Elle James - Deadly Obsession

Chance slipped into the driver’s seat.

“What about your vehicle?” Jillian asked.

“It’ll be here in the morning.”

She frowned. His response implied that he would be there in the morning, as well. Something told her she’d do well to keep her distance from Nova’s best man. All that testosterone and those hunky muscles could derail a girl weaker than she. Butterflies fluttered against the walls of her belly. Okay, so she wasn’t so strong against an extraordinary specimen like Chance.

Jillian had been around a few of the Stealth Operations Specialists who’d moved to the area. Each one had improved the scenery—Nova with his dark, exotic looks, and Creed Thomas with his Native American high cheekbones and solid strength, were both forces to be reckoned with. Even Nicole Steele, or Tazer, as they lovingly nicknamed her, was kick-ass, with years of experience making her as much of a lethal weapon as Creed and Nova. Now Chance...

Jillian pulled at the collar of her plaid shirt, the interior of the truck suddenly too warm. “How long will you be staying?”

“Until after the wedding. Maybe longer.”

Jillian swallowed hard on a groan. “Are you staying in one of the cottages?” She crossed her fingers the way she had when she was a little girl, hoping he’d say yes. If she was staying at the B and B and Chance was, too, what was the possibility of avoiding him?

Slim to none. Then again, he was the best man in the wedding she was planning.

“I’m staying at the B and B.”

It was her luck. At least she’d only be there until the plumber got the water running and the electrician finished the rewiring. Hopefully, that would only be a couple more days. She could live with the dust and clutter of demolition and the rebuilding effort. Besides, Molly and Nova needed all the space they could get for Nova’s family members.

As they entered town, Jillian pointed to Runyan’s Convenience Store and Gas Station. “This is where I drop the trailer, and I’d like to put gas in the truck before I return it to its owner.”

Chance turned in to the parking lot and backed the trailer in between other rental trailers parked at the rear of the building.

Jillian’s lips twisted. “If I had parked the trailer, it would have taken a lot longer. I’m not that adept at maneuvering trailers, or driving trucks for that matter.” She gave him a smile. “Thank you.”

“Just trying to help. Seems like you’ve bit off more than a mouthful with the wedding and a total house renovation all at once.”

She nodded. “I’ve been planning this wedding for more than a year. The house was an opportunity that just came up, and I jumped on it.”

“Why that particular house? Why not something closer to town? Something that doesn’t need so many repairs?”

Jillian pushed open her door and dropped down from the truck. Everyone she knew had asked the same question. Lately, she’d asked herself the same as the bills mounted and the work seemed to take forever. She met Chance at the tailgate.

While Chance unhooked the lights and hitch, Jillian stroked the kitten and thought about her answer to his questions.

“I’ve been in Cape Churn for two years. I didn’t plan on moving from Portland, but a weekend getaway turned into a move to live here. Something about Cape Churn called to me.” She shrugged. “Instinct or gut feeling, it was like coming home. I’ve been renting ever since, waiting for the right house.”

“Doesn’t make sense to rent.”

“Tell me about it. And I’m a real estate agent.” She laughed. “Trust me, I thought I’d seen every house in Cape Churn and the surrounding area. Somehow I’d missed this one. The bank called, wanting me to list it. They’d been sitting on it for years and were tired of paying the taxes. When I came out to see it, I fell in love with the place. Like Cape Churn, it called to me.” Jillian shrugged. “That’s why I bought it. I know it sounds silly and maybe a little superstitious, but sometimes you have to go with your gut.”

“Yeah.” Chance straightened, his lips thinning into a line, his jaw tight. “Is there some paperwork you have to sign?” he said, his voice clipped, his whole attitude changing from casual curiosity to rigid and dark.

“What?” Jillian stared at him. “Was it something I said?”

He shook his head. “No. We just need to get back to the B and B.”

“Give me a minute to fill up the tank and I’ll be ready to go.”

“I’ll get it.” Chance didn’t give her the chance to climb into the truck. He was in and driving around to the pumps before she could form a protest.

What the hell had happened to make him suddenly so closed off and angry?

Jillian shook her head and followed the truck on foot.

Bud Runyan, the owner of the gas station, stepped out of the building. “Miss Taylor, I expected you to use that trailer for at least another day.”

She smiled at the gray-haired man with the grizzled beard and deep-set wrinkles. “I expected to use it for another day, too.” Jillian tipped her head toward Chance. “I was fortunate to enlist help in unloading.”

Mr. Runyan’s eyes narrowed. “This your boyfriend from Portland?”

Jillian didn’t remind Mr. Runyan she’d been there over two years and rarely went back to Portland. If she’d had a relationship, it would have long since disintegrated. “No, sir. Chance is here for the wedding.”

Chance parked the truck at the pumps.

Mr. Runyan beat him to the nozzle and started the flow of gasoline into the tank. “I take it you didn’t have any more luck talking Miss Taylor out of moving into the old Thompson house?”

Chance shook his head. “I didn’t know I was supposed to talk her out of anything.”

The older man leaned his back against the truck. “That house has been empty for a reason.”

“What reason?” Jillian asked.

Before Mr. Runyan could answer, a four-door sedan pulled up and an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair unfolded from her sedan. She was about the same height as Jillian and, despite her age, appeared capable of bench-pressing a refrigerator.

“Good evening, Mrs. Sims.” Mr. Runyan pushed away from the truck and walked to the other side of the pump.

Mrs. Sims nodded to Mr. Runyan. “Bud.”

“Fill ’er up?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” Mrs. Sims dug in her purse for her wallet. “Good evening, Miss Taylor. I hear you bought the old Thompson place in the woods.”

“I did.” Jillian braced herself for yet another person telling her what a mistake she’d made.

“Personally, I’m glad the old place is getting a makeover. All that nonsense about it being haunted is ridiculous.”

Jillian released the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. “Thank you. You’re the first person who hasn’t tried to talk me out of it.”

The older woman snorted. “Wouldn’t do that. All that work you’re doing to restore the building is keeping my son employed.”

Jillian thought she knew everyone in Cape Churn. “Your son?”

“Daryl.”

Jillian smiled. “Oh, yes. Daryl’s helping out.”

Mrs. Sims nodded. “He’s working with the contractor. They’ve been involved in the demolition so far.”

“Still think you’re courtin’ disaster with that old house. Nothing good ever happened out there,” Mr. Runyan muttered.

Jillian planted her fists on her hips. “Everyone is quick to believe in ghosts and hauntings. What concrete things have happened in that house that inspires all those tales?”

Mr. Runyan glanced across at Mrs. Sims. “What was it, fifteen or twenty years ago when that little girl disappeared?”

Mrs. Sims lips tightened. “Something like that. I still think her mother had something to do with that. Especially since they found the girl a month later.”