TO CATCH A KILLER

Trusting the wrong person had gotten his father killed. CIA agent Ed Carter isn’t about to repeat the mistake. Pulling a gun on nurse Bailey Williams may not have been the smartest idea, but the beautiful caretaker is Ed’s only suspect in the murder. Problem is, her vulnerable brown eyes claim innocence and set off his protective instincts. The spark between them is undeniable, but Bailey could never trust her life—or her heart—to a man who thinks her guilty. But when the real killer returns and threatens not just her but her family, Bailey must place her faith in the only man who can keep them from being silenced forever…

“What aren’t you saying, Bailey?”

Ed stepped closer so he could see the truth in her eyes.

Something flashed there again. Fear? Defiance?

“We’re not in this together, you know,” she finally muttered. “I was doing just fine here before you showed up.”

He stepped closer. “Were you?”

“I’ve always done things on my own. I just decided to take matters into my own hands and see if the intruder was still here.”

He didn’t buy her story for a second. “And was he?”

She swallowed so hard that her throat muscles visibly tightened. “You didn’t see him. Did you?”

He shifted, his hands going to his hips. “You need to tell me what kind of game you’re playing. Otherwise, we might both end up dead.”

Wrinkles appeared at the corner of her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. I won’t wander away again. I had a moment of bad judgment.”

That little excuse wasn’t going to settle with him. But she wasn’t saying anything else right now.

He’d keep an eye on her. He didn’t trust her.

But for now, they had to work together.

CHRISTY BARRITT’s books have won a Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Suspense and Mystery and have been twice nominated for the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award. She’s married to her Prince Charming, a man who thinks she’s hilarious—but only when she’s not trying to be. Christy’s a self-proclaimed klutz, an avid music lover and a road trip aficionado. For more information, visit her website at christybarritt.com.

Hidden Agenda

Christy Barritt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Do not conform to the pattern of this world,

but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.

Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—

his good, pleasing and perfect will.

—Romans 12:2

This book is dedicated to the unseen and unrecognized defenders of freedom.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Praise

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Bailey Williams froze, the page from her novel half-turned and candlelight dancing across the words. The book slipped from her hands. Instead of retrieving it, she pulled the blanket tighter across her shoulders.

What was that sound?

The raging storm outside had already toppled some large tree branches into the yard. Power had gone out more than three hours ago, and the nighttime—deep and blinding—had fallen in the blink of an eye.

She was supposed to leave today, but there’d been no boats coming or going from Smuggler’s Cove. So she was stuck here, in this huge old house, on a creepy island in the middle of a subtropical storm.

Could things get any worse?

She squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered the events of the past several days. Events that included losing one of the best employers she’d ever had. That involved losing the job she’d held for the past eight months. That comprised the prospect of starting over again. Going somewhere new. Finding another job.

Mr. Carter had died a week ago today. She’d stuck around, trying to get his affairs in order. She’d planned his funeral, cleaned his house and prepared food for guests who’d come into town.

She felt like the only family the man had, yet she wasn’t family. She was simply Mr. Carter’s nurse, someone who helped on occasion with meals and housework and offered a listening ear. She mourned the man as if she’d been his daughter. In a way, the man had come to feel like a second father.

Another crash sounded, and her lungs tightened. What was that? Had the wind sent something toppling into the house? Had one of the shutters come loose?

She tugged the blanket even tighter around her shoulders. The October day had already been frigid before the power had gone out, the heat along with it. She’d tried to start a fire but had been unsuccessful.

Reaching into the drawer of the table beside the padded chair in her bedroom, she grabbed a flashlight. She flicked the switch to the on position. The light waned, blinked, flickered, but finally shone brightly.

Thank goodness. At least that was working in her favor.

As soon as the thought entered her mind, the flashlight went black, the room along with it. A draft must have whispered extinction orders across the candle that burned on the table beside her chair. Two lights in two seconds—it was a double whammy of darkness.

Bailey hit the flashlight against her palm. Tapped the top of the light. Shook the batteries back and forth.

The sweet beacon of illumination wouldn’t come back on.

Perfect. She frowned.

She was going to have to check out the sound, whether she wanted to or not. She couldn’t simply stay in her old bedroom, huddled on the big, comfy chair until the storm passed. For more than one reason. Buckets of rain could be flooding into the house. The bay could have climbed the shores, reaching the porch, in which case she’d need to evacuate. For all she knew, this whole island could be in danger of washing away. The place seemed like little more than a sandbar anyway. Or what if lightning struck nearby, started a fire even? There were so many things that could go wrong, so many reasons not to stay in her room hiding.

Her throat constricted as she stepped into the dark hallway that snaked through the east wing of the estate. She thought her eyes would have adjusted to the darkness by now, but not even a hint of light reached the interior of the house, especially not right here.

In broad daylight, the place was spooky. On a stormy night, it was terrifying.

She first thought about going downstairs. But the idea caused hazy fear to engulf her, making her feel light-headed and unsteady. She changed course and hurried in the opposite direction, away from the massive staircase that led to the front door and instead toward the door at the end of the hallway.

She passed one closed door. Two. Three.

Each one made her tense, made worst-case scenarios flash through her mind like a broken reel from a horror flick. Images of people hiding. Madmen lurking. Danger awaiting.

Her walk turned into a run. She reached the end of the hallway, her destination. Her hands trembled on the doorknob, but finally she managed to twist it.

The moment she threw open the door, purple light flashed from the alcove upstairs. Her heart raced.

Lightning. Just lightning.

No figures lurked in the shadows.

Maybe she shouldn’t have been reading that mystery novel earlier. The story had put too many spooky ideas into her head.

Before she could second-guess herself, her fingers gripped the iron handles of the spiral staircase that twisted upward to the widow’s walk. Bailey would have a bird’s-eye view from there of anything going on outside. Floods. Fires. Downed trees.

She rushed up the steps at a dizzying pace until she reached the enclosed landing up top. The stretch was narrow with windows on each side. There was only one bench and a lonely spider plant. She usually liked to come up here alone, especially when she needed to think. Right now, it would serve as a lookout.

Still clutching the blanket around her shoulders, she took her first step.

The only time she could catch a glimpse of anything in the darkness was when lightning lit the sky. The first strike showed her the Chesapeake Bay. Angry waves roiled there, charging forward before beating against the sandy beaches of the island. The second strike showed her several massive tree branches that now littered the yard.

Where had that crash come from earlier? Had a window broken from the gale-force gusts outside? Had a tree fallen onto the garage? Blown the pier away?

Speaking of which, maybe being up here wasn’t the best idea. Not with this storm raging. All she needed was for the wind to make a projectile of one of those live oak trees lining the walk leading to the front door. She’d be a goner, and it would be her own doing.

