Every time I go wine tasting with one of my oldest and dearest friends, she will at some point in the day, look at me with the most earnest expression and say, “This is so much fun. You know what we should do? We should buy a winery together!”

It’s probably just the zinfandel talking, but there is something appealing about diving into a new opportunity and taking a friend with you. Who better to share this adventure with than a friend?

Writing the Lost Coast Harbor series with Lily sort of came about the same way. Not just because there was alcohol involved. A new creative project, like a book, or a series of books, is never more exciting than at the beginning of the process. The possibilities are endless! We both were eager to dive into this new project.

But then comes the day-to-day details…

How did we manage co-creating a six-book series and stay friends? That’s the subject of an article we wrote for Hidden Gems Books. If you’ve ever thought about co-writing with a friend, or co-creating any type of creative project, check it out. We have all sorts of advice for you! And if that project involves purchasing a winery, my advice is to wait until you’re sober.

How to Co-Write a Six-Book Series and Stay Friends

Well, hello! It has been a while since you’ve heard from me. But good news! I’m back and I have a holiday gift for you.

All He Wants, the first Lost Coast Harbor holiday novella, will be available on December 6th. I hope you’ll fall in love with Ivy and Parker, like I did. And because it’s Lost Coast Harbor, you can catch up with all your favorite characters from the previous books.

Take a sneak peek here at Chapter 1, and then head over to your favorite online bookseller to get your copy for only 99 cents. But hurry! That sale price is only good for a short time.

Enjoy! And welcome back to Lost Coast Harbor!

~Eve

All He Wants

Chapter 1

 

“Cookie!”

Ivy Montgomery deftly moved the shopping cart to the center of the aisle, where her toddler daughter couldn’t reach her targets.

“No cookies for you, sweet girl,” she said, watching Gigi’s chubby little hands extend toward the display of red and green holiday treats.

“Please?” Gigi asked, this time with a hopeful smile and wide grey-green eyes peeking out from under her sandy-colored curls. Not even three years old yet, but she was already adept at getting what she wanted. And what she wanted was all the shiny, sugary holiday sweets on display.

“We’ll make Christmas cookies with Nana and Papa later,” Ivy promised, leaving the dangerous section of the big box store and heading to neutral territory—the kitchen supply section, where she could pick up the bundles of towels and find the utensils that were on her list.

With luck, she’d be able to find everything she needed and get back to Lost Coast Harbor by mid-afternoon. If Gigi took a nap on the hour-long drive home, then Ivy could actually spend a couple hours with her daughter before she had to run to work. That was a rare treat these days. Ivy’s bistro, The Vine, was at that awkward stage of a new business—busy enough that she needed to hire more staff, but not enough that she could afford that expense. Instead, Ivy was working six days a week, relying on her in-laws to watch Gigi at night, and spending every free minute with her daughter. The recent addition of a new sous chef was giving her a couple of extra hours a week with Gigi, since Simon could do most of the prep work before Ivy arrived. It was a stretch to cover his salary, but it was a necessary cost.

She grabbed two bundles of dishtowels off the shelf and pushed the cart around the corner of the aisle.

“Daddy!”

Ivy’s heart stopped in her chest at her daughter’s joyful shout. And then her pulse skipped again when she came face-to-face with her husband. Ex-husband, she reminded herself. Well, almost ex. The divorce papers were all but signed. And it wasn’t even him—just a life-sized cardboard likeness of Parker Montgomery.

“It’s just a picture, honey,” Ivy said, her pulse still racing as she studied the photograph with a sigh. Parker’s greenish-gray eyes sparkled, his wide smile showed off deep dimples, and the photograph highlighted his GQ-worthy cheekbones. He was tall and lean, with straight, broad shoulders that wore the white chef’s jacket well.

Damn if the man wasn’t built for a career on television. Handsome, with an easy charm, and he could cook, too. She was sure his face would sell dozens of the enameled cast iron skillets that bore Parker Montgomery’s signature.

The shock of running into her ex’s image faded, replaced with a familiar pang of regret, followed by a sting of rejection. He’d made his choice. She’d lost the battle for Parker to the chance to promote his kitchenwares and cookbooks and his television show.

[Read more…]

Bridget Donnelly wants to be more than just another Donnelly Devil. For years, she’s worked to save enough money to open her own winery. All she needs is a few more years as the town’s bookie. But when she catches the eye of the sexy new police chief, her dangerous desires put her own future at risk.

Ethan Ford used to spend more time breaking laws than enforcing them. Now, he’s determined to redeem himself by cleaning up Lost Coast Harbor’s police department…but his attraction to the seductive local bookie is tempting him back to his sinful ways…

When a real threat emerges, Ethan will do anything to protect Bridget—but he can’t protect her from herself. Can he look the other way while the woman he loves defies the law he’s sworn to uphold—or will he gamble it all to save her?

Welcome back to Lost Coast Harbor!

The Devil’s Gamble—Chapter One

Bridget Donnelly navigated the dark, uneven parking lot that led to the dive bar. She hated this part of the job, but if Frank was going to dodge her calls, she had no choice.

These visits went much better when she had her brother standing behind her glaring at the client, though. Niall was out of town for the weekend and she couldn’t wait any longer.

The tremor of excitement in her stomach increased as she approached the scarred door to the Vista del Mar and the muffled sounds from inside grew louder. Music from the aged jukebox. Yelling. Crashing. The muted sound of fist meeting flesh.

Bridget stepped aside seconds before the door burst open and two burly men tumbled out, propelled by the rotund bartender/owner/bouncer.

“Not inside!” he yelled, kicking one of the drunken patrons in the ass for emphasis. “You take that shit outside.”

Bridget parked herself in the doorway so Frank couldn’t miss her on his return trip. Hands on hip, feet shoulder-width apart. Her boots had a two-inch heel, low enough to run in if she had to, and giving her just enough extra height that she’d tower over most men. She pulled hers shoulders back, trying to take advantage of the few inches she now had on the bartender.

“Hello, Frank.”

[Read more…]

Want a sneak peek at Lost Coast Harbor, book 4? Here’s the cover for The Devil’s Gamble, coming your way in May!

In the meantime, don’t miss the wonderful Lily Dane’s latest installment, Kissed by a Devil, book 3 in the Lost Coast Harbor series. The best perk of this partnership is getting to read her books first. But you only have to wait a few more days. Kissed by a Devil will be out on Tuesday, March 29!

