“Armed?”
“You know. With a gun.”
He started the car. “Heather, I’m just a guy visiting an old friend. Where in town do you live?”
“Thistle Lane. Do you remember it?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“It’s in the village, off the common. The town library is on the corner.”
“Quaint little Knights Bridge.”
“Phoebe O’Dunn owns the house. You remember her, don’t you?”
“The eldest of the O’Dunn sisters. They were our closest neighbors when we lived out on the lake.”
“Everyone in town expects Phoebe and Noah will be announcing their engagement soon. I think they’ll keep the house even after they’re married. It’s in good shape. I’m drawing up plans for a new kitchen and bathroom.” Heather wasn’t sure why she was telling Brody all this, but he didn’t seem uninterested. “It’s fun. I’ve discovered I have a passion for interior design.”
“Often helps to know your passions,” he said.
She wasn’t sure what he meant but decided not to pursue the subject since it involved the word passion. She’d blundered on that score enough for one day.
As they reached the end of Vic’s driveway and turned onto the winding road into the village, she noticed that the winter conditions and the absence of streetlights didn’t seem to bother Brody in the least. He drove with a confidence that Heather realized she should have expected.
“Phoebe’s house is the last one on the right,” she said when she pointed out Thistle Lane. “It was also built in 1912. It must have been a good year in Knights Bridge, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t know Knights Bridge had any good years.”
“That, Agent Hancock, is a negative attitude.”
He smiled at her. “Practical.” He pulled in front of the little house. “If you need a ride up to Vic’s in the morning, give me a buzz, and I’ll come fetch you.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“Yes, you do. I got yours from Vic and texted you.”
“Efficient.”
He sat back. “Don’t forget to bring jumper cables.”
“I won’t.” She started to open her door but angled him a look. “What did you do to annoy my brothers?”
“There’s what I did and there’s what they thought I did.”
“Bet the two overlap.”
“It’s all in the past.”
“Bigger fish to fry now, huh? Nothing’s wrong, is there?”
“Wrong as in what? An abandoned golden retriever running off into the woods?”
“Wrong as in a federal agent turning up in Knights Bridge.”
“Good night, Heather.”
“Wrong as in Brody Hancock turning up in Knights Bridge after all this time.”
“Do you ever quit?”
“Can you arrest me for asking questions?”
“Thinking about that.”
“You’d tell me if I was in any danger, wouldn’t you?”
“I told you today, and you told me to go to hell.” He leaned closer to her. “Go, Heather. Have a nice dinner and relax.”
“You didn’t answer my question, you know.”
“Good night, Heather.”
That was two good-nights. Time to be on her way. She got out of the car and made her way up the walk, which she’d shoveled herself after the last storm. Her brother Adam had plowed the driveway. She’d thrown fresh sand on the walk and the driveway before leaving that morning, never imagining she would rescue a puppy, slip into a brook and run into Brody Hancock, formerly of Knights Bridge, Massachusetts.
He waited until she was on the small porch and had the front door open before he turned around and headed back down Thistle Lane. Heather didn’t know why the prospect of him watching her made her feel so self-conscious, but it did.
Probably shouldn’t have mentioned the ice-skating bruises on her butt.
She ran inside and turned up the thermostat in the short hall between the front room and kitchen. No point keeping the place toasty warm when she wasn’t there. Not that she kept it toasty warm when she was there. Most evenings she watched television under a quilt and then went to bed.
Alone.
She’d hoped moving into town from the apartment above the Sloan & Sons offices in her parents’ converted barn would help her social life. Specifically, her romantic life. It wasn’t just being on top of her parents and her brothers all the time that discouraged “suitors,” as her grandmother called them. It was also that with such a big family, she had a built-in social network. They all lived in Knights Bridge. One of them was bound to be available to hang out. She had friends, too, but she decided to stay in for the evening.
She heated up a can of black bean soup and took it into the front room with her. It was a quiet, dark night, and very cold. Even indoors, she was aware of the dropping temperature. She glanced around the attractive room, feeling oddly out of place. Phoebe and Noah had met at a costume ball in Boston, a charity fund-raiser. Phoebe had been dressed as an Edwardian princess, Noah as a swashbuckler. He’d had no idea she was a small-town librarian. She’d had no idea he was a billionaire.
So romantic.
Heather wasn’t sure she’d know a swashbuckler if she saw one. Sometimes she wondered if she had a romantic bone in her body.
She reached for her laptop. What would happen if she did an internet search for Diplomatic Security Service agent Brody Hancock?
Would she learn anything interesting?
Would he find out?
She smiled but felt a quiver of uneasiness, too. She put aside her laptop and investigated the shelves of books. She chose a worn copy of The Scarlet Pimpernel and took it to bed with her, but abandoned it after seven pages and went back downstairs for her laptop. She brought it upstairs with her and, with a deep breath, did an internet search to see what she could find out about the Diplomatic Security Service.
She eyed the list of results, suspecting it would be best if she returned to her swashbuckler tale and put aside her questions about Brody Hancock and his return to their little hometown.
Brody opened a beer and sat at Vic’s kitchen table. Rohan was racing back and forth between the refrigerator and the back door with a chew toy that Heather had brought for him, at least according to Vic. Brody wasn’t confident his old friend was paying close attention to the puppy goings-on in his Knights Bridge home.
He had helped himself to a plate of hors d’oeuvres, but he’d never been a big wine drinker. He’d only taken a few sips of Adrienne Portale’s selections for the evening. She hadn’t seemed to mind. Brody couldn’t remember Vic ever mentioning Adrienne or her parents, Sophia Portale, a marketing whiz with her own firm based in San Francisco, and her ex-husband, Richard Portale, a corporate lawyer also in San Francisco. Adrienne’s house-sitting arrangement with Vic didn’t strike Brody as anything out of the ordinary.
Just as well nothing was jumping out at him to cause alarm since he doubted Heather Sloan would give up on trying to find out why he was in her little town. She was a Sloan. Every last one of them was stubborn.