Her Detective's Secret Intent

“Dah, dah, dah...” she hummed the tuned. And then recited a couple of stanzas about dust and wind and how small each person really was.

“Sometimes I think about that, how we’re all little more than a grain of sand,” he said, talking in a way he never talked aloud. Sharing thoughts that embarrassed him somewhat. “And I take comfort in that.” He glanced over at her. Her hair was blowing back from her face, the moon shining on her cheeks. He moved in, not thinking, just moving, taking his lips to hers and then, in the last second, pulled back.

“It’s good to know I don’t always have to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders,” he told her, hoping she’d see that she could feel the same way. That he could somehow find a way to truly lighten her load. Other than by washing a few windows. “Sometimes, I can just be one grain of sand blowing in the breeze, and the world won’t even know I’m not doing anything.”

“I heard a wise woman speaking once.” Her voice was louder. They had to speak up to

hear each other over the waves. “I can’t remember the occasion or what exactly she was talking about. But at one point she said, ‘All shall be well,’ and the words stuck with me. Sometimes, late at night, if I wake up and the world seems too heavy for me to carry, I tell myself, all shall be well. In the long run, no matter what I do or don’t do, no matter what does or doesn’t happen, all shall be well. Usually, remembering that, I can let go long enough to fall back asleep.”

Just like a grain of sand, able to lie on the beach and not matter, for a minute or two. A moment to lay down your burden and rest.

She got it. And he was glad.

Chapter 16

It was way too chilly to sit on the beach. Or even think about getting naked there. When Tad suggested heading back, she readily agreed, although she’d only had about three sips of her wine. She dropped the cup into the trash can as they passed it, and he did, too.

There was more at home, chilled. Mostly she just wanted to get there. To be alone with him.

The whole day had been building to this point and the walk on the beach had made it completely clear to her. She wanted this.

And all would be well.

The universe had sent her a man when she was ready to meet him, and yet, if he’d offered to wash her windows, she’d have turned him down.

For no good or rational reason.

She wasn’t going to turn him down that night. She was ready to start living again. Being a woman, a person, not just a mom and a PA.

While she loved being both of those things, she needed more.

It was time.

And she’d met a man, developed feelings for him, and was ready to take this first step. To get on with her life.

It helped that he was only in town temporarily. She didn’t have to worry about long-term consequences. About the secrets she couldn’t ever share.

There’d be no need. He was going to be a lover—she hoped—not a life partner. Or even a lifelong friend.

And if, in the throes of passion, she let something slip from her old self—like she’d admitted that night that she’d never eaten out in such a nice place—then she had to trust herself to find a way out of it. To explain. To cover.

Just as she’d been doing since she’d signed Dana O’Connor out of existence. She knew how to do it.

Had become quite adept.

She could be a grain of sand. A speck of dust in the wind. For a little while. Her son was safe. For the first time since she’d run with him, she had an entire night ahead of her, a night without having to listen for him, to know that it was up to her to keep him safe if anyone broke in...

Tad walked her to the door and hesitated behind her, almost as though he wasn’t going to follow her in.

“You want a fresh glass of wine?” she asked him. “You want to come in?” would probably have been better. She wasn’t going to drink much more. An occasional glass of wine was it for her.

Her father had never raised a hand to her until he started drinking after her mother died.

Not on the job, though. No, he only drank at home. On his days off. When Miranda was trapped there with him, taking the brunt of his anger. All the bitterness at the death of his wife...and for years Miranda had been the recipient of that rage.

Tad nodded and followed her inside. She didn’t ask about the wine again. She just poured some for both of them. But didn’t drink.

She watched him take a sip, knowing, somehow, that he didn’t really want the alcohol any more than she did.