Thunder shook the cool, water-dimpled windowpanes. As Bailey stood there, the glass rattled as the deep sound rumbled and rumbled some more. The growl reached all the way to her bones.

When lightning flashed again, something beside the house caught her eye. Her heart leaped into her throat with enough force to jostle her entire body.

Was that...a man?

She stepped closer to the glass and wiped away some of the fog there. She couldn’t have seen that correctly. Her eyes were playing tricks on her.

She blinked, waiting and holding her breath to get a glimpse of the back of the house again.

The next time the sky lit, Bailey saw him. A man stood at the back door, his fists pounding against the wood. She didn’t have to hear the knocks to know they were forceful, almost angry.

He was trying to get inside, she realized.

Desperate to get inside, for that matter.

The only reason someone would want to get in here was to start trouble. Mr. Carter had said some cryptic things in his final days. He’d spoken of someone coming here and destroying people. He’d urged Bailey to protect his things.

She’d thought Mr. Carter had been delusional. But what if there was more to his words? What if in his last moments he’d finally spoken the truth? Though a pleasant and friendly man, he’d been so private, so selective in what he shared.

With the force of a bolt of electricity, Bailey realized that she had to get down from here before the man at the back door saw her.

Just as she took a step back, the man lifted his head.

Looked right at her.

Even with the distance between them, Bailey felt the anger in the man’s gaze.

A black cloak fell outside again, and the man disappeared.

The next instance, the sky filled with light again.

Just in time for her to see the stranger kick the door open.

Bailey had to hide, she realized. Now. It was only a matter of time before the intruder found her.

* * *

Ed Carter saw the figure on the widow’s walk. For a moment—and just a moment—he thought he’d seen a ghost. Not that he believed in ghosts. But the woman had looked so eerie, especially with the blanket around her shoulders and the sullen look on her face.

Then he realized an intruder was lurking in the house.

In his dad’s house.

Could she be the same person who’d killed his father? That was his best guess. Maybe she’d stuck around, using some kind of alias as she tried to stake claim to his father’s fortune. Money made people do crazy things, like declaring to be long-lost relatives. For all he knew, his father had gotten remarried—to the wrong woman. As crazy as that sounded, it was the best-case scenario.

The worst-case scenario was that his father had brought classified information here. Information that people wanted. The wrong people wanted and would do anything to get their hands on.

Ed intended to put an end to all of this. Now.

Ed knew the truth. Despite his father’s congestive heart failure, he had not died of natural causes, and Ed would prove it.

He forgot about formalities and about trying to preserve his dad’s house. All thoughts of coming home and paying respects to his dad, of both mourning and celebrating his dad’s life, disappeared.

With expert training, he kicked the door. Wood splintered from the hinges, revealing the inside of the house. His years in the CIA had taught him a few things.

More than he would have liked sometimes.

He stared at the blackness oozing from the interior. It was thick, almost as though the darkness was a material thing.

He reached for the light switch. The electricity was out. Of course.

A storm like this could literally wipe out the whole island and send it toppling into the bay. Not to mention what it could do for the power grid of the small, isolated community.

As if to confirm his theory, lightning slashed the sky behind him, followed by a loud rumble of thunder. This storm was a beast.

He’d barely made it to the island in time. The pilot he’d hired was an expert. The storm came on faster than anticipated, and they’d landed just before the squall unleashed at full force. If his pilot hadn’t been so experienced, the plane would have probably crashed in the high winds and massive downpour.

Ed had waited inside the tiny, two-room airport for a break in the weather before traveling the island roads, which were only accessible by golf cart or bike. A man at the airport had informed him that the bridge leading to his father’s estate was treacherous with the rising tide.

But after a couple of hours of waiting, Ed had decided to take his chances. Alvin, the town chauffeur, had agreed to give him a ride to the bridge in a covered golf cart and bring Ed’s luggage for him later. Meanwhile, his pilot chose to camp out at the airport so he could leave as soon as the storm passed.

Once Ed had waded through the water and reached the house, he’d discovered that his key to his dad’s place no longer worked.

In the storm, the place looked even creepier than Ed remembered. It was a Georgian-style mansion with towers on the sides and a widow’s walk stretching across the roof. A shipping captain had built the place after staking claim to a good portion of land on the island nearly a century ago.

As the eerily silent house surrounded him, Ed remembered the figure on the widow’s walk. He didn’t have any time to waste.

He shook some water off himself and reached under his coat to retrieve his handgun, turning on the penlight on top so he’d have some light. In his line of work, one could never be too careful.

Moving slowly, carefully, he stepped deeper into the house.

He scanned the kitchen. There was no sign of movement. He doubted the woman would have been able to get from the widow’s walk down here in that short amount of time.

Where had she gone? Had she hidden? Tried to escape?

He wasn’t sure. But he was going to find out.

Locating the woman in a house this massive, with so many twists and turns and back hallways, would be difficult. He’d start by going to the second level, and then he’d travel toward the staircase leading toward the widow’s walk.

He walked slowly, daring any of the wooden steps to creak and announce his presence. If he’d learned one thing through the years, it was how to be quiet and stealthy, how to be light on his feet and disappear into the shadows.

He reached the hallway and headed to the right. A long line of doors waited there, each a potential trap. He kept his gun drawn and his steps steady. He reached the first door and pushed it open.

An empty bedroom stared back at him.

He did the same at the next two doors.

At the fourth door, he paused when he saw the edge of a blanket on the floor.

He turned and spotted a woman behind the door. The woman. With a lamp above her head, poised like a baseball bat.

“I don’t think so,” she mumbled, starting to swing.

In one swift motion, he slid his gun back into the holster and grabbed her arm—just in time to stop her from crashing the ceramic base on his head. He squeezed her wrist until the lamp shattered onto the floor. The woman gasped, her eyes widening with surprise and fear. He still didn’t let go of her. No telling what she would try next.

“Are you crazy?” He kept his voice low and serious, refusing to break his gaze. If anything, he knew how to handle himself in tense situations.

The woman, at one moment frozen, suddenly came to life. She struggled against him, twisting, turning and trying to get away.

“Get your hands off me!” she growled.

She was a fighter. He’d give her credit for having spunk.

But he did this for a living.

Based on the way she flailed, this woman was no trained assassin. She probably hadn’t even taken any self-defense classes, for that matter. But who was she? As far as he knew, this place was supposed to be empty. Of course, he’d been out of touch for the past several months, on an assignment that required deep cover.

The woman still tried to jerk away from him.

“Calm down,” he muttered.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

He pinned both of her arms behind her back and restrained her until she stopped struggling. Her eyes didn’t lose their fight, though.

