Page 16 of The Pretender

“You’re very impressive,” she said in the most condescending voice she could muster.

“Thanks for noticing.” He wiped his hands on a paper towel and put the rest of the s’mores ingredients away. “But the offer still stands. The guesthouse has a couch and a floor. I can sleep on one of those.”

So tempting.

“No.” The offer should have been easy to resist but she had to force the denial out. She stood up, thinking leaving might be the only way she could win this round. “I’ll be fine.”

He glanced up at her. “I get the impression you’re always fine, Gabby.”

“Then you’re not looking very closely.”

Chapter 5

Harris stood there for a second, watching Gabby sleep. An unwanted mix of guilt and interest slammed into him. He needed to ignore his attraction and focus on fixing the mess his ill-timed visit to this island fourteen months ago cost her. If he hadn’t corrupted the crime scene, Gabby might have her answers about Tabitha. Gabby might have been able to move on instead of hovering in this holding pattern and sleeping outside.

It was a little past midnight. At some point she’d curled up on the porch swing around the corner from the front door of the main house and drifted off. He could see her thanks to the recessed lights in the porch ceiling.

During the day the seat had a perfect view of the inground pool and open water of the Bay beyond. Not that she’d notice that now since she lay on her side with her eyes closed. The edge of a paperback peeked out from under her elbow and a jacket fell over her as if she’d tugged it on as a blanket then it slipped as she moved around.

Haunting memories or not, the temperature had dipped low. There was no way she should be out here.

He walked up two steps, thinking to wake her but then stopped. Something about her, about all she’d endured and survived, pulled at him. He appreciated strong women. The stamina and the smarts. In some ways Gabby reminded him of his mother... maybe too much. His mother had pushed through life and overcome the unimaginable. She also wallowed in secrets until they almost drowned her.

That was how he saw Gabby. So many doubts swirled around her. He knew it was all nonsense. He didn’t buy the theories about her parents and he was eyewitness to the fact she didn’t kill her sister. When she spoke of her sister a wistful, pained tone moved into her voice as if it was hard for her to breathe through it. Maybe Stephen saw that as an admission of guilt. Harris saw genuine emotion.

But that didn’t absolve her of every crime. He’d read over the police reports from around the time of the kidnapping more than a decade ago. Gabby gave partial answers and her story bounced around from interview to interview. The two classmates implicated in the kidnapping insisted it was all a joke gone wrong and received probation. Gabby’s parents put her in a protective bubble and insisted in public that she was innocent, only to disinherit her and move her out of the house less than a year later.

Then there was the shovel. Stephen had made a big deal about her “sneaking” onto the island with a shovel in hand just a few days ago. Even Harris had to admit that was an odd tool to carry around with her. He wanted an explanation but he couldn’t exactly ask for one. Not in his role as appraiser.

She shifted her arm and the book fell to the porch. It landed with a soft thud but she didn’t wake up.

“Gabby,” he whispered as he moved closer.

That was all it took. The soft call of her name and she jumped up. Her legs whipped over the side of the swing and her jacket drifted down on top of her book.

She looked around, eyes wide in panic. “What’s wrong?”

“Whoa.” He put up his hands but shouldn’t have bothered because she wasn’t looking at him. He didn’t think her eyes had even focused. “You’re literally asleep on the porch.”

She gulped in deep breaths. Her chest rose and fell as her fingers wrapped around the edge of the chair in a white-knuckle grip. “I was reading and—”

“I thought we had an agreement.” He walked the final few steps and stopped in front of her.

She glanced up at him and her eyes cleared. “What do you mean?”

“About not playing lying games. So, can we skip over the part where you make up excuses?” When she didn’t say anything, he closed the rest of the distance between them and sat down next to her. Scooped her jacket off the floor and balanced it over her shoulders, letting his fingers linger just long enough to feel the brush of her soft hair against the back of his hand.

Attraction kicked him in the nuts. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman this hard and this fast. He didn’t go in for commitment or even dating, really. He was too involved with his legitimate job and the one he did on the side, moving art back to its rightful owners whether the people holding it agreed or not.

But none of that mattered right now. She did, so he continued to stay quiet. There was no reason to rush this conversation. She’d talk if she wanted to. If not, they could sit here, gently swaying on the swing.

“Every time I try to walk through that door I see her.” Her voice sounded flat, almost monotone, as she stared off in the distance.

“I can imagine.”

“You really can’t.” She exhaled as she turned to face him. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, but nothing... There are no words to describe it.”

She looked small huddled there in her coat. She’d kicked her shoes off and wore only socks. Now she curled her toes and raised her feet off the porch floor, likely to evade the cold wood.

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