Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

Call the plumber about the gurgling noise coming from the shower in the Ocean View Suite.

Buy a pork loin for dinner with Jess, Coop, and family.

Ooh, and ask Mona to bake profiteroles, too.

Put the infamous red stilettos on eBay.

On that note, spring-clean my wardrobe to see if anything else can go on eBay.

I sighed, and rolled onto my side in bed.

It was almost impossible for me to drift immediately to sleep when I finally got myself into a bed. You’d think after the long hours I worked my exhaustion would pull me right under. Unfortunately, I had so many tasks and thoughts and worries whirring around in my brain on any given day that it took a while for my brain to shut down.

After another long day at the inn I’d crashed in the room I kept open at the back of the house. For the longest time I’d done my very best to drag myself home for Tom, but now I didn’t have to worry about that and when I was tired it was nice that I could sleep at the inn. The small room had come in handy because like all the guest rooms it had its own bathroom, and when Jess was struggling last year I had let her stay there while she worked as my manager.

I reached over for my phone and groaned at the time. I’d thought I was being a good girl going to bed early at midnight. It was one o’clock now and I was still not asleep.

Come to me, goddess of sleep!

I huffed and kicked out the covers, flipping over onto my other side.

Just as I was drifting close to that heavenly oblivion of slumber I heard a creak down the hall from my room. Near my office.

I sat up and listened, wondering if one of my guests was wandering around. The click of my office door opening made my heart rate speed up.

None of my guests should be wandering into my office.

And shit, I needed to start locking it.

Out of nowhere, I was hit by the horrible feeling that the person who had opened my office door wasn’t one of my guests.

The stairs in the inn were creaky. There was no way I wouldn’t have heard someone coming down those.

The blood whooshed in my ears as my heart pounded against my chest. Grabbing my phone, I got out of bed as quietly as possible and tiptoed over to my door.

I winced at the slight snick of the handle turning and froze, waiting. When I was sure I hadn’t been heard, I opened it, peering out into my dark hallway. There was a faint light coming from my office. A moving light.

A flashlight.

I felt sick at the violation of someone breaking into the inn.

But also extremely pissed off.

Tiptoeing down the hall, avoiding the all too familiar creaky spots in the floorboards, I got to the office and cautiously peeked my head around the door.

Uncertainty and, yes, not a little bit of fear moved through me at the sight of the tall masked man rifling through my files. My computer screen was on but it was password protected. There was the possibility he was looking for something to help him work out the password but he’d find nothing. I had memorized an anagram to remember my complicated password.

The man, dressed all in black, turned his head to the side, and even in the woolen ski mask he wore over his face I recognized him.

Stu Devlin.

I was sure of it.

It made sense. Was he searching for something that might be useful as leverage in obtaining the inn from me?

Moron.

There was no way that Ian Devlin put him up to this in his effort to amass more boardwalk real estate. Stu’s father might be an asshole but he was a much sneakier asshole than his idiot son.