Ruth Langan - Retribution

“Only that someone’s living there. Have you actually met him?”

At Sidney’s quick nod, her two sisters looked intrigued.

Hannah’s pie was forgotten. “What’s his name?”

“Adam Morgan.”

Emily took a sip of tea. “What does he look like?”

Sidney shrugged. “Tall. Rugged. It’s hard to tell what he’d look like without that beard.”

Hannah grinned. “He has a beard?”

“He does. And hair that really needs a trim. It brushes his collar.”

“Dark hair or light?” Hannah demanded.

“Dark. Like his eyes.” Sidney’s voice lowered. “His eyes are…I don’t know. Penetrating, I guess. He has a way of looking at me that makes me uncomfortable.”

“In what way?” Alarmed, Trudy picked up a wooden spoon and held it in a threatening gesture.

“Not in a bad way, Trudy. He just seems intense. As though trying to read my mind while guarding his own.”

“A mystery man.” Hannah sighed. “There’s nothing quite like an air of mystery to get a girl’s interest.”

“I’m not interested.” Sidney looked around the table at the sly grins being exchanged between her sisters. “He’s abrupt and distant, and besides, I’ve only seen him once, and that was more than a week ago.”

“What was more than a week ago?” At the booming voice of her grandfather, Sidney pushed away from the table.

“Poppie.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on his cheek. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, my darling. When are you going to move back home?”

“Sorry. I’ve left you for good. I’m having way too much fun in my own place.”

He chose to ignore that. “I see Bert and Trudy conspired to have you join your sisters in eating as much pie as possible, in order to save me from indulging in too many calories.”

“Guilty.” Sidney joined in the laughter.

“Now tell me what happened more than a week ago?”

Before Sidney could answer, Hannah said, “She met the mystery man who’s living in the lighthouse.”

“And is he a werewolf, as some in town have claimed?”

At Sidney’s puzzled look he threw back his head and roared. “You can’t believe all the rumors floating around about the man. That he only comes out after dark. That he’s in the Federal Witness Protection Plan, and is starting a new life. That he’s a former CIA agent hoping to write a book. So…” The Judge helped himself to a bite of Sidney’s pie before releasing the fork when he caught a threatening look from his wife. “What do you know about the man?”

“His name is Adam Morgan. He’s a photographer with World News Network, and he’s living in the lighthouse while he assembles some photographs for the historical society’s almanac.”

Hannah turned to their grandmother. “You’re a member of the historical society, Bert. Why didn’t you tell us?”

The older woman shrugged. “It was all handled very discreetly. We were told only that the man in question came highly recommended by his employer, that he won a Pulitzer for one of his war photographs…”

“He won a Pulitzer?” Sidney’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure?”

Bert nodded. “As I said, he came highly recommended. We wouldn’t allow just anyone to live in one of our historic treasures.”

“A prize-winning photographer.” The Judge poured himself a cup of tea. “Living practically next door to our Sidney.” He sipped and glanced around the table with that impish grin they had all come to recognize. “Now, isn’t that interesting?”

Sidney could feel her cheeks coloring as she deposited her plate and cup in the dishwasher. “I need to get back before dark.”

“I could drive you,” Emily offered. “I have a couple of evening appointments at the clinic.”

“It’s too far out of your way. I can manage.”

As Sidney started toward the door, Trudy stopped her with a pie, neatly wrapped in foil.

“Thanks, Trudy.” She kissed the housekeeper’s cheek, then circled the table kissing her family goodbye. “See you at Sunday brunch.”

Hannah’s eyes twinkled with teasing laughter. “If you happen to run into that mystery man, you could always entice him into your cabin with Trudy’s pie.”

While the others laughed, the Judge huffed out a breath. “As if any of the Brennan women need pie to snag a man’s interest.”

“Good one, Poppie. I can always count on you to stand up for me.” Laughing along with the others, Sidney blew her grandfather a kiss before walking out the door.

Sidney waved at old friends and neighbors as she pedaled her bike through the dusk-shadowed streets of town. Once she’d left Devil’s Cove behind, she found herself deep in thought over what little she’d learned about Adam Morgan.

Her mystery man wasn’t just a photojournalist, but an award-winning one, as well. Not that she was too surprised. There was an intensity about him that suggested that whatever he attempted, he would do well.

She’d always admired that in a man. Hadn’t it been what had first attracted her to Curt? She’d fallen in love with his work before ever meeting him.

It pleased her to know that she could think of Curt now without tears. At first, every time she spoke his name, or saw a flash of his face in her memory, she’d been battered by grief. Now, each year that passed made the loss more tolerable. She would always love him. He’d been her first love, and the bond between them had been so special, so tender, she knew nothing would ever erase those happy memories from her mind. But she’d moved on. It had helped to come back to Devil’s Cove. She’d needed family and friends around her, and the comfort of familiar childhood haunts. It had helped, too, to carve out her own space. Her own life, apart from Curt’s. Apart even from that of her own very talented, very driven family.

There had been a few men since Curt, but none who merited more than a passing interest. She knew her family watched and waited, clucking like hens over the fact that she was still alone, but the fact was she liked her life as it was. She had her career. She had Picasso and Toulouse for company. And she had her dreams. Maybe that wasn’t enough for some, but it was certainly enough for her. For now.

At a gust of icy wind Sidney ducked her head and pulled up the collar of her jacket. Legs pumping, she began to pedal faster, suddenly eager for the warmth of her cabin. She should have started home sooner, before the sun had disappeared behind the clouds, leaving the gathering darkness and its attendant chill nipping at her heels like the hounds of winter.

Adam cranked up the volume on Bruce Springsteen and turned the Jeep off the highway and onto the dirt road that snaked through the forest. The Lake Michigan perch and the cheesecake at The Pier were as good as promised, and he was feeling mellow, despite the curious stares he’d had to endure from the locals while he ate.

That was the trouble with a small town, he thought. Every new face was a source of speculation. Still, it could work to his advantage, as well. Another new face would spark just as much interest, and would have the authorities moving quickly to investigate. The team assigned to the car bombing was already on high alert to his new location, and had promised to move in at the first sign that security had been breached.

To keep his visits into town to a minimum, he’d loaded up with supplies from the grocery store. His backseat was piled high with bags and boxes. He’d stocked up on film, as well, and was determined to get a darkroom equipped as quickly as possible. That would cut down on his visits to Devil’s Cove even more.

He was actually looking forward to living the life of a recluse for the winter. It would be a new experience for him. The very nature of his business made it necessary to move easily in crowds of people. One of the first things he’d mastered was the ability to blend in. Whether he was photographing soldiers at war, children in a jungle clearing, or women haggling at an open-air market, he made certain that no one took any notice of him. That was what gave him the opportunity to move freely among strangers, snapping pictures without making his subjects appear self-conscious. No matter where he was, no matter the faces of those around him, Adam had the uncanny ability to become one of them.