Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

I was not upset.

I was perfectly fine with Max Reddy leaving Rocky Start. I'd only met him two weeks ago when he'd come to town looking dangerous, dark, and gaunt, mostly cheekbones, so we'd hardly had time to bond. I had a whole new life to plan—I had a future again for the first time since I was eighteen and threw mine away—so I had to make plans, good plans this time, a better life, so I didn't have time for Max anyway. I mean, I was grateful for all he'd done for us, especially saving my daughter's life—I would owe him forever for that—but I was fine with him leaving. It would be good if he'd tell me when he was going to go, but it didn't make any difference, really. It was fine .

I even understood when he got out of my bed every morning to get into shape to go back to the Appalachian Trail; he was a man's man who needed to stride alone across rivers and through the forest as manly men do. Perfectly fine with that. I did notice that today, for the first time, he had his heavy backpack on. Knowing Max, it was so he could suffer more during his walk. He'd told me, "Pain is weakness leaving the body," which is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Pain is a warning system. Pain is a body saying, "Sit down, you idiot, you've hurt yourself and you should stay where you are with that great woman you've been sleeping with."

I will admit that when Maggs didn't follow him to the door that morning for another practice hike, I thought, Good for you, sweetie. Maggs is a long-haired German Shepherd, a special breed whose thick fur is pitch black. She's large enough to be mistaken for a wolf, much like Max with his dark eyes and silver-threaded dark hair and general dark outlook on life, not to mention his lust for walking through forests and probably peeing on bushes. They clearly belonged together. So when Maggs sat down by me instead of following him to the door, I shrugged my shoulders at Max, who looked surprised. No idea why she's not leaving with you, Max. No idea why you're leaving me, either. You dumbass .

Max opened the front door and called her, and Maggs just looked at him, the picture of A Big Black Dog Who Didn't Understand the Situation.

I could relate. For the past two weeks, I had often looked at Max the same way. I mean, I could completely understand why he might want to head back to the Appalachian Trail with winter approaching so he could eat frozen rattlesnakes and mice instead of hot lasagna and mustard chicken. Who wouldn't?

Anybody , Max . Anybody but you.

You know what I hate? I hate being mad at somebody who hasn't done anything wrong. It makes me look bitchy.

"Come on, Maggs," Max said.

Maggs got to her feet, slowly, and limped toward him as he stepped outside and waited for her.

"Come on ," he called.

Maggs looked back at me and limped harder.

I'm on it, kid. "Wait, she's hurt," I called out, and Maggs sat down again, looking pitiful. "Did something else happen to her?"

"Not that I know of." Max came back to stand in the doorway now, looking at his dog with suspicion.

"You've dragged her off to the woods every morning," I said . "Maybe she strained the paw she hurt two weeks ago."

Maggs lay down, her chin on the paw she'd hurt. I have no idea how much of our conversations Maggs understands, but I think she's brilliant at nuance.

"Did you two plan this?" Max said, looking at me, exasperated.

"Yes, Max, your dog and I are plotting against you." I rolled my eyes.

If Maggs could have rolled hers, I'm sure she would have.

"Fine," Max said. "I'll be back in an hour."

I smiled as sweetly as I could, which was not up to my usual level of Cheery Boost, the fake smile I'd worn constantly for my past nineteen years in Rocky Start and the twelve years that had preceded them on the road with Poppy's father-to-be. Those were my second and third life acts (let's not talk about Act One, my childhood). But I'd turned fifty a week ago—why are the birthdays that end in zero so much harder?—and shortly before that my boss and protector had died, and then Max had shown up, and then I'd found out I was living in a town full of retired spies, so yeah, my life had changed. I was starting my fourth act now, and it was going to be different . No fucking smiling unless I was happy, for one thing.

I smiled down at Maggs, a sweetheart of a dog. "I'll be here. Maggs will be fine."

Max shot me a slight frown that said he was having trouble decoding me— I'm upset that you're leaving me, Max, and so is Maggs —and let the door close behind him. I watched him walk past the unbroken window—he'd broken the other one and the door when he'd driven into them to save me and my daughter Poppy; not his fault—and then I looked at Maggs. "So you're off the hook for that."

Maggs got up and headed for the kitchen where she probably thought there was bacon. No limp.

"Nope," I called after her and she turned. "Ecstasy."

Her ears pricked up. "Ecstasy," the bakery/coffee shop next door, meant the same thing as "cookie" since Coral, the proprietor, had a soft spot for dogs. Well, for any living thing that was hungry.

Maggs reversed course and went to stand by the door as I got my cardigan off the hook behind the counter. It was November in Tennessee and North Carolina—our town straddles the state line—and warmer than usual, but there was still a definite chill in the air. Coral's was right next door, so a cardigan would do me just fine for the five seconds I'd be out there. I dropped the key to the shop into my big apron pocket—my aprons are large to cover up my bralessness and provide me with places to stash many things—and we started for next door. I was going to work. I had things to do—make the shop look like a professional business, clear out Ozzie's apartment, hunt for the millions of dollars people seemed to think were hidden here—so I was too busy to worry about Max leaving. After I had some Lemon Zinger tea and something wonderful from Coral's bakery case.

Okay, truth be told, I needed to talk to Coral. As I said, many things had happened lately, and I was pretty sure Coral would be a good person to talk to about those things.

Like how to help my daughter, Poppy, with her PTSD from being kidnapped.

And help me plan my future now that my world had blown up in the past two weeks.

And why Max was going to leave me when we were so good together.

That kind of thing.

As I grabbed my cardigan, my cellphone buzzed in my apron pocket. I pulled it out and checked the text message from an unknown number.

I'm watching out for you

"Unknown number" described Max perfectly. And now he was trying to be reassuring. He needed some work on his reassuring skills. It also made me realize he'd never texted me before, which showed you how much time we'd spent together since he'd arrived in town. You have to be apart to text.

And now we were.

"That's a little creepy, Max," I said to the phone and opened the door.