Alana Matthews - Waterford Point

Rachel stared at a man in jeans and work shirt coming down the stairs. He was about thirty-three and darkly handsome, with what looked like several drops of Native American blood in his veins. He was a good six foot two with broad shoulders, working man’s hands and startling brown eyes that, despite her better instincts, made Rachel’s heart stutter.

“There’s nothing going on that a little tried-and-true police work won’t fix.” He held out a hand. “I’m Nick Chavaree, the local sheriff. I’m staying here while my house is being…” He paused, frowned, withdrew the hand. “You look familiar to me. Do I know you?”

Rachel was pretty sure that if she’d seen him before she’d remember. He was that good-looking. “No, I don’t think so.”

His demeanor abruptly shifted from friendly to hostile. “You’re here about the murders, aren’t you?”

“Murders?”

“Don’t be coy.” He moved toward her now. “That’s why you picked this place to stay. You thought you could get some inside information from me. That’s not going to happen.”

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Alana Matthews can’t remember a time when she didn’t want to be a writer. As a child, she was a permanent fixture in her local library, and she soon turned her passion for books into writing short stories, and finally novels. A longtime fan of romantic suspense, Alana felt she had no choice but to try her hand at the genre, and she is thrilled to be writing for Harlequin Intrigue. Alana makes her home in a small town near the coast of Southern California, where she spends her time writing, composing music and watching her favorite movies.

Send a message to Alana at her website, www.AlanaMatthews.com.

Rachel Hudson —She came to Waterford Point to escape her past, and found herself caught up in someone else’s.

Sheriff Nick Chavaree —A puzzling murder investigation threatened his career, but could Rachel help him ferret out the truth…and steal his heart?

Maddie —She kept herself busy running the Waterford Inn, but what dark secret was she hiding?

Deputy Charlie Tevis —He returned to Waterford Point after an extended absence and wondered if he should have stayed away.

Mayor Bill Burgess —An officious fool who was more concerned about Waterford Point’s tourist trade than its own citizens.

Caroline Keller —The first in a string of murder victims who heard someone crying in the night.

Weeping Willow —Did her spirit come back to Waterford Point looking for revenge?

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

The crying was what awakened her.

For a moment she thought she was dreaming; the sound circled inside her head like a persistent insect, refusing to go away. But as she fully awakened, she realized that it was all too real, a muffled but unmistakable keen coming from outside her bedroom window.

She abruptly pulled herself upright and strained to hear, a vague uneasiness simmering in her chest.

Was it an animal of some kind? A bird? An injured deer?

No.

This was definitely human.

And female.

Feeling a knot in her stomach, she swung her legs around and stood, surprised by the chill of the polished wooden floorboards beneath her bare feet.

This wasn’t her first night here, and she knew she should be used to her surroundings by now. But it seemed that every time she got out of bed, she anticipated the feel of warm carpet—the carpet in her own bedroom in D.C.—only to be startled by this cold bare floor.

Padding to the window, she undid the latch and pushed it open, letting in the night air. The sound floated in just beneath the whisper of the wind—

The sobs of a broken girl.

A soul irrevocably wounded.

It came from a forest of Eastern pine that stood just forty yards away from the old house, across a rustic backyard. A thin mist hung in the air around the trees, the forest dark and foreboding.

Her heart thumped wildly as she listened to the sobs, and with sudden dread she knew she’d made a mistake coming home again.

The stories she’d heard were true.

This wasn’t make-believe. A fairy tale. A quaint little piece of local folklore. And as much as she might try, she knew she’d never be rid of her past.

It was right outside.

Haunting her.

Waiting for her in the trees.

By the time the ferry reached the dock, Rachel Hudson was a little queasy.

She didn’t travel well on water. Although the trip across the bay hadn’t taken more than fifteen minutes, her stomach wasn’t exactly rock solid these days, and she thought for a moment she might lose the salad she’d had for lunch.

Thank God for dry land.

Rachel had never been to Waterford Point before. Had never been to Penobscot Bay or farther north than Connecticut, for that matter. But the photos she’d seen on the internet had convinced her that this was where she needed to go. That Waterford Point was exactly the place she should be right now.

Her means of escape.

Her bastion of refuge.

An isolated fishing village-cum-tourist destination on an island off the coast of Maine, it was a place where she could forget about the chaos that had swirled around her in California and finally decide what to do with her life now that Dan was officially out of the picture.

As the ferry gate opened, she moved with the handful of homeward-bound commuters and rolled her suitcase onto the dock, looking out toward the village.

It was quite a bit larger than she had anticipated and she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend her next few weeks here getting around on foot.

As the others moved toward their cars in the parking lot, Rachel turned to the dockworker who was manning the gate. He was an elderly man with a weathered, sunbaked face, and she had no doubt that he’d spent many years on a fishing boat.

“Is there a place around here I can rent a car?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pointed toward a cluster of wooden shacks to the right of the dock. “They’re on the far side of that last building, just around the corner. You can’t miss ’em. And they’ll be glad to see you, too.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Not too many visitors around here lately, what with all the commotion.”

“Commotion?”

He shook his head then; he’d said too much. “Nothing to be concerned about. You just enjoy yourself and be sure to spend lots of money.”

He grinned, and Rachel felt compelled to push him further, but she resisted the urge.