15. FIDO
FIFTEEN
"FIDO"
AN ACRONYM USED BY POLICE OFFICERS THAT MEANS "FORGET IT, DRIVE ON"
Trent couldn’t help but admire the way Maggie’s vibe seemed to catch the very essence of Valentine’s Day as they strolled through Townsend Harbor’s Love Fest. The town square was alive with crimson and pink streamers, heart-shaped balloons bobbing in the chilly breeze, and the laughter of couples clinging to the festive spirit like it was their love’s own lifeline. Music swirled around them—a blend of peppy pop songs and classic love ballads that made even Trent’s cynical heart twitch in rhythm. True to cliché, the scent of cotton candy and popcorn beckoned, lending a sweet note to the crisp air that’d just dipped about twenty degrees once the sun disappeared.
Maggie’s soft red sweater peeked from beneath her black wool peacoat, teasing the strawberry notes in her hair and advertising her scarlet quilted leather Gold Coast Kate Spade bag. Trent had taken the fact that his crimson pocket square sort of matched as some kind of cosmic sign the night would go well.
That they would go well…
Together.
Slow your roll, McGarvey.
“Know what I learned last year?” he began, his eyes flicking toward the distant lighthouse with its scarlet light shining like a beacon. “That the first Ethan Townsend bought the red lighthouse Fresnel lens from a special glassmaker in Antwerp. It’s written in the town bylaws that it be used every year on Valentine’s Day to light the Love Fest.” He glanced at Maggie for her reaction, curious to see if this little tidbit of local history would pique her interest.
“Really?” she asked, her voice lacking its usual spark. She looked at the lighthouse too, but her gaze seemed unfocused, distant.
“Yep,” Trent continued, trying to engage her. “He wanted it to be seen all the way from the Canadian fort on Victoria Island, especially from Lonely Cove. He wrote that it was his way of sending friendship and fealty across the sound.”
“Interesting,” she said quietly, but her distant look remained.
A pang of concern lanced Trent through the guts.
The aroma of fried donuts and kettle corn twisted his stomach, and he tucked Maggie under his arm. “I’m hungry. Want anything?”
She hummed noncommittally beside him, her usually vibrant eyes dulled, as if the crimson pall of light from the lighthouse cast a shadow rather than its intended warm glow. She was there, but not quite present, her mind meandering through some internal maze.
He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “You’ve been quiet all night. What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”
“Just thinking.” She rubbed her arms. “It’s nothing.”
Liar. Maggie couldn’t hide from him any more than he could mask the concern gnawing his gut. “Come on. I’m not buying it.”
She sighed, tearing her gaze from the lighthouse to meet his eyes. “Or maybe I’m thinking about everything? I don’t know.”
“Like what?” he asked cautiously, trying to understand her internal struggle. They had been moving fast since their initial attraction to each other; maybe she was starting to doubt their compatibility. Maybe she was worried about her job. Her performance on the podcast.
What happened after ?
That was where his thoughts kept snagging. What happened to them when her show was finished?
“It’s hard to… I haven’t figured out how to put words to it just yet. Is that okay?” Maggie’s voice was a whisper lost to the wind.
Trent grimaced. He supposed they were an odd pair—she a tornado of curiosity and defiance, whisking through life’s conventions; he a man who ironed his socks and arranged his books by color. Then subcategories like alphabet, chronology, and, of course, series.
It was hard not to notice how Maggie’s attention drifted back to the lighthouse, how her fingers fiddled with the hem of her vintage coat instead of tapping along to the beat of the music.
“Imagine being so sure about something, you’d want it to outlast you,” she mused, her gaze unfocused. “To know that this isn’t a part of your life, but you are a part of their life. That’s something…”
Trent watched as she absent-mindedly twirled a lock of hair around her finger. He knew he had to do something to lift her spirits, and fast.
A mischievous grin spread across his face as an idea struck him. “You know, Ethan Townsend used to be the sheriff before— Uh—well, anyways…” Now didn’t seem like the time to bring up his boss. “His full name is some ridiculously olde-world white-boy shit like Ethan Reginald Haverford Aristocratic Butthole Townsend the Fourth.”
