Page 85 of Sirens
“My family used to own the building that housed Sirens, as well as pretty much the entire waterfront side of Water Street. Mayor Stewart’s ancestor bought up most of the other side and made the co-op.” Ethan nodded toward an imaginary line in the distance. “It was all very Montague and Capulet back in the day until they decided to work together on somedowntown project at the docks.” He hesitated, his expression turning somber. “Unfortunately, due to the somewhat tarnished Townsend legacy, our family has been forced to sell many of the buildings over the years. What I do remember, though, is that Sirens Pub was created, named, and owned by Ethan Townsend the First before anyone else.”
The group exchanged glances, tension and excitement bubbling among them. As they pondered the implications, Trent noticed that Maggie’s spirits seemed to be lifting, clearly invigorated by the potential twist in her investigation. He admired the way her intellect fired up like a vintage engine—it was one of the things he found irresistibly sexy about her. “We could always look deeper,” he said, his voice low and determined as he enjoyed the goosebumps he saw in response to his breath hitting her ear. “How about we take a little trip to the lighthouse? The view is amazing, the atmosphere romantic, and maybe you’ll find some clarity there.”
Maybe they both would.
“Trying to sweep me off my feet with romantic vistas, Deputy McGarvey?” Maggie teased.
“Guilty as charged,” he replied, offering his arm with a flourish. “Besides, everyone deserves a breather—even hotshot investigative journalists and ruggedly handsome deputies.”
“Ruggedly handsome, huh?” She looped her arm through his, her laugh light and musical. “Okay, rugged man, let’s see how those Bruno Magli loafers hold up on the beach.”
“Pfft, these were made to shoe the descendants of Roman gods as they sexually harass women up and down the Mediterranean. I think it’ll handle Townsend Harbor’s strip of rocky sand just fine.”
As they excused themselves from the group, Vee called out after them, “You two enjoy the red light! Make some memories!”Her innuendo-laden sendoff sparked another round of laughter among the crowd.
With a quick wave to their friends, they set out into the night. A cool breeze rolled in off the water, carrying the fresh scent of sea salt and evergreens. Stars blinked to life overhead as the last sliver of light abandoned the port.
“It’s beautiful out here.” She gazed up at the indigo sky, a wistful note in her voice. “Peaceful. Makes you feel small in the best possible way.”
“Mmm.” Trent squeezed her hand, struck by her observation, as he helped her over a rocky part in the path. “I know what you mean. There’s something humbling about it.”
“Thanks, my knight in shining—Armani,” Maggie quipped. She was a vision against the backdrop of the restless sea, her red hair a fiery banner whipped about by the whims of the wind.
If ever there was a night to believe in happy endings…
They strolled hand in hand along the beach, sand crunching under their feet.
Ahead, the lighthouse stood sentinel, its sturdy form etched against the twilight sky like a promise. And there, casting a scarlet hue upon the churning waters, was the red light—legendary and unwavering. It beckoned to lost sailors and love-struck hearts alike, its pulse a steady reminder of past devotion and present allure.
“Wow,” Maggie breathed out, her eyes alight with the reflection of the red beacon. “Ethan wasn’t kidding.”
“Wait until you’re standing right beneath it,” Trent said.
When they reached the lighthouse porch, Maggie stopped in her tracks, gaze traveling up the spiral staircase to the top.
“Do you want to go up?” he asked. “We don’t have to if you’re not up for the climb.”
“No, I definitely want to go up.” She flashed him a determined smile. “I just…have a feeling there’s something waiting for us at the top.”
Trent didn’t question her intuition. If Maggie sensed they were meant to climb those stairs, he would follow her lead.
They made their way up the metal staircase, moonlight filtering through windows at each landing. He tried to focus on the magic of the night but couldn’t keep his eyes from how hot her ass looked from this angle.
Spiral staircases. Maybe he needed to get one of these.
When they reached the top, they stopped to let their blood thrum and their breath catch up.
Trent felt the shift in Maggie’s mood again as they threaded their way along the coastal path, the salty tang of sea air mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil. The Love Fest’s jubilant noise was a distant melody now, usurped by the symphony of crashing waves that seemed to cheer them on with every thunderous applause against the rocks.
They shared a look then, charged with the energy of their conspiracy and the unsaid words that hung between them like the very secrets etched into the lighthouse walls. At Maggie’s insistence, they scoured the indoor walkway, using the red rotation of light as their guide. Only when every inch had been painstakingly checked did she lean against the stone with a disappointed huff.
“Nothing more exciting than what you’d find etched on a bathroom wall,” she muttered.
Trent stood in front of her, using his wide shoulders to buffer some of the wind picking an increasing chill off the water below.
Maggie’s fingertips lingered on the ancient grooves in the stone, tracing them as if they could unlock the secrets of a century-old tryst. The salt-laden breeze tugged at her hair, whipping it around her in a tempestuous halo. Trent watched,his thirsty eyes missing nothing, the glow from the lighthouse casting a dangerous red sheen over the scene and deepening the russet strands into flickering embers.
“I can just feel how close I am to answers. Can’t you sense it too?” Her voice trembled with emotion. “The romance, the mystery—it’s like the past is reaching out, begging us to listen, and I’m trying so hard, but…” She hissed frustration through her tight throat.