 

Chapter One

 

“Erin, your boyfriend is looking for you in the waiting room.”

Her coworker’s singsong tone sounded cheery as she leaned into the break room, where Erin Grady was attempting to convince the vending machine to part with a diet soda. But under Joan’s chirpy voice, Erin could hear a mocking contempt for the guy sitting in the waiting area, probably shivering with delirium tremens.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Erin said, almost keeping the impatience and exhaustion from leaking into her own voice.

She knew who the man in the waiting room was and why he was here.

She abandoned her seventy-five cents to the soda machine and walked down the hall to the emergency room waiting area. Only thirty more minutes and she could go home. Take a shower. Go to sleep. And then in a few hours, come back to Lost Coast Harbor Medical Center for another twelve-hour shift. Such was the glamorous life of an emergency room nurse.

At least after Sunday night, she would be free from the three-month stretch of weekend, overnight shifts. It played hell with a girl’s love life. Not that she had much of one to start with, but it would be nice to give that another try.

As she expected, Rob Katri was shaking so hard that he was nearly vibrating out of his chair. He was tall and lanky, his right foot tapping violently against the linoleum. There was no trace of the former high school all-star baseball player whom Erin had known since kindergarten. His dark hair was cut short, probably by the jail’s in-house barber before his last release.

“Hey, Rob, you all right?” Erin sat in the chair next to him and looked him in the eye.

“Nah, not doing so good. Had an accident. My back. It’s all messed up.” His gaze darted away as soon as she made eye contact and he blinked quickly. He smelled like dirt, and she suspected that he’d been camping out, sleeping in the woods because his wife wouldn’t let him come home until he cleaned up. Rob’s problems went beyond his addiction, though.

“Have you seen Dr. Kozak lately?” It was a two-hour drive to the psychiatrist who could prescribe Rob with the lithium that would address his schizoaffective disorder. He sort of shrugged, jerking his head to one side in an action that might indicate a no.

“Can’t get there right now. Can you help me out?”

Of course he couldn’t get there. Rob was only barely employed, working odd jobs when the weather permitted. But she couldn’t give him the opiates that would calm his jittery nerves and help him get through the next few days. It wasn’t just the psychological benefits that he craved. Rob had been self-medicating since shortly after high school and was a full-blown addict.

“You want Dr. Ashette to take a look at your back?”

She glanced up at the counter and saw Joan shake her head slightly. Erin frowned. If Rob really had hurt himself, she wasn’t about to run him off just because he was also an addict. It was tricky, trying to balance pain management with a known addiction, but that’s why the doctors made twice her salary.

Rob stood up, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat. He watched a man, similarly dressed and ungroomed, walk quickly out from the intake area and then into the parking lot. The two made eye contact and Rob started toward the door.

“Rob, wait.” Erin followed him to the glass doors, which slid open and let in a blast of damp morning air that penetrated her scrubs. “Are you sure you don’t need to see the doctor?”

He shook his head, his eyes downcast. “No, thanks, Erin.”

He bolted through the door and into the parking lot, walking fast in the direction that the other man had gone. It looked like he’d get a few pills to tide him over.

“Who was that guy?” Dr. Ashette asked, joining her near the ER counter.

Erin watched Rob hurry to catch his friend. “My prom date.”

“Lucky girl,” Dr. Ashette said with a short laugh.

“He’s bipolar and has schizophrenic hallucinations when he’s really manic. Because we don’t have a psych doc on hand, his mental illness is largely untreated.”

“So get him in with Kozak,” Dr. Ashette said.

Erin glared at the glib response. “He can’t get there for regular visits. He needs a doctor here. Or at least somewhere his family could drive him on a regular basis.”

Dr. Ashette shrugged. “Tough break.”

Logan Ashette was a young and inexperienced doctor, and he was new to Lost Coast Harbor. Erin had been trying to cut him some slack as he got to know the hospital’s procedures, because with a little more maturity, he’d be a good doctor. As soon as he figured out that the nurses were his partners, and could teach him a lot. But she was running low on patience. He was too young to be this callous.

And she was also exhausted and knew her own temper. It was time for her to walk away. She checked the clock—ten minutes left on her shift. Surely she could find a task away from the flippant young physician until seven o’clock arrived. She started down the hall, but only made it a few feet before Dr. Ashette called her name.

“Do me a favor and don’t hand off the junkies to me, okay?” he said.

Erin turned so fast her ponytail whipped around and hit her in the face.

“Oh, of course, Dr. Ashette. I’ll make sure you only get the healthiest of patients in the ER,” Erin said. “Get over yourself. It’s a fucking emergency room.”

The doctor’s head jerked back like she’d slapped him. Which she would love to do. As it was, in her burst of sarcasm, she’d nearly called him Dr. Asshat—her secret nickname for the arrogant jerk. Either action would probably cost her at least a demotion to a less desirable shift. Though she couldn’t imagine a worse assignment than the weekend overnight shifts in the emergency room.

“Who are you—Florence Fucking Nightingale?” he snapped.

Erin stalked back to the break room, grabbed her soda from the tray where it had finally dropped, and headed to the locker room to change out of her scrubs and into running gear. A run would do her good. Just get out and clear her head and get Dr. Asshat and Rob Katri out of there. She clocked out and finished her soda on the way to her car.

After dropping her scrubs in the washing machine, Erin stepped out of her back door, let herself through the gate, and began her run up the hill, her shoes barely making a sound on the thick carpet of redwood needles.

The Redwood Park Trail ran along the north side of the town of Lost Coast Harbor, starting at the beach and ending three miles inland. It ran behind Erin’s neighborhood, and she could walk out her backyard and step onto the trail. Minutes later she’d be taking the stairs down to the beach, or be running up the hill on a soft dirt path that wound through the tall trees.

Usually by the time she neared the cemetery, she’d have found her stride and her mind would be clear and focused on the sounds of the wind through the branches. But this morning her mind was filled with images of Rob Katri shivering in the emergency room. His family blamed his problems on drugs, but Rob’s diagnosis wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t possible to separate the two threads of addiction and mental illness—not while he was in the throes of both. He needed help that wasn’t available in Lost Coast Harbor.

