Page 46 of Easton Island

Brett stood stock-still. Not blinking. Not moving. Just watching his girlfriend.

She slammed the door and fired up the engine. Backing all the way to the overflow parking area, Quinn shifted into drive. She hit the gas. With gravel flying, she sped down the driveway and out of sight.

Morgan let out a low whistle. “What happened? One minute you two are hunky-dory. The next you’re both spitting bullets.”

“Quinn told me she was heading to the gallery and began primping in her car window. I made a joke about Mason keeping her company. She didn’t see the humor. In fact, it was the exact opposite.” Brett rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re a woman. Do you find the guy attractive?”

“He’s good-looking. As far as personality is concerned, I only met him briefly. You think he’s hitting on Quinn?”

“Don’t you?”

“I guess it’s possible.”

“To answer your question, based on what happened and how strongly Quinn reacted, I’m leaning toward the answer being yes.”

“Quinn loves you. There’s no way she’s cheating with this guy,” Morgan insisted. “I was kind of joking about running a background check on him the other day, but maybe it’s not a bad idea. He seems to be hanging around the gallery, and I’m not sure about his motives.”

“You read my mind.” Brett sidestepped his sister, a look of determination on his face as he strode into the house.

Morgan, curious to find out more about the man who had Quinn and her brother riled up, trailed after him. She caught up with Brett in his upstairs office where he was already seated at his desk.

She slipped in behind him, watching as he pulled up a new search screen and typed Travis Mason, San Diego, California in the search bar. No results were found flashed across the screen.

He tried a couple of variations, all with the same result. There was nothing on the guy, at least not easily available info.

“He mentioned renting a condo,” she reminded him. “There are only so many units on the island.”

“Morgan, you’re brilliant. I have a friend who is also a real estate agent. I’ll bet he can give me the scoop.” Brett snatched his phone off the desk and turned it on. “I’m checking to see if he’s around.”

Tink.

“We’re in luck. He’s in his office.” Brett’s fingers flew over the screen. “I’m asking him if he knows Mason.”

A series of texts bounced back and forth. Meanwhile, the concerned look on her brother’s face deepened. “Not good.”

“Not good news about Travis Mason?”

Brett clicked out of the message screen and shoved his chair back. “I need to check something out. You can go with me if you have time.”

Before Morgan could blink, her brother was out the door and halfway down the stairs.

“Hey!” She ran after him. By the time she caught up, he was already in his car with the engine running.

She jumped in and pulled the door shut. “It must be pretty bad.”

“If what my friend told me is true, Travis Mason knows exactly who you and I are. No wonder he’s hanging out at the art gallery. He’s snooping.”

“Why?”

“You’ll find out in a minute.” Brett tore out of the driveway. He barely stopped for the stop sign at the bottom of Dead Man’s Drop. Careening around the corner, he stepped on the gas and sped toward Easton Harbor.

Right before they reached the downtown area, he turned off and began heading inland. They passed the turnoff for Whisper Brook Waterfall, the spot where Wyatt had taken Morgan on their first date.

They continued driving until reaching a densely wooded area of the island. Brett made a right onto the main road. Towering pines. Jagged sheer cliffs. Pristine, sandy beaches met rocky shoreline. Easton Island was a multitude of facets, mixing and mingling, creating the most magical place on earth—Morgan’s home.

Less than a mile from Easton Harbor, Brett pulled off the road and into a grassy area, a makeshift parking spot used by locals and visitors to access the hiking trails.

Directly across and on the opposite side, islanders could cast a line and reel in some of the biggest walleye, trout, and even cold-water salmon found in the Great Lakes.