Page 3 of Hideaway Reunion

That eased her worries more than she cared to admit. “You’ll be my first call,” Roni promised.

Driving back to the Hideaway, she waffled between the silver lining of knowing the Devaney family wanted to return and the current bleak reality of telling her sisters she’d redirected thousands of dollars.

Celeste handled the finances for the Hideaway and she did an excellent job managing a million details that would frustrate Veronica. It wasn’t just the reservations and payments, it was the staffing, expenses, maintenance, and more. And somehow, month after month, Celeste paid each of them their share of the profits.

How long would that last? The Devaneys couldn’t be the only guests who would find the noise intolerable.

Pulling into the driveway, she sent a text to Jess Billings. As both a friend and the regional personnel coordinator for the Guardian Agency, Jess had helped Roni and her sisters with security issues in the past. At times, the agency rented Hargrave Hideaway as a safehouse too. Maybe there was a way to protect the business after all.

More than a little frustrated, she pocketed her cell phone and climbed out of the car. Heading for the beach, she glared at the screeching noises beyond the trees as she passed the fire pit and crossed the dunes.

This would pass. The construction wouldn’t go on forever. But, man, she wished the situation would hurry itself up.

She scanned the property line as she walked toward the water, grateful for the dense thicket of resilient live oaks, palms, and holly that created the hard boundary between the Hideaway and the Indigo Reef site. The maritime forest was protected by both zoning codes and environmental law, though she didn’t trust the developer not to push the boundary and beg forgiveness later.

Crossing the dunes, she spotted a man in a bright yellow safety vest and hardhat standing on the Hargrave side of the trees. He was holding a surveying prism pole, planting it firmly into the pristine sand of the Hideaway’s private beach, while a second man nearby operated a transit level.

Trespassing. Again.

Before they noticed her, she took a couple of pictures to back up the complaint she was about to lodge with their supervisor. Or the police. Maybe the town council. She didn’t care who, as long as someone took action.

Thank goodness the Devaneys had moved. She could just imagine the justified outrage if this had happened while any of the young kids were down here playing. She and her sisters had discussed installing a fence. That project jumped straight to the top of Roni’s to-do list.

Her pulse spiked. This was no accident. It was a calculated encroachment. They were silently declaring they could do and take whatever they wanted. A chill danced down her spine, disbelief and temper merging into a new and dangerous mix.

“Not today,” she muttered, storming down to confront the pair. The soft sand slowed her steps, but not much. “Excuse me!” She shouted to be heard over the roar of equipment. “Excuse me, you’re on private property!”

The surveyor on the beach didn’t even look up, ignoring her completely as he continued with his task.

“Hey!” Veronica stalked closer, temper rising to the fore. “I’m speaking to you. You’re trespassing. Remove yourselves immediately.” She would not let them get away with this. “I’m calling the police right now.”

The man standing on her beach turned, offering a slow, patronizing smirk. He was burly, with a week’s worth of stubble on his jaw and a cold, dismissive gaze. “Just doing my job, lady. We’re verifying the boundary lines. The plat maps say this dune belongs to the development.”

“Bull.” Even if he was right—and she knew he was not—she refused to let them continue without proving their claim. “Our family has held the deed to this property since before your development group was a gleam in some corporate lawyer’s eye,” Roni snapped. “You are thirty feet over the line. Minimum. Leave and wait for the cops on your property.”

“Call whoever you want,” the man sneered, coming closer. He loomed over her, using his size to intimidate, while she calculated her self-defense options. “By the time they get out here, we’ll be done.”

“You’re done now.” She gripped her phone to hide her trembling hands. He was so close she could see the sweat dotting his forehead, running down his neck.

“That so?” He tipped his hat back from his forehead, his gaze raking over her with ugly intent. “Frankly, sweetheart, a pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be wandering around so close to a construction zone. Accidents happen.”

“You’re threatening me?” She wished she’d thought to record this conversation. So much for self-defense, she was about to go on the attack. Fury that someone so awful would be on her beach, might have ruined Abigail’s vacation with their unwelcome disruption, flooded her system. She couldn’t recall ever being so angry.

“Listen here⁠—”

“I don’t think you want to finish that sentence,” a familiar baritone voice interrupted from behind her.

Veronica spun around and the sudden wave of relief washed over her so intensely she nearly lost her footing.

Brayden Leggett’s long stride was sure as he joined the scene, his tall, broad-shouldered frame gilded by the sun. Dressed comfortably in khaki shorts, a faded navy t-shirt that stretched tight across his chest, and a battered ball cap, there was nothing casual about his posture. His jaw was set in a hard, dangerous line, and his dark eyes were locked on the surveyor closest to her.

Brayden had been her lifelong friend, the boy who trained with her through various sports seasons and summer camps when they were kids, the guy her friends drooled over in college. He’d been a steady, quiet presence in her life for as long as she could remember. Usually as close as a text message, lately he’d been around in real life too.

The easy way he moved through any situation with a kind smile or silly joke was a welcome comfort. It was wonderful to have her best friend show up more often.

And yet.

Every time she saw him, the changes in his physique were more obvious. Pronounced. Tempting. Like her, sports and physical activity were Brayden’s happy place. They’d spent countless hours side by side in a gym or out on a track. Running drills up and down the bleachers, doing burpees until one of them dropped, cheering for their favorite teams.