In New York Times bestselling author Elle James’s latest, one woman finds she’s unsafe in her own home—and in her heart...

Real estate whiz Jillian Taylor thinks heroes and haunted houses are bogus. But when a series of strange events leaves her in danger, Stealth Ops Specialist Chance McCall is quick to the scene. Jillian can’t resist the chemistry brewing between her and the sexy agent. But as she and Chance deconstruct her nightmares, someone becomes more desperate to keep those secrets from surfacing.

Chance knows there’s more going on at the derelict Victorian manor than just ghosts—just as he knows there’s something about the blonde beauty he can’t resist. If only he could help decipher the meaning of Jillian’s tortured dreams...and keep her safe in his arms forever.

Her lips twisted. “Let me guess, if you tell me what you do—”

“I’d have to kill you.” He captured her wrist in his hand. “I think you’ve done enough. We should finish the work and get back to the B and B.”

Jillian stared into his eyes.

A few short inches separated them, but all Chance could think about was those pretty pink lips and what they might taste like if he dared kiss her.

Jillian ran her tongue around those pink lips, sending Chance’s control flying.

“Do you realize how crazy you’re making me?”

She shook her head, her eyes rounding, her gaze shifting to his mouth.

Like a moth drawn to the flame, Chance couldn’t resist the temptation. He slipped his hand beneath her hair at the back of her head and dragged her forward until their lips almost touched. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he breathed, praying she wouldn’t when the temptation to kiss her threatened to overwhelm him.

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Dear Reader,

We’re back in Cape Churn! I thought Deadly Allure would be the last in the series, but when I told my editor I wanted to write more Devil’s Shroud books, I was thrilled she agreed.

Some of my fans asked for Jillian the real estate agent’s story, so I took the chance to bring her back and to introduce a new character. And it’s all because of a wedding. And since the area has its own spook factor, I gave Jillian her very first fixer-upper home. Not only does the home have a past, it helps Jillian learn more about the past she could never remember.

Enter former warrior turned Stealth Operations Specialist Chance McCall, and things heat up in Cape Churn.

Hang on for a bumpy and often creepy ride!

Elle James

Deadly Obsession
Elle James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author ELLE JAMES is a former IT professional and retired army and air force reservist. She writes romantic suspense, mysteries and paranormal romances that keep her readers on the edges of their seats to the very end of every book. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling to exotic and wonderful places, snow-skiing, boating or riding her four-wheeler, dreaming up new stories. Learn more about Elle James at ellejames.com.

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This book is dedicated to my son, who has a heart bigger than the state of Texas, has a great sense of adventure and would do anything for you. He’s the kind of guy with the ability to make friends everywhere he goes and keeps in touch with all of them. I wish him a happy, healthy life, full of the love he so richly deserves. I love you, Adam!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Excitement rippled through her. She could barely wait to get home from school. Instead of taking the road as she’d promised her mother, she cut through the woods. She carefully balanced the treasure her teacher, Mrs. Tillman, had given her. It was a thank-you gift for staying late every day after school the entire year to help straighten the classroom, clean the boards and check papers.

A gift hadn’t been necessary, and that wasn’t the reason she’d stayed after school. She loved helping her beautiful young teacher. The added bonus was access to all the books on the shelves in the classroom. They were filled with wonderful stories and picture books of places Mrs. Tillman had been—Germany, Russia, Italy, China—exciting, exotic places in all parts of the world. Reading about those places was all the thank-you she could ask for.

But the gift had been special. A beautiful black porcelain music box from Russia. Painted with colorful women in flowing ball gowns dancing with handsome men in military regalia. The pictures told a story of another time, of richness and beauty. And when she opened the pretty little box, music spilled out. The Nutcracker, her teacher had told her.

Mama would love it as much as she did. When she was younger, Mama had played the piano and sang in the church choir. Now she barely had time. Since her daddy had moved out, her mother had gone back to teaching, and she didn’t play the piano anymore. But she loved music and made sure her daughter grew up with the same love.

Her attention was on the pretty black box, and she was in such a hurry to get home, she didn’t see what tripped her until she flew forward. She tucked the little box against her body to keep from breaking it when she hit the uneven ground. She landed hard, the wind knocked from her lungs, her head bouncing off a big rock. For a moment she lay still, trying but not succeeding at dragging air into her lungs. Darkness gathered around the edge of her vision, closing in...swallowing her.

How long she lay there, she didn’t know. Cold seeped into her skin, making her shake. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t open her eyes. The darkness was inside her, gripping her like a hand, squeezing so tightly it wouldn’t let go.

Shivering turned to violent tremors. Pushing against the grasp of the black abyss, she cracked open an eyelid. Fog closed in around her. Nothing looked familiar. She didn’t know where she was, or where she’d been going. “I want to go home,” she cried. But she couldn’t remember where home was.

Sobs rose up her throat and tears ran down her cold, damp cheeks. She lay curled in a ball, trying to warm herself but failing miserably. Maybe, if she went to sleep, she’d wake in her bed...where she belonged.

Closing her eyes, she lay as still as her trembling body could. Soon a warm blanket was wrapped around her. By the coarseness of the fabric, it had to be wool. It covered her body, her face and her head, making it harder to breathe and blocking out any daylight that managed to filter through the fog. Then she was lifted into strong arms and carried. How far, she didn’t know. But it seemed like forever.

She would have kicked, screamed and cried for her captor to release her, but she didn’t have the strength, and she didn’t want him to take away the warmth of the blanket. He kept going and going.

At last he stopped and fumbled with something. A screeching sound could have been a rusty hinge. She couldn’t see through the thick wool of the blanket, wrapped so tightly around her that she couldn’t move.

They were going down steps; the musty scent of dirt and decay filtered through the blanket. It was the same dank smell she could remember from visiting someone’s earthen root cellar in the country. She grasped at the memory, but before she could identify whose basement she’d visited, the thought drifted away like smoke in the wind.

Finally, she was deposited onto cool, damp earth. She struggled to free herself from the blanket. By the time she did, her captor was already up the wooden steps leading out of the ground where he’d brought her.

Her heart hammering, her voice lodged in her throat, she pushed to her feet and stumbled on wobbly legs toward the light. As her foot hit the first step, a heavy metal door dropped down over the opening, shutting out the light, plunging her into darkness so complete, it had to be hell.

Chapter 1

Chance McCall pulled the rented SUV into the parking area in front of the McGregor Bed-and-Breakfast and shut off the engine. The flight from the East Coast to the West Coast had been long, with a four-hour layover in Chicago. Now that he was in Oregon, he could relax and enjoy seeing his friends and take in the peace and calm of the stunning seaside town of Cape Churn.

He dropped down from the vehicle and stood for a long moment, taking it all in: the craggy coastline, the steely blue waters of the cape and the sprawling old mansion the McGregor siblings had converted into a successful bed-and-breakfast. Already, he could feel the tension of his last assignment easing from the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

Dragging in a breath of the salty sea air and evergreen-scented forest, he filled his lungs. He could see why Nova had chosen to stay in Oregon instead of heading back east to Alexandria, Virginia, where the Stealth Operations Specialists headquarters resided.

This was heaven.

“Amigo!” Casanova Valdez burst from a screen door onto the wide front porch. “We didn’t expect you for another hour.”

“Traffic was in my favor in Portland.” Chance crossed the yard and met Nova at the bottom of the steps in a bone-crushing bear hug. From a large Hispanic family, Nova wasn’t shy about displaying his affection for his family and friends. And Chance was about as close to Nova as Nova’s own siblings. Closer. They’d been in combat together and survived.

“I’m glad you concluded your assignment in time for the wedding,” his friend said. “I would have postponed if you hadn’t.”

“That’s crazy.” Chance pounded Nova’s back and stepped away. “The way you’ve been talking about Molly, I would think you’d have eloped by now.”

“No way. Molly is special. She deserves the works.” Nova flung out his arm, grinning. “The bigger the wedding, the better. Muy grande!”

“I tried to hold him back, but between Nova and my wedding planner, this simple ceremony is taking on a life of its own.” A beautiful redhead dressed in a white button-down blouse and well-worn jeans that hugged her long slender legs and curvy hips stood at the top of the stairs, a smile tugging at her lips and a twinkle in her green eyes. She held out a hand. “You must be Chance.”

Chance climbed the steps and took her outstretched hand. “And you must be the Molly Nova can’t shut up about.” Chance winked and shook her hand.

“Oh, no, you don’t. I feel like I know you already. Come here and give me a hug. You’re practically family.” She dragged him close for a quick hug and stepped back.

Nova slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her. “What did I tell you?” he said. “Isn’t she gorgeous?” He beamed at Chance, his love for his fiancée shining from his eyes.

Molly blushed. “Nova, stop. You’re embarrassing me.”

