IT WAS MONDAY EVENING and Andrea fought the urge to look around the bar. Again.
Instead, she sipped her chardonnay and stared at the rippling waves crashing onto the sandy shore. The increase in tourism over the summer had prompted a local fisherman to open his own restaurant/bar on the beach, bringing the number of restaurants on the island up to a grand total of six.
Since it was mere blocks from her house, Andrea had eaten at Coconut Joe’s quite a few times over the last several months. The building hovered on planks above the sand a bare hundred yards from the Atlantic. The decor was casual beach shack circa 1950—surfboards and framed shells on the walls, fishing nets draped from the high, wooden-plank ceiling, mismatched wicker chairs and barstools and tabletops that were lacquered board game classics like Monopoly and Scrabble.
The food, however, was first-class.
“Don’t tell me you’re being stood up,” Sammy the bartender—and Joe’s oldest son—asked with raised eyebrows.
“I don’t think so. I’m just early.” She didn’t want to bring up the humiliating fact that she’d needed a drink to prepare for her drink.
“Hello there, Sammy,” a familiar voice said from behind her, and she turned to have the pleasure of watching darkly handsome Carr Hamilton slide onto the barstool next to her. “And Andrea, of course. Now that I’ve made the world safe for litigation, I deserve a drink.”
“Should that be safe from litigation?” she asked.
“Definitely not. It’s every American’s right to make their fortune from adversity.”
“As long as you get thirty percent.”
“Exactly.” Smiling, he sipped his drink, a smooth Canadian whiskey she knew from experience. “Drinking alone, are we?”
“She has a date,” Sammy offered.
Carr’s dark brown eyes twinkled. “Does she now?”
“With the sheriff,” Sammy added.
“The future sheriff—possibly,” Andrea corrected. “And it’s not a date. It’s business.”
“You might not want to tell people you have business with the sheriff,” Sammy said. “Most of his business associates are behind bars.” He headed off to fill another customer’s order.
“Handy then that your lawyer is here.” Carr grinned. “You and Tyler Landry, huh?”
Thankfully, Carr was five years older than her and didn’t know about her embarrassing crush back in high school. He just liked to tease her about her love life. Or lack thereof.
Why couldn’t she fall for brilliant, steady and gorgeous Carr? They were both native islanders, practically neighbors—Carr owned a stunning modern house on the point. When she’d started coming home more often to see her brother, they had actually gone out a few times, but somehow the sparks never flew. They’d become good friends instead, and as an attorney Carr had even recommended a colleague who specialized in troubled teens to defend her brother. His gang involvement had led him to a career in stealing cars, landing him a five-year sentence in prison. With the attorney’s help, he’d gotten Finn counseling and an early parole.
“It has to do with a case of his,” she said to Carr.
“Mrs. Jackson’s silver tea service.”
Andrea nearly choked on her wine. She didn’t imagine Tyler wanted his business spread around like gossip among the islanders. One of these folks was a thief, after all. “How’d you know that?”
He ticked off the facts on his fingers. “Stolen historical item. Pushy owner who wants answers. And you with all your degrees in useless ancient history and stuff.” He sipped his whiskey. “I got an A in deductive reasoning at Yale.”
“It’s the and stuff that made me a cinch for the job.”
“Not to mention you have much better legs than Deputy Dwayne.”
“No kidding, this is strictly business. I’m going to do what I can to help him with the case, and that’s it. I mean, me and The Great Tyler Landry? Who’d buy that relationship? He’s a war hero, for heaven’s sake. A couple of years ago, when I was living in Washington, the Post did a special story on him, about him saving an entire country or something.”
“I think it was a village, actually.”
“Right. He got some super-duper-special medal.”
“The Congressional Medal of Honor.”
She gestured with her wineglass. “That’s the one. So, me and him? That’s—” It suddenly occurred to her that she was both rambling and not telling her friend anything he wasn’t already aware of. “How do you know all this?”
“The wires picked up his story. The Island Gazette dedicated the entire paper to him. Plus, he’s running for sheriff of my island, and I’m an informed citizen. But I still don’t see what medals he does or doesn’t own have to do with you two seeing each other.”
“Trust me, it does.”
“Andrea?”
Whirling, she faced Tyler and prayed he hadn’t overheard her and Carr’s conversation. “Hey.”
