Chapter Two

Curt stored the empty suitcases in the bedroom closet. He’d signed the purchase and sale agreement the previous week, and immediately hired a company to come in and remove all the items left behind in the house. With all the stuff gone, he needed to decide where he wanted to begin renovations. The house inspection conducted two days ago confirmed what he already suspected: the building was structurally sound, so he didn’t have to worry about the house falling down around his head. He had appointments set up with two HVAC companies to come in and give him estimates for updating the entire heating system and installing central air conditioning. The estimates for updating the electrical should be in any day. And he planned to set up appointments with window companies in the near future. Aside from those three major items, he hoped to complete everything himself. It would take a while, but time was something he had plenty of these days.

Switching off the bedroom light, he closed the door behind him. He’d spent the last few hours settling into one of the bedrooms. Although one of the smaller rooms, he’d chosen it because it needed the least amount of work for now. Once he finished the master bedroom down the hall, he’d relocate into it. He’d also set up his office today so he could get back to work on the book. It hadn’t been difficult deciding which office to use. Although the more masculine of the two rooms was larger, it also reeked of smoke. Curt assumed the former owner had done all his smoking in there and outside, because he couldn’t detect the smell anywhere else. Even if the room hadn’t smelled so bad, he may have picked the more feminine office. Located in the back of the house, the room was farther from the street and overlooked the backyard.

Since he was somewhat settled, now seemed as good a time as any to decide where he wanted to start with the renovations.

Downstairs, he pushed open a door on his left and flipped up the wall switch. The overhead bulb went on for a moment or two before it went dead. Curt made a mental note to change all the light bulbs as soon as possible, even in those light fixtures he planned to replace at some point. The window near the toilet in the first-floor bathroom allowed in enough natural light. Although extremely outdated, it was functional and definitely not a number-one priority on his list, much like the library and upstairs in the home’s billiard room. Both those rooms only needed fresh coats of paint and new light fixtures.

Curt closed the bathroom door and went down to the kitchen. This seemed like the most logical place to start. While he didn’t love to cook, he did when necessary. If he planned on living in the house indefinitely, he’d need to prepare food. With the warmer months here, he could throw a grill outside and do most of his cooking there until he finished renovating the kitchen. On the days he couldn’t grill, take-out was an option. He already had a decent idea of what he wanted to do in here, too.

Although somewhat smaller in size, the room was laid out much like his cousin’s kitchen in Newport before Trent had it remodeled. Trent’s wife, an interior designer, had turned the kitchen there from a place designed for servants to prepare food into a gourmet kitchen the entire family could gather in. While Curt didn’t intend to live here long enough for his family to gather, whomever he sold the house to would.

The light bulb over the kitchen sink went out. Never mind changing the bulbs as soon as possible, he’d change them tonight before he found himself walking around in the dark. During his drive into town, he’d passed a hardware store on Route 38, just down the street from the grocery store. He could head over that way now and kill both errands, because while he’d eaten breakfast before leaving Boston, he’d need to eat again today. When he got back, he’d arrange for a dumpster to be delivered so he could start tearing apart this room, something he was looking forward to. Honestly, he enjoyed the demolition aspect of renovation all most as much as the rebuilding process. Swinging a sledgehammer against something solid gave him a sense of satisfaction he’d never experienced while wearing a suit and sitting in an office.

Assuming he’d go out today at some point, he’d left his SUV parked in front of the house rather than in the garage. He’d been pleased when the building inspector assured him the converted carriage house was safe to use. Even so, he’d left his favorite cars in the garage at his Newport condo and had only his motorcycle delivered here.

A black, white, and gray cat sat on the vehicle’s hood when he walked outside. The cat followed Curt with his eyes as he walked around the front of the SUV. When Curt stopped and held out his hand, the cat twitched its tail. “Hey there.”

The cat meowed and remained still as Curt ran a hand down his back. “Where do you belong, my friend?” Again the cat twitched its tail, but made no indication he planned to move from his chosen spot in the sun.

Careful not to spook the animal, Curt slowly picked it up. The cat looked well cared for, and had a bright orange collar around its neck. He reached for the heart-shaped ID tag attached to the collar. “Stripes,” he said. “The name fits you.” Curt flipped the tag over. An address and phone number were printed on the back. “You belong next door.”

