Harbour Falls (A Harbour Falls Mystery #1)(18)

Adam reached out and gently smoothed the wayward strands back, the warmth of his fingers a welcome contrast to the cool air.

“You’re cold, Maddy. Here, take this,” he said, shucking his coat off and holding it up for me to slip on.

“Thanks.” I slid my arms into the sleeves, and then Adam gently lifted my hair and secured the jacket around my shoulders.

“Better?” he asked, turning me to face him once more, while rolling the sleeves up over the bulkiness of my sweater.

“Mm-hmm,” I answered, breathing in the unique scent of Adam. I could get used to this.

He rubbed my very cold hands between his own very warm hands. “You ready, then?”

“Are we going down there?” I asked, my voice raising an octave as he began to lead me to the top of the precarious-looking steps.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.” He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “It’s actually pretty cool down there when the weather is like this. I think you’ll like it.”

For some crazy reason, I did feel safe with Adam. Besides, I was curious to see what—besides the black, jagged edges of rocks peeking through the fog—was on the peninsula.

I stayed close to Adam as we began the steep descent, the misty air engulfing us. “What’s down here anyway?” I asked, my voice muted by the ever-increasing volume of the crashing waves.



“The lighthouse,” Adam replied.





Chapter 5



At the base of the steps, in the shadow of the towering cliffs, surge after surge of waves battered the sides of the rocky peninsula. Viewed through the cottony haze of fog, the landscape of oil-black rocks—some unusually large and oddly shaped—lent a mystical feel to the whole area.

“Pretty cool, eh?” Adam asked when he caught me, mouth open, ogling the place.

OK, so I was impressed. I snapped my mouth closed and playfully elbowed him for looking so smug. But then I agreed that the atmosphere down here was definitely something worth seeing.

Adam pointed to a tall, stark white structure off in the distance, and realizing what it was, I exclaimed, “The lighthouse! Can we get closer?”

“Absolutely,” he said, smiling, as he led the way to what appeared to be the least treacherous route to the lighthouse.

Down here the terrain was unforgiving, especially in the fog. One wrong move could easily result in a bad fall. But I took my time, allowing Adam to help me traverse the more slippery surfaces and climb across the largest of the boulders.

At last we reached a swath of hard-packed sand. “It’s mostly easy going from here,” Adam said, breaking the silence that had ensued as we’d navigated our way.

Now that the most difficult part of our little journey was behind us, conversation resumed. We shared stories about our college days. Although I had a few good tales of my own, Adam surprised me with several hilarious anecdotes of his own. I laughed a lot, both at the content of his stories and the animated way in which he told them. Unlike the mercurial man I’d dealt with last night, when he spoke of these obviously happy days at school, Adam was more like the guy I’d once longed to get to know.

But that changed when I asked him about his company. Adam grew reticent, giving me short, clipped answers that sounded almost rehearsed. He finally just said he didn’t want to think about work, so instead I told him about how I’d become a novelist.

“I’ve heard of your books,” Adam said. “But I must confess I’ve never read any of them. I’ll have to pick one up.”

Thrilled that he wanted to read something I’d written, I said, “I have a bunch of extra copies at the cottage. I could just give you one.”

“Only if you sign it,” Adam said, his tone teasing as he lightly bumped his shoulder into mine.

We continued, closer, closer to the lighthouse, until Adam stopped abruptly. He turned to me. “You write mystery novels, right?”

His face was unreadable, so I answered with an “uh-huh,” my voice cracking on the second syllable.

“And all of them are fiction?”

I nervously pushed the toe of my hiking boot into the wet sand and replied, “Yep, all fiction.”

Adam looked to be contemplating my answer as he took several steps backward, beckoning for me to follow. I took a few tentative steps toward him, my eyes lowering to the squishy prints my boots were making in the wet sand. Impressions that were there for a moment and then gone as if they’d never been there.

I kept walking, watching my prints appear and disappear, but then Adam halted. To avoid stumbling headfirst into him, I thrust my hand forward, grasping the thermal material of his shirt. His chest flexed beneath my hold as he caught my elbows and steadied me. I met his gaze, and he asked softly, “Ever consider writing a book about the mystery right in front of you?”

I swallowed hard, all the while wondering if he meant himself…or the Harbour Falls Mystery. Worse yet, was he onto me? Was he trying to get me to fess up? My pulse began to race, and I searched his stormy eyes. I couldn’t tell him the truth. The mystery was too intertwined with his life. Hell, the mystery was his life.



I glanced down at my hand, still fisted in his shirt—maybe more so, now—and did what I was learning to do best. I lied. “Um, no, I think I’ll stick to fiction.”