Chapter 3

Sheriff’s Department

Early November

The following Friday, Killian was alone at the station, and his conversation with Dylan kept running around in his head.

Emma’s worth more than all those floozies combined.

Emma’s not a groupie.

Are you looking for Ms. Sunday?

His week had been full. He’d spent Monday with Morgan, Tuesday with Chloe, and Wednesday with Tia. Thursday he’d worked and he’d promised Friday evening to Belle. But he just ….

And that was the crux of the problem … the but. Did he throw himself into his evening with Belle and forget about Emma?

He’d tried not to think about her. Tried not to imagine her and the singer together. But bloody hell, it was difficult. She was in his head and every time he’d gotten close to any of the women, the memory of Emma’s lips, Emma’s hair, and Emma’s laugh kept getting in the way.

Her moss green eyes haunted him whenever he bent to kiss the women he’d taken out on dates. Instead of thinking about the lips of the woman he was with, it was Emma’s full bottom one, he fantasized about. Just imagining taking it between his own turned him on more than anything he’d done … or thought about doing in years.

Why?

What was he going to do about it?

When the phone rang, pulling him from his thoughts it was almost a relief. “Yeah,” he barked, dropping his feet to the floor and sitting up in case he needed to take notes.

“Oh, Killian.” Molly’s anxious voice came across the line. “Can I speak with Dylan?”

“I’m sorry, Molly. He’s at a meeting with the mayor. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Well,” she hesitated, “you know Rusty was supposed to come to my class, right?”

“Aye,” Killian admitted. “He was looking forward to it.”

“It was today, and—”

“—Rusty is home because Roland is sick.” Killian realized.

“Right,” she sighed. “I was going to ask Dylan, but … I’ll just tell the kids we’ll do it some other time. I just hate the thought of disappointing them.”

“I’ll do it,” was out of his mouth before he’d completely thought through what he’d said.

“Really?” she squealed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. Can you be here in an hour?”

He left the office, and on his way to the elementary school. there were several times when he questioned his sanity. But deciding he’d chalk it up to boredom, he waded into the fray.

“Killian, come in.” Molly directed him to the front of the room. “Class, say hello to Investigator Reade.”

As he walked toward Molly, the comments he overheard had him second-guessing his decision to volunteer. But once the pint-size humans began to throw questions at him, he forgot he was supposed to feel awkward. They were open and honest and listened to what he had to say. It wasn’t his glib tongue or its talent that mattered. And by the time Molly handed him the book, his trepidation had disappeared.

“Today,” Molly explained to the class, “our guest is going to read Ten Big Toes and a Prince’s Nose. Come sit close.”

The children gathered around Killian, and he began ….

“There once was a princess so lovely and fair …”

As he read, he didn’t consider the possibility the words might have a hidden message. And even though it took him several pages to feel comfortable, by the middle of the book, he hit his stride.

I am what I am, and that’s alright with me.

But the possibility of an underlying meaning still lingered in the back of his mind.

I don’t have to be different; I just have to be.

He’d spent ten years pretending to be someone else. But moving to Swan Harbor and working for the Sheriff’s Department allowed him to be himself … didn’t it?

I don’t want to be somebody else. No sir-ree!

His life was moving in the direction he wished. During the day, he had work and his evenings were filled with an assortment of beauties. He was happy, even without ….

I am what I am and that’s all right with me.

As he finished the story, a sliver of something unknown ran through him. The feeling was so new, and unsettling, he slipped back into his flirtatious persona. It allowed him to stay in control as he said goodbye to Molly and the children.

Hours later, he parked in front of Harbor Towers Apartments and still hadn’t reconciled what was going on inside his head. He was out of sorts and had been since a certain blonde drove a yellow car across his path. But what should he do?

There was a part of him that wanted to cancel his date. But before he could seriously consider it, he reached the top of the stairs, and the sixth sense that had kept him alive for years kicked in. Thoughts of a quiet evening flew from his head as he backed against a wall. After ascertaining he was alone, he took several steps toward his apartment.

They found you! raced through his mind when he saw the opened door.

He didn’t think so but drew his weapon and peered inside, expecting the worst. Except … there was no overturned furniture or broken glass. The lights were turned down low, soft music was playing, and a bottle of champagne was chilling next to the sofa.