Chance chuckled. “No, really. He’s right. You’re as pretty as he said. Congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you.” She nodded toward the rental. “Do you need help with your luggage?”

He shook his head. “All I have is a duffel bag.”

“I’ll get it,” Nova offered. “Molly can show you to your room. Oh, and just so you know, the McGregor mansion is haunted.” Nova left Chance with Molly and hurried to the SUV.

Molly clucked her tongue. “Don’t let him scare you. The ghosts here are benevolent. They rarely make a nuisance of themselves.”

Chance followed Molly into the old mansion. “I never knew Nova believed in the supernatural.”

“Oh, neither one of us did at first. It took some hocus-pocus on the ghost’s part to convince us. He can tell you all about it. After I show you to your room, I have to get back to my kitchen. I’m baking bread and need to get a start on it to let the dough rise.”

“You don’t have to show me around,” Chance assured her. “Just point. I can figure it out.”

She looked at him, her brows coming together. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

In the large front gathering room, Molly pointed to the top of the massive staircase. “Hang a left at the top and your room is the third door on your right. I gave you the room with the view of the cape. The bathroom is down the hall. Let me know if you need anything.” Molly hugged him again. “Nova is thrilled you made it. I believe he really would have postponed the wedding if you couldn’t have come.”

“I take it his family will be here for the wedding?”

She laughed. “He said as many as could make it. I think there will be at least twenty of them.” Molly held up a hand. “Don’t worry. Not all of them are staying here. We have several vacation cottages reserved. His parents and grandparents will be staying at the B and B. Siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins will be scattered along the shore in the cottages.” She waved her fingers. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

The front screen door banged shut behind Chance.

“Molly isn’t used to large family gatherings,” Nova said. “It’s just her, her brother, Gabe, his wife and two kids. You’ll like Gabe and his wife, Kayla. She’s a renowned artist and he works for the local police department.” He hefted the duffel bag onto his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

Chance didn’t bother telling Nova he’d just informed Molly he could find his room on his own. Instead, he climbed the staircase, following Nova to the top.

“I just got back from an assignment in Los Angeles. Molly was getting worried I wouldn’t be here for our wedding.”

“What did Fontaine have you working on?” Chance asked.

“I tailed a suspected terrorist for a couple weeks. Long enough to know he was plotting to blow up one of the major movie producers’ lots during a big social event.”

Chance frowned. “And why was SOS called in for that?”

“The terrorist was the new husband of the California senator’s daughter. The senator is up for reelection and they wanted everything to be kept on the down low.” Nova opened a door and stepped back. “This is your room for the duration. It’s the largest guest room and has the best view.”

Chance entered. The room was nicely decorated with antique furniture, a large mahogany bed with a matching chest of drawers and a full-length floor mirror. But it was the French doors leading out onto a balcony that captured Chance’s attention. He pushed through the door and stepped outside.

“Molly calls that the Juliet balcony.” Nova stepped up behind Chance. “She says I’m the romantic, but she’s just as much so. That’s why I love her so much.”

“You’re a lucky man.”

“I know. I never thought I’d find the woman of my dreams in some obscure town in Oregon.”

“About that.” Chance turned to face his friend. “How is it there are enough SOS agents in this town to start a regional office?”

Nova shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “There’s something about this place that draws you in. And once you come to Cape Churn, you can’t leave for long. It keeps calling you back.”

Chance clapped a hand on his back and smiled. “Or is it the people you meet here that keep you coming back?”

Nova nodded. “It’s a combination of both, with the people we meet at the top of the list.” He winked. “Watch out. You might be the next to fall victim to the magic.”

“First you tell me there are ghosts here. Now you’re telling me there’s magic, too?”

Nova turned back into the room. “Just saying you never know what surprises might happen in Cape Churn.”

“Well, I’m not here to find a wife. I’m here to see that you get married and settle down. And if I can get a little R & R, even better. I could use it.” Chance ran a hand through his hair.

“You still battling PTSD?” Nova asked.

Chance nodded.

Nova’s lips pressed together. “Sorry to hear it. I have dreams, but for the most part, I’m managing.”

“I’m sure it helps having someone like Molly to keep you grounded.”

That ready grin spread wide on Nova’s face. “Sí. Not only is she muy bonita, she’s smart, tough and a fighter.”

“You need a woman like that when you’re in the business we’re in.” Their SOS assignments took them all over the world.

Chance’s last assignment had been to Syria to rescue a missionary surrounded by an organization by the name of the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, or ISIS. Had Chance not arrived when he had, the missionary would have been tortured and killed as a warning to other Christians. Luckily, he’d arrived on the outskirts of the small village as a twenty-man contingent raided the missionary’s hideout.

By staging an explosive distraction, Chance had been able to slip in, free the missionary and get him out. But it had cost him.

The explosion and the resulting gunfire threw his mind back into his final mission in Afghanistan before he was medically retired from the army rangers. It was all he could do to keep his head on straight and pull the missionary out while his mind played tricks on him, making him think he was fighting the Taliban.

Everything that could have gone wrong did on his final active-duty mission. No matter how much his gut told him it was a bad deal, he’d had no choice. The intelligence guys had gotten a hot lead. One of the most notorious Taliban leaders had taken refuge in a small village. His team had to move quickly, but from the moment they’d put boots on the ground at the drop zone, everything had gone to hell.

Rappelling from the chopper, one member of his squad hit hard on a big rock, rolled his ankle and broke it. The chopper was forced to land to retrieve him and two other teammates had to help get him back into the helicopter, thus slowing the entire mission.

They’d scaled the village wall and moved in, seeking their quarry. The village was quiet. Too quiet. Chance had opened his mouth to tell his men to fall back when all hell broke loose.

An explosion rocked the walls around them, and automatic gunfire filled the air, tracer rounds lighting the night.

Too late to turn back, the men had to fight their way out, outnumbered two to one. One by one, his men were picked off. All Chance could do was get as many out as possible.

His radio communications man called for reinforcement before he took a hit that rendered his radio unusable, and he nearly didn’t make it out with his own life.

Chance felt a sting in his right hip, but pushed on, adrenaline pumping, the safety of his squad on his shoulders. He was responsible for those men. He’d have to face all their wives, mothers and children if they didn’t come home alive.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of Afghanistan and back to the McGregor B and B.

“Thinking about it again?” Nova asked.

Chance shook himself to clear the images that filled his memories and dreams. He gave Nova half a smile. “Sometimes it creeps up on me.”

“I know. It does me, too. But you can’t let it run your life. We did everything we could to get them out alive.”

So they said. Chance still felt he could have done more. Again, he focused on the present, the way his therapist had taught him. “I’m here to help with the wedding preparations. What can I do?”

Nova clapped a hand to his back. “That’s more like it. I’m not really sure what we need to do. Molly’s friend Jillian has the plan well in hand, or so they say. They won’t let me do anything except fetch and carry.”

“So you’re telling me we just sit on the front porch and drink beer while the women do all the work?” Chance’s lips quirked. “I’m all for relaxing and drinking beer, but I can’t stand by while others are working hard.”

Nova laughed. “Same here. I’ve been doing repairs to the B and B and some touch-up painting. Molly wants to have the wedding out near the cliffs with the cape as the backdrop. I think it involves setting up chairs and an arched trellis I have yet to see or be tasked with going to the rental shop and acquiring.”

“When does your family arrive?” Chance asked.

“Some are coming in the day after tomorrow and the rest arrive a couple days before the wedding. We have a few days of relative peace until that time. Then all bets are off.”

Chance chuckled. “I remember.” He’d visited Nova’s family while they’d both been on terminal leave, having been discharged from the army. His mother had welcomed him like one of her own. And she probably wouldn’t have noticed he wasn’t one of them, considering all the people moving through his parents’ home.

Nova was one of eight children. Some of his siblings were already married with children of their own. It had been overwhelming for Chance, whose one brother rarely contacted him. And their parents were retired and traveling all the time.

“I look forward to seeing your family,” Chance said, and meant it. The Valdezes were close-knit, valuing the time they spent together.

“Once you get settled, come down to the kitchen. Molly will have a list of things for us to do before dinner.” Nova hugged Chance again. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

After Nova left, Chance stood in the room with a knot in his throat, his chest tight. Nova had his head on straight. PTSD wasn’t ruling his life, and he had a lot going for him—a hot fiancée, living among some of the most beautiful scenery Chance had ever encountered and having a home to go to when he finished assignments.

Chance found himself wanting what Nova had, knowing he never could. Not when he was struggling with violent dreams and having the feeling he needed to be moving all the time. He was afraid if he stopped for too long, the memories would come crashing in.

Chance had no business starting a relationship with a woman. He wasn’t what he considered good boyfriend material, much less husband material.