Should he bring the cat home? Some people allowed their cats to roam freely, confident they’d come home when ready. Others never allowed them outside. Curt had no idea which Stripes here was. He’d feel awful if it turned out Stripes wasn’t an outdoor cat, but had instead slipped out. And he would have to meet his neighbors eventually. Even if he didn’t have much interaction with them, at some point they’d cross paths. “Looks like you’re getting a ride home, Stripes.”

Stripes didn’t hesitate to curl up in the passenger seat when Curt set him down.

A long, winding driveway brought Curt down to a small house. The exterior of it reminded him of the house he’d bought, which made sense. Peter had mentioned this home had once been the groundskeeper’s cottage when the Drapers owned the property. Although the home was as old as his, this one had been maintained over the years. Even the lawn and plants in front looked well cared for.

Curt parked behind a white Chevy Malibu. A girl’s bike rested against the front steps, but the door was closed. “I hope someone is home.” He gave the cat a scratch behind the ear before ringing the doorbell.

It didn’t take long for someone to answer. A woman perhaps in her late fifties or early sixties opened the door. Before either of them could speak, a young girl’s voice called out, “Is it the mailman, Mimi?” A moment later, the owner of the voice skidded to a stop at the door.

“What are you doing with Stripes?” the girl demanded when she saw him there.

“Reese Walker, that’s no way to greet someone,” the older woman, who he assumed was a relative judging by the resemblance, said before she turned her attention to him again.

He offered up a smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a fair question,” Curt said, before holding the cat toward the little girl. “I found him sitting on my car next door. I wasn’t sure if he’d gotten out by mistake.”

“Stripes likes to walk around outside, but he usually stays in our yard,” the older woman said, giving the cat a pat on the head. “You must be the one who bought the Cranston house. Welcome to town. I’m Priscilla, and this is my granddaughter, Reese.” She extended her hand toward him.

“Curt, and that’d be me. I moved in today.” He shook her hand and waited for any sign she recognized him. Although he resembled his mother’s side of the family more than his father’s, he still had the Sherbrooke blue eyes like his dad and so many of his cousins. And he’d had his fair share of pictures in magazines. Thankfully, nothing like his cousins Jake and Trent, though. In an effort to help conceal his identity, he’d stopped shaving, so a well-trimmed beard now covered his face. He’d skipped his last two scheduled haircuts as well. As an extra measure, he’d thrown on a pair of eyeglasses.

“I thought I saw the moving trucks go by. You’re probably not done unpacking yet. Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight? We’re making lasagna. There’s more than enough for an extra few guests.”

“It’s just me next door.” He hadn’t anticipated dinner invitations from his neighbors. The woman appeared friendly, and he hated to be rude. “Sure, sounds great. Thank you. Can I bring anything?”

Priscilla shook her head. “No, just yourself. We usually eat around seven.”

“I’ll see you then.”

***

Taylor locked her gun in the bedroom safe before going back downstairs. While she’d drilled gun safety into her niece, she saw no point in taking any chances. She noticed the extra plate on the table as soon as she entered the kitchen.

“Who’s coming for dinner?” They never had last-minute guests, and she didn’t remember Mom mentioning company tonight.

“Our new neighbor. He found Stripes this afternoon and brought him home. Moving and unpacking is draining. I thought he’d like a meal he didn’t have to prepare himself, so I invited him to join us.”

Taylor looked toward the ceiling and shook her head. “You invited a stranger to eat with us?” Sometimes her mom’s heart was just too damn big.

Mom left the salad she was preparing and went to the refrigerator. “Curt’s not a stranger. He lives next door. Besides, he looked harmless.”

How many times had she heard something similar from victims? More than enough to know looks could be deceiving.

“Peppers or mushrooms in the salad tonight?” Mom asked, her back still turned to Taylor.

“Either is fine.” The contents of their salad didn’t concern her. Having a strange man eat dinner with her niece did. “I really wish you’d waited to invite him, given everyone a chance to get to know him.”

“Why? So you could run a background check on him first?” Her mom chuckled and took out the peppers and mushrooms.

Mom might laugh, but if she could run a background check on the man, she would. Unfortunately, doing so without a valid reason was an agency no-no.

“Would an ax murderer return a cat to his home? Relax, Taylor. He won’t kill us over dinner.”

