Stranger Danger (Lucy McGuffin, Psychic Amateur Detective 4)

I turn around to see Will. Next to him is Brittany, who practically wilts with relief at the sight of my dress. “Thank goodness you came to your senses,” she says.

“Came to her senses about what?” asks Will.

“Betty Jean dared Lucy to look sexy tonight,” explains Brittany. “And at first … well, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that she got it right in the end. Did Travis go crazy over your dress?” she asks me.

I feel my face go hot. “He liked it all right.”

In what is undoubtedly the most awkward moment of my life thus far, Brittany turns to Will. “Don’t you think Lucy looks fabulous?”

Will and I lock eyes in a guilt-ridden gaze. It’s not fair to keep my feelings for Will from Brittany, especially when I know how much she likes him. Sure, Will might have told her that he just wants to be friends, but knowing Brittany, she probably doesn’t believe him. Once this J.W. Quicksilver business is taken care of, I need to have a long talk with all the parties involved in my messy not-so-love life.

“I always think Lucy looks great,” Will says diplomatically.

Travis and Dad come back with drinks in their hands, and everyone starts making small talk.

The lights in the room dim, then flash back on. “That’s my cue!” Brittany hands me her champagne glass. “I have to introduce J.W.” She makes her way to the front of the room and picks up a mic. “Good evening, y’all!” It’s amazing how Brittany’s Southern accent goes up two notches whenever she’s in front of an audience. “If y’all wouldn’t mind taking your seats, it’s time for our program to begin.”

I hurry to get the best seat possible in the front row. Travis sits on my right, and Shirley Dombrowski takes a seat on my left. I lean over and whisper, “I didn’t know you were a J.W. Quicksilver fan.”

Shirley’s cheeks pinken. “Don’t tell Father, but I’ve read chapter fifteen from Assassin’s Creed four times now!”

“We all have,” I mutter.

I crane my neck and spot Will seated next to my parents a few rows over. Mom and Dad look practically giddy, while Will’s expression remains grim. The air around us is thick with excitement. My heart thumps with anticipation. I can’t wait until Will tells everyone the truth. People will be shocked, yes, but they’ll also be excited when they realize we have an honest-to-goodness celebrity living right here in town.

Brittany begins her introduction, reading off a list of J.W. Quicksilver’s literary accomplishments. So far, everything is straight out of his website bio. “One more thing,” she adds, her voice turning stern. “As you’re all aware, Mr. Quicksilver is a very private person. Absolutely no photography is allowed tonight.” Brittany lets everyone absorb this a minute. “It’s now my great pleasure to give you the one and only bestselling author Mr. J.W. Quicksilver!”

The room erupts with applause. A man in his early sixties emerges from a side door and walks up to the podium. Tall, with silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard, he’s wearing a waist-length black jacket with a bowtie and a green plaid kilt.

What? A kilt?

He flashes us a roguish smile. “Good evening, Whispering Bay,” he says in a deliciously deep Scottish brogue. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Shirley gasps, then clutches my hand. “Oh my God. It’s Sean Connery!”

While the rest of the crowd is taking in the fact that J.W. is apparently Scottish, I give this faker a thorough perusal. No, not Sean Connery, but close enough. Movie star good looks and a Scottish accent. This guy is good. No wonder Betty Jean is running around town making a fool of herself.

I try to catch Will’s attention, but like the rest of the crowd, he’s riveted by this fake, who begins reading a passage from the latest book in the series, Assassin’s Revenge. I’ve read the book, so none of this is new to me, but holy wow, this guy with his deep Highland brogue is putting a whole new spin on things. He looks up occasionally to make eye contact with the audience. His gaze drifts slowly until it reaches my row. We lock eyes. Then he winks at me. The nerve.

Shirley sucks in a breath. “Lucy, J.W. Quicksilver just winked at me!” She nearly squeezes the life from my hand. “Do you think he’s wearing anything under his kilt?”

“Shirley, for Pete’s sake, control yourself.” I disentangle my hand from her grasp.

“Sorry, I’m just so overwhelmed.”

I’ll say. Poor Shirley. I don’t want to burst her bubble and tell her that he was winking at me and not her. At least, I think it was me.

I glance around the room. Nearly every woman appears to be mesmerized by this fake J.W. Including my own mother. I take it back. This guy isn’t just good. He’s dangerous. The sooner Will tells everyone that he’s the real J.W., the better.

The impostor finishes reading, and the room once again goes wild with applause. This is Brittany’s cue to walk back to the podium. “Wasn’t that just brilliant?” she gushes, causing the applause to start up again.

This time, I’m able to catch Will’s gaze. I’ve never seen him look so furious. To everyone else he probably seems pensive, but the cold glint in his blue eyes sends a shiver down my spine. Not that I blame him for being angry.

“Ms. Anita Tremble, Mr. Quicksilver’s personal assistant, will go around the room with a mic, so if you have any questions, please raise your hand,” Brittany instructs.

I wait for Will for say something, but he doesn’t. Instead we spend the next hour listening to this guy field questions about everything from his writing process to how he got his first “break” into publishing.

Why is Will letting this go on?