Getting the itch to move, stretch his legs and walk off some of the pent-up energy he’d had to contain en route, he tossed his duffel bag in a corner and went in search of the communal bathroom. A splash of cool water on his face did a lot to restore his focus. After drying his hands and face, he headed down to the kitchen.

The great room had a huge fireplace with hearty leather sofas positioned to take advantage of the warmth of a fire. The nights would be cool enough for a crackling blaze.

The scent of cookies drifted across his senses. Something with chocolate, like his mother used to bake. The McGregor mansion seemed to wrap around Chance and make him feel at home.

Passing through the large dining room with small tables scattered around, he heard the rattle of pans and a giggle behind a swinging door.

He paused for a moment before pushing against the wood panel. With the door half-open and the strong, rich scent of baking luring him inside, Chance opened his mouth to ask what was cooking.

A loud bang sent him diving for the floor, covering the back of his head. The swinging door slammed against the wall and bounced back to hit him in the ribs.

For moment, Chance was back in that village in Afghanistan, his side torn open in a gaping wound caused by an explosion. He felt for the blood but came away with a dry hand. Then he realized he wasn’t in Afghanistan. He was lying on the kitchen floor, a large stockpot resting on the floor beside his head.

“I’m so sorry, Chance.” Molly snatched the pot off the floor and set it on the stove. She bent over Chance, her brow making a V over her nose. “Are you all right?”

His heart racing and heat rising in his cheeks, Chance sprang to his feet and shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m fine.”

Nova shook his head. “Brother, you are not fine. Your face went completely white, and now it’s burning red. You don’t have to pretend everything is okay when it’s not. You’re with friends here.”

Chance’s jaw tightened, and he squared his shoulders. “I said I’m fine. Is there something I can help with?” He needed to keep busy, or his heart would explode out of his chest.

“As a matter of fact,” Nova started, “I’m supposed to be over at Jillian’s today helping her unload.”

“Jillian who? And unload what?” After making a complete idiot of himself, he would do anything to get out of the house.

Molly smiled. “Jillian’s my maid of honor and wedding planner. She just bought her first house and is in the process of moving in. She needs help with the big stuff.”

“I’m your guy.” Chance nodded toward Molly and Nova. “You probably have other things to do.” Like more giggling and holding each other. He thought it, but he didn’t say it out loud.

Nova’s ready grin filled his face. “If you’re sure...”

“Positive,” Chance said. “All I need are directions.”

Nova walked Chance through the door and out onto the wide front porch. “I can join you in an hour.”

“By then, we could be done. Don’t worry. I’ll help Molly’s friend get moved in.”

Nova laid a hand on Chance’s shoulder. “We didn’t invite you here to put you to work.”

“I need something to keep me moving.”

Nova nodded. “I understand. It took six months for me to stop hitting the dirt when I heard loud noises.”

Chance shrugged. “Yeah. I’ll get over it.”

“You don’t have to work through it on your own, you know.”

“I know.” Chance hadn’t come to Cape Churn for sympathy. He came to help a friend get ready for the biggest day of his life. He’d be damned if he ruined it for him by coming unglued in front of his fiancée and guests. All he needed to do was focus and keep his head on straight for five days. Five days of rest and relaxation that would go a long way toward restoring his body and soul. “Where is this friend?”

Chapter 2

Jillian drove the truck and trailer into the yard, bypassed the two vehicles parked there, made a big circle and backed the trailer to the porch. Excitement rippled through her like a shiver.

Though she’d been a Realtor for the past six years, she had never actually owned her own home. When she’d started selling real estate in Portland, she was content to live in an apartment and build her savings.

Then she’d discovered the quiet seaside village of Cape Churn. Something about the beauty of the coastal town called to her, as if telling her it was home. She’d packed her belongings and moved, promising to purchase a house when she found one she loved. Her plan was to purchase a fixer-upper with good bones and make it her own. But it took money for a down payment and closing costs, and still more money to renovate. So she’d saved for the past two years.

When the bank had come to her, asking her if she could sell one of their properties that had been sitting unoccupied for the past seventeen years, she’d agreed. Located just beyond the edge of town, the quaint Victorian house was tucked away into the woods, quiet, beautiful and...perfect. Yes, it was neglected, it needed to be brought up to electric and plumbing codes, but Jillian couldn’t contain her excitement.

She’d offered the bank a ridiculously low price, knowing it would take every bit of her savings to restore the structure and the interior to a livable condition. The bank had snapped up her offer, grateful to unload an albatross they’d paid property taxes on for too long.

Jillian climbed out of the truck her friend Dave had loaned her and stood staring at the old house with the charming dormer windows, wide wraparound porches and so much charm, it looked like a place she could love and restore to its former glory.

Something about it made her feel as though she belonged here. Sure, many of the windows needed to be replaced, the porch sagged and she needed a new roof. But the house was hers and she had plans for it.

Now all she had to do was transfer her belongings from the trailer to the house. Everything would go into the small sitting room at the back until the workers completed the remodeling effort.

Jillian had hoped to sleep in her new home while they worked, but she couldn’t until they completed the plumbing and electrical work they’d begun a week before. Her lease was up on the cottage she’d rented, and the owner wanted to have it ready for the summer season. So she was moving things into her house before it was ready for her.

Thankfully, Molly had a room for her at the McGregor B and B, which worked out fine. As Molly’s wedding planner, Jillian needed to check with the bride on all the last-minute details leading up to the big day scheduled for the following Saturday. For the most part, the preparations had been made. All she had left to do was make certain everything was delivered on time, as promised. There was to be a combined bachelor and bachelorette party, rehearsal dinner and the wedding. Then Jillian could concentrate on her own life and getting her house in order.

“Ah, Miss Taylor, I’m glad you’re here.” Bob Greer, the contractor, stepped onto the front porch. “We ran into a problem with the septic lines.”

Jillian bit back the urge to say, What now? Instead, she followed Bob around the porch to the rear of the building.

He pointed to a damp, mossy spot on the ground. “You have a leak.”

With a nod, she smiled at the man. “I know. That’s why I have you here. To fix all the issues this house might have.”

“If the septic lines are damaged, it’ll cost more than I originally budgeted for inside the house. And depending on the condition of the septic tank, you might need to have it dug out and replaced.”

Her heart sank. Already her savings had taken a huge hit for the down payment and closing costs. She hoped the bigger issues would settle out soon so that she could see what she had left for the interior upgrades. “How much will that be?”

“Another eight to nine thousand.” He stared at her, expectantly. “What do you want me to do?”

“If it’s broken, fix it. Just let me know how much before you start replacing big-ticket items.”

Bob nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He followed her to the front of the house. “Well, I’ll be going. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

Her heart sank deeper into her belly. “Why not in the morning?”

“We’re finishing up on another job in town. Then I have to arrange for a backhoe to dig up the lines, and order more parts for the interior. It’ll take a day for both of those to make it out here, so the plumbing issues won’t be resolved for a couple days.”

Jillian sighed. “I was hoping to move in as soon as the plumbing and electricity were turned on.”

He nodded. “If I don’t have to replace the entire septic system, it’s possible to be in in a couple days. But don’t bank on it.” He tipped his ball cap. “Night, Miss Taylor.”

“Please, call me Jillian,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bob hurried toward his four-door truck with Bob’s Building written in faded red lettering across the side panel. His team of carpenters was already inside, ready to go home.

Jillian opened the screen door. Every time she did, she had the tingly sensation of déjà vu.

A loud thump was followed by a string of curses at the back of the house.

Following the sounds, Jillian arrived in the kitchen, where Mitchell Knowlton held one thumb with his other hand, dancing around the yellowed linoleum floor.

“Are you all right?” Jillian asked.

Mitchell turned so fast he didn’t take into account the corner of the old upper cabinets, which had yet to be thrown out, and smacked his head on the sharp edge. He clamped his lips tightly together, his face turning a bright red. “Smashed my thumb,” he finally grumbled, alternating between pressing his fingers to his forehead and his battered thumb. “Should have listened to my wife.”

Jillian chuckled. “Did she tell you not to hit your thumb?”

“No.” He frowned. “She told me not to take this job.”

“Why?” Jillian asked, taken aback by Mitchell’s revelation.

“She says the place is haunted. Something bad happened here almost two decades ago. When the last owners moved out, no one would buy it. All the old-timers think it’s because it’s haunted.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d heard the stories. No matter what everyone else said, the house called to her like no other. She’d be damned if she was scared off by tales of ghosts. “You’re not an old-timer, Mitchell.” Jillian crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you believe this place is haunted?”

He shrugged and gathered his hammer. “No offense, but I think you’re crazy trying to restore this big ol’ house. It’s more than a single lady can manage on her own, much less maintain the yard.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” She tapped her toe, her brows raised in challenge.

