Boone leaned back in his seat, the only clue that he felt the speed in the way his hand inched up toward the grab bar. “That’s right, sir.”
“We use this spot as a starting point. Get your phone. Find me the nearest hotel, book us a floor. Until I have her with me again, this will be our new base of operations. Anyone wants to see me? They come here.”
Boone already had his phone in his left hand. Tearing his gaze from the dash, he started to pull up his maps app. His military mind was, as always, one step ahead and he proved that when he asked, “What about Henry?”
Tommy’s lips thinned. “I’ll tell my father that this is where Grace has decided to get married. He won’t butt in if he thinks I’m finally getting a wife out of this.”
“The old man won’t be happy if you go back to the city without her,” Boone pointed out.
“I’m not worried about that.” Tommy dared a glance over at his bodyguard, determination a terrifying spark in his dark blue gaze. The speedometer danced passed one twenty. “I don’t plan on it.”
Was that ribbon purple? It looked purple.
God, please let it be purple.
She was so tired, and night had fallen fast. The space between the street lights was so wide, each lamp was a spotlight that broke up the gloom. They were pretty, but kind of pointless; the lamps didn’t really help her see. Grace squinted, saving her poor eyes, then flashed her high beams at the tall, black post.
Leaning toward the windshield, she searched for the ribbon. It was a thick piece wrapped around the middle of the post, tied neatly in an oversized bow. And it was purple.
Yes.
She turned right.
The police officer told her that she wouldn’t be able to miss the bed and breakfast once she made it to Orchard Avenue. She wasn’t so sure about that. It was easy to find landmarks like tree stumps and purple ribbons. What was she supposed to be looking for now? She remembered he said something about a sign.
Okay. Let’s look for a sign.
Grace eased down the road, hoping something would stand out. Years ago, during one of her rare vacations from the dance company, she spent a weekend in Maine. The B&B she relaxed in had looked like a house from the outside, so she didn’t think it was too weird that this was a residential street.
The fact that it was an empty residential street, with a forest of trees creeping up on the few houses that dotted the avenue, made her a bit nervous. Small town, she reminded herself. And the welcome sign out front did say that there were only a hundred and ninety people who lived in Hamlet.
Grace believed it.
Apart from the cop and his cruiser, she hadn’t seen another driver since she left the highway behind. She passed some houses, and the inn toward the front of the town, but no people. She liked to think it was because it was Sunday and not that Lucas De Angelis had sent her to some weird Stepford-like town.
It would be worth it, though. To get away from Tommy and have even a second’s peace, this strange, quiet Hamlet would be worth it.
In the not too far distance, something flashed out of the corner of her eye. The sign wasn’t lit up, but someone had used the same reflective paint that she saw on the Hamlet sign and the one for the Hamlet Inn she passed.
Another flick of her wrist and the high beams found a wide wooden sign posted in front of a house. To her relief, Grace read:
Ophelia of Hamlet
Cozy Bed & Breakfast
Open to All
Look at that. Score one for that gruff yet enticing cop. She actually found the place.
Grace parked out front. There wasn’t a driveway so she pulled up along the curb, her bumper nearly kissing that of the mint green coupe already stationed in front of the cobbled walkway.
The structure beyond the walkway was a quaint Victorian-style house with red brick, a white trim, and a thick white railing that traversed the full length of the wraparound porch. A cozy porch swing sat invitingly on the far end. The front door was also white, though the bright red decorative O painted by hand stuck out at Grace even more than the sign had—and not in a good way. It looked like it was drawn in freshly spilled blood.
She gulped, suddenly hesitant to turn her car off just yet. After all those hours racing to get here, the shimmery red paint had her almost ready to turn tail and head back to Dayton.
Shake it off, Gracey, she told herself. It’s just paint. You’re gonna be safe.
As soon as she got inside, that was.