He’d taken the time to change from his deputy’s uniform and wore jeans and a pale yellow polo shirt that stretched across his broad chest and accented his tan skin. She barely resisted the urge to hum in appreciation.
His gaze went from her to her half-empty glass and then to Carr. “We said seven-thirty, right?”
“We did. I just got here early.” After she made the introductions between the two men, she added, “Carr lives down the beach from me.”
“Really?”
Noting Tyler’s cool tone, she wondered if he was in a hurry or if he was bothered by finding her with another man. He’d made it clear on the phone that this wasn’t a date; it was a business meeting. Still, she had to admit she’d be less than excited if she arrived to find him sharing a drink with another woman.
They had a seriously screwed-up relationship.
Sammy approached at that moment to take Tyler’s drink order. “I think we’re going to move down,” she said, pointing to the end of the row of barstools. “See ya, Carr.”
As she scooped up her wine, Carr asked quietly, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you and make sure your civil rights aren’t violated?”
“I’m perfectly safe.”
He glanced over her head at Tyler, then back at her. “Don’t be too sure about that.”
Ignoring that loaded comment, she hitched her purse on her shoulder, then headed off to her new seat, hoping Tyler would follow.
He did, saying nothing until Sammy set a bottle of beer in front of him. “Was he your dinner date last night?”
“Carr? No.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
What the hell? “That’s—”
Tyler held up his hand to stop her. “Sorry. None of my business.” He took a sip of beer. “It’s been a really frustrating day.”
“I can tell. Why don’t we—”
“Well, Patsy, if it isn’t our future sheriff and our favorite art historian.” Betsy Johnson, along with her constant sidekick, Patsy Smith, approached Andrea and Tyler.
Patsy frowned. “How many art historians do we actually know, Betsy?”
“Well, only one,” Betsy admitted. “But she is very smart and talented.”
Patsy sighed. “Alone, though.”
“True, but so is the future sheriff, as we learned last night.”
“Is he really the only sheriff we know?” Patsy asked, angling her head.
“Unless your nephew—”
“Ladies,” Andrea interrupted, knowing the pattern of banter and matchmaking well from her childhood, “do you want to have this conversation all by yourselves, or did you need us for a reason?”
Betsy’s lips pursed in irritation as Patsy spoke. “We actually came to Joe’s for a grouper sandwich. He makes the best on the island, you know.”
Andrea glanced at Tyler, who’d at least lost his glum expression. “I know.”
Betsy nodded. “But we saw Tyler and had to come over and remind him that Wednesday night is the Dolphin Club meeting.”
“The what?” Tyler asked.
“It’s like the Rotary Club,” Patsy explained, “but we islanders like to be a bit more unique.”
Betsy nodded. “They raise money to build homes for impoverished children in foreign countries mostly, but with the election so close at hand…”
“Two weeks from tomorrow,” Patsy said.
Andrea could see where this was leading. “You thought Tyler could speak at the meeting and get the support of the Dolphins.”
“They’re very influential,” Betsy said.
Patsy smiled. “Sheriff Caldwell’s a member.”
“I’ll be there,” Tyler said quickly, clearly catching the hint. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“You, too, Andrea.” Patsy patted her hand. “It’s such a lovely social occasion. The Dolphins have a private club on Sixth Avenue where the party will take place.”
“And we’re providing the food,” Betsy said proudly, waving as she and Patsy turned away. “Don’t be late.”
“The campaign rolls on,” Andrea said, meeting Tyler’s gaze and noting his slumped posture.
“As well as the case.”
“How about dinner?” She grinned. “I hear Joe makes a great grouper sandwich.”
He returned her smile, but weakly. “Sure.”
She called Sammy over and ordered the sandwiches, after which she reflected on Tyler’s uncharacteristic slumped posture. Had running into Carr really bothered him so much or was it simply the case frustrating him?
She was pretty sure she could eliminate worry about the Dolphins party. “No leads on the silver?” she asked.
“None. I talked to her pool maintenance guy today, but he says he never even goes in the house.”
“Except when Mrs. Jackson tries to lure him inside with a nice, cold glass of lemonade?”
He glanced at her, and his lips tipped up. “Pretty much.”
“Kirk is definite luring material, so you can’t blame the old gal for trying.”
The frown returned. “Is he really? I guess he maintains your pool, too.”
“He does. He also isn’t bright enough to have pulled off stealing a ham sandwich out of the fridge, much less a priceless silver set from a locked cabinet.”