Her mom would be surprised the things criminals did to make their victims feel at ease and invite them into their homes. Belaboring the point wouldn’t change the fact their neighbor was joining them. Taylor considered whether or not to go back upstairs and get her gun. Dressed in denim capris and a tank top, there would be no way to conceal it unless she pulled on a baggy sweatshirt. It was a gorgeous spring evening, and Mom had all the windows open. Both their guest and niece would find it odd if she sat down with a big sweatshirt on. Their guest might not question it, but Reese wouldn’t think twice about saying something.

“What time is he coming?”

“He should be here any minute. I told him we eat around seven,” Mom answered, just as the doorbell rang and the oven timer went off. “Perfect timing. Can you get the lasagna, and I’ll get the door?” She didn’t stick around for an answer. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and walked out of the kitchen.

“Thank you, but really, you didn’t have to bring anything.” Her mom’s voice traveled the short distance from the front door into the kitchen. “Come on in. Dinner is ready.”

“It smells delicious, Mrs.…” A deep male voice, perhaps the sexiest she’d ever heard, reached Taylor from the hallway.

“Walker, but please call me Priscilla. We’re neighbors. There’s no need to be so formal.”

Mom and their new neighbor entered the kitchen, and Taylor did a quick assessment of the man. He appeared to be around her age, although the sexy, barely there beard could be making him appear older than he was. He had brown hair, the ends of which were almost brushing against the collar of his T-shirt. Even with the wire-rimmed glasses she could tell his eyes were an incredible shade of blue. His dark blue T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, and the short sleeves revealed muscular arms. Even without X-ray vision she suspected the T-shirt covered a great body. Taylor didn’t let her visual inspection go any further.

“Curt, this is my daughter, Taylor.” Mom handed her the bottle of wine she held. “Can you open this while I go tell Reese dinner’s ready?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she glanced back toward their guest. “Please have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

Not very smooth, Mom. Despite their conversation weeks ago, it looked like Mom was ready to play matchmaker again. “You got it,” she answered, even though it wasn’t necessary. “Would you like some lemonade or water?” No matter how she felt about having a dinner guest, there was no need to be rude to him.

“Water sounds good, thanks.”

The sound of his voice could only be described in one way: sensual. It was the type of voice associated with a sexy late-night radio DJ. Listening to him talk over dinner wouldn’t be a hardship at all. Neither would looking at him. Wow, the man was handsome.

Reese dominated the conversation as everyone else started dinner, by filling the adults in on the excitement that occurred at recess. First, a boy in her grade decided it would be more fun to jump from the top of the slide rather than go down it. He’d been taken off the playground in a wheelchair, his arm at a funny angle. Not long afterward, a snake was found sunning himself underneath a basketball hoop. Many of the girls and a few boys ran screaming from it. Of course Reese, being Reese, had gone in for a closer look and only left when the recess monitor ordered everyone away from it.

With the day’s excitement shared, Reese worked on filling her stomach, leaving the adults a chance to talk for the first time since sitting down.

“Where did you live before coming here?” Mom asked.

Taylor knew Mom already knew the answer, but suspected she didn’t want their guest to know she’d talked to Kimberly Cranston about him. Although, from what Mom told her, Kimberly hadn’t shared much information about the man now seated at their table.

“I’ve lived in Boston for the past five years.”

She’d suspected he wasn’t originally from the Boston area. Normally people who’d spent their entire lives in the city had a distinct Bostonian accent. Working in the city, she heard it all the time. Curt’s voice held no hint of it. Actually, she couldn’t detect any accent at all when he spoke.

“Taylor used to live in Boston. Well, Watertown actually. Do you work in Boston?” Priscilla asked.

“I did, but I recently left the investment firm I worked for.”

“Auntie Taylor works in Boston,” Reese said, deciding she needed to join the conversation again. “She’s a DEA agent. She took me to her office once to meet her friends.”

Curt glanced her way, his surprise evident, then he looked back at Reese. “Your aunt does important work.” He turned his incredible blue eyes on her again. Even with the glasses he was an extremely handsome man, but she suspected he’d be gorgeous without them. “Have you worked for the agency long?”

“Almost eight years.” Wow, had it really been that long already? She quickly double-checked her math. She’d started her training down in Quantico a week before her twenty-sixth birthday, and in two weeks she’d be thirty-four. Yep, almost eight years.