Mitchell shoved a hand through his sandy hair. “Don’t know about ghosts, but I have a weird feeling about this place. None of the other old houses I’ve rewired made me feel like that.”

“Well, I think it’s a grand ol’ house. And if there are ghosts, I bet they’re just as grand as the house. If it makes you feel any better, plan your work when there are others in the house. Maybe ghosts don’t like crowds.”

“Ah, now, Miss Taylor.”

“Jillian,” she corrected.

“I better stick to Miss Taylor. If my wife hears me callin’ you Jillian, she’ll let me have it.”

Mitchell wasn’t much older than Jillian, but he and his wife had been married for seven years and had two small boys.

“In fact, I should leave if you’re going to be here for a while. She doesn’t like me to hang around after hours. Especially...”

“If I’m here.” Jillian smiled. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on stealin’ Caroline’s man.” She winked. “I’m not in the market for a relationship, legitimate or clandestine. I just want my house fixed so I can move in as soon as possible.”

Mitchell’s face reddened. “Sorry. Being eight months pregnant, Caroline’s a little jealous when I’m working around pretty single women.”

Jillian beamed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Tell Caroline she has nothing to worry about. I have too much to keep me busy to bother with men right now. Between renovating this house, running my real estate business and planning Molly McGregor’s wedding, I barely have time to sleep.”

“Ever think you might have taken on too much?”

A slightly hysterical giggle left Jillian’s lips. “Yup.”

Mitchell shook his head. “When is the construction crew going to start the demolition of the kitchen and bathrooms?”

Jillian’s mouth twisted and she glanced around. “They were supposed to start today. But I can see nothing’s been done.”

“What time is it anyway?” Mitchell glanced at his watch and blinked. “Holy smokes. I have to pick up the boys at Mother’s Day Out.” He gathered his tools and slung them into a tool bag.

“Mitchell, don’t let the stories keep you from rewiring my house. I have it from one of the top Realtors in Cape Churn that you’re the best electrician for the job. I’m counting on you to bring the house up to code without burning it down.”

Mitchell paused with his hand on the door. He stared past her, his gaze taking in the sweeping staircase and the rooms at the front of the house. “I’ll do the job. With a baby on the way, I need the money. Hopefully it won’t take long.”

Otherwise he wouldn’t be doing the job. Jillian heard the unspoken words. She didn’t care, as long as the job got done. “Thank you, Mitchell. Say hello to Caroline for me.” If it helped, she’d stop by with some fresh-baked cookies for the family. When she had a kitchen to bake them in.

Mitchell drove away in a cloud of dust. Someday, when she could afford it, she’d have the driveway paved. That particular upgrade was way down the list of priorities.

Finally, she had the house to herself. Jillian wandered around, with a keen eye for what flooring, cabinets and countertops would be best in each room. She’d been a real estate agent long enough to know what she liked and what fit with the style of house she’d purchased. As she went through the kitchen, she stopped in front of the window over the sink and stared out at the overgrown backyard, reminding herself that the house came first, then the yard.

A movement in the corner of her eye made her turn her head. Had Mitchell or Bob forgotten something and returned to the house? Jillian stepped out the back door to check, a salty breeze lifting her hair off the nape of her neck. No one was there. She reentered the house, shaking her head. Mitchell and some of the older residents of Cape Churn, with all their talk about ghosts and missing persons, had her spooked.

Determined to shake it off, Jillian opened and closed the kitchen cabinet doors, checking one last time for any leftover items that needed to be removed before demolition started. All she found was an old soda bottle.

With one last glance at the kitchen, Jillian was in the process of turning to leave when she noticed the door to the basement standing ajar. She didn’t remember the door being open when she’d first entered the kitchen. Perhaps the breeze from the back door had opened it.

Jillian strode across the kitchen, grasped the doorknob and started to push it closed when she heard the plaintive cry of a kitten.

She froze with her hand on the knob and tilted her head, listening.

Again, she heard the puny mewling. This time she could tell it came from somewhere below her. Though she didn’t believe in ghosts and she had big plans for a wine cellar in the basement, Jillian hesitated at the top of the steps. She stared into the darkness, her hand fumbling for the light switch. When she found it, she flipped it and the small yellowed bulb hanging over the top landing flickered once and then glowed to life, providing illumination only halfway down the steps.

Every scary movie Jillian had seen in high school came back to haunt her. Every lone female who ventured into a dark basement met with a terrible fate.

The kitten mewed again, startling Jillian into leaving the top landing and taking several steps downward. “Here, kitty,” she whispered, disappointed in herself for her sudden aversion to going downstairs. Why had she let Mitchell’s words affect her? She was a grown, independent, well-grounded woman who’d been living on her own since she left her parents’ house to go to college. She had never been afraid of living alone in the big city, where crime was a given, and being a lone woman meant taking extra precautions to remain safe.

Since coming to Cape Churn two years ago, she’d never felt the sense of dread that now invaded her body as she crept down the stairs into the basement of her own house. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip, despite the cool dampness of the cellar.

She could wait to explore the basement until the next day, when there were more people there who could be her backup should she fall and twist an ankle. Or be attacked by a serial killer hiding out, waiting to pounce on her once she descended to the bottom step.

The cry of the kitten dragged her out of her morbid thoughts and made her feet move, one step at time, to the bottom. If there was a kitten in the basement, it might be in trouble. Perhaps its mother had brought the baby in through one of tiny basement windows and the wind had blown the window shut, thus trapping the poor creature. It could be hungry, maybe even starving.

The needs of the kitten outweighed Jillian’s fear of exploring the creepy, dark basement by herself. She’d have Mitchell lay in the wiring to lighten up the darkest corners and give new life to the dingy space. But for now, she had to find the kitten and rescue it or leave the house worrying about a little animal incapable of fending for itself.

At the bottom of the stairs, the chill air of the basement permeated Jillian’s skin, sending shivers creeping across her arms and making the hairs on the back of her neck spike upward.

All her life she’d had an aversion to dark, dank spaces. In high school, at a slumber party with a friend, they’d played truth or dare. Her friends had dared her to go down in the basement of her friend’s house and stay for five minutes.

Jillian’s parents didn’t have a basement. Having lived in a town house, Jillian couldn’t remember a time when she had been down in a basement. Accepting the dare, she’d gone down the steps into a dirt basement, where her friend’s parents stored old mason jars, lawn chairs and a couple of bicycles. The place was dark, damp and chilled Jillian to the bone. After the first minute, she must have blacked out.

She came to with her friend shaking her shoulders, shouting into her face. “Jillian!”

They’d told her she lay there wide-eyed and shaking, in a catatonic state, neither out cold nor coherent.

Jillian didn’t remember any of it, except going down into the basement. Her parents came to take her home, her friends more than happy to see her leave, all shaken by the experience.

That had been eleven years ago. Why think of that now? This basement was constructed of concrete block walls, not dirt. A little cleaning would remove the cobwebs and old crates.

The chill and the dampness filled her pores. For a moment, she forgot why she was there.

Then the meow of the kitten penetrated the haze of memory and forced her to lift her feet, to move and find the source of the sound.

Wrapping her arms around her middle, Jillian shivered, going deeper into the basement. Something moved among the old boxes. Jillian fought the urge to jump up on one of the wooden crates, her mind conjuring images of giant rats. If there were giant rats, they could easily kill the kitten.

Jillian had a soft spot in her heart for kittens and puppies. She couldn’t leave the animal in the basement. Not even for a night.

As she stepped away from the staircase, the dull yellow light flickered and suddenly blinked out, plunging her into a darkness so very deep, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

A soft click sounded above and what little light that had come from the open door above was erased.

Jillian screamed and spun toward the staircase, her pulse beating so fast it made her dizzy. Her chest seized and she couldn’t drag in a breath to feed her airless lungs. With no sense of what was right or left, up or down, the ground seemed to rise up to greet her.

* * *

Armed with directions and a promise to be back with Miss Taylor by dinner, Chance set off. Lowering all his windows, he took the coastal highway back toward Cape Churn. In less than fifteen minutes, he was bumping along a gravel road, wondering if he’d taken the wrong turn.

Chance couldn’t believe Molly’s friend planned to live on a creepy, isolated road that had seen far better days maybe a century before. At the end of the road, the trees seemed to part and an old Victorian house appeared, tucked into a wooded glen. Like the road, the house had seen better days. The paint was peeling and a couple of the windows were broken. The yard hadn’t been maintained and the porch sagged. A truck and trailer sat in front of the dilapidated structure, the doors wide-open.

Chance parked his SUV beside the truck and climbed down. His feet had barely touched the ground when he heard the scream. At first he thought it was a figment of his imagination. The setting was perfect for a horror story; perhaps his mind had conjured a muffled scream to add to the ambience.

“Miss Taylor?” Chance called out.

No response.