“No, he’s not.” The scowl lines in Tyler’s forehead deepened. “How did you know the tea set was in a locked cabinet?”
“I’ve seen it. Has anybody told you that you have a very expressive face?”
He focused that laser beam blue gaze on her, compelling her heart to kick up its rhythm. “Never.”
“Maybe I’m just perceptive.” Especially when it came to him. She’d spent many high school lunch hours hiding behind a book she was pretending to read while really watching every smile, laugh and frown that crossed his face as he sat at the next table over.
Shaking away the uncomfortable memory, she said, “You’re luring material, too. I’ll bet Mrs. Jackson is thrilled to have you on the case instead of Sheriff Caldwell. Maybe she stole the set herself to get you over there.”
He leaned toward her. “You think?”
As always, his attention made her feel self-conscious. She fought for a light tone. “Maybe.” She grinned, then added, “Personally, I found the disguise route works wonders.”
“And you chose to put your devious plan into motion for me instead of Kirk.” He paused significantly. “Or Carr Hamilton.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I already told you why.”
“I’m your fantasy.”
“You were.”
“But not anymore?”
She swallowed. How had they traveled down this road again? His smile, his body and his wit added layers and layers of heat to an attraction that was already a blazing bonfire. The idea of touching him again was beyond tempting; it was a fever she worried she’d suffer from forever.
“Andrea?” he prompted in a low voice that made her tingle from head to toe.
As a stall tactic—and not an incredibly clever one—she sipped her wine. “I thought we were here for a business meeting.”
“We are. Does that mean all other subjects are off-limits?”
“No, but can we talk about the case first?”
He shrugged, opening the folder on the bar in front of him, then sliding it over. “You were the one who brought up disguises.”
“So I was.” With more reluctance than she wished she felt, she broke her gaze from his and focused on the pictures of the tea set. “The detail and variety of angles on the shots are nice. I never got a close-up look in person.”
“Mrs. Jackson’s insurance agent is very efficient.”
“Could you e-mail me copies, too? They’ll be helpful when I’m contacting colleagues.”
“No problem.”
“You certainly need to get it back. It’s a lovely representation of Revere’s work.”
“Revere?” He made a choking sound, causing her to look at him. “You mean as in Paul Revere?”
“Yes. See here?” She pointed at a picture of the back of a teaspoon, the initials PR in italic lettering and appearing slightly raised. “I’ll have to do a bit more research, but we can generally narrow down the time frame to the late 1700s.”
“The British are coming, the British are coming. That dude made this?”
“Yes, though that’s not exactly what he said. Still—”
“No wonder everybody’s losing their mind over a bit of silver.”
Having regular contact with insurance executives who cared much more for the bottom line than the beauty of the pieces they represented, she smiled. “I expect somebody from the island historical society will be bending your ear about this case very soon.”
“Sister Mary Katherine came by already.”
“She’s not one for hanging in the background. Do you have any leads?”
“I checked out Mrs. Jackson’s nephew.”
“Simon?”
“You know him?”
Dweeb, she thought. But since she’d been called the same thing many times, she didn’t voice this word. “In passing.”
“He certainly had the opportunity to take it, but he claims they have a good relationship, and he has a stable job and a good credit rating. I need to do some more digging to be sure.”
He sighed, and Andrea wished she felt comfortable offering him a hug. This whole plan to have her fantasy and move on was failing miserably.
“So besides considering Mrs. Jackson stashed the thing under the bed just for the sake of drama,” he continued, “I’ve checked with pawnshops all over the area. But knowing about the Revere angle makes that even less likely than I originally thought.”
“Which is what led you to me.”
“Right.”
Sammy brought the sandwiches, which Tyler pronounced excellent, sending the bartender back to his other customers with a proud smile.
Tyler sipped his beer. “If we’re working with the angle that the thief knew the value and significance of what he was taking, then he likely either wanted it for himself or he has a discrete buyer already lined up.”
“That would make the most sense. I know collectors out there who might want something and not ask too many questions about where it came from.”
Surprise flashed in his eyes. “Collectors you know personally?”
“We’re not best buddies or anything, but yes. I even know a couple of thieves.”
“They actually make a living stealing things?”
“Not anymore. And not ever on paper, if you know what I mean. But when something’s missing, they’re the first people I call.”