“Bloody hell!”

Killian holstered his gun, letting the door shut behind him. “Hello,” he called, stepping farther into the room.

“Killian?” Belle stepped around the corner from the kitchen, a bowl of salad in her arms. “Surprised?”

“I wasn’t aware we were to meet here,” he mumbled, working to keep his anger from bubbling to the surface.

“We weren’t.” She set the salad bowl she was carrying on the table and took a step in his direction. “But then Molly stopped by the library and told me how you had saved the day. After that, I thought I’d surprise you with a home cooked meal.”

“Oh, I’m surprised alright,” he quipped. “How did you get in?”

“Oh, Dylan and I arrived at the same time,” she replied, “and he let me in.”

It was time to talk to his neighbor, Killian decided. But the memory of his earlier decision to give her his attention had him pasting on a false smile and asking, “Do I have time for a quick shower before we eat?”

Her eyes tracked up his body, and a sultry smile played along her mouth. “Do you need someone to scrub your back?”

“Uhm.” Killian forcefully swallowed and backed toward his bedroom. “No, no. I’ll be right back.”

He stored his gun and locked himself in the bathroom, “What are you going to do now, Reade?”

Except with no answer forthcoming, he shed his clothes and rushed through his shower. Ten minutes later he was pulling out Belle’s chair and sitting down to the meal she’d prepared. She smelled nice and her skin was soft, but ….

The pasta dish, salad, and homemade garlic bread were perfectly paired with the wine. She was a good dinner companion, regaling him with stories from her day. When she spoke, her blue eyes sparkled, but ….

Killian listened to her talk but had to admit his attention drifted throughout the meal. It made little sense as her voice was soft and melodious, one perfect for a librarian, but ….

After dinner, they sat on the sofa, where he stretched his arm along the back and lightly fingered a few strands of Belle’s hair. The candlelight flickered around the room, bringing out its auburn highlights but ….

“Why don’t I open the champagne?”

He took the bottle from the bucket and concentrated on peeling off the wrapping and working the cork free.

He thought he heard Belle say she was going to get glasses, but his mind was lost on the ‘but’ statements floating inside his head.

Her speech pattern was melodious, one perfect for a librarian, but ….

She didn’t breathlessly say his name one minute and the next spit out comments challenging him.

When she spoke, her blue eyes sparkled, but they….

They weren’t the moss green ones haunting his dreams.

The candlelight flickered around the room bringing out the highlights in her auburn hair, but ….

It wasn’t thick and blonde, making him want to wrap his hand around it, tugging its owner close.

She smelled nice and her skin was soft, but … she wasn’t, “Emma.”

A gasp had him swinging around, “Belle, I … I didn’t …”

“Goodbye, Killian.” Belle grabbed her jacket and was gone before he could think of anything to say.

Killian dropped the champagne bottle back into the bucket, glad he hadn’t gotten it open. And while a part of him felt awful for hurting her, he couldn’t work up the desire to go after her.

What was going on with him lately?

The quiet of the night called to him and with a flick of his wrist, he shut off the music. Then, taking the bottle with a generous glass of rum, he stepped out onto his small patio.

He liked women, and women liked him.

Except Emma.

He liked Morgan, and she had fiery red hair.

She’s not Emma.

He liked Chloe, and she was a brunette.

She’s not Emma.

He liked Tia.

She’s not Emma.

But she’s blonde.

She’s not Emma.

“Bloody hell, shut up!” He downed the rum and poured another three fingers, tossing half of it back. It burned on the way to his gut but didn’t stop the thoughts flying through his mind.

He had known he was in a mood when he got home and instead of having the time to get in the right frame of mind, Belle was waiting. It seemed the perfect time to thank his good buddy, Dylan.

“‘Lo,” Dylan barked, after just one ring.

“You let her in.” Killian groused without any greeting. “How could you let her in?”

“Belle?”

“Of course, Belle. You know I don’t bring dates to my apartment.”

When on a date, he didn’t bring women to his apartment. It was his space. The one place where he didn’t have to worry about what he said or how he looked. If he was out with someone, they went to her apartment. Then he could leave when he was ready.

“Sorry,” Dylan sighed, not sounding as contrite as Killian wished. “But she said you invited her. Why?”