He climbed the stairs and entered through the open front door, treading softly, holding his breath and listening for any sound.

Nothing moved. The old house didn’t even creak, as if it, too, held its breath. Chance passed through the wide center hallway all the way to the back of the house, peering through the open doors into what appeared to be a living room, study and dining room. At the other end of the house, he emerged onto the back porch. Lumber lay in neat piles against the side of the house. But there was no one around.

Chance’s gut tightened. Molly’s friend wouldn’t have abandoned her truck, leaving the truck doors and the trailer wide-open.

He returned to the entrance and climbed the stairs to the second story. Cobwebs hung from the corners and the wooden floors were covered in a thick layer of dust. This home hadn’t been lived in for a very long time.

After determining each room was empty, Chance returned to the first floor, passed a stack of clean white drywall leaning against a wall in the living room and entered an old-fashioned kitchen. Some of the upper cabinets had been ripped from the walls, and the countertop had been removed from the lower cabinets, making their remains appear skeletal.

“Miss Taylor?” Chance called out.

A plaintive, bleating cry of a small animal, muffled by walls, reached him, and he turned toward a door at the far end of the kitchen.

Chance twisted the knob. The door didn’t budge. Inspecting the door, he noticed a rusty hook near the top, threaded through a metal eye loop. Forcing the hook out of the loop, he flung open the door and flipped the light switch. A yellow bulb blinked to life, illuminating a small portion of the stairs nearest him.

The weak cries of a tiny animal sounded again, only louder.

Chance descended the stairs, the pitiful amount of light diminished by the time he reached the bottom. In the gloom, he almost tripped over a pile of rags. When his toe connected with them, the rags moved and a low moan rose from the floor.

Chance dropped to his haunches, his vision adjusting to the darkness. A figure dressed in jeans and a faded plaid flannel shirt rolled over and light blue eyes stared up at him.

“Who are you?”

“Chance McCall. Molly and Nova sent me over. You must be Jillian Taylor.” He scooped his hands beneath her, lifted her into his arms and rose with his burden.

She blinked and stared around the basement, her pale blond hair tousled, strands falling across her forehead. “What happened?”

“I’d like to know that myself. But first, let’s get you out of here.” Chance started up the stairs.

“I can walk,” she protested.

“Yeah, but if it’s all right by you, I’d like to get you into the light without worrying about someone pushing you down the stairs again.”

She shook her head, her silken hair brushing against his arm. “I wasn’t pushed.”

“No?”

Her frown deepened. “Why would you think that?”

At the top of the stairs, Chance set her on the dingy linoleum floor, keeping an arm around her waist to steady her. “If you weren’t pushed, why was the hook engaged at the top of the door?” He tipped his head toward the hook.

Leaning against him, she glanced up at the door, her eyes widening. “Why would the hook be engaged? I was the only one in the house. All the workers left.”

“That was my question.”

“Maybe it fell into place when the door closed.”

“Let’s see...the door was closed, the hook engaged, and when I opened the door, the light was off. Are you telling me you turned off the light, as well? And if you weren’t pushed down the stairs, you must have fallen.”

“I didn’t fall down the stairs.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Then why were you lying on the ground?”

She stared up at him. “I don’t know.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure.”

“What’s that?”

“You can’t stay here alone.”

Jillian stiffened. “This is my house.”

“Yeah, but something’s not right here.”

She glanced around as if still getting her bearings. “Some say it’s haunted.”

“And you?”

She shrugged. “I think it needs work, but it’s my home.”

“Lady, you’re crazy. The best thing that could happen to this dump is to run a bulldozer over it.”

Jillian’s chin lifted. “That is not going to happen. I have workers scheduled to restore the house to its former glory. You wait. It’s going to be beautiful.”

Chance snorted. “It’s your funeral.”

“The only way I’m going to die in this house is from old age.” She pushed away from him and headed back to the front of the house. “You can go back to the B and B. I don’t need your help.”

“Can a ghost help you unload that couch off the trailer?”

“No. But I’d dump the damned thing on the ground before I let you touch it.”

Chapter 3

Anger forced back the last vestiges of the fuzzy gray mist that had clouded Jillian’s head when Chance had found her lying on the basement floor. “Don’t you have a bachelor party to plan?”

“I’m told you have everything to do with the wedding completely planned.”

“I do.”

“Good, because I came to help. Now stop being stubborn.”

“I might be stubborn, but you are a jerk.” She stepped through the open front door and marched down the steps. On the last one, the rotted board gave way. She pitched forward and would have landed on her face had Chance not been right behind her and caught her, pulling her back against his front. He wrapped his arms around her middle and held on.

Her pulse pounding, Jillian inhaled a long, steadying breath. Then she pried the arms from around her. “Thank you,” she said grudgingly. “But I still don’t need your help.”

“Maybe you don’t, but I’m not leaving without you. So while I’m here, you might as well let me help you carry that couch.”

She’d had two high school boys help her load the couch from her apartment into the trailer. The best she could do by herself would be to scoot it to the edge of the trailer and dump in on the ground. Alone, she’d never get it up the porch stairs and into the house. Even with a hand truck, she wouldn’t be able to get it through the door. God, she hated letting Chance help. After he’d called her stubborn and said those awful things about her house, she really disliked the man.

“Okay. But just the couch,” she muttered.

Together, they lifted the couch out of the trailer and carried it up the porch steps.

Jillian lost her grip twice on the heavy piece of furniture and had to stop. By the time they had it in the house, her back hurt. When they finally got it to the back of the house, Jillian was questioning the couch’s very existence. Why hadn’t she sold it in a yard sale rather than move it?

With the couch shoved up against a wall in the room at the back of the house Jillian had designated to store all her boxes and furniture, she straightened, pressing a hand to the small of her aching back.

Chance stared across the sofa at her. “Why were you in the basement?”

Jillian closed her eyes, trying to remember why she’d gone down there in the first place. When it came to her, she opened her eyes wide. “I heard a kitten.” She spun on her heels and hurried to the kitchen.

“No way.” Chance caught up with her before she reached the basement door. “You’re not going down there.”

“But I heard a kitten. It might have been separated from its mother. I couldn’t leave it down there.”

“Then let me look for it.” Chance stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “You don’t need to fall down the stairs a second time.”

“I didn’t fall,” she insisted.

“Okay, so you didn’t fall. You were just taking a nap on the floor when I found you.”

Jillian hiked her brows. “The kitten?”

“Promise you’ll stay put?”

She glared at him.

He didn’t budge.

At that moment, the animal’s cries sounded from the darkness.

“Okay,” Jillian said. “I promise to stay here. Now, will you go?”

He grinned for the first time since they’d met. The expression lightened his face and made her heart flutter. When he wasn’t scowling, Chance was an incredibly attractive man.

She shook herself, pushing back that errant thought.

When he turned toward the stairs, her breath caught and she blurted, “Wait.”

“Why?”

Jillian didn’t answer. She spun and raced out the front door, dived into the passenger side of Dave’s truck and retrieved the flashlight she’d seen on the rear floorboard. Back into the house she skidded to a stop in front of Chance, breathing hard.

“Here.” She grabbed his hand and slapped the flashlight into his open palm.

“Thank you.” He closed his fingers around the light and squeezed her hand. Then he disappeared into the basement’s shadows, the beam of the flashlight marking his course.

Jillian stood at the top of the stairs, her throat tight, her breathing ragged.

She found herself praying he would hurry. “You sure you don’t want me to help?”

“You promised to stay up there.”

“Yeah, but two could find the kitten faster.”

“And if a ghost locks the door again, who would rescue the both of us?”

Jillian bit down on her retort. “There are no such things as ghosts.”

“Then explain the hook,” Chance’s disembodied voice said from the darkness.

She couldn’t, so she remained quiet in the kitchen, throwing a glance over her shoulder every so often as chills rippled down her spine. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but she couldn’t help feeling she was being watched.

A miniature, snarling whine echoed off the walls below.

“Come here, you little poltergeist,” Chance muttered.

More spats from the kitten were followed by a hearty curse.

“Damn it!”

A minute later, a light shone at the bottom of the stairs. Chance started up with a bundle of rags in one hand, the flashlight in the other. “I found one of your ghosts.”

Jillian reached for the wriggling wad of cloth.

“Careful,” Chance said. “He’s got some sharp claws.”

A small gray head poked out of the fabric and big blue eyes shone up at her.

Jillian gathered the cloth-wrapped kitten in her hands and carried him into the evening light streaming in through the dirty back window. Once she unwrapped the feline, she could see the animal was scrawny, underweight and malnourished. “Ah, poor baby. Where’s your mama?”

“Poor baby?” Chance snorted. “He nearly scratched my eyes out. Just like a cat. Try to help one, and what do you get? Mauled.”