At least, not yet. Erin was working to get a mental health clinic in Lost Coast Harbor. After two years of begging for support and donations from the medical community, she’d been close. But a couple of weeks ago, her plans hit yet another hurdle and she worried that she would be starting over.

Erin hit the bend after the cemetery, breathing hard and no closer to that elusive runner’s high. She rounded a curve and saw the row of wooden fences that marked the beginning of the neighborhood where she lived as a child.

As always, she kept her gaze straight ahead as she ran and didn’t look at the weathered barrier that separated the large house on the end from the public trail. She hadn’t even meant to run all the way to the park and her legs shook slightly as she stopped at the entrance to turn around. The high-pitched sound of children laughing filtered across the park from the direction of the soccer field and Erin realized that it was Saturday morning and the crowds would be growing. She wasn’t feeling particularly social, and she needed to get some sleep before she had to report back to LCH Med Center for the Saturday overnight shift, so she slapped the top of the post marking the entrance to the park, turned, and started back down the trail.

This time, she let herself look at the familiar wooden fence. The gate was as she remembered it from when she was nine, before her parents divorced. Her mom had run a string up and over the top of the gate so she could easily get back into the yard from the park, since she couldn’t reach over the top and unhook the latch.

Every time she passed by the back of the house, she wondered why she and her mother had moved to a run-down duplex across town and why Jerry Grady remained in the large house next to the park, a perfect place for a child to grow up. Instead, she had had a small backyard that was mostly a cracked cement patio. Good for hopscotch, but not much else.

She shook herself out of her reminiscence and started back down the trail, taking her time with a slower pace. The slight downhill slope was a nice cool-down after her two-mile run.

A few yards down the hill the path narrowed, a steep hill to her right and the fences to the left, creating a tunnel effect for about fifty yards. The geography and trees muted the sounds of the park and she could only hear the birds and the rustle of the branches overhead.

It was the peace she’d been hoping to find.

Until the rustle in the woods grew louder, and escalated into crashing and snapping branches.

And a man crashed through the brush and onto the trail, just yards in front of her.

 

Chapter Two

 

From the moment his front tire hit the rock in its path, Will Patton knew it wasn’t going to end well. He gripped the handlebars and tried to guide the bike back onto the path that dozens or hundreds of previous mountain bikers had carved in the soft dirt.

No deal. His momentum was too great and he and the bike were launched beyond the edge of the path, over a fallen tree, its branches reaching up and scraping Will’s skin. He stuck one leg out to slow his descent down a steep grade, but this just changed his trajectory, and his tumble into the ravine continued. A thick branch filled his view and he ducked, narrowly missing having his head taken off. His limbs tangled with the bike, and as one, they slid, rolled, and bounced through a patch of thick bushes and came to rest on a bed of redwood needles.

Will didn’t move for a long moment, his heart racing and his body screaming. He ran through an anatomical inventory and confirmed that everything hurt. He opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps and tried to move but found his legs immobile—but from the bike or some other reason, he couldn’t tell. A bubble of panic started to rise in his gut, threatening to choke him.

“Don’t move.”

He blinked and tried to twist his head to see who was talking to him, but a hand firmly held his head in place by pinning his helmet to the ground.

“Do not move.”

It was a woman, a bossy one, but whoever she was would remain a mystery. With his head on the ground, his only view was of the dirt and leaves and brush that he’d just mowed through. Cool hands pressed against his neck and shoulders as the scent of decomposing pine needles filled his nose.

“Can you move your fingers?”

He wiggled them experimentally. At least he’d still be able to type. His boss would be thrilled.

She blew out a relieved breath and he assumed it was good news. She moved to his feet, her capable hands probing around his ankles. Trying not to move his head, which was throbbing from the impact with the ground, he caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision and his breath quickened.

Holy God, she was pretty. Long hair, the color of honey, pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were downcast as she focused on looking for any injuries, and thick black eyelashes rested against creamy skin. She was wearing running clothes.

She disconnected her earbuds from her phone and dialed. She looked up at him and caught his eye, giving him a reassuring smile that quickly faded as the call connected.

“I need a medical assist, on the Park Trail. Got a biker down, possible broken shoulder, maybe a concussion. Unsure if there’s neck or spinal trauma. I’m near the top of the trail.”

Will could hear the 911 dispatcher’s response, but it was muffled. The woman looked around the wooded area, her forehead furrowed. “If the ambulance goes to the parking lot at the city park, they’re going to have to walk about a half-mile to the trailhead. The fastest way is through Chief Grady’s backyard. We’re about seventy-five yards west of his gate.”

More indecipherable mumbling from the dispatcher. His rescuer moved his sock around to check his ankle and he jerked in response.

“Don’t move.”

“Your hands are cold.”

Her serious expression softened a bit with a hint of a smile. “That’s good news.”

He relaxed a bit at her diagnosis. He wasn’t paralyzed.

“Patient can feel cold in extremities and can move his fingers,” she said, all business again, answering questions from the dispatcher.

She ran her hands up his leg, feeling for broken bones, and he momentarily forgot the pain. Her hands were capable and professional, but it had been a while since a beautiful woman had knelt in front of him for any reason. He swallowed hard and tried to focus on the pain in his shoulder.

“No apparent fractures.”

Another pause in the conversation.

“Yes, this is Erin Grady.” She looked up at him with wide gray-blue eyes. “What’s your name?”

He swallowed, staring into the stormy depth of her eyes and trying to remember even the most basic information she had asked for. He may have landed harder than he originally thought. He’d never had trouble talking to women. Yet here he was, stammering and struggling to respond to her.

She leaned forward, her worried expression growing, and he forced himself to focus over the sharp jab of pain in his temple.

“Will Patton,” he said.

“Where do you live?”

“516 Sand Piper Court.”

“You’re local?”

“Sort of.”

She relayed the information to the dispatcher, then turned back to him with additional questions designed to check for brain damage—the year, the name of the president, the current date.

“Is there anyone I can call to meet you at the hospital?”

Will paused a second before answering that. “No.”

Not a soul cared that he’d just tossed himself off a cliff. His parents lived seven hundred miles south in San Diego, but were on a cruise in the Greek Isles. A few friends from law school, now scattered across the state, would probably piss themselves laughing. There were a couple of friends who lived a two-hour drive away in Ukiah, where he’d lived before he was transferred to Lost Coast Harbor. In the four months he’d lived in Lost Coast Harbor, he’d immersed himself in his job and had met very few people who weren’t his coworkers.