“She left,” Killian admitted and then surprised himself continuing, “I called her Emma.”

“What?!” Dylan chuckled. “How did Mr. Date of the Day make a mistake like that?”

“I don’t know,” Killian sighed, wondering how he’d gotten himself into this … whatever this was. “I’ve never done that before, but somehow, I don’t feel as bad as I think I should.”

“And you called her Emma? Sounds like you need to go talk to Emma.”

“Bloody hell,” Killian sputtered, “she won’t talk to me. Besides, who said I wanted to talk to her, anyway?

Dylan blew out his breath, the sound unnaturally loud in his ear. “You never know until you try. Oh, thanks for helping Molly today. I gotta go.”

The dead air had Killian frowning at the phone and shoving it back into his pocket. He poured another two fingers of rum and wandered back out onto the patio. But thoughts of Emma continued crowding his head. What if they talked? Would he be able to move on? Or would it take more. … like a date? Was that what was needed for her to become just another woman?

There’s no time like the present.

And before he could change his mind Killian tossed back the rest of the alcohol and grabbed his keys. She was just a woman and once he figured out what made her so elusive, he could purge her from his head once and for all.

Veterinarian Clinic 9:00 p.m.

Emma rhythmically ran the small brush over the kitten’s tiny head. Orphaned, barely three-weeks old and Tyler’s daughter was depending on her to save the Felis catus. And she would, because that was what she did.

Who are you kidding, Emma?

Okay, she amended the thought. It wasn’t just what she did, but who she was. Her entire life had been about collecting orphans and saving as many as she could. Which included puppies, dogs, kittens, cats, birds and whatever else had been dropped off. But they had needed her … and she had needed them.

Tending to the kitten didn’t stop the thoughts in her head. Tyler was still charming and handsome, but it hadn’t been her he’d been interested in all those years ago: that had been Elsa. Which was too bad as he would be much easier to put out of her mind.

Emma Foster needed control. And writing things on a list helped her stay focused.

There will be no detours, Emma.

But even though Emma sensed something more going on behind Killian’s eyes, she couldn’t take a chance. She had run away from people like him, and she had no desire to return.

Swan Harbor had given her a business she could love and help grow, and slowly she was working to find her place in the town.

New opportunities and situations arose every day and if she was prepared, then ….

“A moment, please.” The quiet voice of the man she’d just vowed to keep at arm’s length shattered her concentration.

Emma studied him for several seconds, noticing something different, but refused to look too deeply. “I’m a little busy.”

His eyes were trying to tell her something, but she had seen that too many times with her father. It was going to take more than a look to pierce the cloak she had grown to keep the pain at bay.

“She needs me now,” Emma nodded at the small kitten, as it finished the bottle of milk.

The chirp of an incoming text saved her from having to say anything else while she finished tending to the kitten. “I need to …” she began, schooling her features into a neutral mask.

“We’ll talk later then,” he finally responded, leaving just as silently as he’d entered.

As soon as he was gone, Emma’s whole body relaxed. “No detours, Emma,” she reminded herself, cuddling the kitten once more before placing her back in the warming bed.

When her phone buzzed again, she pushed any residual thoughts aside and answered, “Elsa,” she greeted her longtime friend, “what’s going on?”

They spent several minutes catching up before the real reason for the call was mentioned. “You’re coming to New York for the holidays, right?”

Elsa’s slightly pleading tone had Emma’s curiosity pinging, but the possibility of getting away overrode any further questions. Especially since she needed to alert her friend about a certain Swan Harbor resident.

“Let me see if Doc Thatcher is available to cover for me,” Emma finally promised. Getting out of town would give her a different perspective and with a little luck a certain pair of blue eyes would fade from memory.

Sheriff’s Department, Monday 1:00 p.m.

Killian opened his bottom drawer and pulled out all four of his black books. As he flipped through them, he found he could put a face with only a few of the names. And all the others … were just names with no faces attached.

When had choosing a date from his long list become not enough?

The answer floated through his mind, but not willing to acknowledge it, he shoved it aside. Except, he couldn’t run from the truth. He didn’t want any of those women. And the one he wanted wouldn’t give him the time of day.

Frustration had him tossing the books back in the drawer and slamming it with disgust just as the Sheriff sauntered into his office.