He locked gazes with her. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

She tried to jerk away one more time. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

Ed sighed, waiting for her to wear herself out. “I’m not in the mood for guessing games, so why don’t you answer my question?”

“Why don’t you let me go? Then maybe we can talk.”

He wanted to really see her eyes, wanted to see if there was truth or deceit in their depths when she answered. It was a calculated risk he needed to take. He released her hand and pulled out his gun in one swift motion.

“Back up to the wall,” he ordered. “Slowly. Don’t make any sudden moves or you’ll regret it.”

She slowly turned, took two steps back and stood stiffly against the flowered wallpaper.

He shined the light atop his gun on the woman, wanting to get a good look at her. She was on the taller side. Slim. Had long hair, light brown and straight, that fell halfway down her back. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were—probably brown, he guessed—but they were big with thick lashes.

He’d been deceived by more than one pretty woman in his day, enough that he was now immune to batting eyelashes and sweet smiles.

“Start talking.” With mild amusement, he added, “Please.”

The woman raised her hands, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. “I’m not looking for trouble. As soon as the storm is over, I’ll be gone from here. None of this stuff is mine, but I think you’re deplorable if you’re going to steal from a dead man.”

“Steal?” He raised an eyebrow, curious now.

“Yes, of course steal.” Suddenly, the woman pressed herself harder into the wall and rubbed her throat. “If you’re not a thief, then why are you here?”

Seeing her fear caused something to click in his mind. While he didn’t want to be manipulated by a woman, he never wanted to see a woman look that frightened. He especially never wanted to be the cause of that fear.

“Look, I’m not going to hurt you.” To prove it, he put his gun away, tucking it safely into its holster under his sopping wet jacket. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”

“Believe me. Neither was I. I wasn’t even expecting to be here.” She shivered as thunder rumbled through the house again. “Especially not in this storm.”

“Maybe we should start over.” He extended his hand, still cautious and on guard, but some of his edge leaving him after her comment about his dad. “I’m Ed.”

She stared at his hand a moment before reaching forward. Her grip felt tentative, uncertain. She still didn’t trust him. Smart woman.

“I’m Bailey. I was Mr. Carter’s nurse up until the time he died a week ago. I stayed around trying to take care of his affairs, since he had no family around to do so.”

He heard the undercurrents of judgment in her voice. “He had no family close by, huh?”

Her eyes flickered with emotion. “Just a good-for-nothing son, who never visited. Not even for his father’s funeral.” Her words sounded protective and loyal—and judgmental.

“His son sounds like a lousy excuse for a human being.” Ed kept his voice light, tried to disguise the hurt there. He was the master of disguising how he felt. Years of working undercover did that to a person.

“I agree. I would have done anything to spend more time with my own father before he died. Family should be there for each other.” Her voice cracked.

“You’re right. Family should be there for each other.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “And why exactly are you here, Ed?”

He raised his chin. “Because this is my house now, and I intend on finding out who killed my father.”

TWO

Bailey stared at the man in front of her.

This was Mr. Carter’s son? The hotshot lawyer from DC who never came to visit his father? Who couldn’t even make it to his funeral because of “pressing business”?

She didn’t know the man, and already she didn’t like him. She didn’t have to know him to know his type. He was career-oriented, into the social scene, all about climbing ladders—socially, professionally and financially. People weren’t on his priority list or on his radar, for that matter. He only cared if they helped him advance in some way.

“I’m glad you could finally make it,” she finally muttered.

Suddenly, she wasn’t scared anymore, just annoyed. Why did this man think he could come traipsing in here after being absent from his father’s life for so long?

Probably because he realized his father’s last will and testament would be read soon. Ed most likely wanted what was left of his father’s fortune. That fit the image she’d developed of the good-for-nothing son.

In the darkness, she could only make out the outline of the man. She could tell that he was tall, that his shoulders were broad. He was wet from the rain, and the moisture brought with it the scent of woodsy cologne. She’d guess, based on Mr. Carter’s age and the sound of the man’s voice, that Ed was in his midthirties.

Strangely enough, Mr. Carter didn’t keep any pictures of his son here at the house. There were plenty of pictures of Mr. Carter’s wife, who’d died eight years ago. But none of his son. Bailey had always thought it was odd. She’d asked Mr. Carter about it once, and he’d only said that his son didn’t like his picture to be taken.

At that moment, Ed stepped closer. She could feel the coldness of his icy gaze. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

She raised her chin, not ready to back down. Someone had to stand up for Mr. Carter. Ed hadn’t been around to do it. “No, but it’s too bad your dad isn’t here anymore so you could explain things to him.”

His tone became even cooler. “My dad understood.”

She raised her chin higher, questioning for a moment whether she should be so hard on the man. She realized this was none of her business, that she’d simply been hired help. But how could a son not be there for his father in his dying days? How could he have missed the funeral?

And what was all of this talk about finding the person who’d killed his father? Was that just some kind of front to distract her from his real intentions? His selfish intentions?

She lowered her chin, trying to rein in her emotions, which seemed to be spinning out of control tonight, right along with her imagination. “Your father died of heart failure. You’re mistaken if you think someone killed him. You must have gotten faulty information.”

“I’m in the business of information.” He stepped closer.

Even in the dark, she saw his glare.

She’d gotten on his bad side, and rightfully so. But she didn’t care. She was leaving here as soon as this storm cleared, and she’d never see this man again. At the moment, she wasn’t worried about impressing anyone, especially not Ed Carter.

She stepped closer, close enough to show that she wasn’t one to back down from a confrontation. “If you’re in the business of information, then you need to check your sources. I was with your father when he died.”

Ed didn’t break his gaze. “Then that makes you my number one suspect.”

She sucked in a deep breath, outrage bursting inside her. “You think that I—”

Just then, a crash sounded downstairs.

Ed and Bailey’s eyes met and, for a moment, they seemed to agree. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

And standing here arguing would do nothing to help figure out what.

* * *

Ed’s muscles tightened when he heard the noise.

He’d hoped to handle one catastrophe at a time.

Now, instead of trying to figure what in the world this woman was talking about, he had to investigate the source of that shattered glass.

If he were less of a gentleman, he might leave this Bailey woman up here to defend herself. But he wasn’t that kind of guy. No matter how frustrating the woman might be, she was coming with him.

“Stay close,” he ordered.

She crossed her arms, her gaze defiant and stubborn. “I’d rather take my chances alone.”

“This is no time to be difficult.” He should just leave her. If only his conscience would let him.

“I’m not being difficult. I’m being honest.”

The woman had guts. But he spoke the truth—this wasn’t the time to try out her hand at independence. She was his first suspect in his father’s death, but he’d learned a thing or two about having tunnel vision in his line of work. Until he had more information, he would keep his eyes open for others. He didn’t have enough evidence to make a case against any one person yet.

