Page 1 of Island Protector

Chapter One

Miles Kearney wanderedout of his office at the sailing school he owned and hooked his hands on the doorway that separated the office from the storefront. He stretched there until his back and shoulders popped, releasing the tension of deskwork.

Glancing at the clock on the wall near the front door, he smiled to himself and stepped outside for some fresh air. Spotting his favorite student, Bryce, he headed that way for what was sure to be a lively and unpredictable conversation.

Student was a stretch. The little guy had just turned five, but Miles had never met a kid more infatuated with boats and sailing. He asked dozens of questions every time he came by and, as far as Miles could tell, he retained most of the information. The kid was a sponge, soaking up every detail about boats and watercraft and tides that Miles could feed him.

Once he was old enough, assuming the boy’s mom ever approved of sailing lessons, Miles was sure he’d be the best student ever.

The boy and his aunt were sitting together, away from thedock on this breezy day. His aunt, the usual partner on these visits, smiled as she listened to what appeared to be non-stop chatter. On the days she picked Bryce up from school, she brought him down here as a reward for good behavior.

Based on the daily visits these past couple of weeks, the kid was an angel in school lately.

The single-minded fascination with the water was curious. Miles hadn’t even known he wanted to sail—or that he’d be great at it—until he was a teenager. It was an accidental discovery during school when he was with a foster family who had time to support the interest.

He pulled his head away from those memories. Best to leave the past where it belonged—buried deep.

Thanks to the small-town grapevine, Miles had learned the boy didn’t come from generations of fishermen or water experts. No, young Bryce Trumble was the only child of Molly, the manager at Island Bloomers on Central Avenue. The grapevine further informed Miles that Molly and Bryce lived with her aunt Sharon, a well-known artist, who had been an island resident for many years before Molly had arrived—alone and pregnant.

At least Molly had committed to motherhood, rather than smother any good choices with drugs.

Miles found it strange that no one spoke of Bryce’s father or Molly’s life before Brookwell. That kind of avoidance was typically a red flag. When Miles allowed himself to wonder over what situation might have driven her here, that red flag bothered him tremendously.

One of these days he’d shake off the need to intervene, to jump in when people asked rather than pausing to think things through. It was kind of pathetic that he still hadn’t learned that lesson. Being curious and willing to help had changed his career and dumped him right back in South Carolina and the stew of old, uncomfortable memories.

He’d worked his ass off to break free of Charleston. Once he got to college, he had zero reason to return to the Lowcountry. Unlike many of the locals in this island town, he didn’t have warm, fond feelings about the area.

But this was the place where his real employer, Patrick Gamble of the Guardian Agency, felt he would be safest. Here in a small town where everyone knew everyone else, he could go by his real name and, in theory, spot an enemy from a mile away.

So far no enemies. Just a brush with an old acquaintance. Well that wasn’t fair, he amended, thinking of Harper Ellington. She really had been one of his few friends back when he was an awkward, nerdy, poor-kid charity case.

When he looked in the mirror, he still saw the nerdy guy. Though people seemed to consider his introverted, brainiac tendencies as a plus these days. Still a geek, just mature with it.

He actually fit into his body now. Those gangly teenager angles were gone, smoothed out by years of fitness training. And poor was something he would never let himself be again. Since being parked in Brookwell, he’d become the angel investor in start-ups, made anonymous donations to charities that mattered to him, and lived one of his passions by teaching others to love sailing.

Not that he advertised any of that.

He’d grown up surrounded by plenty of old money Southerners. Some of them snobs. They just couldn’t help themselves. And those folks gave scholarships and handouts to poor kids like him so they could feel better about themselves.

Maybe he should send out updated thank-you notes. Explain all of the opportunities he’d capitalized on since receiving those generous scholarships.

“Mr. Miles! Mr. Miles!”

Bryce’s voice pulled him out of his funk and he droppedto one knee to greet his most exuberant fan. “Hey Bryce.” He lifted his hand for a high five. “How was school today?”

Over Bryce’s head, Sharon gave him a look, silently asking if she should redirect her nephew. She never wanted to intrude.

He grinned and stood up. “Do you have a minute to walk with me?”

Bryce looked to his aunt. “Do we?”

“Of course we do.” Somehow she managed to indulge the little guy without spoiling him. “Can I tag along?”

“Yes, please.” Miles grinned.

Bryce bounced on his toes and put his small hand into Miles’s palm. “School was fun.” Bryce launched into a familiar rundown of his day.

The little guy liked school but certain aspects bothered him. Probably because the kid was whip smart and being in a classroom with certain expectations about what had to be done and when wasn’t always the most entertaining.

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