He didn’t plan on staying long, so there was no need to put down roots.

“I hear them,” Erin said into the phone, then she thanked the dispatcher and disconnected the call. She waved up the trail and the sound of footsteps grew. Then a cloud passed over his rescuer’s face as the paramedics grew closer.

“Erin, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The angry man approaching knew his rescuer, and didn’t seem at all happy to see her.

“It’s going to be easier to get Mr. Patton off the trail if we can use your backyard. But if you’re going to be an ass about it, I’m sure one of your neighbors will do the right thing and let us cross through their property.”

From behind him, Will heard the deep, frustrated huff from the man.

“No, of course they can.” The man walked to where Erin still knelt in the dirt and redwood needles. He placed a hand awkwardly on her shoulder, which she ignored. “Good to see you.”

She bit her lip. “Yeah, you, too.”

Erin Grady was a terrible liar. The man behind her knew it. He had a short, silver military-style haircut and a deep scowl and he was familiar to Will—Lost Coast Harbor Chief of Police Jerry Grady.

“Hey, Chief.”

“Patton,” Chief Grady said with a nod. “What happened here?”

“You two know each other?” Erin asked, eyeing Will with suspicion. “Are you a cop?”

“He’s with the district attorney’s office,” Grady said.

“Ah,” Erin said, smirking and looking away, very much not impressed.

The paramedics had him strapped to the board in short order with Erin’s help. No one seemed to think he had sustained any damage to his spinal column, but until they could get an X-ray, they weren’t taking any chances. His arm was bound across his chest with a strap to minimize movement of his shoulder, where a sharp pain told him he had probably broken something.

Erin followed them up the trail and through a wooden gate. Chief Grady carried Will’s bike and set it on the back deck of the two-story bungalow.

“You can come by and pick it up later,” he said, as Will was loaded into the ambulance parked in the chief ’s driveway.

Will had met Chief Grady several times in the last few months since he was transferred to the Lost Coast Harbor office of the Mendocino County District Attorney, but those meetings had been brief, professional. Will hadn’t learned much about the man from their face-to-face talks.

But Will had read enough reports from the LCH Police Department officers to get a better idea about Grady’s long reign as chief. The department had problems, and the chief either didn’t care about sloppy police work, excessive force, and other questionable practices, or he was as incompetent as his officers.

But recently, the town was rocked by the arrest of Peter Hastings—wealthy local businessman and the most prominent citizen of Lost Coast Harbor. Hastings, now residing in lockup in Oakland, was facing multiple federal charges for gun running, accused of using his shipping company to transport illegal weapons.

This gave Will an opportunity to exit this small town at the literal edge of the world. The federal agents were investigating and prosecuting Hastings. But Hastings’ scheme couldn’t have operated without help—and Will was willing to bet that the local cops had helped the man evade law enforcement.

Erin climbed in beside him, adjusting the straps on the gurney and helping one of the medics get it secured.

“You’re coming with me?”

“I work at the ER,” she said.

“A doctor?”

“I’m a nurse.”

“You’re in good hands,” the chief said, and then looked at Erin. “Come by for dinner.”

It didn’t sound like an invitation, more like an order. She bristled at the command, but gave a quick nod. “I work nights.”

“Not all of them,” Grady growled, then slammed the door shut.

Erin ignored the outburst and kept her focus on Will.

“He’s my father,” she said.

He studied her, tried to see any resemblance to the chief. She must have taken after her mother because he wouldn’t have guessed that she was related to Chief Grady. Some of her light-brown hair had escaped her ponytail and fell around a pretty face with gray eyes and fair skin that turned pink when she realized he was looking at her.

“You don’t take after your father,” he said.

“No, I don’t,” she said, looking away quickly and tugging a blood pressure cuff into place on his free arm. She dictated his vitals to the EMT. There wasn’t time to do much more than that before the ambulance parked in front of the emergency room doors and Will was extracted and rolled into the ER, Erin Grady jogging along at the side of the gurney.

“Weren’t you just here?” A woman in her forties asked, joining Erin. From her scrubs and badge, he figured the dark-haired woman was also a nurse.

“Missed you guys too much,” Erin said, flashing a smile at the nurse.

A doctor who was so young he looked like he was playing dress-up bent over him and checked Will’s eyes with a penlight, then did the same Q&A that Erin had already done on the trail, but with less concern.

“I’m Dr. Logan Ashette. We’re going to get you into X-ray. Looks like your shoulder took the brunt of your fall. You may have broken your collarbone.”

He pushed himself back and snapped his fingers at one of the nurses. “Hey, get his helmet off.”

The dark-haired nurse gently unbuckled Will’s chinstrap, giving him an apologetic smile.

Erin Grady had disappeared from Will’s view, but she hadn’t gone far. As more people joined in to transfer him to a different gurney, she rattled off her findings—his blood pressure, notable contusions, and which bones to check for fractures. His helmet was removed and he heard a low whistle as someone examined it.

“Lucky guy,” Erin said, coming back into his view with a warm smile. “If you weren’t wearing that helmet, you wouldn’t be dealing with Dr. Asshat.”

“Erin, honestly,” the other nurse said with an exasperated laugh.

“You mean I could have gotten someone with a better bedside manner?” Will asked.

“No. You’d be dealing with Dr. McCormick, the medical examiner.”

“I guess I prefer Dr. Asshat.”

She grinned, revealing deep dimples, then patted his arm. The warm touch made his skin tingle. “Try and stay on the trail next time.”

She disappeared again and the gurney started rolling away.

“Wait—”

“Is there anyone I can call for you?” the dark-haired nurse asked, as she pushed the gurney down the wide hall. “A wife, or a girlfriend?”

She looked at him with such open curiosity, Will briefly considered lying. “No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No.”

She looked even more curious. “How about family?

Friends?”

“No. I just moved here.”

“Oh, really? How long have you been in Lost Coast Harbor?”

“About four months.”

“And no friends, huh?”

Where was this X-ray room, a neighboring county? Will thought. “I’ve been working a lot.”

