Home For A Hero. Mary Anne Wilson

she had no idea where she’d landed when she’d managed to get to the beach. She remembered going overboard, reaching for the rope that ran along the side of the boat and missing it. Then the rip current wound around her, pulling her away from the boat, farther and farther, the fog being the only thing she could see. “Where am I?” she asked.

      “On Shelter Island.”

      She’d figured out that one. “No I mean, I was at the northern end of the island when I went overboard, near a place called Lost Point, but by the time I was able to swim for it, I’d lost my bearings.”

      “You’re still at the northern end,” he said. “This is Lost Point.”

      She knew her jaw must have dropped, but managed to say, “This place, the house, that beach…?”

      “Lost Point,” he said.

      When she’d come to the agency, they’d hired her to run tests on the waters around the island. Marine life was dying at an increasingly alarming rate, being washed up on the beaches with no obvious signs of trauma. Toxicology tests had shown nothing, so she’d been working to find an answer, with the cooperation of the islanders. They were as concerned as the agency was and had been very nice about granting access to the properties along the shore.

      All but one—the owner of Lost Point and the sprawling acres on the northern tip of the island.

      No amount of letters and calls to ask for access to Lost Point, a mass of rugged property on the extreme northwestern corner of the island, got any response, not even a refusal. Nothing. She’d been forced to do any work in that area from the water, and it was frustrating her, but she didn’t give up trying to get access to the land, even if it was limited.

      “You’re about the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” Graham had told her. And he’d been right.

      She’d dug around and tried to find out about the owner, but the name on the deed was Maurice Evans, who, it was noted, represented “the legal owner.” She’d tracked down Maurice Evans to a very prestigious law firm in New York, but any calls to his offices resulted in a dead end.

      One of the islanders had told her that the property had been vacant for years, then a little over two years ago, someone had bought it. No one had ever seen or met the owner, and even the crew who cleaned it once a month wasn’t local.

      The only person with regular access to the land was a caretaker who seldom went into town. His name was Luke—last name unknown, and he obviously didn’t answer mail for the owner. He also never answered the security buzzer Shay had tried when she’d driven to the huge gates that barred all entry to Lost Point.

      Thanks to her near drowning, she had struck gold. She was not only on Lost Point, she was in it! “You own this property?” she asked, having a hard time seeing this man as a top-level attorney.

      “No,” he said. Shay was disappointed momentarily, but even though Maurice Evans was still missing, she could talk to this man. At least she thought so until he added, “Call them back and tell them I’ll get you to town, to the police station if you want. I’ll get my jacket and boots.”

      He turned before she could object. She didn’t want to just leave like this. She needed time to figure out how to ask this man to get her in contact with Maurice Evans.

      She heard footsteps on the stone flooring as the man returned, shrugging into his heavy jacket and wearing his boots again.

      “I really appreciate all you’re doing for me,” she said in a rush. “I was just thinking, I have three hours before I have to call the coast guard back and I’m freezing. I hate to ask after you’ve been so generous with your help, but is there any way I could put my clothes in the dryer while I’m here? If I can’t find a place to clean up in town, I won’t be sitting there soaked to the skin.”

      She’d spoken quickly, afraid he’d cut her off at the start, but she’d said everything she’d wanted and he hadn’t said no. At least not yet. “What if I give you some dry clothes, then you can change. There’s a Laundromat in town.”

      Logical, but not near what she wanted. “I guess I could, but I’m so cold.” She shivered right then and it wasn’t for show. The house itself didn’t feel warm at all.

      He stared at her hard, then said, “Okay, sure.” She didn’t miss the begrudging tone in his voice.

      “While I’m waiting for the clothes to dry, may I take a hot shower?”

      She knew she was pushing it, but she wanted to talk to him some more. He was silent for a long moment, then he countered her suggestion. “You know, if we wait around for your clothes to dry and you to take a shower, we risk everything closing in Shelter Bay. I think we need to go now.”

      Shay realized she’d gone too far, and chided herself, but she wouldn’t lose this opportunity to find out more about Lost Point. “Please,” she persisted, praying he wouldn’t just tell her to get going.

      He exhaled as if she exasperated him, and she probably had. She knew he wanted to say she should just be on her way, but he didn’t. “Okay, but let’s get going.” He turned, and without another word, left the room. He didn’t tell her to follow, but she did. She hurried after him, going through what had to be the most ornate dining room she’d ever seen, from the dark-wood-paneled walls to the coved ceiling that supported a huge chandelier to a table she was quite certain would seat at least twenty people.

      Then they were in a two-storied great room that was separated in the middle by a stone fireplace that was empty of a fire or even logs or ashes. The room was furnished in leathers and antiques that should have been in a showroom somewhere. Few people could afford the art on the walls and she bet they were originals. She barely caught the scent of lemon oil in the chilly air before they came into a black marble entry dominated by a sweeping staircase that led to the upper levels.

      He walked into a wide hallway, then turned to the right through double doors and into a large bedroom with a raised sitting area, French doors on the back wall and an arched entry to a bathroom on the left. A massive four-poster bed stood in the center of the room as if on display.

      “Just get those clothes off and hand them out to me so I can get them in the dryer.”

      Shay slipped past him and into the bathroom and was relieved to see a sliding door on the other side of the stone arch entrance. She tugged it closed, then stopped and took a deep breath. Stripping off the soaking clothes, she cringed at the puddle that formed at her muddied feet on the polished, pale silver stones.

      She piled her panties and bra on the stack, then folded her jeans, white shirt and soggy jacket around the underwear before edging the door open a crack. “Here’s my clothes,” she said, making sure to keep herself hidden behind the door.

      “Got them,” he said.

      She pulled back and shut the door. She had an hour, maybe a bit more, but before she left, she was going to find the owner of Lost Point.

      Chapter Two

      Luke walked away with his arms full of damp clothing and hurried back to the utility room. Having Shay Donovan in his house was unsettling, but her taking a shower here…? He had to be rational about the situation, but it made him edgy. No one had been in the house since he’d arrived, except for the cleaning crew. When they arrived, he left and didn’t come back until they were long gone.

      He stuffed the clothing into the dryer, and dropped something. He reached down to pick up a pale pink bra, stared at it, then shook his head. He should have just driven her away from here. Now he was stuck with company for at least an hour.

      Closing the dryer door, he turned it on. As the drum began to tumble, he returned to the kitchen and took time making some coffee—he could use it. He thought of Shay shaking from the cold and knew she probably could use it, too.

      Luke stayed in the kitchen as long as it took to brew the coffee, then found two mugs and poured the steaming liquid