Winter Harbor Secrets (Harbor Secrets #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Lightning ripped through the sky, turning the coastal pines white for an instant before plunging them back into shadow.

Thunder rolled in behind it, deep and angry, shaking the ground beneath Special Agent Vivian Durand’s boots.

The storm pressed down on the small Maine inlet, the kind that warned of worse to come—wind, sleet, power lines snapping in the night.

She climbed the porch steps, heart steady, rain sliding cold beneath her collar.

Each board creaked underfoot, loud in the electric stillness.

Wind scraped through the eaves, whispering through the cracked siding.

The off-books safehouse crouched at the edge of the woods, half-hidden behind bare trees and low clouds.

No porch light. No generator hum.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the front of the house.

The door hung open.

She gripped her Glock before the thought finished forming. She pressed to the wall beside the doorframe, rain dripping from her sleeve, every sense tuned sharp. One breath. Two. The faintest sound—a floorboard giving underweight.

Someone moved inside.

A flash of lightning lit the entryway. She caught a shape—a shoulder, a movement—and she lunged. Boot to the door, gun raised, clearing left to right.

“Federal agent! Show me your hands!”

For a moment, only the storm answered.

“Unless you’re planning to shoot me, Viv, lower that thing before you take out the lamp.” A voice, deep and too calm, rolled from the shadows. A voice with a slight Boston accent that made ladies swoon over him. A voice she pulled away from and leaned into in equal measure.

Vivian exhaled hard, her grip loosening a fraction. Special Agent Thomas Blake, royal pain in Vivan’s life, stepped into the weak spill of light from the kitchen, a coffee cup in his hand and that infuriating half grin on his face.

“Blake,” she muttered, holstering her weapon. “You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow. Don’t you have a life beyond the job?”

He raised that cocky brow of his. “Should I point out you’re a day early, too? That accountant you’re involved with not live up to your expectations?”

“He was a data analyst, and my personal life isn’t up for discussion.”

“Was?” That crooked grin of his flashed, then he shrugged it away. But she knew he’d have plenty of opportunity to dig deeper on their long, sleepless nights waiting for bullets to fly on another undercover op.

“Storm coming through early. Figured I’d beat the traffic.” He gestured toward the single cup. “Didn’t expect company just yet, but good thing since we can beat the storm. Should slide past Winter Harbor.”

“You could’ve let me know you were here already.”

“And ruin your dramatic entrance?” His smirk deepened. “Didn’t think you’d actually clear the place with your gun drawn. Besides, the last transmission Jensen sent was intercepted. Any communication risks exposing us.”

He wasn’t wrong, which irked her, so she closed the door with a sharp shove. “You should’ve told me.”

He lifted the cup again, unbothered. “Want coffee?”

Her gaze swept the room—tight space, one bed, one couch, no separation. Terrific.

“You didn’t mention the safehouse was... cozy.”

“Didn’t know it mattered.”

“It doesn’t,” she snipped. “Why off books? Should’ve told Maddox about this place.”

“Not off books. Mine.” He gestured to the room like it was a grand palace, not a hunting style cabin.

“Yours?” She rolled her eyes. “Not a surprise. At least we’re out of here soon. Too small for two of us.”

“Space is perfect since Bureau says we’re honeymooners, not roommates.”

“The Bureau designed our cover, or did you suggest it?”

Blake’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “I’m wounded. You’re my partner and my equal.”

She had no doubt he believed that, but if he had an opportunity to toy with a woman’s emotions, he wouldn’t pass it up, so she ignored him, tossing her bag onto the couch. The faint scent of salt and mildew rose as it landed. “Too bad Jensen didn’t have an off books fallback.”

Blake’s expression shifted, the light flattening in his eyes. “Exactly why we tell no one about this place.” His words landed sharp, final. “And if Laurel Tide sticks to their MO, Jensen won’t be found. Let’s not let this lead be wasted since it cost Jensen his life.”

For a heartbeat, everything inside her went still. The air thickened, heavy with the weight of what he didn’t have to explain. Jenson hadn’t just vanished — he’d been erased.

Vivian swallowed hard, her throat tight and dry as salt air. A flash of Jensen’s grin hit her. The way he’d stood in Maddox’s doorway, joking that he’d be back by Christmas. That was over a year ago. The memory cut deeper than she wanted it to. Too many good agents lost to Laurel.

She turned away, pretending to check the window, but quick, shallow beats fluttered against her ribs. “So we’re walking into the same shadow that swallowed him.”