He’d been throwing himself into his job in order to avoid dealing with the fact that he’d been shipped off against his will to this small town on the edge of California, and trying to find a way to get back to civilization. There was no telling how long his sentence to this “promotion” was, but if he could find a few high-profile cases to send back to his boss, that could earn him some time off for good behavior.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a deputy district attorney.” His actual title, supervising assistant district attorney, implied some authority or importance, when in truth he managed two other lawyers and oversaw misdemeanor prosecutions, while all the big cases were sent to the main office, where he used to work, to be taken to trial.

“A lawyer, huh?”

The foot of the gurney hit a set of double doors, which he hoped meant that Nurse Busybody would stop asking questions.

A couple of hours later, his ribs were taped, his arm was in a sling, and his legs and arms were slathered in antibiotic cream where they’d been sliced from the branches. While he had wrenched his shoulder, it wasn’t broken, and neither was his collarbone, but he was going to be sore for a few days.

The helmet had done its job and spared him from death or permanent brain injury. But the few blows he had taken had resulted in a slight concussion and a killer headache—and without someone at home to take care of him, Dr. Ashette refused to release him.

“We’ll take good care of you,” Nurse Busybody said, as she helped him into the regular hospital bed.

If he was going to be stuck in the hospital overnight with nothing but basic cable, he might as well make the most of it.

Fate had dropped Erin Grady into his life at the best possible time. He wasn’t going to let that opportunity pass. Especially when the chief ’s daughter turned out to have interesting gray eyes, dimples, and a quick wit.

Will checked the badge pinned to the nurse’s dark blue scrubs.

“So, Joan,” he said with a warm smile. “What’s the story with Erin Grady?”

 

A Kiss in the Shadows, book 2 in the Lost Coast Harbor series, is available now at these fine booksellers:

Kindle * Nook * iBook * Kobo

CHAPTER ONE

Gabe stood on a small two-lane road and waited. He wasn’t waiting for any cars to come by, because he could be waiting for hours. He sure as hell wasn’t waiting for any people.

But he’d waited years to stand in just that spot, and he was going to enjoy it. The bus had dropped him off at the closest station, but the closest station didn’t go anywhere near the town. He’d been walking most of the day, hitchhiking when some brave soul stopped for him. Blisters had formed on his tired feet, but he barely noticed. Each step was a gift, each drop of rain and gust of wind something to treasure. The sky over his head and the open road were pleasures he’d never take for granted again.

The town’s sign was rough and weathered, its edges warped. It wasn’t one of those new modern signs with laser-printed white letters. This was aged wood, the once rich cedar now a dull gray. The letters were burned into the surface and coated with paint, most of which had faded long ago.

Welcome to Lost Coast Harbor, it said.

Gabe’s tight-lipped smile was brutal as he stepped across the town line. For six years, he’d pored over maps, memorizing the names of every street, from the main highway to the smallest alley. He didn’t hesitate when he hit first one fork in the road, then another.

Whoever named the town hadn’t been joking. The town wasn’t in the middle of nowhere. It was on the very edge of nowhere, pressed up against the enormous swell of the Pacific Ocean. It perched on the ragged cliffs of the Northern California coast, as though it hadn’t quite decided whether or not to jump into the churning water below.

This wasn’t the California of the movies, all beaches and bikinis and smiling tanned faces. This place was fog and lashing rain. It was wind that bit at your ears and made your eyes water. Maybe it was pleasant in summer, but summer was still a long way off.

The weather didn’t slow him. He loved every stinging drop. At least he was free to feel the harsh weather. He was even free to turn around if he wanted. Instead, Gabe took one step after another, inexorably moving toward his goal.

The town square looked just as he’d pictured it. The large park in the middle was ringed by a one-way street that held most of the town’s key businesses. They were small buildings, just two or three stories, with the exception of the courthouse. On the south side of the square, the historical building rose above the others, its bell tower a dark silhouette against the night.

Only the bar remained open. He’d read about it and seen pictures on the Internet, but it was still startling to see Donnelly’s Pub in person. After years of research and planning, it was finally real.

A couple of locals opened the front door, bringing a burst of noise and light with them. Gabe ambled to the other side of the road, not moving too fast. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

They glanced his way but didn’t seem very curious. He exhaled in relief. In a town as small as this, curiosity was often the default position, particularly where strangers were concerned. The couple sounded like they’d had a beer too many, and their overloud laughter faded when they turned down a side street.

The harbor was about a mile south of the town center, tucked into a small cove. As Gabe approached the docks, the biting ocean air hit him. He inhaled, slow and deep. There was nothing like the sea.

Gabe kept to the shadows, stepping lightly down the metal stairs built into the cliff. A stranger in the town center was unexpected enough. An unfamiliar face lurking around the harbor at midnight would raise questions he didn’t want to answer.

The ocean was active tonight, the January winds making the water churn. The crashing waves covered the sound of his feet on the metal dock.

Unlike the rest of the town, the dock was modern. It had been built to withstand heavy loads. The ocean was on one side, and several single-story buildings were on the other. A few ships waited to be loaded with cargo, and he picked out the shadows of heavy industrial equipment, cranes and forklifts silhouetted against the night sky. About five hundred feet down the coast, he could just make out the small harbor where locals kept their boats, but there was no hint of movement. He was alone.

Cameras were probably mounted on the roofs, so he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt tight around his face and kept his head down. He did his best to avoid the dim orange lights that barely illuminated the dock.

Half the buildings were dedicated to the fishing industry and the other half to the shipping company. Both had the same name on their signs.

Hastings Enterprises. Gabe’s lip curled in a snarl.

He peered into one of the windows. Though it was late, the plastic blinds were open and the lights were still on.

It looked like any other industrial office. Desks, file cabinets, rolling chairs. There were also several thriving plants, a surprising sight in a cold office. Gabe thought the equipment looked modern, but what did he know. It could have been years old. He hadn’t spent much time in offices, and none at all the last six years.

There was one item he hadn’t expected to see. A red sign with big white letters sat in the window.

Help wanted.

Before he could stop himself, Gabe laughed out loud. It was a short burst of sound, quickly swallowed by the night, and it bore as little resemblance to an actual laugh as bared teeth did to a smile.

A light snapped on. He leapt backwards, seeking the shadows. Gabe’s heart thudded in his ears, wondering if the man himself would appear. His fingers curled into claws. Violence was rarely his first choice, but he only felt pleasure at the thought of his hands wrapped around the man’s neck. He would squeeze until Hastings’ eyes bulged and the bastard confessed every sin he’d ever committed.

