A High-End Finish(43)

“Scary.”

“I was terrified.”

“Good thing you were wearing a helmet. And you’re sure nothing’s broken?” He reached over and lifted my leg at the knee, moving the joint up and down. “Does that hurt?”

“No.” I didn’t mention the thousands of tingles I felt from his touch. I figured they weren’t related to the fall.

He did the same with my other leg. Nothing was broken or sprained.

“You were lucky,” he said.

“Except for having my brakes go out, I guess I was.”

“My name is Mac, by the way,” he said.

“I’m Shannon.”

He grinned. “Irish. It suits you. So, let me know when you’re ready to stand up, Shannon.”

“I think I’m ready.”

“I’ll help you.” He rose easily to a standing position and held out his hands for me to grab hold of.

Once I was on my feet, he gripped my upper arms until I was no longer swaying. When he took a step back, I tried to roll my shoulders, but the slight movement had me biting back a moan. “That hurts,” I admitted.

“You’ll probably be aching for a few days.” He walked over to where my bike lay fallen in the grass. Lifting it effortlessly, he checked the tires, then played with the hand brakes. Standing the bike up with its kickstand in place, he gripped the left brake line between his thumb and index finger and followed it all the way to the back wheel.

“The brake wire is frayed right here. A strand of this thin plastic coating is all that’s holding it together.”

“How can that be possible?” I wondered. “The bike is less than a year old.”

“I’m familiar with this model,” he said, running his hand over the bike’s wide back bumper. “It’s expensive.”

“I wanted a good one,” I said, slowly bending at the waist to test my stomach muscles. “I like to ride.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He got down on one knee to take a closer look at the fraying and I stepped next to him to see what he was looking at. After a moment he glanced up at me, a frown marring that gorgeous face. “See this row of indentations on the wire? Looks like the brake line was cut intentionally.”





Chapter Eight


Wendell.

That was my first thought, that Wendell had sabotaged my bike. Maybe it was because I’d been consumed by his negativity all week. But it took only a few more seconds to realize that Wendell Jarvick would never waste his time and energy trying to hurt me physically. That would shine too much attention on me. His world revolved only around him.

“This is fascinating,” Mac said, as he casually turned the brake wire this way and that to study the striations on the thin plastic covering.

“Fascinating?” Was he crazy? “The only thing that’s fascinating is that you actually think someone did it on purpose. I don’t believe it.”

His expression was mildly curious. “Do you have enemies, Shannon?”

“No. I mean, not really.” I wasn’t about to mention Whitney or her annoying friends to him and, to tell the truth, I didn’t believe they would want to get their hands dirty fiddling with my bike. “I mean, well, there’s nobody who would deliberately try to injure me. Unless . . .”

His eyes brightened. “Unless what? Tell me everything. Don’t hold back.”

I laughed. He wasn’t even trying to hide his eager interest. I don’t know why I found it so honest and charming. “Somebody was murdered recently and I’ve been asking questions around town.”

“Ah. And somebody out there doesn’t want to provide the answers. I’m intrigued.”

“You would be,” I said acerbically, then blanched. “I mean, because you write mysteries.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I do. You’re MacKintyre Sullivan. Everybody in town knows who you are.”

“They do?”

I smiled. “You don’t come from a small town, do you?”

“No.”

“We’re all talking about you. It might take some getting used to.” Then, because I wanted to hear him say it, I asked, “So, it’s true? You really are moving here?”

“Yeah. I’ve always loved this part of the coast. I grew up in Oregon and I’ve stayed overnight in Lighthouse Cove a few times on my way home. I really like it.”

“That’s wonderful. I hope you’ll be happy here.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“My entire life.”

“Ah.” He chuckled. “And you don’t think you have enemies?”

I frowned at the implication. “I didn’t think so, but after today . . .”

He picked up the bike. “How about if I drive you and your bike back to town and you tell me all about it?”

“I’m not sure there’s much to tell, but I would appreciate the ride. Oh, wait.” I saw my notebook splayed nearby and grabbed it, then carefully checked the surrounding area. “I think I’ve lost my phone.”

He set down the bike and pulled his phone out of his front pocket. “What’s your phone number?”

I blinked at the impulsive question, but then realized what he meant to do. I rattled off my number, he called it, and seconds later, I heard my phone’s distinctive ring. It had sailed another twenty feet beyond where I’d fallen.