She was grateful Bonnie didn’t press. The last thing she wanted was to explain the ridiculous knot of jealousy twisting inside her over a man she’d shared exactly one kiss with—especially when it now looked as though that kiss might not have meant to him what it had to her.
“…this is Jessica Daly for Channel Four News.”
George pressed the rewind button and watched the segment play again. And again. By the fifth viewing, he had every expression memorized.
The reporter stood outside the Dare County Sheriff’s Department with practiced confidence, her polished smile and clipped delivery dripping with self-importance. She carried herself like someone convinced the camera loved her.
George’s lip curled. He wondered how composed she would remain if someone cut her down to size. Literally.
The thought lingered as the report shifted to footage from the press conference. His attention sharpened. Here came the best part. The FBI agent. Mister Important.
A humorless smile tugged at George’s mouth. His work had local law enforcement scrambling, and now they’d brought in federal help. It didn’t matter. A bigger badge and ego didn’t make a man smarter. They were all the same—overpaid fools chasing shadows they could never catch. None of them would ever catch him.
He had spent years building the perfect life to hide behind. He held a respectable job, kept his yard trimmed, waved to the neighbors, and made polite conversation whenever required. His coworkers liked him. His supervisors trusted him. No one had ever filed a complaint.
He’d never been arrested or even received a traffic ticket.
Every other Saturday, he volunteered at the local food pantry. Once a month, he drove his elderly neighbor to the library because her eyesight no longer allowed her to drive herself.
He had crafted the image with care. Dependable. Respectable. Forgettable.
That was the beauty of it. People saw exactly what he wanted them to see and nothing more.
No one suspected the mild-mannered man who carried groceries for little old ladies and donated canned goods to those in need was the same man instilling fear across Dare County.
There was disappointment in that, of course. A small part of him longed for people to know. To understand what he’d accomplished. To see the cleansing work he was doing. But secrecy had its own reward. Silence preserved the mystery, and mystery bred fascination. The less they knew, the more they feared. And fear gave him power.
Rising from the sofa, George crossed into the kitchen, where the microwave beeped its completion. He removed his dinner, set it on a tray with a knife, fork, and a neatly folded napkin, then carried it back to the living room and lowered himself onto the recliner, balancing the tray across his lap.
On the television, Jessica Daly’s face remained frozen mid-sentence.
He picked up the remote, smiled, and pressed rewind once more.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace glanced around the nearly full dining room of the Cranberry Inn and tried to focus on anything other than the image still replaying in her mind.
The elegant bed-and-breakfast, named for its deep red-colored exterior, sat at the north end of town and opened its dining room to the public each evening from five until nine. Its Victorian décor matched the architecture of the grand old building, giving the space a refined charm that felt worlds away from the lively bustle of Sassy’s. There, laughter usually rose above the steady hum of conversation, and the bar area stayed packed with regulars gathered beneath glowing television screens tuned to whatever game was on. Even the dining room carried an easy energy.
The Cranberry Inn was different. Soft lamplight spilled across draped tables, polished wood floors gleamed beneath crystal fixtures, and conversations drifted through the room in low, measured tones. Normally, Grace loved the calm atmosphere. Tonight, it only gave her too much room to think.
Bonnie lifted a hand in greeting to one of her regular customers across the room, then turned her attention back to Grace. “Are you all right, Gracie? You’re awfully quiet, and you’ve barely touched your dinner.”
She stopped pushing her penne alla vodka around her plate and forced herself to meet her aunt’s gaze. “I’m fine, Aunt Bonnie. Guess I wasn’t that hungry after all.”
The lie tasted as flat as the food now sitting untouched in front of her. There was no way she could tell Bonnie the truth. She couldn’t admit that, less than twenty-four hours after Sean had kissed her senseless at her front door, she’d seen him walk into Sassy’s with another woman.
The sting of it still sat like a stone in her chest.
Worse, it dredged up an old memory she would have preferred stayed buried—a college boyfriend she’d once trusted, only to learn he’d been seeing someone else at the same time. The humiliation of that discovery had taken months to shake. This felt even worse because she’d actually let herself believe this time might be different.
Bonnie knew her too well to buy the excuse, but she also knew better than to push when Grace wasn’t ready to talk. Instead, she caught the waitress’s attention and asked for a container of the inn’s chicken and rice soup to take to Dan.
The small act of kindness eased some of the tightness in Grace’s chest.
After dinner, she drove Bonnie back to Main Street. The streets had grown quieter, most storefronts now dark except for the pools of light spilling from the restaurants and bars still serving the dinner crowd. Grace waited while Bonnie carried the soup upstairs to Dan’s apartment above the hardware store. Once she was sure her aunt had made it inside, she pulled away from the curb and headed west.
As she passed Sassy’s, her foot eased off the gas. Without meaning to, she searched the row of parked cars for Sean’s Mustang. She didn’t know what unsettled her more—that she hoped to see it or that some part of her hoped she wouldn’t.