Jillian rolled her eyes in his direction. “Really?” His laughing eyes made her heartbeat stutter. Then she saw the line of red across his cheek. “Oh, dear, he did get you good.” The kitten curled into Jillian’s hands. “Come out to the truck. I have a fresh bottle of water, and I know where to find my box of towels.”

“Point me in the right direction. I’m not sure I trust either one of you at this point.” He led the way through the house and held the door for her as she carried the kitten through.

“I gave you the option of leaving,” she reminded him.

He shook his head. “Not an option. Too dangerous for a lone woman.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I’m going to live here eventually.” She deposited the kitten, rags and all, on the front seat of Dave’s truck and retrieved the bottle of water in the console. “By myself.” When she straightened, she was startled by how close Chance stood. She froze, her breath hitching in her lungs.

Chance took the bottle but didn’t move away, effectively trapping her between the truck door and his body. “Preferably after you’ve had good dead-bolt locks and a security system installed.”

“Ha.” Jillian swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “My money might last through new dead-bolt locks, but if the choice comes between running water and a security system, I’d prefer to bathe indoors, thank you very much.”

Chance’s gaze captured hers for a long moment, and then the corners of his lips quirked upward. “Despite being a pain in the butt, you’re kind of cute when you’re passionate about your water.” He chucked her beneath her chin like a kid sister and stepped back.

Jillian dragged in a steadying breath and closed the truck door to keep the kitten inside. She rounded to the other side and closed the driver’s side, glad for a few seconds to gather her scattered wits. By the time she met Chance at the back of the open trailer, she was well in control. Jillian refused to let the arrogant man get under her skin again. Whether it was his high-handedness or when he softened and called her cute, she couldn’t afford to let him shift her focus from all that had to be done.

Yet his mere presence with his broad shoulders and ruggedly handsome face made it hard for her to concentrate. What had she been doing?

Chance held up the water bottle. “If you’ll point to the box, I’ll find a towel.”

She turned away from his laughing gaze as heat filled her cheeks. Damn the man. Jillian studied the neatly stacked boxes containing all of her worldly goods, some of them items her mother had treasured. “There.” She pointed to a box. “The one marked Bathroom Towels.” When she backed away, she bumped into Chance and almost tripped over his feet.

He gripped her arm and steadied her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor. You could have suffered a concussion in your fall down the stairs.”

“I didn’t fall down the stairs.” She pressed to his chest, trying to establish her balance. “I must have passed out.”

“All the more reason to see the doctor.”

“I don’t have time to visit a doctor, and I feel just fine.” If fine was finding it hard to breathe with the man standing so near. She tipped her head toward the truck. “Could you get the box down?”

He held her a moment longer and she didn’t breathe until he finally let go. “Hang on to this.” He handed her the water bottle and climbed into the trailer, found the box and carried it to the porch.

Jillian stood back, wondering what the hell was wrong with her.

Chance pulled a fancy knife from his pocket, unfolded a blade and slit through the tape securing the box. Inside was a stack of freshly laundered towels.

Pulling herself together, Jillian hurried forward, selected a cloth and opened the bottled water.

Chance held out his hand. “I can take care of it myself.”

“No, let me. I made you go back in after the kitten.”

“Yeah, but I would have gone in whether you asked me to or not.”

She wet the cloth and capped the bottle, setting it to the side. Now she had to touch the man who’d stirred up so many emotions since finding her in the basement. The smart thing to do would be to hand him the cloth and let him take care of his own injury. But now that she’d insisted, she had to follow through. If she treated him like a client injured on a tour of one of her home listings, she shouldn’t have a problem. Squaring her shoulders, she set her jaw and commanded, “Sit.”

* * *

Chance responded to the command in her voice, though he almost laughed out loud at the play of emotions crossing Jillian’s face. “Yes, ma’am.” He dropped down onto a porch step.

Jillian settled on one riser higher and touched the damp cloth to his cheek. “This might hurt a little,” she said, leaning close.

“I’ve had worse injuries in the war.” More than he could count. As an army ranger, scrapes, broken bones, concussions, shrapnel and gunshot wounds were expected.

As she moved nearer, the scent of herbal shampoo filled his nostrils and made him want to pull Jillian into his lap to explore further.

“That’s right. You’re Nova’s friend from the military.”

He dipped his head.

“Do you work with the same organization Nova works with now?” Jillian cupped the back of his head and gently dabbed at the kitten’s mark.

With her hand tickling the nape of his neck and her breast pressing into his arm, Chance could barely breathe. “I do.”

“What exactly is it you do?” She rinsed the cloth with more water and squeezed out the excess moisture.

“Whatever is needed,” Chance responded, his voice tight, desire pressing hard against the fly of his jeans. Thankfully, he didn’t have to go into detail about his job. Much of what he did with Stealth Operations Specialists was classified and only those with a need to know were given the details of any operation.

Her lips twisted. “Let me guess, if you tell me what you do—”

“I’d have to kill you.” He captured her wrist in his hand. “I think you’ve done enough. We should finish the work and get back to the B and B.”

Jillian stared into his eyes.

A few short inches separated them, but all Chance could think about was her pretty pink mouth and what she might taste like if he dared kiss her.

Jillian ran her tongue around those pink lips, sending Chance’s control flying.

“Do you realize how crazy you’re making me?”

She shook her head, her eyes rounding. Her gaze shifted to his mouth.

Like a moth drawn to the flame, Chance couldn’t resist the temptation. He slipped his hand beneath her hair at the back of her head and dragged her forward until their lips almost touched. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he breathed, praying she wouldn’t when the temptation to kiss her threatened to overwhelm him.

Jillian closed the distance between them, her lips brushing his. They were so soft, full and luscious. Chance increased the pressure on the back of her neck and claimed her mouth, tonguing the seam of her lips until she opened to him.

He swept in, caressing her tongue in a long, slow glide. She tasted of mint and chocolate—sweet, decadent and undeniably irresistible.

Jillian dropped the cloth on the step beside him and ran her hand up the front of his chest, linking it with the other behind his neck. She pressed her breasts against him, stirring an ever-deepening hunger inside.

Chance pulled her across his lap without breaking the kiss, drowning in the touch, taste and feel of her body pressed to his.

A loud crash sounded inside the house, bursting through the cocoon of lust surrounding them.

Chance ducked, his pulse leaped, and he would have flattened himself to the ground, but with Jillian across his lap, that wasn’t an option.

Jillian squealed and pushed to her feet.

Chance rose as well, his attention on the house.

“Stay here,” he said.

“Staying,” she agreed.

His heart hammering from his close encounter with Jillian, Chance ran into the house. With a quick sweep of the rooms on the first floor, Chance located the source of the sound. A four-by-eight-foot sheet of drywall lay on the floor of the living room, having fallen from the stack leaning against the wall.

Chance lifted it and leaned it with the others. When he’d passed the stack before, the individual sheets had seemed to be leaning at an angle so they wouldn’t easily fall. A gust of wind would not have been enough to push over one of the heavy drywall sheets. He glanced around, his gaze going to the dusty wooden floor.

There were several sets of footprints overlaying each other from where he, Jillian and the workers had all passed. Was there someone else in the house? Someone who could have slipped the hook in the loop on the cellar door and knocked one of the drywall sheets to the ground? Chance didn’t like it. Something didn’t feel right in his gut. And his gut was seldom wrong.

He walked back out to the porch, where Jillian stood, her hair rumpled and her lips swollen from their kiss.

“Find anything?”

“A sheet of drywall fell over.” He didn’t go any deeper. He could be wrong. “I set it upright.”

She clapped her hands together. “In that case, let’s get going.”

“Right. This stuff isn’t moving itself. And we need to get back to the McGregor B and B.”

Jillian smiled. “Exactly. If we’re late, Molly will send her brother, a member of the Cape Churn Police Department, to check on us.”

Chance got to work. He wanted to get done and get back before dark—and before something else happened in Jillian’s haunted house.

Chapter 4

Jillian’s back ached and she counted the minutes until she could take a pain pill and crawl into bed. But she had to take the trailer back to town, drop it off and then go to the B and B where Molly kept supper for her and Chance.

Though thankful for his help, she wasn’t sure she should be thankful for the kiss. Working side by side, bumping into each other in the confines of the trailer and the small room where her things would be stored had been near torture. Every time they touched, a shower of sparks set off an electrical current inside her.

Chance’s broad shoulders took up a lot of space and were hard to avoid. When they carried the last two boxes into the house, she practically threw hers down. “Well, that does it.” She brushed the dust from her hands and glanced at Chance. “You can head back to the B and B. I have to drop off the trailer and return the truck to my friend.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

Jillian’s heart did a double backflip. “That’s not necessary. I’m sure you’re tired from your flight and all the work you got wrangled into. I can manage it on my own.”

