Chapter 6 #2
At one point, they both reached for the same screwdriver from the toolkit at the same time. Their hands touched, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The contact sent electricity up Mitch’s arm, making his breath catch.
“Sorry,” Lori said, pulling her hand back. A flush colored her cheeks. “You take it.”
“No, you’re closer,” Mitch said, stepping back to give her space.
But something had shifted in the air between them. An acknowledgment of the attraction that had been building since the day they met. Neither of them addressed it directly, but it was there, humming beneath their words.
By the time they finished, the attic was transformed. Clean windows let in streams of sunlight. The air smelled fresh, not musty. They stood together at one of the dormer windows, looking out at the ocean.
“This is a beautiful view,” Mitch said.
“I wonder if Martha spent time up here,” Lori said. “There’s an old rocking chair in the corner. I can picture her sitting there, looking out at the water, thinking her thoughts.”
“Probably planning how to meddle in her neighbors’ lives,” Mitch said with a smile. “She was always matchmaking, that woman. Drove everyone crazy with it.”
“Was she successful?” Lori asked.
“More than she should have been,” Mitch admitted. “She had good instincts about people.”
They headed back downstairs, and Lori insisted he take a break and have those muffins she’d mentioned. They sat on the porch with coffee and blueberry muffins that were, Mitch had to admit, some of the best he’d ever tasted.
“These are incredible,” he said. “What’s your secret?”
“Buttermilk,” Lori said. “And a touch of lemon zest. It brightens the flavor.”
“You’ll have to teach Piper. She’s always trying to expand her baking repertoire.” Mitch laughed, and his eyes widened, remembering Piper. They were supposed to come here together.
“I’d love to,” Lori said. “Maybe we could bake together one afternoon. I’d enjoy the company.”
They talked until the coffee was gone and the afternoon sun began its descent toward the horizon. Mitch finally excused himself, aware that he’d been monopolizing her time, but reluctant to leave.
“Thank you again for the help,” Lori said, walking him to the porch steps. “I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” Mitch said, and meant it. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”
He headed home, his thoughts full of the afternoon they’d just spent together. The easy conversation, the comfortable silences, the moment their hands had touched. The way his whole body had responded to that simple contact.
Piper was in the living room when he walked in, and one look at his face made her grin.
“How was Lori’s?” she asked innocently.
“Fine,” Mitch said. “I helped her with some windows in the attic.”
“Uh-huh. And did you ask her to dinner tomorrow night?” Piper’s brows rose questioningly.
“No, it didn’t come up,” Mitch said honestly.
“Grandpa!” Lori hissed and shook her head. “I’m going to ask her when I take Misty for a walk.” She headed for the front door. “I won’t be long.”
“Be careful,” Mitch called after her and went upstairs to wash and get changed so he could prepare their evening meal.
Piper returned forty minutes later while Mitch was making dinner for them both.
“And? Did you ask her?” Mitch asked as they took their dinner outside, where they would eat on the porch as the sun set.
“Yes,” Piper said. “I asked her when I dropped Misty home and she said yes.”
“Oh!’ Mitch’s heart slammed into his chest. “That’s good.”
After Piper went to bed, Mitch stayed outside, unable to shake the restlessness that had settled over him.
That was when he saw it.
The same sedan from before, dark blue with Massachusetts plates, was driving slowly past both houses. It passed once, continued down the road, then circled back and passed again. Deliberate. Methodical.
Mitch stood and moved to the porch railing, watching. The car’s windows were tinted, making it impossible to see the driver. It slowed as it passed Seabird Cottage, almost to a crawl, then sped up and disappeared around the bend.
His jaw tightened. That was the third time he’d seen that vehicle in the area. Once could be a coincidence. Twice was suspicious. Three times was surveillance.
Someone was watching the houses. And they were being careful about it, varying their timing, their approach. Professional.
Mitch went inside and retrieved his laptop, pulling up databases he technically shouldn’t still have access to but did. He entered the partial plate number he’d memorized, adding the vehicle description and the approximate dates of sightings.
The search returned nothing useful. Either the plates were fake, which wouldn’t surprise him, or the registration was buried under layers of corporate ownership.
He sat back, thinking. Who was watching, and why?
Who were they watching? Mitch closed the laptop and headed upstairs to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come.
His mind turned the pieces over, looking for patterns, connections.
Years of intelligence work had taught him to trust his gut, and his gut said one or both of the houses on his street were being watched.
Finally, around two in the morning, Mitch gave up on sleep and pulled on his jeans and a dark shirt. He’d do a perimeter check, see if anything seemed out of place.
The night was clear, the moon bright enough to cast shadows. Mitch moved quietly around his property, checking sight lines, looking for disturbances. Everything seemed normal at first.
Then he saw it.
A figure standing at the property line between Sunrise House and Seabird Cottage. Just standing there in the shadows cast by the beach roses, completely still, and he couldn’t be certain, but it looked like the person’s head had turned toward Seabird cottage.
Mitch’s training kicked in instantly. He moved back deeper into shadow, watching the figure. The person was of average height and could be male or female from this distance. They stood for another thirty seconds, then turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness along the beach path.
Mitch grabbed the flashlight he always kept by the back door and ran toward the spot where the figure had been standing. By the time he got there, they were gone. He swept the flashlight beam across the area, looking for footprints or anything the person might have left behind.
The grass was compressed where they’d been standing. Fresh disturbance. And there, caught on a beach rose thorn, was a small piece of fabric. Tan colored. Synthetic material. Like from a windbreaker.
Mitch pulled out his phone and took photos, careful not to disturb anything else. Then he stood there, looking at Seabird Cottage, at the windows dark except for a small nightlight glow in the downstairs bathroom.
Lori was sleeping in there, completely unaware that someone had been watching their houses. The hair at the back of his neck prickled as his senses detected danger, making Mitch decide he was going to find out exactly what was going on before anyone got hurt.