By a Thread

The day was even hotter and more humid than the previous one had been.

“I think that went rather well,” Finn said in a cheery voice. “All things considered.”

I looked at Bria. “Do you want to slap him or shall I?”

Bria held out her hand in a go-ahead motion. “The pleasure is all yours.”

Finn winced and ducked behind Owen. “Quick! Let’s make a break for it!”

Owen laughed. “You’re on your own, buddy. Let me know how that turns out for you.”

Finn huffed, but he didn’t step out from behind Owen.

Most of the brunch crowd had already gone, leaving only a few cars parked in front of the restaurant— including Finn’s smashed-up convertible. He walked over to his beloved Aston Martin and examined it from every angle before he turned to look at me.

“Now I’m doubly glad you killed those black-hearted sons of bitches,” he muttered. “Look what they did to my car, my beautiful, beautiful car. If they were here, I’d shoot out their kneecaps myself.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s just a car, Finn. It’s not like you don’t have a dozen others back home in the parking garage of your apartment building.”

He sniffed. “Yes, but those are back home, and we’re here. And this model was destined to be a classic. Now it’s just another piece of junk.”

He stuck out his lip, pouted, and then kicked the tire the way that a little boy would.

I looked at Bria. “How do you put up with him?”

Bria started to open her mouth, but Finn piped up instead.

“She puts up with me because I happen to be rich, handsome, charming, a witty conversationalist, and exceptionally talented in bed,” he smirked. “Flexible too.”

I groaned. “I did not need to hear those last two.”

Finn just grinned. Nothing restored his good mood more than needling someone else, and I was happy to take one for the team, since it was my fault that his car had gotten trashed in the first place.

Finn pulled out his cell phone and arranged for a tow truck service to haul his convertible to a garage to get the dents beaten out of it and have the windshield and seats replaced. Then the four of us got into Finn’s Cadillac Escalade, which he and Owen had driven down to Blue Marsh this morning. We stopped to pick up some groceries and other supplies, and an hour later, we were back in the beach house I’d rented.

Finn walked through the house before stepping back into the living room. He sniffed his displeasure. “I suppose that it will do. But it’s not nearly as nice as staying at the Blue Sands would have been. There’s no pool, no bar, and most importantly, no gorgeous blonde to give me a full-body massage.” He grinned at Bria. “Unless you want to volunteer for that last particular duty.”

Bria snorted, but I could see the heat glittering in her eyes. Finn might drive her crazy with his motormouth and excessive ego, but she couldn’t keep her hands off him any more than I could keep mine off Owen.

“Homework first, children, and then you can play,” I drawled. “Finn still has to secure our invitations to Dekes’s press conference and whip up some fake credentials for me, remember?”

“And it won’t take me more than an hour to do all that,” Finn said. “Besides, I’d much rather play first and do homework later. That’s always so much more fun.”

He leaned in close and whispered something in Bria’s ear. She blushed, then let out a small, slightly embarrassed giggle. Finn gave me a triumphant look, his green eyes sly and bright in his ruddy face. He grabbed Bria’s hand, and the two of them disappeared down the hall without a backward glance. A few seconds later, more giggles filled the air, along with the sound of a door slamming shut.

That left me alone in the living room with Owen. He hadn’t said much in Callie’s office or on the ride over to the beach house, but he’d been staring at me with a dark, guarded expression ever since Donovan had shown up at the Sea Breeze.

“How about we take that walk on the beach now?” he suggested. “And give Finn and Bria some privacy.”

I nodded. Owen didn’t say anything else, but I had some explaining to do, and we both knew it.

I grabbed a couple of large blankets and a blue-and-white-striped beach umbrella from one of the downstairs closets. Owen took the umbrella from me, hoisting the white metal pole up on his shoulder like it weighed nothing. I took a moment to admire the ripple of his muscles under his shirt. Unlike the other wealthy businessmen in Ashland, Owen came by his sculptured physique the old-fashioned way—through hard physical labor. He’d spent years working as a blacksmith while he built up his own business empire, and he still made weapons and iron sculptures in the forge in the back of his house.

Once our supplies were gathered, we set out. We were on the far side of the island from the hotel, and according to Bria, this was the quiet part of Blue Marsh. The local folks rented out their fancy beach houses for exorbitant fees and went somewhere cooler for the summer, while the tourists moved in to get away from the problems that plagued them back home. For a few days, anyway. Too bad it wasn’t working out that way for me.

It was still early in the season, and we passed only one other person—a woman playing with a small, sand- colored corgi along the water’s edge. Owen and I wandered about a mile from the house, stopping when we came to a small curve in the beach. The ocean rushed back into a hidden cove that slithered inward like a fat snake trying to wiggle its way inland. A small ridge of glossy black rocks ran along the back of the cove, separating it from the rest of the island. Beyond the rocks, I could see the cypress trees and tall, waving cattails of the island’s boggy marshes.

Off to my right, the ridge rose to a sharp, jagged peak, and a small lighthouse clung to the edge of the rocks there. The lighthouse had been black at one time, with thin white stripes running down its sides, although all the paint had long since faded to various shades of gray. From the way the structure was boarded up, it had been abandoned long ago and left to someday fall into the ever-encroaching sea.

We strolled into the cove. The ridge of rocks and the lighthouse provided a bit of shade, making the air seem a bit cooler back here, and the waves muted to more of a misty, refreshing spray. I spread out the blankets while Owen planted the umbrella in the sand, then opened it. I pulled off my sneakers and socks, sat down on the edge of one of the blankets, hugged my knees to my chest, and dug my bare toes into the warm, crusty golden sand. Owen plopped down beside me, kicking off his own shoes and socks, and leaned back on his elbows. We sat there and watched the water foam and froth for several minutes.

“So,” Owen finally said. “Donovan Caine.”

“Yeah, Donovan.”

A few seagulls and terns with fluffy white feathers circled overhead, although the constant rush of the ocean mostly drowned out their hoarse, hungry cries.

“I had no idea that he was in Blue Marsh,” I said. “When Donovan left Ashland, he didn’t tell me where he was going, and I didn’t try to find him. You know that.”

Owen nodded.

I drew in a breath. Now came the hard part. “I know that I should have told you last night that I’d seen him again, that he was Callie’s fiance. But I wasn’t sure how to tell you. I was still trying to figure out how I felt about seeing him again.”

“And have you? Figured out how you feel about him?”

I shrugged. “Nothing’s changed between us. I still kill people, and he still hates me for it. Same old, same old.”

“Yes,” Owen agreed. “Same old, same old. Right down to the way that he looks at you.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Donovan might be engaged to Callie, might have put a ring on her finger and promised to love her forever—hell, he might even really love her forever. But he was looking at you the whole time that we were in her office.”

I thought that Donovan had done a rather splendid job of not looking at me at all, but I didn’t say anything.

“He still wants you,” Owen said in a hard, blunt tone. “Even now he’s thinking about making a play for you, but I’ll be damned if he’s going to have you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

“You’re damn right I’m jealous,” Owen growled. “Because I saw how you used to look at