That seemed to pull her from the deep lake of her thoughts to the surface.
“That’s not his real name.” She chuckled wryly.
“No, but the fact that he was the fourth Ethan Townsend is exactly the point. The first Ethan Townsend being of this lighthouse fame. Ethan Townsend, the first , was more than a man who owned half this town once upon a time. He was a romantic. Why else would he install the red lens into the lighthouse and father this February festival in the winter off-season?”
“A shameless grab for tourist dollars during the most dismal month on the coast?”
Who was the cynical one now? Trent frowned. He didn’t like this change in their dynamic one bit.
“Hey,” he said, nudging her gently with his shoulder, “you’re not already plotting your escape to Boston after this investigation, are you?”
Her smile was brief, a flicker of warmth before she masked it with a shrug. “Who knows where the wind will blow, deputy?” There it was, the nudge back at him, an echo of their usual repartee. But it was fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, leaving Trent grappling with the worry that maybe, just maybe, he was thinking long term while she was already half packed in her mind. “But I haven’t even started recording yet, so I’ll be here for at least a handful more weeks.”
“I’ll tell my men to be on alert,” he teased.
“You’d better prepare them for the likes of me.” She laughed deviously, the sparkle returning to her haunted eyes.
Arm in arm, they wandered through the crowd, stopping at various booths along the way. Maggie inspected handmade quilts and locally sourced honey while he debated the merits of various craft beers. Their casual banter flowed easily, as if they’d been together for years instead of weeks.
There she was. He’d done it, coaxed the devil-may-care attitude from Maggie and brought the laughter back to her every interaction.
What if he could make her laugh every day?
The intrusive thought was dispelled as they arrived at the Bazaar Girls booth, beside which Gabe, Gemma, Ethan, Darby, Myrtle, and Vee gathered around Vee’s Lady Garden tent. The air vibrated with the laughter of friends and…actual vibrators.
As they approached, Gabe regaled the coterie with tales of his latest mechanical conundrum—a car that was more rust than metal and an owner with more money than sense—while Gemma finished a sale of hand-dyed alpaca wool that cost more deconstructed than a finished craft project would.
Ethan sidled up to Trent as Maggie abandoned him for the ladies. “Glad to see you two worked things out.” His pale-blue eyes gleamed knowingly. “Maggie was looking a bit…stormy earlier.”
Trent glanced at her, unable to stop his smile. “Skies are clear now.”
“So, it’s serious, then?” Ethan waggled his Viking-blond brows. “Should we be expecting a wedding invite anytime soon?”
“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Trent held up his hands in mock surrender. “We’re keeping things casual. No need to pick out china patterns just yet.”
Ethan’s laughter boomed, drawing the attention of the others. “You pass that detective exam?” he asked with a magnanimous change of subject.
“I didn’t know you were going for detective!” Darby bopped over to them in a feathery coat that might have once covered a turquoise-assed sasquatch.
“Scheduled for the summer.” Trent dipped his head, unprepared to be the center of attention.
Darby poked Maggie. “ Two detectives in a relationship? The best part of Ethan and my relationship is that I barely know what’s going on half the time, and this man has to know what’s going on all the time. Oh, and that dee-ock !” She punctuated her appreciation for her man with a smack on his very tight (in all the ways) ass before saying, “Neither of you will be able to keep secrets from each other.”
Trent glanced at Maggie in time to see her creamy skin empty of any shade but a sickly gray as she summoned a wan smile. When she might have given a witty rejoinder, she just let her smile wobble until her gaze latched on to the social distraction that was Vee and Myrtle.
“Hey, you two!” she greeted them, with a bit more brightness than he expected. “So glad to see you’re out and about after your protest ordeal, Myrtle.”