“Just the same, I’ll go with you and do the driving. Since you can’t seem to recall falling down the stairs, I don’t feel comfortable letting you drive.”

“I told you, I didn’t fall down the stairs.”

“Doesn’t matter. If you can’t remember why you ended up lying on the floor of the basement, I have to assume you were unconscious at some point.” He held out his hand. “The keys?”

She opened her mouth to continue the argument. One look at the determined set of Chance’s rock-hard jaw and Jillian snapped her mouth shut. With a frustrated sigh, she turned toward the truck. “The keys are in the ignition.” She climbed into the passenger side and fished the kitten out from under the seat, holding it against her chest like a shield.

Chance slipped into the driver’s seat.

“What about your vehicle?” Jillian asked.

“It’ll be here in the morning.”

She frowned. His response implied that he would be there in the morning, as well. Something told her she’d do well to keep her distance from Nova’s best man. All that testosterone and those hunky muscles could derail a girl weaker than she. Butterflies fluttered against the walls of her belly. Okay, so she wasn’t so strong against an extraordinary specimen like Chance.

Jillian had been around a few of the Stealth Operations Specialists who’d moved to the area. Each one had improved the scenery—Nova with his dark, exotic looks, and Creed Thomas with his Native American high cheekbones and solid strength, were both forces to be reckoned with. Even Nicole Steele, or Tazer, as they lovingly nicknamed her, was kick-ass, with years of experience making her as much of a lethal weapon as Creed and Nova. Now Chance...

Jillian pulled at the collar of her plaid shirt, the interior of the truck suddenly too warm. “How long will you be staying?”

“Until after the wedding. Maybe longer.”

Jillian swallowed hard on a groan. “Are you staying in one of the cottages?” She crossed her fingers the way she had when she was a little girl, hoping he’d say yes. If she was staying at the B and B and Chance was, too, what was the possibility of avoiding him?

Slim to none. Then again, he was the best man in the wedding she was planning.

“I’m staying at the B and B.”

It was her luck. At least she’d only be there until the plumber got the water running and the electrician finished the rewiring. Hopefully, that would only be a couple more days. She could live with the dust and clutter of demolition and the rebuilding effort. Besides, Molly and Nova needed all the space they could get for Nova’s family members.

As they entered town, Jillian pointed to Runyan’s Convenience Store and Gas Station. “This is where I drop the trailer, and I’d like to put gas in the truck before I return it to its owner.”

Chance turned in to the parking lot and backed the trailer in between other rental trailers parked at the rear of the building.

Jillian’s lips twisted. “If I had parked the trailer, it would have taken a lot longer. I’m not that adept at maneuvering trailers, or driving trucks for that matter.” She gave him a smile. “Thank you.”

“Just trying to help. Seems like you’ve bit off more than a mouthful with the wedding and a total house renovation all at once.”

She nodded. “I’ve been planning this wedding for more than a year. The house was an opportunity that just came up, and I jumped on it.”

“Why that particular house? Why not something closer to town? Something that doesn’t need so many repairs?”

Jillian pushed open her door and dropped down from the truck. Everyone she knew had asked the same question. Lately, she’d asked herself the same as the bills mounted and the work seemed to take forever. She met Chance at the tailgate.

While Chance unhooked the lights and hitch, Jillian stroked the kitten and thought about her answer to his questions.

“I’ve been in Cape Churn for two years. I didn’t plan on moving from Portland, but a weekend getaway turned into a move to live here. Something about Cape Churn called to me.” She shrugged. “Instinct or gut feeling, it was like coming home. I’ve been renting ever since, waiting for the right house.”

“Doesn’t make sense to rent.”

“Tell me about it. And I’m a real estate agent.” She laughed. “Trust me, I thought I’d seen every house in Cape Churn and the surrounding area. Somehow I’d missed this one. The bank called, wanting me to list it. They’d been sitting on it for years and were tired of paying the taxes. When I came out to see it, I fell in love with the place. Like Cape Churn, it called to me.” Jillian shrugged. “That’s why I bought it. I know it sounds silly and maybe a little superstitious, but sometimes you have to go with your gut.”

“Yeah.” Chance straightened, his lips thinning into a line, his jaw tight. “Is there some paperwork you have to sign?” he said, his voice clipped, his whole attitude changing from casual curiosity to rigid and dark.

“What?” Jillian stared at him. “Was it something I said?”

He shook his head. “No. We just need to get back to the B and B.”

“Give me a minute to fill up the tank and I’ll be ready to go.”

“I’ll get it.” Chance didn’t give her the chance to climb into the truck. He was in and driving around to the pumps before she could form a protest.

What the hell had happened to make him suddenly so closed off and angry?

Jillian shook her head and followed the truck on foot.

Bud Runyan, the owner of the gas station, stepped out of the building. “Miss Taylor, I expected you to use that trailer for at least another day.”

She smiled at the gray-haired man with the grizzled beard and deep-set wrinkles. “I expected to use it for another day, too.” Jillian tipped her head toward Chance. “I was fortunate to enlist help in unloading.”

Mr. Runyan’s eyes narrowed. “This your boyfriend from Portland?”

Jillian didn’t remind Mr. Runyan she’d been there over two years and rarely went back to Portland. If she’d had a relationship, it would have long since disintegrated. “No, sir. Chance is here for the wedding.”

Chance parked the truck at the pumps.

Mr. Runyan beat him to the nozzle and started the flow of gasoline into the tank. “I take it you didn’t have any more luck talking Miss Taylor out of moving into the old Thompson house?”

Chance shook his head. “I didn’t know I was supposed to talk her out of anything.”

The older man leaned his back against the truck. “That house has been empty for a reason.”

“What reason?” Jillian asked.

Before Mr. Runyan could answer, a four-door sedan pulled up and an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair unfolded from her sedan. She was about the same height as Jillian and, despite her age, appeared capable of bench-pressing a refrigerator.

“Good evening, Mrs. Sims.” Mr. Runyan pushed away from the truck and walked to the other side of the pump.

Mrs. Sims nodded to Mr. Runyan. “Bud.”

“Fill ’er up?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” Mrs. Sims dug in her purse for her wallet. “Good evening, Miss Taylor. I hear you bought the old Thompson place in the woods.”

“I did.” Jillian braced herself for yet another person telling her what a mistake she’d made.

“Personally, I’m glad the old place is getting a makeover. All that nonsense about it being haunted is ridiculous.”

Jillian released the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. “Thank you. You’re the first person who hasn’t tried to talk me out of it.”

The older woman snorted. “Wouldn’t do that. All that work you’re doing to restore the building is keeping my son employed.”

Jillian thought she knew everyone in Cape Churn. “Your son?”

“Daryl.”

Jillian smiled. “Oh, yes. Daryl’s helping out.”

Mrs. Sims nodded. “He’s working with the contractor. They’ve been involved in the demolition so far.”

“Still think you’re courtin’ disaster with that old house. Nothing good ever happened out there,” Mr. Runyan muttered.

Jillian planted her fists on her hips. “Everyone is quick to believe in ghosts and hauntings. What concrete things have happened in that house that inspires all those tales?”

Mr. Runyan glanced across at Mrs. Sims. “What was it, fifteen or twenty years ago when that little girl disappeared?”

Mrs. Sims lips tightened. “Something like that. I still think her mother had something to do with that. Especially since they found the girl a month later.”

Jillian’s breath caught. “Found? As in dead?”

Mr. Runyan shoved a hand through his wiry white hair. “That was the dangedest thing. She appeared as suddenly as she disappeared, with no memory of where she’d been or what had happened.”

A chill slipped down the back of Jillian’s neck. “Did she live in the house?”

Mr. Runyan nodded. “It was her and her mother. Her father lived in town. They’d recently divorced. He’d lost his job, started drinkin’, and the wife wouldn’t put up with it. She kicked him out. Anyway, the girl probably got lost.”

“Or maybe she was mad about the divorce and ran away,” Mrs. Sims said.

“For a month?” Chance asked. “How old was she?”

“Nine,” Bud answered.

Jillian wasn’t buying it. “A nine-year-old ran away and survived on her own for a month? Doubtful.”

The older woman raised her hands, palms up. “Since she wasn’t talking when she reappeared, no one knows what happened.”

“And never will.” Mr. Runyan topped off the truck’s tank and hung up the nozzle. “Her mother packed her up and left the house, the town and the state, for all anyone knows. She and her daughter haven’t been heard from since.”

Jillian dug in her purse for the correct amount of money and handed it to Mr. Runyan. “Why hasn’t any of this come up before?”

Mr. Runyan took the money from Jillian. “When Mrs. Thompson and her daughter left, I suppose people forgot.”

“No use living in the past,” Mrs. Sims said. “And there’s no such thing as ghosts, so don’t you worry about any of that. I’d love to see the house when you get done with the remodeling effort.” The woman turned toward her car. “What do I owe you, Bud?”