But Gabe didn’t want violence. That would send him back to the hell he’d finally escaped. He forced his fingers to relax.

The woman who stepped through the interior doorway definitely wasn’t Hastings. Gabe exhaled, unsure if he was disappointed or relieved.

He studied her, wondering what part she played in Hastings Enterprises. No one was insignificant. It didn’t matter if she was a receptionist or someone’s girlfriend. She would know something, and that would lead to something else, and eventually one of those things would lead to Hastings. They had to.

She was pretty enough. Her dark brown hair was pulled into such a tight bun he wondered if it made her head ache. She squeaked into the tall range, maybe five-eight or so, and she wore sensible brown flats rather than heels. Her pants were brown as well, her top a perfectly serviceable white button-down that hung on her narrow frame. Her features might have been nice, if her mouth wasn’t pursed and her brow furrowed.

She looked, Gabe decided, like a woman in desperate need of a good lay. He dropped his gaze to her left hand. No ring.

The beginnings of a plan clicked into place, and his smile turned wolfish.

The woman grabbed her purse and keys. Gabe ducked between two buildings, where the darkness was unrelieved by a single light. He sent a silent prayer of thanks for the moonless night.

The door clicked shut and the woman’s steps moved along the dock. They were light, almost as soft as a dancer’s. When she reached his hiding place, she glanced between the buildings, almost as if she sensed he was there.

It was too dark for her to spot him, but she’d paused beneath a lamppost. He could see her clearly.

His breath caught. He’d been wrong. She wasn’t small-town pretty. When her face softened and the long lines of her body were revealed by the light surrounding her, she was downright lovely.

Gabe swallowed and felt his balls tighten.

Fuck, how long had it been since he’d even seen a good-looking woman, let alone been near one? If this woman helped him achieve his revenge while looking so soft and pretty, he’d be a fool not to enjoy the bonus.

Except…she probably had nothing to do with his arrest. He’d be using an innocent woman for his own ends.

He squashed those doubts before they grabbed hold. Gabe had spent years looking after everyone else, and in the end it took everything he had.

This time, he was only looking after himself.

* * *

Maddie closed her front door with a sigh of relief. The walk home had been bracing, if bracing meant she could no longer feel her fingers and was fairly certain her ears had fallen off two blocks ago.

She stomped her feet in the entryway to bring her toes back to life. She also wanted to make noise just because she could. For the first time in years, she didn’t need to worry about disturbing anyone else.

Her house was finally her own. No raucous music on the weekends, no mysterious lifeforms in the refrigerator, no one to notice when she came home on the wrong side of midnight. She closed her eyes and reveled in the long-awaited solitude.

“Maddie? You home?”

She froze and considered going back outside.

“I thought I heard you come in.” Bree strode down the narrow stairs, looking far too awake for that time of night. Then again, Bree had never kept a regular schedule. Even in high school, she’d been as likely to be wide awake at four a.m. on a weekday as not.

Maddie shut her eyes and counted to five. Maybe ten would be better. “You’re still here?”

“Blame Jared. I tried to pick up the keys, but the office was shut every time. I’m sorry, Maddie. I know you’re ready to live alone.”

She really should have counted to twenty. Maddie hung her dark wool coat on one of the hallway pegs, thinking furiously. “It’s okay. Everyone knows what Jared’s like. You didn’t say it was one of the Hastings properties. I’ll get Oliver to bring the keys to the dock tomorrow.”

“You’re the only person I know whose boss will run errands for them. But yeah, that would be great.” Bree pointed to the stack of boxes by the front door. “I really tried to get out of here today. Erin even took the day off to help me.”

Maddie’s annoyance faded. Bree had been her best friend since second grade, and this wasn’t her fault. Having her for a roommate the last four years had been a lifesaver. Without her, Maddie would have lost her home, unable to make the payments on the mortgage she’d taken over when her mother died. But last week, she’d sent in the final payment. Years of scrimping and saving had paid off. It wasn’t much, this old cottage by the sea, but it was officially hers. No one could take it away.

Maddie ran her finger along the top box, labeled “Cords and various electronic shit.” It was so very Bree, honest and irreverent at the same time. “I know. And it’s not that I’m rushing to get rid of you…”

Bree snorted. “Yes you are, and you should be. You went from your mom to Charlie to me, and I moved in the day I came back from college. Neither of us has lived alone. It’s time to act like the sort-of grownups we sometimes pretend to be. I’m more than ready to hole up in my cabin in the trees, but don’t think for a second I’m taking off and leaving you here alone.”

“I can take care of myself,” Maddie protested.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about—that you’ll only take care of yourself.” Bree waggled her eyebrows, in case her meaning wasn’t clear.

Maddie grimaced. She didn’t have much room to argue. Bree knew exactly how long Maddie’s dry spell had been, and the last few months her friend hadn’t missed a chance to remind her about it.

Bree’s smile turned a little bit wicked. “Or have you already found someone to invite back to your newly-empty house? Don’t think I didn’t notice the time. What were you doing tonight? Details, please.”

“Where do you think I was? There was a mixup at work. Two ships came in that weren’t supposed to. It needed to be sorted out, and I lost track of time.” Also, she’d wanted to give Bree a few more hours to leave, but she left that part out.

“You give that place too much of your time.”

“That place is why I now have a savings account.”

“Lots of people with savings accounts manage to leave work at five.”

Maddie wasn’t ready to admit why she’d recently increased her hours. Hastings Enterprises was putting in a bid for a huge chunk of land northeast of town. She needed to convince Oliver to let her work on that project—which meant she had to prove the shipping office was in good enough shape to function without her.

The promotion could change her life. She’d already learned everything she could as an office assistant. If she didn’t get out soon, she would stagnate, become just another person working a nine-to-five job that never led anywhere. It would pay the bills, but she’d stay in the same tax bracket the rest of her life. The one that meant she was secure and comfortable…until disaster hit. And if life had taught her anything, disaster always hit.

The real estate deal was a huge opportunity. Another chance to learn, to build her resume. It would put her one step closer to a career and the financial stability that came with it.

But Maddie knew what Bree thought of her plans, so instead she turned around and pointed at her professional but drab outfit. “Why are you asking where I was? Does anything about me scream ‘Hot night at Donnelly’s!’ to you?”