“Ordeal?” Myrtle’s bright yellow coat and oversized orange waders made her look like Big Bird’s elderly (and recently molted) aunt. “You say ordeal , I say adventure. Probably needed my new fingerprints on file anyways, so it was about time I was processed. At least this time they didn’t make me squat and cough.” She jabbed Trent with one broken yellow wing. “Been a few decades since I hid coke in my cornhole.”
Most of the laughter Myrtle received was born of astonishment and fueled by mirth once the shock wore off.
As per usual, the validity of her outlandish claims was left open for interpretation.
Vee was a picture of elegance in a flowing, long pink wool coat over mauve slacks and buttery-looking boots. In her hands was the most realistic-looking dildo Trent had ever seen. So realistic, in fact, he had to look away as a well of undiscovered Judeo-Christian shame brought heat to his cheeks. She brandished the… device like Samuel Jackson trying to be a Jedi.
“What’s that monstah?” Gabe marveled with a pervy smirk. “You getting your product from the Lorena Bobbitt collection? Because that looks real as fuck.”
“And so it is.” Vee’s coy expression brought out a vision of the young, mischievous woman she’d been fifty years prior. “A perfectly rendered cast of the actual member, as it were.”
Gabe made a rude noise. “I don’t believe in God, but she blessed the owner of that body.”
“Right?” Myrtle relieved her wife of the product, wriggling it like a spring. “Sales have been down a bit lately because kids these days buy their dildos on the line. So Vee ’n’ me were thinking…know what women need? RealDick.”
Trent shifted along with the other men in the vicinity. “Er, Myrtle. That isn’t?—”
“I mean, I don’t. But RealDicks are the best! Tell your friends!” She eyed Ethan. First in the face, and then in the crotch. “I know you have to have a good one with how strange this one walks sometimes.” She hitched a thumb at Darby. “Wanna be part of the flagship product?”
Ethan stared at Myrtle for a full five seconds before he answered. “Are you having a stro?—”
Darby slammed her fingers over his mouth. “I think this conversation needs more context, Myrtle.”
Vee put her hand on her beloved’s arm. “We’ve devised a stratagem for the consumer who would prefer a more…bespoke experience. A pleasure device fashioned after their own preferences. A lover, perhaps? Or a collection of pre-made stock cast from willing…well”—she checked over the assembled men with an assessing eye—“stock.”
“Whose dick is that?” Maggie asked, grabbing it from Myrtle and giving it a little wobble that made Trent nauseated.
“This one?” Vee eyed it as if it could answer the question. “Apologies, but I promised not to tell. So, if confidentiality is your thing, know it’s strictly enforced.”
A customer pulled Vee’s attention aside for a moment, and Myrtle plucked the product back from Maggie and turned to do her wifely duty and move some inventory.
“Come get your cock cast!” she called to the milling crowd. “Help a hetero woman get the dick she deserves without having to deal with the rest of your dumb ass!”
Vee turned to her wife with a gentle smile. “Darling, I’m not criticizing, but that’s not a great marketing strategy.”
“It’s the truth!” Myrtle insisted.
“Exactly,” Maggie muttered from Trent’s side, surprising him with the vitriol in her voice. “People rarely want to buy the truth.”
Vee turned to her, having heard the same note. “Mags, darling, did you update our detective on what we…discovered the other day?”
Trent’s lips thinned. “Once again, not a detective yet, and the two of you should not have gone…where you did.”
He was summarily ignored as the women began to collaborate and speculate.
“I want to know what you learned, you guys!” Gemma chimed in, her enthusiasm sparking the others’ interest. “I love Townsend Harbor history, as it’s usually better and stranger than fiction, and I would rather tear off my own face than wait for your podcast to finally finish production.”
Maggie’s laugh was rich and warm. “Well, in the interest of saving your awesome face, I’ll tell you…”
The story she told would have been a confession had she been sitting in an interrogation room, and Trent was increasingly chagrined at the amount of leeway he’d shown her that wasn’t strictly legal and was definitely against the code of conduct. He didn’t learn anything new until she was winding down.
