I held his gaze, searching for any indication of guilt. He seemed so sincere.
“Do you believe me?” Adam quietly asked.
My heart and mind were at war, but my heart won this round. “I believe you, Adam,” I said softly.
His pained eyes filled with gratitude. He leaned down and curved his lips to mine in a simple gesture that spoke more intimately than any of the lust-filled kisses we’d previously shared. “Thank you,” he murmured, looking exhausted as he pulled away and leaned his head back against the sofa.
Thankfully our conversation drifted into less emotionally charged territory. We talked about the trip he’d been on. Making my earlier concerns that he’d used his trip as an excuse to see Lindsey seem even more foolish, he told me he’d not been anywhere near Boston. His business had been in Washington, DC. He didn’t elaborate on the nature of his business there but instead talked of restaurants and museums, and how we should fly down there some time so he could take me to those very places. Eventually we both grew weary and found ourselves stretching out on the sofa, my back to his chest, his arm draped over my shoulder.
In the waning hours of the afternoon, silence descended, and I fell into the best sleep I’d had in over a week, wrapped in the comforting warmth of—what I hoped was—an innocent Adam.
When I woke up, it was dark. Everything was quiet, except for Adam’s steady breathing coming from behind me. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I’d not eaten for hours. Delicately I extricated myself from Adam’s arms, being extra careful not to wake him, and then I tiptoed into the kitchen, where I began to rummage around for something to eat.
I was pretty certain Adam would be hungry as well, so I decided to make some pasta and a salad. I put water on to boil and took some vegetables out of the refrigerator, all the while trying to be as quiet as possible. Unfortunately I dropped a wooden bowl as I was setting the table, and minutes later a disheveled Adam appeared in the doorway. Sleepy and tousled but still one fine-looking man.
“Hungry?” I asked, holding up a head of lettuce and a tomato.
Adam stretched, and my eyes were drawn to the way the fabric of his shirt pulled taut over his well-muscled torso. “Starving,” he replied, yawning.
He chuckled when he caught me staring at his body, so I quickly looked away and said, “It won’t be long if you want to have a seat.”
Adam pulled out a chair and sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.
I could not think of a single thing for him to do—other than just sit there and continue to look incredible—so I went with, “No, I think I have it. But thanks for offering.”
Soon the pasta was ready, so I drained the softened noodles, scooped some onto each of our plates, and ladled tomato sauce overtop. Adam thanked me as I placed our dinner on the table, and I smiled in return as I sank down into the chair across from him.
It took me a few minutes into our meal, but I finally worked up enough nerve to bring up the case once again. I still had a few questions. And I had an offer of my own.
Since Adam already knew why I was on the island, I told him I was willing to share all I’d uncovered so far in my investigation. He’d been honest; now it was my turn to reciprocate. On a roll I even confessed that I had a copy of the case files and, going one step further, offered to let him read through them. But surprisingly Adam waved it off. “I’ve already seen all those files—”
I gasped, interrupting him. He rolled his eyes. “Do you honestly think you’re the only one with the right connections, Maddy? I read those files a long time ago.”
“Oh, OK,” I mumbled dejectedly, crunching into a bite of salad.
“Anyway,” Adam continued, “I have no desire to rehash the details of the case. It’s part of my past, and I’d like to keep it that way. Do what you need to do, but keep me out of it, got it?”
“Sure, I can do that. But you really don’t mind if I continue to look into it?” I asked, somewhat baffled that he wasn’t asking me to shut down my investigation. Maybe this was proof enough that he was innocent.
Adam twirled his pasta unconcernedly. “It’s just research for a novel, right?”
It suddenly dawned on me that, of course, Adam would naturally assume I was writing another work of fiction. He probably thought I was utilizing the case files as some kind of general outline. I was suddenly grateful I’d not gone off about my trip to Billy’s nor revealed that there was a mystery blonde Chelsea had been photographed kissing.
I had to rethink things. Maybe it was best to keep my real plans—to write a nonfiction account of the Harbour Falls Mystery—a secret after all, so I responded with, “Yeah, just the usual background research I do before sitting down to write.”
Adam held my eyes for a moment, searching. I kept my expression neutral, and he finally said, “In that case I don’t foresee any problems.”
After we were finished eating, and Adam helped me clear the table and load the dishwasher, we sat back down at the kitchen table. “I hate to eat and run, but I