Bree was undeterred. “It doesn’t need to be a hot night. You’re probably a bit rusty, so you should aim for tepid. Have a starter date first.”

Maddie considered several responses, but they all led to her sputtering in protest. Instead, she walked past Bree without responding.

“It’s been almost four years, Maddie. Go on one date. Friends don’t let friends become spinsters at twenty-six. It’s time to try again.”

Try again. That made it sound like she’d embarrassed herself on a previous date, maybe tucked the back of her skirt into her tights. Maybe she’d found Mr. Not-Quite-Right, but a few more laps around the dating pool would sort her out.

Forget the dating pool. She was just seeing the light after almost drowning in the marriage sea. The mortgage was gone. Her credit cards had been paid off months ago, and soon she would have enough to buy a reliable used car. The nightmare she’d lived with for years was coming to an end.

At best, she was ready for the let’s-meet-for-coffee shallow end.

She reached the top of the stairs, but Bree was still going. “C’mon, Maddie. Let’s go out tomorrow. Find some naughty guy who can make your toes curl.”

Maddie faced her determined friend. She stood on one leg and pulled off her right flat, extending her flexed foot. “Uncurled and staying that way. You know what happened the last time I let curled toes make decisions for me. You want to find me a man, Bree? Find one that I always know where he is on Saturday nights. A guy whose credit score is higher than his IQ.”

Bree waved her hand, dismissing such paltry concerns. “Fine. Can we at least make sure you find this man between your legs on a regular basis?”

Bree ducked to avoid the shoe thrown down the stairwell, laughing the entire time. “You’re such a liar. I already know you agreed to meet Declan for coffee. As your bestest friend ever, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

Maddie groaned. She loved Lost Coast Harbor, but there were serious downsides to living in a small town. “I didn’t tell anyone. If I had, everyone in town would be debating the pros and cons of me dating a Donnelly. It’s coffee,” she insisted. “A starter date. Nothing more.”

Her nosy friend looked a little too smug. “He’s hot.” Bree gave an appreciative nod. “In a nerdy, bookish way, but still hot. I approve.”

That was exactly why Maddie had finally said yes. Not the hot part. In truth, Bree’s assessment surprised her. The thought hadn’t crossed her mind. But Declan was quiet. Reliable. A bookstore owner. He was respectable, which made him the black sheep of the wild Donnelly family and perfect for her first foray back into dating, if that’s what this was. The fact that she didn’t feel the slightest flutter of excitement was a good thing.

“One date,” she called down to Bree. “Then you leave me alone for six months.”

Bree grinned and turned toward the kitchen. “Three,” she called over her shoulder, “and only if you give me all the details.”

A few minutes later, Maddie climbed into bed. She wore flannel pajamas, like she did most nights. This set was covered in monkeys and made her smile every time she put them on. There was an undeniable joy in wearing whatever she wanted. She slid between the sheets and sprawled across the queen-sized bed, claiming it for her own.

She’d dumped the old mattress the day she was cleared of all charges. Then she threw all Charlie’s possessions into boxes and hauled them to a local charity. That night, Bree and Erin came over. They made a bonfire of his clothes and toasted marshmallows over the flames.

It was all hers now. The home and everything in it. No one could take it from her.

Bree was right about one thing. Maddie was ready for change. Maybe even ready to date again.

But she also needed a change from her ex. Charlie was trouble through and through, and he always had been. It was one of the reasons she fell for him.

This time, she’d find a good man. Someone who understood her ambitions. He’d be clean-cut and kind. The sort of man who never forgot a birthday or watched other women when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. He might even wear khakis.

That was the kind of guy she wanted now, and she wouldn’t settle for anything less.

CHAPTER TWO

“What do you mean, you couldn’t get the keys?” Maddie tried very hard not to glare at the man who signed her paychecks.

Oliver blinked in surprised. “The rental office was locked.”

She threw her hands up. “You’re the CEO of Hastings Enterprises, and you’re telling me you can’t get into one of your buildings.”

“I never needed a key before. Jared’s in charge of the properties.”

“And he’s terrible at his job. He’s never there.” Be calm, Maddie reminded herself. She tapped her thumb and forefinger together five times. “Which means Bree can’t get the key to her cabin, which means I still have a roommate.”

Her boss’s brows drew together as he struggled to understand her frustration. Oliver was the firstborn son of the richest family in town. There wouldn’t have been a day of his life when he needed to split the rent to get by.

“I thought you and Bree were best friends,” he said, as perplexed as ever. The man masterfully ran the largest shipping operation between Oakland and Portland, but he didn’t always understand people. After all, there were rules to shipping. Schedules, weights, and distance. People were never so accommodating.

Maddie’s hair slipped. With a few rough twists, she tightened the bun at the base of her skull and jammed a pin into the mass to hold it in place. “That’s not the point,” she said. “Bree already paid first month’s rent and still can’t get into her home. Jared’s in breach of contract.”

That was the language Oliver understood. Contracts. Rules. Order. At last, he nodded in understanding. “I’ll sort it out.”

“Good.” She sighed in relief, then stood a little taller and lifted her chin. “There’s something else. I want to work on the land deal.”

If Oliver was surprised before, now he was flummoxed. “The Stanwick Ranch one? But I need you here.”

Maddie was prepared for him to say that. “No, you don’t. I’ve organized this place so it practically runs itself. You can hire someone else. Remember when I asked you for this job? I said you’d never regret it. That I’d be the best office manager you’d ever had, and I was right. You took a chance on me, and it paid off.”

Oliver sputtered for a few minutes. “But there’s a huge difference between filing systems and corporate documents,” he managed at last. “And I don’t have the time to train you.”

She stood as straight as she could. Maddie didn’t care for heels, but at that moment she longed for a few more inches, enough to almost look Oliver in the eye. “You know I’ve been taking business courses at the community college. My last semester starts in three weeks. I’ll have my associate’s degree by summer.”

His voice was a little too gentle. “Everyone working on this deal has an MBA. The most I can offer you is an unpaid internship.”

She wanted to yell. Or curse. Or yell curses. “I can do this, Oliver. I’m not saying you should hire me as a lawyer. Just let me manage the paperwork. Track schedules and deadlines, make sure the right people are in contact with each other. It’s not much more than I do here.”

