Carol Ericson - Deception

She spread her hands. “Anyway, that’s my sordid tale. After Marissa ran off with Raoul, ending her engagement to Tyler, I rushed back to New York and made my proposal to Peter. He agreed, and the rest is history.”

“Except Peter is no longer happy with the deal he inked.”

“Exactly.”

“And your twin took off to live the good life with Raoul.”

Mia clamped her bottom lip between her teeth and stared out the hotel window into the darkness.

“Mia?” Dylan touched her hand and she jumped. “What’s wrong? Did Marissa find out you’d tricked her, and decided to hold a grudge?”

“I don’t know.” Her nose stung and she rubbed it with the back of her hand. “I haven’t heard from Marissa since she left.”

His dark brows snapped together. “She cut you out of her life completely? I know you two were never close, especially for twins, but that seems harsh.”

“Oh, she sent several postcards, but no phone calls, no emails.”

“Were the postcards nasty?”

“Not really. She never mentioned my scheme. I’ve tried searching for her online, and I hired a private investigator a few years ago. He took my money and came up empty. I’ve even tried to find Raoul, but it seems he went back to Brazil. I assumed Marissa went with him.”

“That’s strange. Marissa had a lot of faults, but holding grudges didn’t seem to be among them.”

Your sister is dead.

Could she open up to Dylan? When couldn’t she? In the old days, she’d been open with Dylan with just about everything except her true feelings for him.

She raked her hair back with her fingers. “It is strange, isn’t it? And what’s stranger… Did your sister ever tell you she’d found a diary belonging to Marissa a few months ago when she was in Coral Cove with her son?”

Two red spots colored Dylan’s cheekbones. “No. I wasn’t in touch with Devon at that time. I’m just glad Kieran Roarke had come back from the dead in time to help her and Michael.”

Mia tilted her head. Dylan and Devon had always been the close twins in town. “Well, she did find Marissa’s diary, but before she had a chance to read it or send it to me, it disappeared. And before that, Michelle Girard contacted me about a bracelet she found at Columbella. Michelle’s mother used to make them, and Marissa had one she rarely removed.”

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her blood pumping now, she sat forward. “And finally, Kylie Grant, you know, Rosie the fortune-teller’s daughter, she sent me an email that said—”

She choked to a stop. This all sounded crazy. Only bad things had come out of her desire to own Columbella House, and now she was just projecting more guilt on to herself.

Dylan ran a strong, warm hand up her back. “What did the email say?”

“‘Your sister is dead.’”

“That’s a nice email to send someone, a crazy email.” He lightly clasped her neck and circled his thumb against her skin.

“That’s not all she wrote in the email. Kylie was here on a case. She works for the FBI and police departments sometimes to help find missing people. While she was—” she waved her hands in the air “—in some kind of trance or something, she felt that Marissa was dead.”

“And you believe that mumbo jumbo?”

“Not usually, but Kylie did find that girl who had gone missing from the Coral Cove Music Festival a few years ago.”

“That happened right before I got here, and Kylie didn’t exactly find the woman. The woman’s killer led Kylie to where he’d stashed the body with the intent of doing the same thing to her.”

“He’d stashed the body in the walls of Columbella House.” Mia shivered and clenched her teeth.

Dylan draped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her snug against his body. “I can have my buddy locate Marissa. He’s a P.I. In fact, he worked the case with Kylie. Matt Conner, do you remember him?”

She nodded, trying not to press her body against his solid frame and soak up all his warmth. She turned her head, dangerously close to finding his shoulder again, and her gaze collided with a wavy blue line from a tattoo peeking from the long sleeve of his shirt.

She traced the swirl with the tip of her finger and he winced as if in pain. “When did you get this?”

“A few years ago.”

She shoved his sleeve up to get a better view, but the cuff stuck on his forearm. She could see that the blue tail-end of the tattoo curled around his wrist, ending in an arrow pointing to his palm. “What is it?”

Pinching his sleeve between two fingers, he yanked it down. “Another time. It’s getting late. You’re probably going to be sore from the accident. Do you have some ibuprofen?”

“Plenty.”

His arm slid from her shoulder. “Then take it and get some rest. That guy Peter…your ex…husband, he’s not going to try anything, is he?”

“He’s harmless, just annoying.”

Dylan pushed up from the bed, and she jumped up next to him, putting her hand on his arm. “Thanks for everything today, Dylan. Just like old times, when you used to come to rescue me and Devon.”

The arm beneath her fingers tensed, and a storm passed across his blue eyes. “Just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

He bent over and kissed her on the forehead. Even that affectionate gesture left a scorching imprint of his lips on her skin.

At the door he turned. “You might want to book up all the vacant rooms in this motel so I don’t look like a liar.”

“Believe me, this isn’t Peter’s style. Just another empty threat on his part. He has plenty of those to spare.”

“Take care. I guess we’ll be seeing each other around town…as long as you’re here.”

“Maybe I can buy you dinner some night.”

“Looking forward to it.” He smacked the doorjamb and ambled away.

Mia snapped the door closed and leaned against it. Maybe she should’ve taken him up on his dinner offer tonight. That way she could’ve spent more time with him.

At least he hadn’t laughed about her suspicions about Marissa. That was Dylan—always willing to listen.

She pushed away from the door and strolled to the bathroom, her head in the clouds. She was not here to reconnect with Dylan Reese. She hadn’t even realized he’d be here. Devon hadn’t written much about her brother when she’d sent Mia that email about the diary.

Rolling her shoulders, she winced. She’d better get that ibuprofen. She’d be sore for sure tomorrow. A bath might ease her muscles, too. She cranked on the hot water in the tub, letting it run over her fingers.

A large thump at the door almost had her pitching face-first into the bathwater. Had Dylan forgotten something?

She rushed to the door and pulled it open, Dylan’s name on her lips. The word died away on a hitched breath.

There was nobody at the door, but whoever had knocked left her a present—a doll. She’d never liked dolls, even when she’d been doll-age appropriate.

She stooped down to snatch the toy from the cement and gasped. This was no ordinary doll. Someone had cut the photo of her out of the paper and glued it over the doll’s face, and added one more touch…a needle through the doll’s heart.

Chapter Four

Mia clutched her hand to her heart as if she felt the prick of the needle. Stepping back, she banged her elbow on the doorjamb, and pain radiated down her arm. Her gaze darted back and forth along the cement walkway through the bushes.

“Peter?” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “Peter, is that you?”

A rustling of bushes answered her, and beads of sweat broke out on her forehead despite the cool breeze from the ocean. She backed into her room and slammed the door. She scraped the battered chain into place, twitching the curtains at the window for a final peek outside.