“Stay with me,” he repeated. He turned, tired of wasting time. He needed to check out that sound.

When he was sure that Bailey was right behind him, he moved toward the stairs. He kept his gun raised, waiting for any sound or sign of approaching danger. Nothing gave any indication that someone else was in the house.

The crash could have been caused by the storm. But until he knew for sure, Ed had to explore every possibility. There were an uncountable number of people out there who’d like to kill Ed or who could have killed his father. Danger was like breathing for Ed—it was a given. He was always on guard. Always suspicious. It was a hard way to live, but he’d gotten used to it—until recently. Something was shifting inside him, and he wasn’t sure what or how to handle it.

Despite her bravado earlier, Bailey stayed surprisingly close behind him. He could hear her breaths coming quick and fast. Though he suspected she would never admit it, she was scared.

He stopped at the base of the stairs, and Bailey collided with him. He pivoted in time to see her toppling backward. He grabbed her arm and steadied her before she hurt herself. When he released her, she brushed her shirt off. Getting rid of his touch maybe?

He didn’t have time for these games.

He put a finger over his lips to signal silence. She nodded and stayed behind him as they stepped into the kitchen. Wind swept through the room, bringing a chill with it. As lightning flashed again, the ragged edges of one of the bay windows by the breakfast nook came into view.

A tree limb lay half inside, half outside the house.

He let out the breath he’d been holding. The noise had just been nature doing the damage, not anyone dangerous. He lowered his gun.

“It looks like it was the storm after all,” Bailey muttered, stepping out from behind him, her shoulders relaxing some. “A nuisance, but the better of the options racing through my mind. I’ll get a broom.”

He tucked his weapon into his jacket. “Know where any plastic is? I need to cover that hole up.”

“Look in the west wing of the house. There are entire rooms with furniture covered in sheets of the stuff. You should be able to find something there.”

Her words were cold. She thought she knew him, knew his reasons for being away. But she had no idea. And he didn’t have to explain himself to her. In fact, he wouldn’t explain himself to her. All of this was none of her business.

He’d come here to figure out who’d killed his dad. He only wished he had more to go on than the cryptic message his father’s friend had left him. Then the man had died before relaying any information. Now his father was dead, as well.

As Ed headed into the blackness known as the west wing, he comforted himself with the fact that his father had run a check on Bailey before she was hired. But the best operatives were good. Really good. They slipped by the normal screenings. A few had slipped by high-level screenings.

Until he could identify the guilty party, he’d trust no one.

He was no fool. When his father had told him he was hiring a nurse, Ed had looked into Bailey himself. Her past had seemed seriously lacking. Could that be a sign she was a Goody Two-shoes or that her background had been fabricated?

He stopped at the first room in the hallway. The door creaked open. On the other side, he saw what was probably a ballroom at one time. Pieces of furniture stood like pretend ghosts in a haunted house. Each was covered and draped with either plastic or white sheets.

He grabbed some thick plastic off a wing chair and carried it back into the kitchen. Bailey was already there sweeping up the glass shards on the floor.

“Nails?” he asked.

He didn’t have to see her expression to know her thoughts. If you’d been around more, maybe you wouldn’t have to ask me these questions.

He wished he had been around more. He’d wanted to be. But his job had required a lot of him. In essence, it had required his life, and Ed’s father knew that. Ed’s father had helped him get the position. His dad knew all about the risks, the sacrifices. It came with the territory.

Bailey continued to brush the glass into a trash can. “The toolbox is under the sink.”

While he was gone, Bailey had lit some candles around the room. Warm light flickered at the sink, on the breakfast table and on top of the kitchen island.

Ed found the nails and a hammer—right where Bailey had said they would be—and, after moving the limb from the window, he secured the thick plastic around the frame. At least the room would be protected against water damage. It wouldn’t do much to keep intruders out, though. There was little he could do about that now.

While he had the toolbox, he also hammered the back door shut. Bailey watched him, her arms crossed and eyes suspicious. Finally, Ed stepped back and looked at his work. It was nothing to write home about, but it would do. In the morning, he’d see if he could find the supplies to fix the door.

“I’ll put those tools up for you,” Bailey offered.

Before he could insist that he could do it, she grabbed the hammer. Their hands brushed, and his heart jolted with electricity. He cleared his throat, brushing off his surprise. “Your hands are ice-cold. Do you have any firewood? We need to get some heat in this place.”

She turned, squatting to return the hammer to its location under the sink. “Yes. A fire would be great. I wasn’t successful at starting one myself.”

At least the lack of a fire wasn’t an effort to conceal her presence here. “It’s going to get cold, and the storm isn’t supposed to let up anytime soon,” he finally said. “It looks like both of us are stuck here for a while.”

She stood up and offered what looked like a forced smile. “So it appears.”

He walked into the living room, a grand space with a ceiling two stories high, ornate bookcases stretching the height of the walls, and various seating areas where people could nestle down and catch up.

Too bad there would be no nestling down and no catching up.

He slid his wet coat off, grateful that his clothes underneath were still dry. Then he grabbed some logs and put them on the hearth. He balled up some newspaper he’d found on the floor to use for kindling. Bailey stood close, watching his every move, and finally handed him some matches.

He watched as the paper caught flame. Something about the moment reminded him of how very alone he was now. Both parents dead. No brothers or sisters. No family of his own. There was nothing waiting for him if he left the CIA. Nothing.

“Your father always liked to make fires himself,” Bailey muttered, her voice breaking him from his thoughts. “He never let me help.”

Ed stepped back, waiting for the flames to come to life. “Sounds like my dad.”

He glanced at Bailey. Had he heard sorrow in the woman’s voice? She stood there with the sleeves of her sweatshirt pulled over her hands. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her eyes downcast, almost sad. Maybe all of this defensiveness was because Bailey truly did care about his father. He didn’t have time to ponder it now.

A moment later, the fire hissed, yawned and finally roared to life. Bailey stepped closer and rubbed her hands together. Orange light danced across her face.

Her very pleasant face.

Not that it mattered to Ed. He squatted there, mesmerized by the flames for another moment.

After a few minutes, Bailey stepped back. Her gaze narrowed as she looked at something in the distance.

Then she froze. Sucked in a quick breath. Stepped back.

Ed sprang to his feet, tense and ready for action. “What is it?”

Her wide eyes met his. “You came in through the back door, right?”

“That’s correct.”

She pointed toward the front door. “Then who left those wet footprints there?”

* * *

Bailey grabbed the fire poker and wrapped her fingers firmly around the handle. If there was someone else in this house, she was going to be prepared to fight him or her. Right beside Ed.

