As was the blonde woman wearing sunglasses, seated across the street on a bench by the wharf—but staring her direction rather than toward the view.
Marci’s stomach flipped.
Apparently Ben’s nemesis had decided to watch her instead of him.
Why?
They’d been careful not to be seen together. Other than that middle-of-the-night rendezvous at her house, they’d kept their distance from . . .
Wait.
After dinner last night with Rachel and Greg, they’d walked out together, assuming the coast was clear.
But that was before they’d realized Nicole had switched cars.
Was it possible she’d been lurking nearby? Could she have witnessed the cozy parting they’d taken pains to hide from Rachel and Greg with a discreet tilt of her umbrella?
If so, it would have confirmed her PI’s report that the man she’d targeted was getting friendly with the local newspaper editor.
Fingers clenched around the mug, Marci backed away from the window and sank onto the edge of her desk, the story Ben had told her about Nicole’s revenge on that nurse playing through her mind.
Was she now planning some similar vengeance on the woman her twisted mind considered a new rival?
Or was she waiting to make her move until she had further proof her suspicions were sound?
Anger bubbling up inside her, Marci mashed her lips together. Stood.
She was not going to be a sitting duck.
She was not going to let this woman intimidate her.
She was not going to pussyfoot around and wait for the other shoe to drop.
She was done letting Nicole call the shots.
But . . . what sort of proactive measures could she take?
Chugging a fortifying gulp of coffee, she returned to the window, brain firing on all cylinders. There had to be a way to force the woman’s hand.
She discarded the first preposterous ideas that sprang to mind . . . but then a solution that seemed to have serious potential took root.
Yeah.
That could work.
And as far as she could see after weighing all the ramifications, other than some capital outlay, there were no downsides. It would be simple to implement, and it might put an end to this fast—assuming Nicole was as volatile as Ben said.
Even if it didn’t work, at least she’d be doing something.
To get this rolling, though, she did need some assistance—but hopefully her query would be kept confidential.
Besides, she wasn’t going to say why she needed the information.
Shoring up her resolve, she crossed to the Herald phone, picked it up, and dialed Lexie Graham Stone.
Rachel’s birthday had been a success.
As Greg lowered himself to the side of the bed in the guestroom he’d occupied since they’d moved to Hope Harbor, a smile played at his lips.
His wife had loved the roses, the breakfast in bed, the college catalogs, the picnic. She’d been glowing by the time they’d wended their way home and parted for the night with a simple hug in the hall.
Only one thing could have made the day more perfect.
But after promising to let her set the pace on their full reconciliation, pushing would be wrong.
He leaned over and began to remove his prosthesis.
She needed to be the one to make the first . . .
A soft knock sounded on the door, and he looked up. “It’s open.”
Rachel cracked it a few inches and peeked around the edge. “I thought you might be asleep.”
He would be under normal circumstances. It was closing in on eleven. But holding Rachel’s hand for most of their day together—and sharing a final hug—had juiced his adrenaline. Even thinking about sleep had been impossible until fifteen minutes ago.
“Not yet.” His prosthesis was half off, so he bent back down to finish the task, trying for a light note. “If you’re after more birthday presents, I’m all out.”
“I hope that’s not true.”
He lifted his head—and the breath jammed in his lungs as she slowly pushed the door open.
His wife had exchanged the yoga pants and oversized T-shirt she’d worn to bed since they came to Hope Harbor for the filmy negligee that had knocked his socks off on their wedding night.
She remained in the doorway as he tried to rein in his galloping pulse.
Her invitation couldn’t be any more explicit.
And if he had two sound legs, he’d jump to his feet, sweep her into his arms, and give her the present she clearly wanted.
Not an option now that he’d removed his prosthesis.
And maybe that was better.
With him stuck on the edge of the bed, she’d have a few moments to rethink the step she was taking much sooner than might be in her best interest.
She twisted her fingers together in front of her, and a soft pink hue flooded her cheeks. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. We need to be on the same page for this.” She backed up and started to turn away.
“Wait!” He pushed himself to his feet, balancing on one leg as he grabbed for the crutch propped against the wall beside the bed.
After a brief hesitation, she angled back.
“We’re on the same page.” He locked gazes with her. “I can’t think of a better end to this day. But it might be too soon.”
“For me . . . or for you?”
“You. I don’t want you to rush into anything you might regret. You haven’t given me long enough to prove myself.”
“Didn’t we agree I’d decide the timing?”
“Yes . . . but I want to make sure you’re thinking clearly about this.” Even if every instinct in his body was urging him to be less than noble and take what he desperately wanted.
“I am thinking clearly.”
That made one of them.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.” She walked toward him, her pace slow. Deliberate. “I know we’ve had a rough stretch—but I’ve never stopped loving you. And my heart tells me we’re out of the woods.” She stopped two feet away, reached for his hand, and twined her fingers with his. “What does yours say?”
For several seconds, he studied her.
There wasn’t one ounce of doubt on her face—or in her radiant eyes.
Thank you, God!
Instead of responding with words, he tugged her close, wrapped her in his arms, and