“What brought you to Pelham? A new job?” Taylor asked. Conducting a background check was out, but she’d like to know as much as possible about the man now living next to them.

“I needed a change. Someplace quiet. I’m writing a book, and sometimes the city is too much of a distraction.”

“Mimi works at the library. Do you have a book there?” Reese asked.

Curt frowned and cleared his throat. Obviously, he didn’t like Reese’s question, and Taylor wondered why.

“It’s possible. But you’d find it boring.”

“An author living right next door. What’s the title? Maybe I’ve read it,” Mom said.

Unlike her, Mom was an avid reader. She devoured both fiction and nonfiction books. She’d tried to pass her love of reading on to both Taylor and her older sister, but neither had taken to it. Reading meant she had to sit down in one place. Instead, she’d been much more interested in math. In fact, both her parents encouraged her to study mathematics in college rather than criminal justice and psychology. Neither of her parents had wanted her to follow her in her father’s footsteps. But she’d decided in middle school she wanted to be a police officer like Dad. Only later, when Eliza got arrested the first time for drugs, had she decided to apply to the DEA.

Again, Curt appeared uncomfortable before he answered, “Fatal Deception.”

She’d never heard of it, but judging by her mom’s expression, she had. Her face reminded Taylor of a teen meeting their favorite pop star.

“You’re C.S. Hilton? We couldn’t keep copies of the book in the library. It was wonderful, by the way. Marion isn’t going to believe me when I tell her C.S. Hilton is living in town. Maybe you can come and do a reading at the library one night.”

“Actually, Priscilla, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t share the information with anyone. When people learned where I lived in Boston, I started getting strange things in the mail. Random people would stop by and wait for me to leave my building. I’d really like to avoid that if possible.”

Mom nodded immediately. “We don’t want that around here. Don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone. Right, Reese?”

Reese could keep a secret; you just needed to tell her upfront that whatever she’d heard couldn’t be shared, otherwise she’d tell anyone anything.

Reese paused between bites and nodded. “I wish you wrote kids’ books instead.”

While Mom had failed to instill a love of reading in her daughters, she’d succeeded with her granddaughter. Reese had learned to read before starting kindergarten and now devoured books written for children older than her. Thank goodness for a well-stocked town library, otherwise they’d be at the bookstore every other day buying more books.

“Have you started getting estimates for the work on the house?” Taylor asked. The man was obviously uncomfortable talking about his book. The house seemed like a safer, less intrusive topic. “If you haven’t already, you should give Baker and Sons Construction a call. They’re located here in town.”

She’d gone to school with Ryan Baker, the older of the two sons. Although Mr. Baker was still involved, Ryan had taken over the business after his dad suffered a heart attack. Unlike his younger brother, who’d moved to California, Ryan was one of the hardest-working people she knew, and thorough. He expected the same from the people who worked for him. When you hired Baker and Sons for a job, it got done right.

“Thanks for the recommendation. I’m hoping to do most of the work myself. It’s kind of a hobby of mine. But if I run into any problems, I’ll give them a call.”

“You’ll want to check out 38 Lumber and Hardware. It’s over near the grocery store. Dad refused to go anywhere else. And he was always working on something around here.”

Across the table, Mom gave a little laugh. “My late husband was always taking something apart and putting it back together. Often, Taylor would be working right alongside him. Taylor and her dad built the bookcase in the living room together when she was seven. And she helped him remodel the upstairs bathroom when she was in middle school.”

Curt glanced at Taylor again. The woman intrigued him. She was nothing like the women he came in contact with on a daily basis, and definitely nothing like the women he was usually attracted to. Strength and confidence radiated from her. No doubt about it, Taylor Walker was a woman who could take care of herself no matter the situation. Although she worked in a male-dominated field, the butterfly earrings she wore, and the light pink nail polish on her fingernails suggested she had a softer feminine side. She’d tied up her chestnut-colored hair, so he had no way of telling its length, but he guessed when down her hair would fall below her shoulders. And at about five seven or eight, she had a killer body, which he’d noticed the moment he walked into the kitchen.

“If I get stuck on something, maybe I’ll enlist Taylor’s help,” he said. Honestly, he could see himself asking Taylor for help on a lot of things, and none of them had anything to do with remodeling his house.