“Next time try calling the cops.”
“No way. These guys are valuable sources.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she shook her head. “One of them actually spent some time in prison, but neither has done anything illegal I know about.”
“Lately.”
She hid her smile by sipping her wine. “Lately,” she confirmed after a pause. “Regardless of how I know them, the important thing for you is that I can ask around about the tea set in places you don’t have access to.”
“Make sure you tell your sources you’re sleeping with a cop.”
“I doubt they’d be interested in my one-night stand.”
Clearly irritated, he shoved his empty plate to the side. “Is there a particular reason you’re determined to diminish our relationship?”
“We don’t have a—” She stopped at the fiery burst of anger in his eyes. “We can’t make anything from a night of lies,” she said quietly, even reasonably, considering he seemed determined to cover the same ground over and over.
“I don’t see why not. I’d rather you were honest with me from here on out, but the way we started shouldn’t matter.” His gaze searched hers. “In fact, I think we started out pretty great. Have dinner with me.”
“I just did.”
He inched closer, so one of his legs slid intimately between hers, then laid his arm across the back of her stool. “On purpose this time, not using work as an excuse.”
Her heart started its familiar racing whenever he was close. “I think that’s a really bad idea.”
“Why? What—” He stopped, staring at her. “Wait a second. There is a particular reason. It’s not that you don’t want me. You want me too much.”
Not liking the realization that he was way too close to the truth, she tried to be annoyed. “That’s some ego you’ve got there, Deputy.”
“So you don’t want me.”
She couldn’t look into his eyes and continue to pretend she didn’t want him more than she wanted to breathe, so she stared at the floor. Protecting her heart from him was an instinct she’d been giving in to for so long, she didn’t know how to be any other way. “It won’t work between us.”
“Dammit, Andrea.”
Startled, she lifted her head.
He rose, tossing some bills on the bar. “Call me if you get any leads on the case.”
Then he turned and walked away, shoving open the bar’s patio door and stalking across the dimly lit back deck and disappearing down the stairs to the beach.
TYLER CONSIDERED HIMSELF stubborn, but he’d never been the type to bang his head against a wall.
But then he couldn’t ever remember being this frustrated in his entire life.
Frankly, most things came to him pretty easily. He was naturally athletic, so sports and the physical challenges of the military had been met with focus and determination. He was popular with women and had plenty of friends of both sexes. His intelligence was sufficient to do his job, and he was a good problem solver. Even the high school math Andrea had tutored him in hadn’t been caused by lack of understanding so much as time management with all the other things going on in his life.
Until a few months ago his life was near perfect.
Until he’d made a poor decision and cost three men their lives.
So was he going to walk away from this challenge? Away from her the way he’d retired from his job? Was he going to accept another failure?
Could he?
With the glowing moon overhead and a few floodlights from houses as his only guide, he continued aimlessly strolling through the sand. Was he being cosmically or divinely punished for the mistakes he’d made during his last mission?
He couldn’t feel more pain and regret or do more than give up the goals and leadership that had been the driving force all his adult life. Much as he’d like to, he couldn’t rewrite the past.
When he sensed someone walking behind him, he turned without much curiosity. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody.
He stopped and nearly stumbled when he saw Andrea, walking barefoot and briskly in his shadow, carrying her shoes, her bright pink sundress flapping in the breeze.
“Would it really bother you if I was sleeping with Carr?” she asked the moment she reached him.
Frustrating, confusing and completely unpredictable—that was Andrea Hastings. Not knowing where this was going, but seeing no reason not to be honest, he nodded. “Hell, yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sharing.”
“Me in particular or anybody?”
He had no idea where this conversation was going, but he sensed if he gave the wrong answer, she’d turn around and march back the way she’d come.
Since he had no idea what answer she wanted, he figured the only thing he had was the truth. Hadn’t she told him about her teenage fantasy and the reason she’d kept her identity a secret?
“I’ve been in exclusive relationships before, but not in years. My work has been my biggest priority. Women are…” He shrugged as he trailed off. It seemed callous to be so indifferent about his love life.
“Just there?” she finished for him.
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “They were. Until I met you.”
“What’s different about me?”
