignatius.

“Being sneaky and devious doesn’t make it right, Logan.”

“I told her to bring one of her paintings here today to display and sell.”

Yet another sign of his presumption. “This is my restaurant. Don’t you think you should have consulted me first?” Not that she wouldn’t have helped Jessie if she’d known.

“When you see her work, you’ll want to replace every picture in this place.”

No, she wouldn’t. There were memories attached to each one. But she couldn’t say that, because it would only make Ignatius think he was right and that she hadn’t moved beyond her grief over losing Jack. “What hangs in my restaurant is still my decision.”

“Right. I told her you wouldn’t want a commission, but if her painting sells, then you could invite other local artists to display here and take a percentage of the sales price.”

No doubt her pigheaded nephew meant well. He was probably trying to replace her nest egg. He’d never accept that she didn’t blame him for his exes’ dirty work. But as long as she had enough money to keep a roof over her head and Sue in a job until they were both ready to retire, then she had enough.

“I swear, Logan, sometimes your heart’s in the right place, but your methodology is all wrong. Don’t help me anymore. Do you understand?”

“I hear you.”

But she knew he’d ignore her as he’d always done. He was one stubborn son of a gun. She only hoped he didn’t run Jessie off before she could help the girl—whatever her problems.

* * *

JESSIE TURNED THE corner onto Margaret Street, spotted Logan outside the Fisherman’s Widow and missed a step. She couldn’t get inside the restaurant without going past him.

Wind ruffled his dark hair and his white, rolled-sleeve button-down shirt accentuated his tan. He resembled one of the rich guys who frequented the yachts parked along the wharf. But she now knew what he looked like in nothing but swim trunks, and that was...a distraction that made her sketching hand twitchy.

She saw the exact second he spotted her, because his posture changed. Looking as alert as a hunter with its next meal in the crosshairs, he watched her cross the street. She covered the automatic urge to tug at the short hem of her uniform skort by blotting her damp palms on her hips. The encounter ahead wouldn’t be fun.

“Where’s the painting?” he demanded.

“I didn’t bring it.” The fire of excitement had fizzled soon after he roared off in his boat. Doubts about putting herself out there had dogged her as she showered and dressed for work. Then she’d realized his demand that she bring the painting wasn’t even about her.

His eyebrows lowered. “Why?”

“While your offer is generous and flattering, it’s Miri’s restaurant. I want to check with her first.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did she call you?”

“No. Why?”

“Never mind. She has to accept that the stuff on the walls needs replacing.”

“That’s your opinion. She might disagree.”

He strode to the door and yanked it open, motioning for Jessie to go first. He loomed behind her like a hovering hawk as she went to the kitchen in search of Miri. On the way, she checked out the current wall art—something she’d only done superficially before because she’d been too busy watching the patrons. Each piece was of good quality. But all needed some TLC.

Miri glanced up from the pie crust in front of her when they entered. Her rolling pin stilled.

“Tell her to bring her painting,” Logan demanded, and Miri’s expression turned uneasy.

Jessie gave Miri a sympathetic smile. “I thought Logan should ask why you’ve never replaced the ones you have.”

A tiny smile curved Miri’s lips. “Jack gave them to me. Each one commemorates a moment of our lives together.”

Jessie shot Logan an I-told-you-so look. “Her art has sentimental value. You can’t just discard it.”

Logan rocked his jaw back and forth. “I’m trying to update this place and make both of you some money.”

“I don’t want it at Miri’s expense.”

Miri laid a hand on Jessie’s forearm and gave her a squeeze. “You’re a dear and I love you for thinking of me, Jessie. But I want to help you. Truly, I do. And if you’re as good an artist as Logan says, this exposure could be good for you—even if I have to buy easels to display them. Please, bring your paintings.”

Miri’s encouragement fanned the ember Logan had lit. How could she make this a win-win situation? “I have an idea. Follow me.”

Jessie grabbed a clean rag, dampened a corner of it, then led them to the oil of one of Key West’s historic Victorian homes that hung behind the cash register. “Tell me about this one.”

Miri’s face softened. “That’s the bed-and-breakfast where Jack and I honeymooned. It’s the first piece of real art he bought me.”

“Then it definitely should stay. It’s a quality piece. But I’m guessing these have been here since the days when smoking was allowed inside restaurants?”

Miri nodded.

Jessie gently rubbed one side of the frame where it wouldn’t be visible to guests, then displayed the sooty residue for Miri to see. “All it needs to revive the original colors is a professional cleaning. I could hang one of mine while yours is out for restoration. I’ll help you find someone reputable to do the job, at minimal cost. It’ll come back as good as new.”

She knew how to do it because she’d interned at an estate auction house her senior year of high school, but she couldn’t volunteer to do the job without giving too much away.

Looking sad, Miri shook her head. “I never even noticed the grime. All I see is the memory. Thank you, Jessie. That’s a grand suggestion.”

“Miri, the alcohol delivery’s here,” one of the kitchen workers called.

Miri held up a finger. “Be right there. I’ll take this one down tonight after we close if you’ll bring one of yours in tomorrow morning for our weekend crowd to enjoy.”

Jessie’s heart quickened. “I’ll do it.”

Then Miri left Jessie alone with Logan’s blue gaze lasered on her. “How did you know about the soot?”

“My dad used to be a smoker.” True, but not the whole truth. “Excuse me. I need to set up for opening.”

“Why can’t we clean them?”

“Because restoration takes skill, patience and the right chemicals. Doing it wrong will irrevocably damage the work. The process varies with the condition of each piece and type of paint.”

When his eyes narrowed, she wanted to slap a hand over her mouth for revealing too much, but teaching was as natural to her as breathing. She made her escape before he could ask more and hoped Logan didn’t pick up her slip.

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