“I don’t know, Mr. Author, you might not be able to afford me.” Her voice carried a hint of laughter. It was the most relaxed she’d sounded all night.

A heavy dose of guilt smacked him in the gut. They’d accepted without question that he was nothing more than C.S. Hilton, the author of Fatal Deception. And it wasn’t as if he had completely lied to them, but telling him he was also Curt Sherbrooke, the nephew of the president of the United States and a member of the wealthiest family in the country, wasn’t an option. As it was, he wasn’t certain they could keep what he had shared a secret. He hadn’t seen any other choice when he’d told them he was an author. The fewer lies he told, the less likely he was to slip and make a mistake if they spoke in the future. Something told him he’d be seeing Taylor, Priscilla, and Reese Walker again.

“I guess I’d better find the number for Baker and Sons.”

“Can I skate on your pond this winter?” Reese asked. She’d finished her food but stayed at the table, listening to the conversation.

“Mr. and Mrs. Cranston used to let the neighborhood kids ice skate on the pond behind your house. Even after they moved, they let us bring Reese back there to skate,” Taylor said, explaining her niece’s request.

At least as long as he lived there, he saw no problem with it. Once he finished the house and moved on in a year or so, they could take it up with the new owners. “Sure… as long as you have an adult with you.”

“I think you’re going to love living here,” Priscilla said. “It’s a great place to raise a family. Both my daughters grew up here.”

“Do you have any kids?” Reese asked, sounding hopeful. “All the kids on the street are babies. My best friend, Hazel, lives near school when she’s with her mom. When she stays with her dad, she lives somewhere else. I don’t know where. I’d like someone next door to play with.”

“Sorry, no kids. I don’t even have a pet.”

“Do you have a girlfriend? Hazel’s dad has a new girlfriend. She really likes her. She lets Hazel play with her makeup when she stays over. Hazel said her mom doesn’t have a boyfriend, but she talks on the phone a lot to someone.”

Did all children Reese’s age ask questions like that? The only children he spent any time around still wore diapers. “Uh, no girlfriend either. I’m all alone next door.”

Reese smiled, revealing the missing bottom tooth. “Maybe Auntie Taylor can be your girlfriend. I always hear Mimi telling her she should go out more.”

He heard Taylor softly groan, and suddenly her face matched her fingernails. Curt wasn’t sure if he should groan too, or laugh. Both reactions fit the current conversation. And as embarrassing as the conversation had suddenly turned, Reese’s comments answered a question he’d had but couldn’t ask himself. Taylor Walker was single.

“Reese, if you’re done eating, why don’t you go upstairs, get ready for bed, and then do some reading,” Taylor said.

Curt guessed she was afraid her niece would either share some other embarrassing information or ask a question better not asked.

Reese ducked under the table. When she reappeared, she had Stripes in her arms. He hadn’t even realized the cat was under the table. “Yes, I don’t have to help clean the table tonight!” She hightailed it out of the kitchen without another word to anyone.

“Sorry about that,” Taylor said once Reese was gone. “She’ll be seven in June, and often doesn’t think before she asks questions.”

Curt shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. She can ask me anything. Not much embarrasses me.”

“Anyone interested in some dessert?” Priscilla asked, perhaps as a way to change the subject. “Reese and I made some oatmeal cookies after school today.”

“All set, Mom.”

“Thank you, but I couldn’t eat another thing,” Curt answered. “Dinner was delicious.”

Priscilla pushed back her chair and stood up. “In that case, I’m going to make sure Reese did what she was supposed to before she starts reading.” She left the kitchen almost as quickly as her granddaughter.

Curt and Taylor looked at each other, and he struggled not to smile. “She left us alone on purpose, didn’t she?” Curt asked.

Taylor sighed. “Yeah, probably. But it’s not unusual for us to tell Reese to get ready for bed, and instead she sits down and starts reading. The girl is a bookworm.”

If his mother or one of his aunts did something similar, he’d be beyond annoyed. Tonight, it didn’t faze him. “I can picture my mom doing the same thing.”

He considered his next sentence before he opened his mouth. He’d moved here with a simple plan: keep to himself, work on his house, and finish his book. Right now he wanted to add a fourth item to his plan: get to know the sexy DEA agent living next door. If he kept it very casual, she never needed to know who he really was.

“Would you like to go for coffee sometime?” Taylor asked the question before he could.

“Name the day and time.”