Page 12 of The Pretender

He whistled. “Ouch.”

“Right?” She crossed her legs then uncrossed them. When she realized she’d started shifting around in her chair, she forced her body to still. “Are your bags already inside the house?”

“I was told to take the guesthouse.” He leaned to the side and pulled a set of keys out of his front pants pocket. They jangled in his hand.

“That’s usually where I stay.” A lump gathered in her throat and she had to choke it back.

One of his eyebrows lifted. “You’re welcome to join me.”

“Tempting, but no.” She stood up then because the energy pinging around inside her had her ready to break into a run. “Enjoy your appraising.”

This time his gaze dipped past her face. Lower, down her body to her legs and back up again. “Oh, I intend to.”

Chapter 4

A few hours later the sun dove behind a bank of clouds and Harris slipped inside the double doors of the boathouse. He tried to ignore the fact it matched the Tudor style of the main house. Like a little replica. One of those rich-people things, he guessed.

The smell of salt and fish smacked into him as he surveyed the inside of the two-story structure. Not much to see on this floor but the water lapping into the empty boat slip. Kayaks and paddles hung in rows on the wall. He couldn’t imagine a recluse out riding on the water but then a lot about the Wright family didn’t make sense to him.

Gabby continued to be the biggest surprise. After Tabitha’s murder, in a haze of guilt while he’d been desperate to learn everything about her, he’d seen photos. As the months flowed one into the other he studied more about her life, looked through more images, but those didn’t come close to capturing the punch of the live version. He’d never had a preference for brunettes or any other hair color... until now. Her dark hair turned deep auburn when the light hit it. She stood maybe five-seven and every inch of that proved to be a formidable verbal sparring companion.

And that body.Fucking hell. Those faded jeans hugged every curve of her long legs and fine ass. She wore a bright blue sweater that matched her eyes. It was cotton and bulky but when she moved just right or crossed her arms in front of her, the outline of her impressive breasts came into view.

Prettywas the wrong word. She had this sexy mix of wise worldliness and girl-next-door cuteness. The big eyes and smooth skin. That underlying hint of intelligence that laced through every word.

Smoking hot. Yeah, those were the right words.

Pushing her sexy voice and sharp comebacks out of his head, he climbed the fixed ladder to the second floor. Boxes lined the walls up here. Light streamed in through the windows and through the doors to the balcony on the water’s edge, highlighting the layer of dust on the hardwood floor. He strained, looking for signs of footsteps but saw only a room used for storage.

Back downstairs, he maneuvered around the water’s edge to the doors. He stepped outside and into the grass. After fastening the door, he turned around and stopped just inches before slamming into a man.

“Holy shit.” That was only a fraction of the profane words running through Harris’s head as the adrenaline kick nailed him.

The guy’s age was tough to pin down. His skin was tan but smooth. He looked like he could be anywhere from fifty to seventy. The baggy blue utility pants didn’t help narrow the gap. Neither did the graying hair tucked into the fraying baseball cap.

He held a rake and stabbed it into the ground before leaning on it. “You need something?”

A little less drama would be nice. “I’m just getting to know the island.”

Harris had studied the file Wren compiledbecause of course Wren had a file on the Wright family. Wren probably had a file on anyone who had ever been in the news and a few who hadn’t. Harris could guess who stood in front of him. The island’s caretaker. Had to be.

The guy took off his hat only long enough to scratch his head then pulled it back on again. “It’s not that big a piece of land, so it shouldn’t take you long.”

“Harris Tate.” He lifted his hand in greeting.

The man stared down at the offer but didn’t shake. “Kramer.”

So much for getting on the guy’s good side. Harris wasn’t convinced he had any side other than the crotchety-old-dude side. “Is that a first or last name?”

Kramer shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” Harris knew the answer anyway—last name. The full name was Burton Kramer but he only ever went by Kramer.

Harris admired the older man’s grumpiness. Kramer didn’t try to impress, which meant he should speak his mind if asked the right question. Since Harris would bet most of the cash he had on him that most of his talks with Gabby would follow the same pattern as the one from earlier today—all circular and analyzing with brief breaks of amusement—it would be a welcome change to have someone on the island just say what they meant.

Harris decided to lay some groundwork for his continued snooping. “I’m here to—”

“I know who you are. Stephen Wright filled me in.” Kramer picked up the rake then plunged it into the grass again.

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