In His Sights. Justine Davis

care, she knew Josh Redstone was different. Very different. It was one of the many reasons she loved her job there.

      “Ah, good,” her grandmother said at the sound of a tap on the door, “here he is now, so you’ll get to meet him. Then you’ll see there’s no problem.”

      Kate turned, expecting the man to walk right in. But he politely waited for her grandmother to call out to him.

      “Come on in, Rand.”

      Since Dorothy Crawford was hardly one to call a man by his last name unless it was preceded by a Mister, Kate had to assume Rand was his first name. She turned to look at the door as it swung open.

      She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. The man who came in was, in a word, beautiful. Young, but beautiful. Six feet or better, with hair a shade of platinum blond she’d only seen on children until now. It was thick and a bit unruly, falling forward over his forehead in the same way a child’s silky hair did.

      But while young, he was anything but a child. He moved with a very male kind of grace that told her he was probably an athlete of some kind, or at least in good shape.

      Very good shape, she amended wryly as she got a better look.

      “No point in you knocking if you’re going to be living here,” her grandmother was saying. “Just come on in.”

      The man glanced at Kate before he answered her grandmother, and Kate felt an odd little jolt at the sight of vivid, cobalt-blue eyes.

      Oh, now that really wasn’t fair. Not fair at all.

      Then he smiled, not at her but at her grandmother, and Kate instantly went on guard.

      “I stopped at the market for some things,” he said, “so I picked up the sugar you said you’d forgotten.”

      “Well, wasn’t that sweet of you?” Dorothy cooed.

      Her grandmother actually cooed, Kate thought, barely managing to resist shaking her head in shock. That sort of reaction was usually limited to babies and puppies. Certainly not grown men. And for all his boyish looks, there was no mistaking this Rand was just that. He looked to only be in his twenties, but he was still all man.

      “Gram,” she began, unable to stop the urge to caution that rose in her.

      “Ah. You must be Kate,” the man said. “I should have guessed.”

      Instantly provoked, and not quite sure why, Kate went on the offensive. “And why is that, Mr….?”

      “Singleton,” he supplied politely. “Rand Singleton, Miss Crawford.”

      He made her feel like a schoolteacher, with that very proper “miss.” An old schoolteacher. But if he thought that would distract her, he was mistaken.

      “Why would you assume I’m Kate?” she persisted.

      “Because,” he said with a smile at her grandmother, “beauty seems to run in the family.”

      Oh, good grief, Kate thought. He can’t think anybody’s buying this!

      Then she caught a glimpse of her grandmother’s face and, astonishingly, the spots of color rising in her cheeks. Her jaw dropped. Her grandmother, it seemed, was buying it by the bagful.

      Her eyes narrowed as she turned them on the newcomer. He met her gaze steadily, with one brow lifted as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

      I don’t care if you do, she muttered inwardly.

      “If you doubt that,” he said softly, clearly aimed at her, “you need a new mirror.”

      “And you need a new line,” she said as her grandmother smiled with obvious pleasure.

      She had a mirror, and she knew perfectly well what she looked like. Average. Nice eyes, although of late they were tired and bloodshot more often than not. Hair was okay, kind of a nondescript dark brown, but healthy and shiny even if simply clipping back the shoulder-length strands was her only effort at a hairstyle.

      No, nothing striking or eye-catching about her, not these days. There had been a time, in the big corporate world and with the help of polished makeup, chic haircuts and stylish clothes, that she had drawn that kind of attention, but no longer. She didn’t look bad for a woman of forty-one, but she was still average.

      And still old enough to be this guy’s…aunt.

      She nearly laughed aloud at her own absurdity. The man must have seen the change in her expression, for his own changed to one of puzzlement.

      No, I haven’t changed my mind about you, she said to herself in answer to his look. I’m just realizing I’m as touchy as any woman of a certain age confronted with an attractive man too young for her. Especially when he seems to be flirting.

      Which was, of course, her imagination. Whatever he was doing, it likely had very little to do with her. And everything to do with charming her grandmother, who was chatting away as if this man had grown up next door.

      She studied the intruder more carefully, going beyond his startling good looks this time. She noticed that despite the seeming rebelliousness of his hair, there was a stylish cut there. Noticed that the watch on his left wrist was, while not a Rolex, definitely out of her league. Noticed that while the jeans and knit shirt he wore weren’t blatantly expensive, the belt around his slim waist was. Noticed that the athletic shoes he wore were past new, but a top brand.

      Why?

      Why would a good-looking, twenty-something guy, who obviously wasn’t down on his luck, rent a room from an elderly couple in a tiny place like Summer Harbor? And be so darned nice to them to boot?

      She could only think of one reason. He was up to something. And the most likely thing was trying to con her loving, generous grandparents. It was in the news almost every day—some poor, sweet grandmother or grandfather who had been taken in by a smooth operator. And that was something she would never, ever allow to happen. To her, people who scammed the elderly were beyond redemption. Anyone who would try to steal from the couple who had raised her, who had changed their entire life’s plan for her, was going to have to deal with her. And she would not be kind.

      “What are you doing in Summer Harbor?” Kate asked during the first pause in her grandmother’s animated conversation, not caring if her bluntness offended him.

      “Working,” he said, the charming smile still in place, but his reaction clear in the one-word answer. Oddly, that reassured her. If he’d acted as if her nearly rude query were normal, she’d have been even more convinced he was up to no good.

      “You’re a photographer?” She reined in her tone a little, aware her grandmother was not looking pleased with her.

      “This is a beautiful part of the world, worth photographing, don’t you think?”

      Well, there’s an answer that avoids answering, she thought. “Freelance, I suppose,” she muttered, knowing the answer. If he said he worked for some established magazine or publisher, it would be too easy to check. Her suspicions deepened.

      “I do some freelance work, yes,” he said, eyeing her steadily, almost as if he had suspicions of his own. “I like to make my own choices of what to photograph.”

      “And I’ll bet you’ve been all over the world,” Dorothy said. Almost gushed, Kate admitted ruefully.

      “I’ve logged some miles,” he agreed.

      “You and Kate should talk. She used to travel a great deal. She was a big executive with an investment company back east.”

      “I don’t think Denver qualifies as ‘back east,’ Gram,” Kate said.

      “It’s east of here,” the man said, turning a smile on Dorothy that would have melted the heart of any woman.

      Except one who was afraid for the people she loved most in the world.

      “Exactly,”