“And then Vee found the symbols of an anchor and the siren branded together down in the tunnels on a grate that had been bricked over,” Maggie revealed with the ardor of a campfire storyteller, in the very voice that was making her a star in a sea of online content. “When we followed up with the city, we realized there had been a drainage pipe behind the wall that they used to use as overflow until the breakwater was built in the marina.”
Gabe made an impressed sound. “Great place to smuggle goods and/or people to the water. I think you found your shanghai spot.”
At that, Maggie frowned. “I’m…not so sure after what else Vee found in the library.”
“Ah, yes,” Vee replied with a nod, her voice infused with enthusiasm. “A ledger, if you believe it. We found it tucked away in an old desk drawer. It listed payments from somewhere, but instead of noting the source, there were just pictures of anchors next to each sum.”
“Anchors?” Ethan furrowed his brow, his old investigative instincts aroused.
“Yup,” Myrtle chimed in, “and the amounts were quite large for the time. Large enough to make a big-dicked whale blush!”
“Are you suggesting a collaboration between your ancestor and Madame Katz?” Darby asked her man, leaning forward with a glint in her eye.
“Can’t rule it out.” He shrugged. “I had a conversation just the other day with Mayor Spew—er—Stewart, because I found several personal accounts of the old-timey Stewart spending much time and money at Madame Katz’s, despite hating the woman. And… I don’t know… The way he wrote about her…” His pale cheeks pinkened, as the starch-shirted town hero hadn’t yet learned to let all his hair down. Darby was still working on him.
“Could be more than just a business deal,” Myrtle added, wading into the conversation with her usual sharp insight. “Those two could’ve been thick as thieves, or maybe even lovers! I’ll bet they were lovers. I’ll bet they were secret fucking lovers!”
Gabe faked a gag. “Please don’t say lovers unless there’s a meat before and a pizza after.”
The group shared a chuckle, and then a knowing look, contemplating the scandalous implications.
Ethan’s eyes widened as he made an internal connection. “You know, my family crest has an anchor in it.”
Darby smacked him hard on the shoulder. “That’s right! You were telling me the Townsends were famous seafarers since before the first Elizabeth was getting her dick sucked by Shakespeare.”
“I didn’t say it like that,” he muttered with a boyish sense of defensiveness. “But after they settled in the Americas, they became carpenters. Built most of this fucking town—you’re welcome. If you see a charming building, Ethan’s brother Ryan planned the thing, and Ethan built it. That’s why there are anchors chiseled all over the damn place… Ethan and Ryan wanted all their buildings to carry the mark.”
“Gangster move,” Gabe said approvingly.
“Really?” Maggie’s eyes twinkled as the pieces started to fall into place. “Madame Katz used the siren symbol as her own. Do you think it’s possible that your ancestor and Madame Katz might have been working together instead of being enemies? Perhaps…even more?”
“My family used to own the building that housed Sirens, as well as pretty much the entire waterfront side of Water Street. Mayor Stewart’s ancestor bought up most of the other side and made the co-op.” Ethan nodded toward an imaginary line in the distance. “It was all very Montague and Capulet back in the day until they decided to work together on some downtown project at the docks.” He hesitated, his expression turning somber. “Unfortunately, due to the somewhat tarnished Townsend legacy, our family has been forced to sell many of the buildings over the years. What I do remember, though, is that Sirens Pub was created, named, and owned by Ethan Townsend the First before anyone else.”
The group exchanged glances, tension and excitement bubbling among them. As they pondered the implications, Trent noticed that Maggie’s spirits seemed to be lifting, clearly invigorated by the potential twist in her investigation. He admired the way her intellect fired up like a vintage engine—it was one of the things he found irresistibly sexy about her. “We could always look deeper,” he said, his voice low and determined as he enjoyed the goosebumps he saw in response to his breath hitting her ear. “How about we take a little trip to the lighthouse? The view is amazing, the atmosphere romantic, and maybe you’ll find some clarity there.”
Maybe they both would.
“Trying to sweep me off my feet with romantic vistas, Deputy McGarvey?” Maggie teased.