She didn’t think Ed was the most upstanding guy, but she also didn’t think he’d harm her.

Unless he continued to suspect she had something to do with his father’s death.

Which was absurd.

Just then, Ed turned from scanning the room. He looked back at her, and she sucked in another deep breath.

The firelight revealed the intricacies of his face.

Startling blue eyes, thick dark hair, perfectly proportioned features. He had a slight scar under his right eye and a small dimple at his chin.

It would have been better if Bailey had remained in the dark about how he looked. At least that way, in her mind, the man would have remained an ogre. Instead, he was good-looking enough for Hollywood. But his looks only added to her initial impression that he was shallow and superficial.

“Were you expecting anyone else?” Ed asked, pulling out his gun.

Bailey shook her head. “No one. Not even you.”

“Anyone else have a key?”

“No. Not even you, apparently.” She bit her lip. She really had to get control of her tongue and stop spouting off everything that came into her mind.

“Mine doesn’t work anymore. Thank you,” he added with a touch of sarcasm. “I might also add that I had a key and you didn’t know about it. There could be others.”

Bailey’s mind raced through the possibilities. “If someone else was here, why didn’t they announce their entrance?”

“Maybe he or she didn’t realize you were here. The door’s intact. No one broke it down in order to get inside.” He reached for his gun. “Stay here.”

“That’s a switch from your earlier order to stay with you.”

He scowled. “I’m trying not to get you killed.”

“And earlier?”

He sighed. “We could stand here and argue all day. I’d feel better if I followed the footsteps just in case there’s someone less than honorable waiting at the end of the trail.”

“And I’d feel better if I carried my weight.” She still didn’t trust the man, but she’d come to find a certain amount of security in his presence, even in the short amount of time since they’d met. As thunder rumbled again, she gripped the poker tighter. “No way am I staying here by myself.”

It had seemed like a good idea earlier, when she was up in the hallway and feeling stubborn. But now that she knew someone else was definitely here, the thought of being alone seemed terrifying.

He stared at her another moment before shrugging. “Fine. Suit yourself. But be careful.”

She shivered. They couldn’t blame those footprints on the wind or the storm, as she’d done with the other calamities around the place. No, someone had clearly been here. Recently.

Ed bent toward the footprints and began following them through the living room, down the east wing.

Bailey stayed behind Ed. Near enough to touch him. Scared enough that she wanted to grab ahold of his jacket.

But she wouldn’t do that.

He followed the trail. Out of the living room. Through the downstairs hallway.

The tracks stopped in front of the library.

Ed turned, only Bailey was right behind him. He was close—too close. Close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from him. That she caught another whiff of his cologne. That her heart leaped into her throat.

He didn’t seem affected.

He twisted the handle. “It’s locked.”

Bailey shook her head. “That room is never locked.”

“Stay back.” His tone left no room for argument.

Bailey braced herself against the wall. Her heart pounded in her ears and her breathing became labored as she waited for what would happen next.

With more skill than any DC lawyer should have, Ed kicked the door open.

Tension clenched Bailey’s spine. She’d never met a suit that knew how to do that. Nor how to do it with so much confidence. As if he’d done it a million times before.

Just what kind of secrets was Ed hiding? The way he’d handled that gun earlier had also been impressive and surprising.

He scanned the inside of the room before muttering, “Houston, we have a problem.”

She gripped the iron poker even tighter. “What’s wrong?”

He nodded toward the library. “Someone’s been here. And they were looking for something.”

She peered around the corner. The library had been demolished. Books were everywhere. Papers littered the floor. Chairs were overturned.

And that was only what she could see in the darkness. The daylight would surely reveal more injuries to the space.

She wondered who would do such a thing. Though a greater question remained.

Had the person who’d done this left or were they still lurking somewhere between the walls of this house?

THREE

Ed didn’t like this. He didn’t like it one bit.

Someone else had been here. They’d broken in. And they were looking for something very specific.

This had to have something to do with that phone call from his father’s friend. He’d discovered something, shared that information with his father, and now they were both dead. Based on this break-in, there may have been some kind of physical intelligence exchanged. Maybe that information was still here and someone was looking for it. It was the only thing that made sense.

Had the intruder found that communication and escaped?

Or was he still here? Still looking?

Ed didn’t know those answers, but somehow he had to find out.

Across the room, the window was open. A cold wind howled inside.

Most likely, whoever had been here had left out that window.

Either that, or he’d set it up to make it appear as if he’d left. In the world of espionage, things were hardly ever what they seemed.

“Ed?”

Bailey’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts for a moment. “Yes?”

“What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to remain cautious,” he said. “That’s the first thing. Stay there. Let me get this window closed.”

With his gun still drawn, he crossed the room, looking for any sign of hidden, unexpected visitors. There was no one. Just as thunder filled the air, he reached the window, pulled it shut and locked it.

He returned to the door, noting Bailey was no longer lingering in the door frame where he’d left her. Had she decided to be a lone ranger? To go out on her own? Certainly the woman wasn’t that neurotic.

He peered into the hallway and saw no sign of Bailey. The poker she’d been holding lay on the floor, as if she’d dropped it.

Strange. Suspicious, even.

“Bailey?” he called.

An impending feeling of malice crept into his psyche.

When there was no answer, he realized that something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

* * *

Bailey struggled against the man who’d grabbed her in the hallway.

One moment, she’d only heard Ed’s voice. The next instant, thunder had cracked and a gloved hand had covered her mouth. A solid, steel-like arm had pinned her limbs against her body, making her unable to move.

She’d tried to kick and scream, but nothing. Her attacker easily overpowered her, rendering her immobile and helpless. In the blink of an eye, the man lifted her off her feet and carried her silently down the hallway.

She tried to resist, but the man was like a machine. His arms gripped her like a vise.

With amazing stealth, he carried her past the living room. Into the west wing of the house. Into the old game room with its wood paneling, stained-glass lighting and massive pool table.

He shoved her onto the leather couch. The plastic covering crinkled beneath her. Each crumple made her nerves tighten.

Every minute counted, she reminded herself. This was no time to let her fear consume her. She had to keep a clear head if she wanted to stay alive.

Her gaze jerked upward as she fought off the nausea.

The man leered at her. The black ski mask he wore made it impossible to make out any features. She saw the most important one, though. Even in the dark, she saw the hatred in his eyes.

Then she saw the knife in his hands. Five inches of shiny metal. A thick handle wrapped with what appeared to be leather. A devilishly sharp-looking blade, one that could probably slice her skin at just a whisper of a touch.

“Where is it?” the man mumbled, leaning toward her.

His voice was deep and rumbling and menacing. Her fear deepened.