“You’re everywhere.” When she stood silent, watching him, he realized that hadn’t made any sense at all, though his reasoning seemed clear to him. Stepping close to her and wishing he could touch her without being rejected, he drew a deep breath. “I can’t stop thinking about you. My interest in my job, finding the silver set, even the election keeps waning. I swear I smell your perfume when I’m in the office and nothing’s really there except the ancient scent of coffee and doughnuts. Every time I see the color green, I compare it to the shade of your eyes. I barely slept last night wondering what you were doing, who you were having dinner with. When I walked in tonight and saw you sitting next to another guy, I wanted to punch him and—”
She tossed her shoes in the sand, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Apparently, he’d given the right answer.
He held her against his chest, angling his head to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers, reveling in the beating of her heart in rapid time with his.
He was already addicted to her touch, and the idea of her walking away from him was so painful to consider, he deliberately blocked out the memory of the despair he’d been feeling just moments ago.
“What does my perfume smell like?” she asked when she pulled back, breathing hard.
Ducking his head, he drew in the scent clinging to her skin just below her ear, even though he could have described it easily from memory. “Oranges, plus something sweet and fresh like herbs.”
She smiled. “It’s called Citrus Breeze.”
He smoothed her windblown hair back from her face. “My senses have always been pretty acute.”
“Also…” After picking up her shoes, she took his hand and led him farther down the beach, away from the bar and toward her house, which he realized must be only a couple of blocks away. “I’ll help you find the silver. Carr and I are currently friends and have always been just friends. Last night I had dinner with Finn, my younger brother.”
Relief flooded him. “Your brother.”
“Yep. He’s also an ex-thief, though not either of the ones I was talking about earlier. He was in a gang and convicted of grand theft auto. Six months ago, he was given early parole, which is why I moved home to work on a consulting basis and cut back on my travel.”
“Your parents?” he asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer. Why else would a sister feel solely responsible for her younger sibling?
“They died in a car accident two years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thanks. It’s been hard, but their sudden deaths brought about a big change in Finn. He was really haunted by the idea that they’d died thinking of him as a criminal. With Carr’s help, I found an attorney who could help him work toward getting paroled.”
“And part of that plan was you moving back to the island?”
“It was my idea. I traveled a lot of years without responsibility to anybody but myself. I couldn’t do that anymore,” she said, her tone a little wistful. “Mostly, I like being home again. I have friends and Sister Mary Katherine here to back me up. She gave Finn’s job at the rectory, doing maintenance projects and running errands. And I love my house.”
“I think you’re pretty amazing to sacrifice so much for your brother.”
“You’d do the same for your sisters.”
His head whipped toward her. “How did you know I have sisters?”
“Teresa and Tammy, six and three years older than you respectively,” she said proudly. “Your mom’s name is Sophia and your father’s is John, which is also your middle name. They live at 403 East 8th Avenue. Oh, and your grandfather was Sheriff Austin Landry, who served back in the day before Sloan’s dad.” Obviously noticing the shocked expression on his face, she added, “I used to study you with much more intensity than everybody thought I did math.”
He wasn’t sure how to reply to that. An uncomfortable silence fell—at least on his part. “Okay, that’s a little weird,” he said finally.
“Yeah, I guess so.” But she didn’t seem bothered by it.
“I already apologized for not noticing you then, didn’t I?”
“You did.” With a determined nod, she said, “It’s fine. I’ve got to stop living in the past—no matter how much being home brings it all back.”
“If I could change the past, I would.”
They’d reached her house, and she stopped, turning to face him in a circle of illumination from a floodlight. The focus and devotion on her upturned face startled him. She was letting down the wall she’d put up between them.
“You would?” she asked softly.
“Sure.”
Studying her beautiful features and wondering if he’d simply been blind or stupid at eighteen, he wrapped his arms around her waist. All day he’d been trying to pinpoint the exact shade of her eyes and now realized they reminded him of a trip once to Figi. The ocean there was pure and clear and, in shallow water, the exact same pale green.
Not long after those brief, idyllic days, he’d been called to the mission that had ended his career. And lives.
Maybe you don’t deserve her.
Panic washed over him for a crazy moment before he suppressed the emotion. She didn’t have to know what he’d done.
“I think you’re pretty amazing,” he said, cupping her cheek in his hand.
Her gaze, a pool of liquid green he wanted to drown in, held his before she spoke. “That’s beginning to sink in. By the way,” she added, angling her face so her mouth was near his. “I’d love to have dinner with you sometime.”
“It’s a little late for dinner.”
“How about dessert?”