“Guilty as charged,” he replied, offering his arm with a flourish. “Besides, everyone deserves a breather—even hotshot investigative journalists and ruggedly handsome deputies.”
“Ruggedly handsome, huh?” She looped her arm through his, her laugh light and musical. “Okay, rugged man, let’s see how those Bruno Magli loafers hold up on the beach.”
“Pfft, these were made to shoe the descendants of Roman gods as they sexually harass women up and down the Mediterranean. I think it’ll handle Townsend Harbor’s strip of rocky sand just fine.”
As they excused themselves from the group, Vee called out after them, “You two enjoy the red light! Make some memories!” Her innuendo-laden sendoff sparked another round of laughter among the crowd.
With a quick wave to their friends, they set out into the night. A cool breeze rolled in off the water, carrying the fresh scent of sea salt and evergreens. Stars blinked to life overhead as the last sliver of light abandoned the port.
“It’s beautiful out here.” She gazed up at the indigo sky, a wistful note in her voice. “Peaceful. Makes you feel small in the best possible way.”
“Mmm.” Trent squeezed her hand, struck by her observation, as he helped her over a rocky part in the path. “I know what you mean. There’s something humbling about it.”
“Thanks, my knight in shining—Armani,” Maggie quipped. She was a vision against the backdrop of the restless sea, her red hair a fiery banner whipped about by the whims of the wind.
If ever there was a night to believe in happy endings…
They strolled hand in hand along the beach, sand crunching under their feet.
Ahead, the lighthouse stood sentinel, its sturdy form etched against the twilight sky like a promise. And there, casting a scarlet hue upon the churning waters, was the red light—legendary and unwavering. It beckoned to lost sailors and love-struck hearts alike, its pulse a steady reminder of past devotion and present allure.
“Wow,” Maggie breathed out, her eyes alight with the reflection of the red beacon. “Ethan wasn’t kidding.”
“Wait until you’re standing right beneath it,” Trent said.
When they reached the lighthouse porch, Maggie stopped in her tracks, gaze traveling up the spiral staircase to the top.
“Do you want to go up?” he asked. “We don’t have to if you’re not up for the climb.”
“No, I definitely want to go up.” She flashed him a determined smile. “I just…have a feeling there’s something waiting for us at the top.”
Trent didn’t question her intuition. If Maggie sensed they were meant to climb those stairs, he would follow her lead.
They made their way up the metal staircase, moonlight filtering through windows at each landing. He tried to focus on the magic of the night but couldn’t keep his eyes from how hot her ass looked from this angle.
Spiral staircases. Maybe he needed to get one of these.
When they reached the top, they stopped to let their blood thrum and their breath catch up.
Trent felt the shift in Maggie’s mood again as they threaded their way along the coastal path, the salty tang of sea air mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil. The Love Fest’s jubilant noise was a distant melody now, usurped by the symphony of crashing waves that seemed to cheer them on with every thunderous applause against the rocks.
They shared a look then, charged with the energy of their conspiracy and the unsaid words that hung between them like the very secrets etched into the lighthouse walls. At Maggie’s insistence, they scoured the indoor walkway, using the red rotation of light as their guide. Only when every inch had been painstakingly checked did she lean against the stone with a disappointed huff.
“Nothing more exciting than what you’d find etched on a bathroom wall,” she muttered.
Trent stood in front of her, using his wide shoulders to buffer some of the wind picking an increasing chill off the water below.
Maggie’s fingertips lingered on the ancient grooves in the stone, tracing them as if they could unlock the secrets of a century-old tryst. The salt-laden breeze tugged at her hair, whipping it around her in a tempestuous halo. Trent watched, his thirsty eyes missing nothing, the glow from the lighthouse casting a dangerous red sheen over the scene and deepening the russet strands into flickering embers.
“I can just feel how close I am to answers. Can’t you sense it too?” Her voice trembled with emotion. “The romance, the mystery—it’s like the past is reaching out, begging us to listen, and I’m trying so hard, but…” She hissed frustration through her tight throat.
