“I’ll workshop it.”
I didn’t expect one almost-smile to do that much.
Cole doesn’t ask what Dr. Vale said. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t tilt his head in that way people do when they’re pretending not to fish for details. He simply waits, and somehow that makes it easier to offer something voluntarily.
“He thinks I need to get out of the cottage,” I say. “Fresh air. Low-pressure normal activity. Something that reminds my brain the world is bigger than locked doors and strange texts.”
“I agree.”
“That was fast.”
“I agreed before your therapist said it.”
“You did?”
“You being isolated here makes my job harder.”
“So where does a person go in Sunbreak Harbor when she’s supposed to enjoy sights but remain difficult to stab with her own knife?”
Cole’s face settles back into business, though not entirely. “The Beacon first.”
“The lighthouse?”
“Sunbreak Security headquarters. Sloane wants you to see where we’re coordinating from. It may help you feel more secure. At least, we hope it does.”
“And after that?”
“After The Beacon, we go to The Salty Spoon.”
“That sounds promising.”
“Breakfast joint. Usually a line out the door.”
“Locals like it?”
“Locals complain about the line and stand in it anyway.”
“Excellent endorsement.”
“I’ll drive.”
The way he says it is calm, not controlling, but still very decided. I should argue on principle. Considering my circumstances, I don’t.
Cole’s vehicle is a black SUV that looks less like a personal car and more like something chosen by a man who wants reliability, visibility, and enough cargo space for things I probably don’t want to know about. The inside is clean and practical. No fast-food wrappers. No random clutter. Sunglasses clipped to the visor. A first aid kit visible in the back. A cooler. A folded towel. A ball cap with a faded Navy emblem tucked near the console.
He opens the passenger door for me, and I almost make a joke about chivalry until I realize his attention is already moving past me, over the road, the neighboring cottages, the dune path.
His movements and positioning are not as simple as politeness, much less chivalry. There’s a part of me that wishes I’d met him normally, without being stalked by some unknown crazy person.
I could pretend we’re dating. Because, yes, I would date him in a heartbeat. What’s not to like? He’s protective, brawny and fit, and his eyes get to me each time he glances my way.
Get your head on straight, Kara. Cole is simply working. You’re his current 48 hour assignment.
The drive to The Beacon is short, but Sunbreak Harbor gives me plenty to look at. Morning has burned brighter now, the island fully awake. Golf carts buzz past with beach bags strapped to the back. A man in board shorts walks three dogs of wildly different sizes. The candy-striped lighthouse rises ahead of us, red and white against an almost painful blue sky. The scene unfolds with the kind of cheerful charm that should belong on a postcard.
Then we get closer. The Beacon is not just a lighthouse. It is the lighthouse, yes, restored and gleaming, but attached to it is a renovated boathouse with wide doors facing the marina channel. A glassed-in upper level overlooks the water, and through the windows I can see movement inside. People at desks. Screens glowing. Someone crossing with a headset tucked around their neck. A boat sits ready beneath the boathouse awning, sleek and serious-looking.
“This is Sunbreak Security?” I ask.