Jillian climbed into the passenger seat of the truck, adjusted her seat belt and lifted the kitten onto her lap while Chance slipped behind the wheel.

Without a word, he started the truck and pulled to the edge of the road. “Which way?”

After giving him the directions to the marina, Jillian texted Dave to let him know they were on their way, and then she leaned back against the seat and stared out at the darkening sky. With the streetlights coming on, the stars were hard to see. That was one of the things she looked forward to when her house was finished—being able to gaze up at the sky at night and see the blanket of stars spread out in the heavens.

“Does it worry you at all that your house has a history?” Chance asked.

Jillian drew in a breath and let it out again before answering. “People are afraid of things they don’t understand.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I need to do a little digging to find out what all the fuss is about.”

Chance’s lips quirked upward. “And if there was a missing girl and the house is haunted, then what?”

“Then I will at least know the truth from an old wives’ tale. By the time the contractors are finished remodeling my house, no one will remember it as the place where something bad happened, and the ghosts will love it so much, they’ll leave me alone. Who knows, if there are such things as ghosts, they might be mad because the place has been left to deteriorate.”

Granted, she didn’t believe in ghosts or places being bad. People were bad. Not places. And since she’d bought the house and planned on living in it, she refused to believe differently. A cool draft found its way into the interior of the truck, stirring the fine hairs on the back of Jillian’s neck, and she shivered.

* * *

Chance shot a smile at Jillian. The woman was so feminine, yet she had a solid core and seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself. “Nothing much scares you, does it?”

“Nope.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her chin. “I’ve been on my own for a few years. My mother made sure I was trained in self-defense, and I’m a black belt in tae kwon do. People should be afraid of me.”

Chance held up his hand, schooling his face to be dead serious. “I’m shaking in my boots.” Then he couldn’t hold back the chuckle, ruining the effect. “Sorry. You don’t look very intimidating.”

“Well, I am.” She glared at him, though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “A black belt, that is.”

“I believe you.” Chance pulled into the marina parking lot.

Jillian pointed. “Park near the dock.”

Following her directions, he pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. By the time he got out and rounded to the other side of the truck, Jillian was already out, the kitten in her hands, and was walking toward the long wooden wharf.

A tall, muscular man stepped out of a houseboat and waved. He crossed the dock and walked up the hill toward them, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt with Georgetown University embroidered on the front. “I didn’t expect you back with my truck until tomorrow.”

Jillian handed him the keys and hugged him. “I had help to unload, so it took half the time.” She turned to Chance. “Chance, this is Dave Logsdon. Dave, Chance McCall.”

Dave extended a hand and Chance took it. The man had a strong grip and a tattoo on his forearm.

“Prior military?” Chance asked.

“Army.”

Chance nodded. “Same.”

“Deployed?” Dave asked.

“Four times.”

Dave held up three fingers. “Three.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. As he handed them to Jillian, he asked Chance, “Action?”

“More than I cared for.”

Dave stared at Chance for a long moment.

Chance returned the stare, unwaveringly.

Finally, the tension left Dave’s stance and he jerked his head to the side. “Care for a beer?”

“Would love one, but I’m supposed to deliver Miss Taylor to the B and B for dinner. We’re running short on time.”

“Gotcha.” Dave turned to Jillian. “Everything all right at the house?”

She held the kitten beneath her chin and smiled. “Things are moving along.”

Chance wondered why she didn’t mention she’d passed out at the bottom of the basement steps and the basement door had been locked from the other side—and she had no idea how she’d gotten that way.

“Glad to hear you found a crew to work it. Let me know if you need anything.” Dave hugged her and kissed her forehead.

A rush of heat feathered across Chance’s cheeks. The longer Dave held Jillian, the warmer Chance grew. And his gut knotted. It was as if he was jealous of the other man. But then, how could that be, when he’d only known the pretty real estate agent for a few hours?

Dave glanced across at Chance. “Looking forward to that beer.”

Chance muttered something, but a second later couldn’t recall what he’d said.

Jillian led the way to a four-wheel-drive Jeep, opened the driver’s door and got in.

Chance slipped into the passenger seat, his gaze on Dave as the man strode across the dock and entered the houseboat. “Does he live there?”

Jillian handed the kitten to Chance. “The outside looks like hell, but he refinished the inside.”

Holding the tiny feline in his hand, he stroked its fur. “Are you two together?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, he wished he could take it back. It wasn’t any of his business, nor did he have a stake in the Jillian game since he had no plan to form any kind of relationship with her or anyone else. Still, he had a burning desire to know more about this woman who wasn’t too terribly concerned about passing out on the floor of a basement.

She laughed. “Oh, goodness, no.” Jillian shifted into Reverse and turned the Jeep around. “He’s in love with Nicole Steele.” Jillian glanced across at Chance. “You might know her. She works for the same organization as you and Nova.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve run into her a couple times in the Virginia office.” He pulled his gaze away from Jillian and reengaged his brain cells. “I haven’t been with them long.”

“She’s supposed to come to the wedding. But, like you, we won’t know until she shows up.”

Chance snorted. “That about sums up my life. I’m glad I could be here for Nova.”

“I know he was sweating it. What about you? Are you bringing a date to the wedding? Do I need to set another plate at the main table?” She didn’t glance away from the road.

“No.” Chance hadn’t dated anyone on a long-term basis since he was in the army. Relationships didn’t last when one of the parties involved was deployed more than he was home. Since he’d joined SOS, he saw no need to change his single status.

Jillian smiled. “Good to know.” She navigated through Cape Churn, her confidence obvious in the directions she took and the smooth way she made the turns.

By the time they were on the highway to the McGregor Bed-and-Breakfast, Chance had settled back against the leather seat, his gaze straying to Jillian. “Have you always been a real estate agent?”

She shot a glance his way. “When I finished college with a marketing degree, the jobs just weren’t available in Portland. So I put my marketing degree to work on creating ads for a real estate firm. Did the training, got my license and voilà! I’ve been doing it ever since.”

“I’ll bet you’re good at it.”

She tipped her chin, her cheeks darkening with a blush in the light from the dash. “I am. I have a knack for finding just the right house for my clients. Granted, the market was much larger and more lucrative in Portland than in Cape Churn, but I like it better here.”

Once they left town, the road ahead climbed, twisted and turned around the cliffs hugging the coastline. When Chance had arrived earlier, he could see the water, the rocks below and the horizon. Now the darkness was also shrouded by fog, creeping in from the ocean.

Jillian slowed. “The fog’s getting thick. The weatherman predicted a devil’s shroud night.”

“Devil’s shroud?” Chance asked.

“That’s what they call the thick fogs that roll into Cape Churn. I think it makes it sound mysterious. Just another thing to love about this place.”

“You love a place that calls a dense fog the devil’s shroud?”

“It’s kind of creepy, but still adds to the ambience of the area.”

As that aptly named fog thickened, the Jeep careened around a bend in the road. Chance gripped the armrest with one hand, clutched the kitten with the other and dug his foot into the floorboard, aiming for a brake that wasn’t there. “Shouldn’t you go a little slower?”

“Oh, sorry. I know the roads really well, but the fog is getting pretty thick.” She eased up on the accelerator and continued through the haze.

At one point they rounded a curve carved out of the side of a cliff. Something big crashed onto the road and rolled in front of them.

Jillian yelped, swerved and slammed on her brake just in time to keep from falling off the edge of the road.

“Are you all right?” Chance asked, peeling the kitten’s claws out of his shirt and skin.

For a long moment, Jillian didn’t respond. Finally, she said, “I’m okay.” She turned to Chance. “What was that?”

“I don’t know, but let me take a look.” He climbed out of the Jeep and checked the road in the area. He found a boulder the size of big watermelon on the edge of the road ahead. When he got back to the Jeep, Jillian stood at the edge of the cliff.

Seeing her so close to the drop-off made Chance nervous. He circled her waist with his arm and eased her back. “Do you want me to drive?”

“I can do it,” she said, but her body trembled and her gaze remained on the edge of the cliff. “If we hadn’t stopped we’d have hit that boulder or...”

“But you did stop and we didn’t do either.” He turned her to face him and brushed a strand of her silky blond hair back from her cheek. “Come on. Molly was making fresh bread. I haven’t had fresh bread since...well, hell. I don’t think I’ve ever had fresh bread. Mom wasn’t much of a cook because she worked full-time.”

He guided her back to the Jeep and settled her in the passenger seat. Then he took the wheel and eased away from the cliff and back onto the right side of the road. The rest of the trip was completed in silence, with Chance focusing all of his attention on what little he could see of the road in front of him.

Devil’s shroud was an accurate description of the fog. But what had been the white aberration that had nearly caused them to fly off the edge of the cliff?

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