“Townsend Harbor has always had more secrets than a speakeasy, see?” Trent quipped in his best Edward G. Robinson voice. “And you, Maggie Michaels, are just the dame to crack ’em wide open, read all about it, yeah.” He flicked a fake cigar.
Her laughter bubbled over her irritation, genuine and rich, and for a moment all the aloofness that clouded her earlier melted away, leaving behind a woman whose passion for history was decorated by the curves she wore so confidently.
“How about you cut yourself a break?” he suggested, pulling her from outside into the insulation of the indoor walkway, where the window ledges were just wide enough to lean against. The man-sized red light turned and turned on well-oiled axles at shoulder height, making them appear as disembodied torsos standing above a black void. “You’ve uncovered more truth about this town’s past in a couple weeks than anyone could have in a century. Just because you didn’t find an answer here, doesn’t mean you won’t follow your impeccable nose to where it hides.”
He pressed his lips against the tip of that nose, if only to warm it.
And damned if the sprightly woman didn’t turn the innocent gesture up to ten.
As her lips met his, Trent felt a shiver run down his spine. Her soft, luscious mouth was supple as velvet against his own, electrifying every nerve ending in his body. He couldn’t help but deepen the kiss, hungrily exploring her mouth with his tongue, seeking out hers in a passionate dance. His heart raced in his chest, thudding erratically against his ribcage as he lost himself in the moment.
God, he loved everything about the feel of her against him. The way her plump thighs pressed against his, the softness of her stomach as it conformed to his hard abs. He felt more alive than he had in years. Trent knew then and there that he was falling for her, but he pushed those thoughts aside for now, focusing instead on the intoxicating feelings coursing through him.
Tentatively, Maggie reached down toward his pants, caressing him through the fabric. He couldn’t help but moan into her mouth as she began to unbutton his slacks with practiced ease. Her hand dipped beneath his waistband, grasping his rapidly hardening length. Trent gasped as her fingers encircled him, stroking up and down in a steady rhythm that had him seeing stars.
She broke the kiss then, giving him a sultry look as she sank to her knees. The red glow of the lighthouse bathed her face in an ethereal light as she maintained eye contact.
“Let me taste you,” she purred, freeing him fully from the confines of his pants.
Trent could only nod mutely, watching as she took him into her warm, wet mouth. Her lips stretched around his thickness as she began to move, swirling her tongue skillfully along his sensitive skin. He braced himself against the window ledge, fighting to remain upright as waves of pleasure crashed through him.
Looking down, he could just make out her silhouette in the dim light, silky hair spilling over her shoulders, full breasts pressed against his thighs. She worked him steadily, moaning around his length, the vibrations shooting straight to his core.
It was all Trent could do not to finish right then and there. He threaded his fingers through her hair, gently guiding her pace. The sight of this incredible, passionate woman on her knees unstitched something tight inside of him.
He focused on the open ocean beyond the lighthouse window, the endless expanse of water merging with the night sky along the horizon. The waves rolled and crashed below them in time with Maggie’s movements.
Her lips and tongue were a perfect kind of magic, and Trent did everything he could to extend the moment. He tightened his fingers in her hair as she took him even deeper. The beam from the lighthouse swept over them, illuminating Maggie’s voluptuous curves. The rapture in her expression. The muscles working in her mouth. Her lithe fingers encircling his cock, the moisture of her mouth slick down the entire length, pulling a release from as deep as the root of his spine.
Fuck. He couldn’t let himself come yet. Not. Yet.
Just as he was about to reach the point of no return, Maggie slowed her pace, lightly grazing her teeth along his sensitive skin. She looked up at him with a sultry gaze and grinned wickedly.
“Maggie…” Her name was dragged from his throat in a raw plea.
Stop. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.
Don’t go.
I’m falling in love with you.
Her eyes rolled away from him as if she could handle the thick cock grazing the back of her throat, but not the intensity of his gaze or the words he wasn’t strong enough to say.
Her eyes widened as she looked up.
