Page 16 of Hook, Line and Mystery

“Kind of like us,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it seemed to echo through the space, intertwining with the sounds of water and life that surrounded them.

Kit felt the corners of his mouth lift in a small smile, an involuntary reaction to the warmth spreading through him. He nodded, his gaze lingering on her face, memorizing the way the light played across her features, casting shadows that only served to highlight her natural beauty.

“Exactly like us,” he conceded, aware that every moment they spent together, every word exchanged, was weaving a new layer into the fabric of his once solitary existence.

Abby reached out, her fingers brushing against his for a brief second before falling away. That fleeting touch sent ripples through him; a sensation as potent as the currents that governed the tides. His groin tightened, but he knew that it was more than mere lust. Kit knew he stood on the edge of something profound, a precipice overlooking uncharted emotional depths. And for the first time in a long while, he found himself ready to dive into those waters, ready to explore the possibilities that Abby represented.

“I spent some time in the library today. I signed out a couple of books I thought were interesting. One of them was a fisherman’s personal diary that hinted at some kind of secret poaching spot.”

His interest piqued, Kit leaned back against a lab bench, his eyes locked on her with a mixture of professional inquisitiveness and personal interest. “Tell me more,” he said.

Abby fished the diary out of her bag and held it up, flipping through its worn pages. “It mentions a hidden spot along the coast, something about unusual catches. I thought it might be linked to the poaching.”

Kit’s mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to fit together. He picked up a sheaf of papers he’d found buried in some earlier research Clara had done. “That could be significant. Between that and these notes, it could be a lead to the poachers—or at least the spot they’re using as a base,” he said, his voice a blend of enthusiasm and determination.

Abby looked up from the diary, meeting his intense stare. “That’s not all. I found a small medallion that looks like a much older version of that charm I found. You called it a pot medallion?”

“Yeah, they’re used to identify pots or buoys in the water.”

“I’m sure it was the same. Only the one in the library was an antique. The librarian said it was a gift to the library from one of the founding families. She said it was trademarked.”

Her words hung between them—both a challenge and an invitation. Kit glanced at her, the light casting shadows across her features and softening the creases in her brow. Discussing the diary’s implications, Kit felt a connection with Abby that transcended their shared interest in the mystery.

He stepped closer, drawn in by her enthusiasm and her insight. “You found this—the diary and the lobster medallion—in the library?”

“Yes. The library said it had been donated by one of the decedents of a founding family.”

“Any idea which one?”

“No,” she said, grinning at his frown, “but if it’s trademarked, it’s easy enough to find out.”

Kit nodded. “It’s not just helpful. It’s a new perspective, something I might have missed. I don’t spend a lot of time in the library.”

Abby smiled, a sense of camaraderie building between them. “Well, I guess we’re in this together now,” she said, a playful tone in her voice.

Kit nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. The feeling of working together, of not being alone in this fight, was both exhilarating and a little disconcerting for him. For so long, he had guarded his heart, kept his emotions tightly reined in.

“You wanna get out of here?” Kit asked her, touching her arm and gazing deeply into her eyes.

She nodded without speaking, and he took her hand in his.

Their footsteps on the polished concrete floors echoed through the empty hallways as they walked towards the exit. As they made their way toward Kit’s truck, the scent of saltwater filled the air. When they reached his truck, he opened the passenger-side door for her so she could slip inside. Rounding the front of his truck, his heart seemed to be beating to a new rhythm as he slid into the driver’s seat. The warmth of the early evening sun shone through the windshield as he fired up the engine and headed back into town. Uncertain of the future, he was committed to solving the puzzle not only of the poachers, but of Abby herself.

CHAPTER9

ABBY

Kit drove them through town, headed toward the Lighthouse B&B. When they arrived, he parked his truck and Abby slipped out—the clean, salty ocean air and gentle lapping of the waves upon the shore caressing her senses in stark contrast to the smells and sounds of Chicago’s busy, bustling city life she was used to. She glanced up at the bed and breakfast, perched atop the rugged cliff that overlooked the vast, shimmering sea and the lighthouse for which it was named.

The lighthouse was so much smaller than the skyscrapers she was used to, and yet it seemed more stalwart than those buildings made of steel and glass. Its exterior was painted a crisp, nautical white, contrasting beautifully against the deep blue of the ocean, the lush greenery surrounding it, and the dark skies that embraced it. It was an elegant, towering structure, adding a touch of historical charm, its light casting a gentle, guiding beam each evening.

The door opened before she could even knock, and DeeDee greeted her with a warm, welcoming smile. “Welcome back, Abby.” She nodded at him. “Kit. Good to see you.”

“Hi, DeeDee,” Abby said.

“I’ll wait here,” Kit said, heading into the sitting room. “Nothing fancy.”

“No worries. Just let me get rid of my stuff and freshen up. Ten minutes—max.”

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