Blake’s jaw flexed. “Yeah. And this time, we don’t get to miss a step. Our cover is our only defense, Viv.”

Vivian nodded once, forcing the air back into her lungs. They both knew what that meant. No backup. No clean exit. Just two agents walking blind into the kind of deep-cover operation that shredded careers, and sometimes people.

The silence between them thickened, full of things neither of them dared to say.

“Let’s get to work. You got the latest brief?”

He reached into a folder and slid a photo across the table. A trawler gleaming white under a dull Maine sky. “Meet the Windward Lady—our new home.”

Vivian studied the photo, skeptical. “Not bad. Bureau splurged for once.”

Blake scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah… about that.”

She glanced up sharply. “About what?”

He unlocked his phone, swiped, and turned it toward her.

The same boat—only this one leaned against the dock like it was too tired to float. Rust streaked the hull. One of the windows looked punched out. The paint peeled in curls like dead skin.

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Would I ever?”

Her jaw tightened. “You said the Bureau vetted the purchase.”

“They did. Photos must’ve been... aspirational.”

Vivian exhaled slowly. She stared at the image, irritation sharpening into focus. A shell corporation, most likely. On paper, it would’ve looked clean—too clean. That was Laurel Tide’s style. Dummy owners. Disposable assets. Boats that changed hands without leaving fingerprints.

He didn’t answer.

Vivian pinched the bridge of her nose. “All right. We adapt. The cover still holds. Laurel Tide’s network won’t question a fixer-upper.”

He nodded, trying to look serious.

“Part of your cover is being handy,” she said, voice flat. “Blake… you barely know one end of a wrench from the other.”

“That's what you were meant to think,” he murmured, not looking at her. “People talk more when they underestimate you.” He flashed a grin. “Besides. How hard can it be?”

She exhaled through her teeth. “Once we reach Winter Harbor, we stay on mission. No improvising. We’re not losing another lead to your shortcuts.”

“You wound me, Viv.”

“Agent Durand to you,” she muttered, grabbing her bag.

She wouldn’t let him blow this opp. She needed this win.

Needed that promotion. Needed away from Thomas Blake and his dive straight into trouble before it got her killed.

Or worse, dismissed before she ever got her chance.

Supervisory Special Agent—that was the next rung on the ladder.

One more successful operation and she could finally bury the stain on her record that clung like leeches to blood.

Blake slung his duffel over his shoulder, grin lazy, like this was a weekend getaway instead of a high-risk undercover op. He whistled once, low and off-key, before tossing the bag into the SUV.

Vivian watched him through the rain-streaked window, her jaw tight. Typical Blake—swagger and sarcasm where caution should be.

The engine rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the mist as they pulled away from the safehouse.

The drive north wound through fog and salt air. Pines pressed close to the road, their tops lost in cloud. Blake hummed tunelessly at the wheel, too relaxed for her liking. Vivian studied the case file in her lap—Laurel Tide: smuggling, extortion, trafficking, and missing agents.

Special Agent in Charge—and the closest surrogate father a person could want—Kurt Maddox’s words echoed: You’re there to keep Blake under control. You want your promotion? Earn it.

When they pulled into the marina, the wind came off the water sharp as glass. Fishing boats rocked against the docks, their masts groaning under the weight of the storm rolling in.

A man in a wool cap lifted a hand as they approached. “You the newlyweds who bought Windward Lady?”

Before Vivian could answer, Blake slid an arm around her shoulders—warm, heavy, annoyingly confident. “That’s us.”

Vivian stiffened. “Guilty,” she said tightly.

“How’d you guess?” For all she knew, he already knew they were FBI.

Laurel Tide had been one step ahead too many times.

They thought the leak had been plugged after the Christmas Cove op, but Jensen went missing a day after transmitting intel about this marina.

The man chuckled, oblivious. “Only expecting one happy couple today. Slip C-12. Watch your step. She’s a little rough.” He gestured down the dock. “Name’s Dan. Come on—I’ll take you to her.”

“Thanks,” Blake said cheerfully, steering Vivian along with a subtle relax glance. Allowing space to grow between them and their escort.

“You can let go now,” she hissed under her breath.

“Locals are watching,” he murmured against her ear. “Play the part.”

His tone grated—commanding, practiced, and far too effective. She refused to react. She’d learned long ago never to let her personal life bleed into her work. Unlike her father. She would never compromise her career for desire.

“You’re enjoying this,” she muttered.