She didn’t care. She loved it here, always would. It symbolized safety and security, even if she was not-so-secretly terrified of the actual lake itself.
The power was out here too; she could see that right away. The two massive oak trees in the yard were nothing but dark swaying giants, sheltering her as she ran toward her front door. Letting herself in, she tripped over the boots she’d left on the floor—cleaning up the messy foyer was on one of her lists somewhere—and made her way blindly to the kitchen, where she pulled out her storm lanterns.
Dead batteries.
Well, shit. That was also on a list. She was searching through her junk drawer for spare batteries when she heard an odd thunk. Had that been against the side of the house? Freezing in place, cursing herself for marathoning all those horror movies the other night, she listened. Nothing. Drawing a deep breath, she decided the hell with it, if it was a mass murderer, well, at least she’d made it to the ripe old age of thirty. She’d had a good run, and hey, she’d gotten to have a Shirley Temple earlier. What more could she possibly want out of life?
Another thunk, and this time she nearly jumped right out of her skin. “Sweet Cheeks?” she whispered, hoping like hell it was the cranky stray cat Winnie had saddled her with when she’d gone off to college two hours south in Santa Barbara. “That’s you, right?”
Nothing.
When the third thunk hit, Piper forced herself through the house, using her phone as a flashlight. Which is how she found the den window cracked about six inches, the slanted shutters banging in the wind against the wall, screen long gone.
Mystery solved.
She’d opened the window the other day when the sun had been out and unseasonably warm for late January. Somehow, she’d forgotten to close it, and, she had no doubt, Sweet Cheeks had escaped, since it was her mission in life to mess with Piper’s.
Okay, then, so no mass murderer. She’d live another day. But the adventure had made her tired. Or maybe that was just her life. Even so, she still had one more thing to do before she could relax. Well, two if she counted looking for Sweet Cheeks. With a sigh, she once again pulled on her rain jacket and went back outside and across the wide expanse of wild grass between her and the marina.
She’d grabbed her medic bag for the guy who owned and ran the marina. Emmitt Hayes was in his mid-fifties, ate like a twelve-year-old boy, drank like a fish, and had just been diagnosed as diabetic. He’d also recently suffered the loss of his son and wasn’t taking care of himself.
So, since they’d been friends since he first bought the marina around five years ago, she was doing the caretaking.
Between the two houses was a runoff from two small tributaries, combining into one rivulet that fed into the lake. Ninety-nine percent of the time, she could step over the little creek when she needed to. Tonight the flow was heavier than she’d ever seen it, half water, half mud—another problem from the poor fire-scarred land due to last summer’s terrible California wildfires.
It was one thing for her to step over a narrow stream, but another entirely to get past the rushing river it’d become, and she stopped, frozen to the spot. Take a deep breath. Be logical. It’s not as deep as it looks, it’s just wide.
And moving hella fast . . .
Sucking in a breath, she backed up a few feet and then took a running leap. The bad news—she landed a few feet short, leaving her wet and muddy up to her knees. The good news—she didn’t drown.
But she wished she’d had another drink with Hot Guy.
A few minutes later she stood on the dark porch of Emmitt’s house, drenched to the core. She knocked as loud as she could to be heard over the wild wind. “Emmitt,” she called out. “It’s Piper. You okay?”
The door opened, and at first all she could see was a tall, lanky shadow of a man who was wielding a flashlight, which messed with her ability to see clearly. “Emmitt?”
“Not quite.”
Wait. She knew that voice, and she blinked in surprise because it was . . . Hot Guy? Had she manifested him here? Was she in an episode of The Twilight Zone? “What are you doing here?”
He was already pulling her in from the rain. “I was just about to ask you that same question.”
“I live next door.” She gestured vaguely behind her as he closed the door, shutting out the noisy storm. “I’m here to see Emmitt,” she said. “He’s my patient.”
“Patient? I thought you were an EMT, not a doctor.”
“I am, but he—” She shook her head, irritated, mostly at herself for being thrown off guard, because she prided herself on never being thrown off guard, by anyone. “Why am I explaining myself to you?”
“Don’t worry,” came Emmitt’s voice from the depths of the dark living room. “He has that effect on everyone.”
“What, charming people?” Hot Guy asked mildly.
Emmitt laughed. “More like irritating the shit out of them.” He turned on a small lantern, smiling at Piper from the couch. “The apple never falls far from the tree, you know.”
Piper stared at Hot Guy before turning back to Emmitt. “He’s your son?”
“In the flesh.”
She could see it now. Same dark hair and hazel eyes, and a somewhat imposing height and strength to match. But more than that, the sharp awareness they both had, the way they held themselves so easily, so casually, and yet seemingly utterly aware of everything around them.
She knew Emmitt had two sons, but she’d only known one of them. Rowan, who’d died three months ago in a tragic car accident. All she knew about his other son was that he lived on the East Coast. In fact, now that she thought about it, she didn’t even know his name. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“My fault,” Emmitt said. “The divorce was eons ago. It was . . . tough, and there were problems. I raised Rowan. Camden stayed with his mom, to . . . help her.”
She glanced at Hot Guy, who apparently was named Camden, but he’d lowered the flashlight at his side so she could no longer see his face. Beyond being startled, she was also realizing that Rowan had been Camden’s brother. And much as she liked to fantasize about murdering her own brother in his sleep half the time, it was just that. A fantasy. She’d . . . well, she’d die if anything happened to him.
And suddenly Camden’s grim mood made sense.
“Do you two know each other?” Emmitt asked.
“No,” Piper said, at the same time Camden said, “Yes.”
She stared at him.
He stared right back.
“Well, that clears that up,” Emmitt said. “Cam?”
“We were both at the bar tonight.”
“Yep,” Piper added. “End of story. Now, tell me how you’re feeling, Emmitt.”
He flashed his son a grin, as if he found it hugely funny and satisfying that Piper wasn’t interested in him.
As for how Cam felt about this, or anything, he wasn’t revealing. “Why does she want to know how you’re feeling?” he asked. “Have you been sick?”
“Nope. I’ve been healthy as a horse.”
Piper shook her head. “Maybe a horse with—” She broke off, horrified that she’d very nearly outed Emmitt’s medical condition, which was never okay, even when one was totally off-kilter.