He held the knife out, daring her to try to escape. He looked ready to pounce as he crouched over her. Bailey knew beyond a doubt that he’d use the knife if he had to.

She could hardly move. Hardly breathe.

All she could see was the knife. All she could think about was her life ending in pain and torture. She had so much more she wanted to do. She wanted to get married and have kids. She wanted to explore the world, to learn to knit, to make peace with the mistakes of her past.

What had he just said? He’d asked her a question. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what.

“I said, where is it?” the man said as if reading her thoughts. He held the knife closer, right at her throat. His eyes glimmered with an evil she’d never seen before.

She swallowed so hard it hurt. Swallowed so hard she was afraid the blade might touch the delicate skin at her neck. So hard that her throat burned.

“Where is what?” She finally managed to get the words out.

Was it the stress of the situation? Was that why his question made no sense? She searched her memories, trying to figure what in the world the man was talking about. She came up with nothing.

His other hand dug into her arm. She refused to yelp, even if his fingers caused pain to jolt through her.

“Don’t play stupid. The information. I need it.”

The library flashed through her mind. This man had been searching for something there. Couldn’t find it. He thought Bailey could, though.

What was he talking about? A will? It was the only thing that made sense at the moment. But Mr. Carter’s lawyer had the will.

There was something she was missing.

Something major. She had to buy time as she figured out what.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice broke under the strain of the moment. “You’ve got to believe me. I was just a nurse.”

He paused. “You were the only one Mr. Carter spoke with in his final days. Certainly he told you something. Maybe in those delirious moments before death?”

What had he said? He’d asked Bailey to protect his things from someone who was coming. What if he hadn’t been crazy? “We didn’t have that kind of relationship,” Bailey finally said. “Purely professional.”

“You knew him better than anyone else. If anyone can find the information, it’s you.”

She could still feel the knife at her neck. “How can I find something if I don’t know what it is?”

“You’ll know when you see it. You can move freely about the house to search. I can’t.”

She shook her head, trying to ward away panic. Trying to figure out how to save herself. “I’m leaving tomorrow. As soon as the storm passes.”

“You’re not leaving until you find it,” he ordered.

Her heart skipped a beat at his implications. “I think you’re talking to the wrong person. I was just a nurse.” How could she make him understand?

He leaned closer, his voice raspy and threatening. His breath fanned hot across her cheek, the scent of peppermint filling her nostrils. “I’m giving you one week. If you don’t have the information by then, I’ll kill you.”

A shudder raced down her spine. “But—”

He squeezed her arm. “I’m not finished. After I kill you, I’ll make sure everyone else around you pays.”

“There’s no one else,” she muttered, desperate to keep her family safe. Their faces flashed through her mind, her heart squeezing at each sweet image. She couldn’t put them in danger. She wouldn’t.

“No one else, huh?” He squeezed her throat. “Do you want to rethink that?”

Panic jolted through her. He couldn’t know. She just had to convince him she was all alone in the world, that there was no one to hold as leverage over her.

“There’s no one else,” she insisted.

He squeezed her throat harder. A small cry escaped this time. As hard as she tried to hide her fear, it seemed to be pouring out in the tears that rushed down her cheeks.

“Try again,” he growled.

She stayed quiet.

“I’m tired of these games. You’re the only one who can get the information I need. I repeat—you need to find it. If you don’t, I’ll kill your sister.”

She forced herself not to show any surprise. “I’m an only child,” she insisted. She hoped she sounded convincing.

“You think I’m stupid? Her name is Lauren. She lives down in Florida.”

Panic made her muscles tremble. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t possibly know this.

The man squeezed again, and her airway tightened. “Got it?”

She only stared, unable to answer. The man had researched Bailey. He’d looked into her family.

This confrontation wasn’t by chance. This had all been planned. Every last detail.

Except maybe Ed. There’s no way someone had planned on him being here.

Right? Or was he a part of this somehow?

Nothing made sense at the moment.

Adrenaline surged through her, making her thoughts feel hypercharged.

As she stared at the man’s icy gaze, she had no doubt that his threat was real. This man wouldn’t blink at the thought of taking another life.

“I don’t like repeating myself. Do you hear me?”

Finally, she nodded.

He leaned closer. “Don’t tell anyone about our meeting. Or that I’m here. Or that we had this conversation. Got it?”

She stared again as a million scenarios played out in her mind.

“Got it?” he demanded, his voice louder, gruffer.

She nodded. “Got it.”

“I have ears everywhere. Everywhere. I’ll hear everything you say, so be careful. Ed Carter can’t know about this. Understand?”

She nodded.

“And all of your lies just made me change my mind. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have my men start with your sister. Then her kids. Alex and Emma.”

Bailey sucked in a deep breath at the mention of their names.

Then he raised his knife. Something hard hit her head and she passed out.

* * *

Ed checked all the rooms on the lower wing, where his dad’s office was located. He didn’t find Bailey anywhere.

He searched for footprints. For signs of a struggle. For anything that would give an indication of what had happened to the woman.

He’d found nothing.

He paused in the living room, trying to figure out his next plan of action. The footprints left earlier at the door hadn’t been disturbed.

He had a few options left. The west wing. Upstairs. The widow’s walk. Or the back of the house, where the kitchen, dining room and pantry were located.

He paused for a moment and listened for any telltale sounds. Silence answered him.

Until the wood floor creaked in the distance.

He spun and saw Bailey standing at the entrance of the west wing, a dazed expression on her face. She rubbed her head with one hand. The other arm was flung across her chest in an almost protective gesture. Her hair looked disheveled, and he thought he saw a tremble claiming all of her muscles.

“Are you okay?” He crossed the room in long strides to meet her, to begin to assess what had happened.

She nodded, a new emotion in her gaze. She almost seemed dazed. Ed had seen the stunned expression in an instant, but the next moment it disappeared. She’d blinked and her walls had gone up. Her jaw hardened and she sucked in a long, deep breath.

“Of course I’m fine. Why?”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. How could she act so calm? Just what had happened? Something was off. “You’re fine?”

She shrugged and raised her chin. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ed didn’t miss the way her throat tightened, almost as if she was having trouble swallowing because of the tension welling inside her.

“Why wouldn’t you be fine? How about because one minute you were in the library and the next moment you were gone.” There was something she wasn’t telling him and that realization left him unsettled.

She shrugged again. “I just decided to check things out for myself.”

A smattering of rain against the window sent her clinging to the wall, her gaze swinging wildly about. She could talk tough all she wanted, but her actions told the truth.

“You decided to check things out yourself? You? The woman who walked so closely behind me that I could barely move? You suddenly got enough courage to explore this dark house on your own?” Something wasn’t adding up, and he didn’t like where all of this was going.