“Omph mif Gawrgh!” she struggled to declare around the thick rod of sex she’d sucked into her mouth.
He meant to pull out, but she tightened her fingers around the base, clamping her lips ruthlessly, forcing a climax to slam into him with all the force of a Japanese bullet train. All he could do was brace himself against the window ledge as Maggie’s talented mouth milked every last drop from him. The pleasure was so intense, it felt like his vision whitewashed for a moment, reduced to pinpricks of red and blue as the lighthouse’s rotating beam illuminated their passionate encounter.
She even. Fucking. Swallowed.
He was in so much trouble.
Rather than pull her up, Trent let the starch go all the way out of his knees and sank to kneel before her, intent on returning the favor. When he reached to kiss her, she batted his hands away, ducking beneath the window ledge. “Holy fucking shitballs!” she exclaimed, taking her phone out of her coat pocket and shining the flashlight up beneath the ledge.
Trent somehow wrestled himself together and zipped up before he dared speak, using the precious seconds to try to figure out just what the fuck had happened.
“Maggie,” he panted, collapsing to sit until his thighs stopped twitching. “Christ, Maggie, I?—”
“I fucking found it, McGarvey,” she whispered in awe. “Proof. Here it is.”
He stared at her dumbly.
“Look!” She scooted aside and pulled him lower so he could duck beneath the window ledge and gaze idiotically up at whatever had been able to distract her from the best blow job in the history of ever.
For K.R.K., my beacon amongst all storms. ~E.T.T.
For E.T.T., my secret and eternal heart. ~K.R.K.
Feb 14, 1898
“K.R.K.—Katherine Rose Katz… A beacon amongst all storms.” Something in her whisper broke his heart, and Trent found himself reaching for her without thinking. “E.T.T. has to be Ethan Townsend.” Maggie’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she looked back at the inscription. “They loved each other.”
“I’ll be hosed,” he breathed. “You fucking did it, Maggie.” Trent squeezed her, feeling the excitement tense her entire frame.
“Imagine, all those years ago,” she mused, her thoughts racing with possibilities. “What sort of secrets did they share? What could’ve brought them together? How did they even meet? How did they fall in love?”
“Guess you’ll have to stick around and investigate.” Trent grinned, his brain finally surfacing from a miasma of cum confusion. “But…how about we take this back to my place, and I investigate what’s happening in those skimpy panties I know you’re wearing?”
Her grin did something incredible to his insides. Something so warm he felt like he’d swallowed a goddamned campfire.
Screw falling—he’d done fell in it already. Fell in fucking love without even realizing it.
He wanted to say it. To blurt it. To yell it to the black swath of ocean and every creature seen and unseen.
Maggie kissed him with a playful smack and stood, reaching down to comically help him to his unsteady feet.
“It sucks to know exactly the codes to how many laws we just broke,” he lamented. “This is government property.”
“Stick with me, kid.” She winked. “I’ll teach ya a thing or two.”
They descended the spiral staircase of the lighthouse together, talking excitedly about theories and timelines, their words intertwining like the threads of the intricate tapestry they were unraveling. Trent felt a surge of satisfaction at seeing some of her enthusiasm returning, her detective’s mind snapping pieces together with every step they took.
The beach greeted them with its sprawling canvas of sand and sea, but the sight that awaited by his meticulously kept car drew a stark line through the idyllic setting. There stood a man—broad-shouldered, burly, and with an air of ownership that irked Trent immediately.
Maggie halted so abruptly that he instinctively reached out, steadying her with a firm grip on her elbow. Her face drained of color, and for a split second, he saw vulnerability flashing across those usually fierce green eyes. She leaned into him, subtly seeking support, and Trent’s protective instincts flared to life.
“Easy, I’ve got you,” he murmured, prepared to shield her from whatever storm this stranger brought into her eyes.
Then the man moved toward them, his steps deliberate, a challenge etched into the lines of his jaw. His voice rumbled across the space between them, heavy with accusation.
“How about you take your hands off my wife.”