He hesitated. A flare of hope bloomed in her chest.

A voice came from the doorway, low and perfectly modulated but coated in a thin layer of grit. “Am I in the right place?”

Maddie closed her eyes for a second. If she pummeled the man for interrupting, Oliver might think she wasn’t qualified for the promotion. She steeled her face into a pleasant expression and turned to face the newcomer.

And once again, she needed to remind herself to be calm. She began counting, but couldn’t remember what came after four.
The man before her was a god.

Not just a regular god, either. This was the kind who’d traveled to earth, found a bit of trouble, and decided he was having way too much fun to return to his celestial home. Any sensible woman would run the other way the moment she spotted him.

The dock was full of rough men, but he was nothing like the employees she saw day in and day out. Most of them were like Vince and Harold, with soft bellies from too much beer after work and faces weathered by exposure to the sun and storms. They were good guys, and they usually had a playful word for her when they stopped into the office, but none of them were what she’d call pretty.

This man’s stomach was perfectly flat. He wore his winter coat open, and the hoodie underneath was a size too small. It stretched tight across a broad chest.

His body was impressive. His face made her stop breathing.

On some level, she knew it wasn’t a face all women would like. A thin scar crossed his right temple, cutting from his eyebrow to his hairline. His nose looked like it might have been broken at some point, though it hadn’t healed crooked, and his cheeks were covered in dark stubble.

He was a couple inches over six feet, with dark brown eyes. Though the planes of his face were hard, his lips were full, almost lush.

She supposed more women might be into that part.

Maddie forced out a breath, shaking off her reaction to this man. He’d caught her off-guard, that was all. Yes, the stranger was freaking gorgeous, but he wasn’t for her—for so many reasons.

He looked like the quintessential bad boy, and she was supposed to have learned her lesson about guys like that.

Then he smiled, and she forgot every one of those reasons. It wasn’t even a real smile. It was close-mouthed, just a small curve of those full lips, but it was enough to soften the harsh angles of his face.

He gestured to the window. “I saw the help wanted sign.”

Pieces clicked into place. The beat-up bag resting at his feet, the clothes that didn’t quite fit. Guys like this stopped by every now and then, looking for any work they could find.

Except he didn’t look like those men, with their tired eyes that had run out of hope years before. His gaze was hot and determined. He didn’t act like those guys, either. Other than the dockworkers, most of the men who visited the office spoke to Oliver first. Sometimes, they didn’t even acknowledge she was in the room. This guy hadn’t glanced in her boss’s direction yet. All his attention was fixed on her.

It wasn’t how polite people looked at each other, especially polite people who’d only just met. He stared at her as if she was the only thing he was capable of seeing.

Maddie shuffled papers on her desk. “Of course. Ah, the job requirements are here somewhere.”

She felt Oliver’s confused eyes on her. Maddie knew where every document was located. If she had to, she could file them while blindfolded.

When she felt composed again, she glanced up, looking at a spot just above the man’s eyes. She ignored the flutter in her stomach.

“What’s your experience, Mr…?”

“Gabriel Reyes. Gabe. I’ve done a lot of odd jobs over the years. Mostly construction, but if you have anything that needs to be lifted and carried somewhere else, I can do it.”

Looking at his shoulders and arms, Maddie didn’t doubt it. “Have you ever worked in shipping?”

His head shake was almost imperceptible.

“References?”

Again, he shook his head, the motion a bit sharper this time.

“Do you know how to work a forklift or operate a crane?”

“No, but I’m a fast learner.”

Oliver came to life behind her. “Reyes? Gabriel Reyes?”

For the first time, Gabe looked at her boss.

“I know you. You were arrested while driving for Hastings Shipping. You were caught with guns.” As usual, Oliver seemed more confused than accusatory.

Maddie started, then studied Gabe with narrowed eyes. At Oliver’s words, the butterflies in her stomach went to sleep. She remembered hearing about his arrest. It had been the town scandal for several months…until she and Charlie gave them something juicier to gossip about.

He was a freaking criminal. She bit back a groan. She knew some women had a type, but usually that meant they liked them tall or outdoorsy. Nothing like that for her. No, her personal panty-dropper had to be convicts.

The man still stared at Oliver. “Yes.”

That was all. No explanations, no proclamations of innocence. Just confirmation that he was a criminal involved in some truly heinous activities.

“You went to prison, right?”

“Six years.” The words were bitten off, as if they physically hurt him.

“And you come back here?” Oliver studied the man. “That takes balls.”

A muscle in Gabe’s jaw twitched. “Not many places will hire a felon. I didn’t think…”

“That we’d remember you?” Oliver tapped the side of his head. “Steel trap.”

Maddie didn’t point out that Oliver hadn’t remembered a birthday, anniversary, or minor federal holiday in the three years she’d worked for him.

“Sure, you can have the job,” Oliver said.

Gabe’s eyes widened, the only sign he hadn’t expected it to go that way.

Maddie sputtered, struggling to find the words. “Have you lost your mind? He just admitted that he used your company to run guns. What’s to stop him from doing it again? And getting us all caught up in it?” Her voice grew higher as her panic rose.

Her boss gave her a look she knew all too well. It was the same one he wore whenever a stray kitten appeared outside their offices, or when a homeless stowaway found his way to the dock. “He served his time. He paid his debt. Everyone deserves a second chance, Maddie.”

Maddie inhaled. It was the one thing Oliver could say that she wouldn’t argue with, and he knew it. He wrapped one arm around her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, dropping a quick kiss on her temple.

Gabe watched every movement.

“It’ll be a while till you’re in charge of loading cargo,” Oliver warned Gabe, the only indication he hadn’t taken complete leave of his senses. “Come on. Let me show you around a bit.” He stepped outside and waited for the other man.

Gabe lingered for a second too long, still watching her.

“Don’t leave tonight before you fill out the paperwork.” Maddie aimed for civil, but even she could hear the throb of anger in her words.

Gabe’s eyes raked her from her tightly pulled hair to her boring shoes. She didn’t know what he saw, but it was enough to draw another small smile.

“I’ll be here for a while…Maddie.”

He followed Oliver out the door, leaving Maddie standing in the middle of an empty office, counting to ten over and over again.

* * *

Want more? Kiss of a Stranger goes on sale February 9! .

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