“I’m not as spineless as you might think I am.” She raised her chin even higher.

He still saw the tremble racing through her.

“What aren’t you saying, Bailey?” He stepped closer so he could see the truth in her eyes.

Something flashed there again. Fear? Defiance?

He wasn’t sure.

“We’re not in this together, you know,” she finally muttered. “I was doing just fine here before you showed up.”

He stepped closer. “Were you? If I hadn’t shown up and you’d run into some stranger who’d broken into the house with less than honorable intentions, I’d doubt you’d act so laid-back.”

“I’ve always done things on my own. I just decided to take matters into my own hands and see if the intruder was still here. We were wasting time sticking together.”

He didn’t buy her story for a second. “And was he?”

She swallowed so hard that her throat muscles visibly tightened. “You didn’t see him. Did you?”

He shifted, his hands going to his hips. He reminded himself that Bailey, most likely, wasn’t one of the bad guys here. He didn’t need to go into interrogation mode. “You need to tell me what kind of game you’re playing. Otherwise, we might both end up dead.”

Wrinkles appeared at the corner of her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. I won’t wander away again. I had a moment of bad judgment.”

That little excuse wasn’t going to settle with him. But she wasn’t saying anything else right now.

He’d keep an eye on her. He didn’t trust her.

But for now, they had to work together.

He couldn’t be 100 percent sure that the intruder was gone. Whoever it had been had definitely set it up to look as if he’d left. But the person behind this vandalism wasn’t a newbie. They were experienced...and possibly working with Bailey?

He had to keep that idea at the forefront of his mind.

Trust no one.

That had been his mantra for more than a decade.

He didn’t see it changing anytime soon.

FOUR

Bailey rubbed her throat, suddenly exhausted, weary and overwhelmed. “What now?”

“Right now we secure the house and batten down the hatches, so to speak, for this storm. Until it’s daylight, there’s not much more we can do except try to stay safe and keep our eyes open.”

Bailey nodded. As she felt Ed’s gaze on her, she rubbed her throat again. He wasn’t stupid. He knew she wasn’t telling the truth. But she had no other choice at this point. She had to do whatever she had to to keep her family safe. She needed time to think, to figure things out. Her adrenaline wanted to race ahead as her mind struggled through the possibilities.

“I know where all of the entrances to the house are,” Bailey offered. “I can show you and we can make sure they’re secure.”

Ed nodded. “Good idea. We’ll stick together.”

She wouldn’t argue with that. She had no desire to wander this place by herself. “Let’s go.”

They moved throughout the house, checking windows and doors. They said very little as they worked. Bailey tried to ignore the tension between them, tried to pretend that everything was like it was before. Everything hadn’t been great earlier, but now her conscience bothered her. Now she did have a secret and, along with it, she had guilt.

Just two hours ago, things had seemed relatively simple. She’d planned on reading her novel, turning in for the night, and in the morning she’d depart this place and look for a new job. Though she’d been dreading starting over again, right now she dreaded staying here even more. Especially under these circumstances.

How could two hours turn her life upside down?

Finally, Ed checked the last window. It was latched.

“We’re secure,” he said.

But Bailey knew that nothing was really secure. Someone very likely was still in this house with them. Where? She had no idea. She hadn’t seen a sign of him as they’d moved throughout the place. Whoever this man was, he was good. He had the ability to disappear. Maybe he’d even planted cameras somewhere. That fact had her on edge.

“Let’s get back to that fire,” Ed suggested. “It’s freezing in here.”

Finally, they went down to the living room. Bailey knelt in front of the flames, absorbing the heat for a moment. She only wished the flames could warm her heart as it did her hands. Despair and panic did a tangled dance inside her.

Ed’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Any food left here?”

“I donated most of it and threw away the perishables.” She shrugged. “I was planning on leaving in the morning and I didn’t want it to be wasted.”

Except, she couldn’t now. She had to think of some way to stay. That meant that she should probably get on Ed’s good side, especially since this was his place now.

“I did save some crackers, cheese, peanut butter and a few apples to snack on until I left. I think there’s coffee and some of that fancy tea your dad liked, also. Would you like me to get them for you?”

He stared again. The man obviously didn’t trust her. He shouldn’t trust her, at this point. Bailey had always been the kind of person people could depend on, the one people told their secrets to. She didn’t even know how to be untrustworthy, which only added to this crisis of conscience.

“I’ll get the food,” Ed finally said. “Where did you leave everything?”

“The kitchen counter. Beside the refrigerator. In a basket.” She’d been planning on taking it with her on the boat. Then she’d call a taxi from the piers to take her to the rental-car agency. She’d been planning on going down to see her sister.

Ed stepped away. Being away from him both made her relax and feel tenser at the same time. She was glad to be away from his scrutiny, but she couldn’t help worry as she sat alone in the dark.

Her thoughts revolved around Ed and his credibility. Why hadn’t Mr. Carter kept any pictures of his son around the house? What kind of relationship had the two of them had? Mr. Carter had certainly spoken with pride about his only offspring, but if they had such a close relationship, why hadn’t Ed shown up for his father’s last days? Something wasn’t adding up. A lot of things, for that matter. What if Ed wasn’t who he’d claimed to be?

She shrugged it off and grabbed some blankets from the closet, leaving a few on the couch in case Ed needed them. Then she pulled the leather recliner closer to the fireplace and settled there, pulling several blankets over herself. The temperature had dropped, and the air in the house was more than chilly. It was downright uncomfortable.

As another shiver washed over her, she looked over her shoulder. Was the stranger watching her now? Was he waiting for just the right moment to flaunt his power over her? Nausea turned in her stomach at the thoughts.

Ed appeared with a tray a few minutes later. He’d scrounged up not only some crackers and apples but also a few bottles of water. He set them on the table between them. “I thought you might be hungry, as well.”

She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, her stomach grumbled. It seemed she was hungrier than she’d thought. She leaned forward and grabbed some crackers. If anything, they might help to settle her stomach, which was twisted in knots.

Ed sat on the couch, ignoring the blankets in favor of leaning closer to the fire, and grabbed an apple. “How long did you work for my father, Bailey?”

Bailey ran a finger over her lips, hoping to dislodge any stray crumbs. “Eight months.”

“And how’d you end up on an isolated place like Smuggler’s Cove?”

She shrugged, thinking back on the broken path that had led to her decision to come here. “Long story. I needed some changes in my life. I had worked as a nurse in the ER, but I was tired of the pace, the pressure, the social scene of life back in Raleigh. I decided maybe I should be a home health nurse and applied with an agency. A day later, I got the call about your father.”

“I’m surprised you lasted more than a week around that ornery man.” He offered a wry smile.

