Shake Down. Jill Elizabeth Nelson

in the air and Atlas went about sniffing every corner, nook and cranny. Shane fisted the hand she wasn’t working on. What got into him that he barely restrained the impulse to reach out and touch the wealth of shimmering chestnut hair that masked her face?

      This tender, compassionate woman was no Moran. She probably hadn’t a clue what sort of crime family her employer came from...or what danger the jerk had sent her into. If Shane thought it would keep this innocent Realtor safe, he’d be tempted to go away. Right now, the best thing Janice had going for her as long as she refused to leave the island was his watchful presence.

      “How about I try again with the bagels?” she asked as she finished cleaning and dressing the minor wounds.

      “Better yet, how about I treat us to breakfast this morning? The nearest lumberyard is Vineyard Haven. I know because I bought a few things there last week. It’s only a hop and a skip out of our way to stop at this great home-cooking place in Menemsha.”

      Janice lifted her eyebrows. “Let me guess: The Beach Shanty.”

      “You’re kidding me.” Shane laughed. “Essie Mae’s been by here already?”

      “She visited you, too?”

      “Day after my arrival on the island. I think she fancies herself a one-woman Welcome Wagon.”

      “Either that or she gets a commission for every bowl of chowder she sells.”

      “That chowder would sell itself. My mouth is watering already.”

      “Chowder for breakfast?”

      “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

      “With a challenge like that, I guess it’ll be two bowls of chowder. Essie Mae will be thrilled. What a unique character. I think I like her.”

      “Me, too.”

      Essie Mae was the sort of affable soul people took to right away. Janice was deep and sometimes hard to read, but already he liked her more than he had bargained for, and they’d been acquainted for only one day—granted under extreme circumstances that could create an atmosphere for rapid bonding.

      This woman was hiding something, though. Something that troubled her deeply. What could it be? Was it just that she suspected her accidents weren’t so accidental? Or was there more to her burden? Whatever the issue, they would have to talk about it. The problem with the discussion idea was that he had things to hide, also.

      “Give me a little help with a tape measure,” Shane said, “and we’ll jot down length, width and depth of the existing porch before we take off. Shouldn’t hold us up but a few minutes.”

      Janice grabbed a pad of scratch paper and a pencil. She proved familiar with handling a tape measure in tandem with someone else. Probably came with the Realtor territory. As he knelt on the ground to take the height measurement, his knee pressed into the mellow earth next to the piece of the broken roof tile he’d been examining yesterday. His conscience smote him. She needed to be alerted even if he dared not offer her the reasons why.

      Shane picked up the tile and handed it to her where she knelt on the edge of the porch. “Notice anything?”

      She examined the edges of the tile and her lips pressed together with a soft humph. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?” Her gaze met his. Did he detect a smidgeon of relief glowing in the green depths? “I was starting to wonder about all these strange things happening, but I didn’t know how to say so without sounding paranoid or making excuses for clumsiness.”

      Shane nodded. So she’d been worried that he’d think she was seeing threat where none existed or that he’d interpret any protest as a cover-up for a fault. He could understand that motivation.

      “Clumsy is not a word I associate with you,” he said. “As for deliberate sabotage? At the very least, the marks look suspicious.”

      “Agreed, but whoever did this couldn’t know the tile would come down on top of someone.”

      “But there was a decent chance of it. Particularly if anyone knew the place was about to be renovated, and there would be a good deal of traffic and probably hammering and bumping and thumping.”

      Janice frowned and her expression went distant. Then her gaze met his, grim and solid. “I surprised an intruder on my porch yesterday—just before you showed up.”

      “Who was it?”

      “No clue. Except he—or she—was shorter than you. Probably shorter than me, too. The person was peering through the picture window. All I could make out was the outline of a face and part of a torso. I felt like...” Her voice trailed off.

      “What?”

      “Nothing. Probably my imagination. You know, because I was so startled, I got the feeling the intruder meant me harm.”

      “And here you have the proof.” Shane tapped the broken tile.

      “No, if the trespasser had been sawing on the roof right before I caught him, I would have heard the noise.”

      “The person could have been here before, you know. Maybe the intruder came back to check on his or her handiwork.”

      Janice sat back on her haunches. “Could be. In fact, Essie Mae said some fishermen saw lights up here a few nights ago. But what would be the point of booby-trapping this place?”

      Shane dropped his gaze to the tape measure. He couldn’t answer that question—truthfully anyway. “Let’s just be extra careful from now on, okay?”

      “Should we report this to the police?”

      Her voice inflection said that she dreaded that option almost as much as he did, but he wouldn’t discourage the measure—not when her safety was involved. “Probably a good idea.”

      She sighed. “All right. Maybe there will be an office in Menemsha or Vineyard Haven where we can file a report. I just hate—” She bit her lip, her gaze on the rippling ocean. “I mean, I so wanted this job to go smoothly.”

      “Rumors of a saboteur could hurt a sale.”

      “True.” She sent him a wry smile. “But from a few things Essie Mae let drop, this place already has an unsavory reputation. Some of the locals apparently consider it haunted.”

      Shane shrugged. “An air of mystery might have extra appeal to a certain sort of buyer.”

      “Way to cheer me up.” She bopped him companionably on the shoulder. “We’re burning daylight so we’d better get this last measurement and be on our way.”

      Soon they had all the figures they needed and headed for Shane’s Jeep. He insisted on driving his vehicle. Janice countered by insisting on paying for gas. The debate ended in Shane’s surrender on the gas issue as he buckled Atlas into the backseat.

      “You’re either a really good guy or a very bad driver,” Janice said as Shane slipped into the driver’s seat.

      “What makes you say that?” He started the vehicle.

      She laughed. “It takes an unusually conscientious pet owner to buckle his dog into a seat belt, or else a pet owner who has serious reservations about his driving ability.”

      Shane shook his head, grinning. “How about this option? I’m a nervous new pet owner who happened to adopt a dog that tolerates neurotic behavior in his master. I’m sure Atlas would rather stick his head out the window and let his tongue flap in the breeze.”

      “That explanation works, too.”

      The short trip passed in pleasant small talk and soon they drove into a tiny fishing village. A large statue of a marlin welcomed them to the community. Boats from dinghy-size to fishing trawlers to majestic schooners lined piers that stretched long fingers into the green-blue ocean. With the jumble of masts piercing the skyline, the land-cupped bay resembled a massive toothpick holder.

      Shane