“Hey Killian.” Dylan hitched his hip onto a corner of the desk. “So, did you ask Emma out?”

Killian scoffed, unsure how everything had gotten so off track, and how to make things right. “She was busy.”

“And you let that stop you?”

“But … she’s different.”

And you have no clue what you’re doing.

Dylan stared at him for several seconds, “You mean that, don’t you?” he uttered, almost in disbelief.

“Aye.” Killian ran his hand through his hair, not caring if it was standing on end. “I feel like a fraud.” Agitation had him pushing up to pace, the urge to do something rising inside.

“Killian.” Dylan took his arm, steering him back to a chair. “Talk to me. I’ve been a sounding board for Gray, Cameron, Ben …”

“And Jessie?” Killian guessed, knowing Dylan had been her guardian after their parents’ death.

Dylan tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Talk to me,” he repeated.

It took several seconds for Killian to formulate his thoughts, but then the ugly truth came out.

“When I was a teenager, I learned that females liked what they saw, when they looked at me.” His smile was self-deprecating. “I shamelessly flaunted that, swearing I would never be foolish enough to allow a female to have control over me. I wrapped the love and leave persona around tight and held on until …”

“What changed?” Dylan’s quiet voice gave him strength to go on.

“Violet.”

“A woman?”

“No,” Killian confessed, “a little girl.”

“Yours?”

“No, not mine.”

Killian took a deep breath and for the first time in a long while, allowed the memory to wash over him. “The shortened version of the story is an undercover assignment that went horribly wrong. A blown identity, and the life of a little girl was lost, caught in the crossfire.”

He wiped his hand over his face, the smell of blood and smoke still clinging to his skin. “Her mom had been a kid and on drugs, and Violet was being raised by her grandmother.”

“She got under your skin, didn’t she?”

“Aye.” Killian winced, thinking what an understatement. “Beatrice Morris made the bloody best blueberry muffins I’d ever tasted.” They had taken some of the loneliness away, while he was undercover, because they had cared.

His thoughts traveled back to that apartment building and how the little girl always seemed to know when he was passing by her door. “Violet used to ask me ‘what did you do good today, Ian?’”

Dylan smiled, “She sounds very wise. How old was she?”

“Ten going on thirty,” Killian answered softly. “That was the case that pushed me to leave the NYPD.”

Swan Harbor and the people who lived there had been a much-needed change. After years of being undercover and always seeing the seedier side of life, it had been what he needed. But apparently, some things were easier to shed than others.

“After her death, I wanted to get away and start over. I moved here …” Killian’s voice died as he thought back on the decision to leave everything he knew and how he’d assumed he was happy. But … then a flash from a yellow car with music trailing in its wake … had him questioning everything. Not only who he was, but what he was doing.

Dylan’s voice broke through his thoughts, “Did you ever think maybe Violet saw something in you no one else could see?”

Killian opened his mouth to deny it, but was his friend, right? Had he been a different person with her? He raised a brow, silently asking for more of an explanation.

Dylan leaned over and opened the drawer with the books, tossing them onto the desk, “The man who collects those names is a shallow, cocky SOB, who only cares about himself.”

He flipped a picture around of Killian sitting on a small chair in Molly’s first grade class, surrounded by tiny students. “That man is introspective, caring, and will go out of his way to read to a bunch of six-year-olds without being asked.”

Killian ducked his head, a little ashamed by the description. “Maybe you’re right.” he admitted, realizing there was a lot of truth to the statement.

“I know I’m right,” Dylan asserted smugly. “Maybe if you can find the man Violet knew you could be, Emma wouldn’t be so busy. I’ve got a meeting. I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks.” Killian watched him go and before he could second guess his decision, scooped up the books and tossed them into the trash. He was going to take his friend’s advice. Maybe if Emma got to know the real him, he wouldn’t have any need for the information in those books.

But who was he? Did he even know where to look? The words he had read to the kids came back and this time as they floated through his head, he listened.

I am what I am, and that’s alright with me. I don’t have to be different. I just have to be. I don’t want to be somebody else. No sir-ree! I am what I am, and that’s all right with me.

Before he could change his mind, Killian pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his brother.

Killian: Changed my mind. I’ll be there for Thanksgiving. I need your help finding someone.

Liam: Who?

Killian: Me.