The mystery of their relationship deepened. The way Ed said the words was with an unmistakable affection, but that didn’t add up with the facts she already knew. “Your father was a wonderful man. I mean, he was kind of gruff sometimes. But once you got past those walls, he was delightful. I loved listening to his stories.”

He took another bite of his apple and leaned back. “What kind of stories?”

“Of traveling the world. Of the people he met. Of how our country has changed since he was a boy. He took a lot of pride in the United States and the freedoms we have here.”

“My dad told you all of that?”

She nodded. “We had nothing to do but talk. I mean, sometimes we took walks outside or sat by the water or I read books to him. But mostly we talked.”

Ed’s face tightened, and Bailey wondered about his expression. What was he thinking? That she was lying and that his father couldn’t possibly be that kind? Or did he regret that he’d missed out on his father’s final days?

“Did he talk about his work very much?”

Bailey shrugged. “I don’t know. He did mention some of the senators he had to work with and some of the places he got to visit. He usually only talked about that if he had company.”

Ed raised his eyebrows. “Company?”

Bailey nodded. “He had some people from work visit him a few times.” At least someone had cared enough to. She kept that thought silent.

Ed tilted his head to the side. “I thought my father wanted to get away from everything—and everyone. Especially work. He associated it with too much pressure, pressure he didn’t need with his heart condition.”

Maybe that’s what Ed told himself to justify not coming to visit himself. Speaking of which...

She stared at Ed a moment, wondering what kind of heartless man didn’t visit his dad in his final days. Whether she liked it or not, it appeared she’d be finding out.

* * *

Ed saw the judgment in Bailey’s eyes. He wanted to pretend that he didn’t care, but he knew he did. He didn’t have to explain himself to Bailey, though. God was the only one who needed to understand, and the two of them had already had many talks about everything that had gone down.

Claire had judged him enough that he’d had his fill. The two had dated for a year and Ed had hoped to marry her one day. She was an executive assistant for a company in DC and had to travel a couple of weekends a month for work.

At least, that was her cover story.

In reality, she was working for an elite group of international spies determined to steal US secrets. Ed—and dating Ed—had been a part of the plan she’d devised to get information from him. Thankfully, Ed had seen the light, so to speak, in the nick of time. He’d been heartbroken and angry. Then he’d simply poured more of himself into his work.

“Why are you here, Ed? Why did you come now and not earlier?”

Bailey’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned toward the woman, ignoring the strange desire he had to trust her. Trust made people weak, and he couldn’t afford that right now. What he’d said earlier was true. Bailey had the most access to his father. She, for all intents and purposes, should be his first suspect.

“I’m here because someone murdered my father, and I intend to find out who.”

Any enemies would have been wise to hire someone with an innocent face like Bailey. She seemed so unsuspecting, and that would make her the perfect culprit. There was a part of him that wanted to believe there were good people in the world, but experience told him to remain cautious.

“I really don’t understand. Why would you think he was murdered?” She finished her cracker, leaned back in the chair and pulled her blanket to her chin.

He shrugged. “I have my reasons. Did anything out of the ordinary happen in the days leading up to his death?”

She drew in a deep breath and looked off into the distance a moment. “He did ask me to protect his things. He said something about someone coming here and destroying people. We’d just watched an action movie on TV, though. I thought maybe he was confusing TV with real life.”

Interesting. He’d continue to let her think his father’s words had been accidental. But Ed knew the truth.

Nothing was as it seemed, and Ed didn’t know who to trust—including his colleagues at the CIA. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were involved somehow. Was all of this a cover-up on their part?

“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill your dad,” Bailey whispered. “He said he was just a number cruncher at the State Department. Certainly that’s no reason that he’d be in danger—unless adding something up incorrectly is reason for murder.”

“Sounds like you’ve been watching too many spy movies.”

She frowned. “Yeah, maybe I have. But I’m not the one who thinks Mr. Carter was murdered.”

He bit down, knowing he couldn’t say anything and fluctuating between being amused and irritated. “Maybe you should get some rest. It’s been a long night.”

Bailey frowned and pulled the covers up around her shoulders.

Ed wouldn’t be getting any rest, not knowing the fact that someone else had been in this house. Until he knew what was going on, he’d be on the lookout.

* * *

Morning sunlight streamed through the windows as Bailey opened her eyes. It seemed against all odds she’d fallen asleep. The last thing she remembered was staring at the fire, trying to figure out the craziness that had become her life. She’d been determined to stay awake, to keep a lookout for danger. So much for that plan.

She blinked a couple of times before everything came into focus. Ed squatted by the fire, adding more logs to the flames. He looked up when he noticed her stirring.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

She pushed herself up in the recliner. “Morning.”

Thoughts of yesterday continued to swirl in her head. The man. The threat. Lauren. Ed. Mr. Carter.

She nearly groaned. She’d so desperately wanted all of this to simply be a nightmare. Reality felt like a cold slap in the face.

She needed to think of a way to convince Ed to let her stay. She needed to look for that information. She’d wasted time already. She should have started looking last night, but she knew that she was under Ed’s watchful eye and she was no good at being sneaky.

“I’m not sure when the ferry will start running again,” she began. “But I was thinking about sticking around for a little bit longer, until things settle down a bit.”

“I’m nearly certain transportation to the mainland will be back up today. Half of the island evacuated, and I’m sure residents will be interested in getting back to check out the damage.”

“Yes, and a lot of them may need help,” Bailey countered, desperate to sound natural, despite the anxiety racing through her. “I’d hate to leave everyone in their time of need.”

“That’s kind of you, but don’t feel obligated. I know you need to look for another job.”

“As a matter of fact, your father arranged to have me paid for a few weeks after his death. That was just one more reason I stuck around to help tie up loose ends. I almost feel indebted to stay here and earn my keep.” Her heart pounded. The excuse sounded believable to her. Would Ed go for it?

Ed stood. “Sounds like my father. He liked to take care of people.”

Bailey shrugged, not ready to give up quite yet on convincing Ed. “Well, the people on the island have become like family. You should be there for family when they need you.”

Ed did the stare. The look was becoming all too familiar.

Bailey grabbed an apple from the table and stood up, stretching. She immediately missed her blankets. She had to push aside any sign of weakness, though, and prove herself to Ed.

She needed to somehow earn his trust while keeping him at arm’s length. There were still so many uncertainties about him; he was hiding something.

“I almost dread seeing the damage outside. Mr. Wilkins, the groundskeeper, evacuated before the storm,” Bailey said. “I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

Bailey strode over to the front door and pulled it open. She was expecting to survey the landscape outside. Instead, she stifled a scream at the towering figure standing there.

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