Some Kind of Wonderful (Puffin Island 2)

That was his excuse for being here.

It sounded pathetic, even to him, and presumably she thought so, too, because she raised an eyebrow.

“Who is ‘everyone’? I’m pretty much on my own out here.”

“Which is why you need a decent lock. The world isn’t populated by fairy-tale characters.” He knew. He’d witnessed firsthand the tarnished side of human nature. It was something he never wanted her to see. Except that she had, and he was the one who’d shown it to her. In a careless moment he’d given her a glimpse into a past he tried never to look at himself.

There was a metallic taste in his mouth and a sick feeling in his stomach.

He wanted to wind the clock back and unsay the words but it was too late for that.

All he could do was wait for her to mention it and then make it clear the subject was closed.

He braced himself, ready to block her attempts to dig deeper.

She didn’t mention it.

Instead she walked across the kitchen and pulled open a door. “You don’t need to worry about my ability to defend myself. I’m a black belt in karate and I won a couple of medals with this when I was in college.” This turned out to be a sword, which she kept in a long bag in one of the cupboards. “I’m not as skilled with my left hand but I could still do damage to an intruder.”

He’d expected pity. He’d expected sympathetic looks and an awkward conversation where she encouraged him to open up and he struggled to escape like a fish on a hook.

He hadn’t expected her to be standing in the kitchen pointing a sword at his chest.

Some of the tension left him. “It’s a sabre.”

“You fence?”

“No. But I once flew a fencing team to a competition. We were delayed by fog and by the time we managed to take off I knew more than I ever needed to know about that particular sport.” His heart rate slowed. “I thought your expertise was Bronze Age weapons.”

“It is, but my interest is broader than that. Weapons interest me. The ability to cut was vital for early man. Paleolithic hunters needed to kill and dismember animals, and the distinction between blades for hunting and blades for weaponry was pretty blurred for a long time.” She swept the sword through the air in an elegant movement and then returned it to the cupboard.

Zach watched. “Might be simpler just to get a decent lock on the door.”

“Don’t spoil my fun.” She leaned against the cupboard and closed it. “I’ve been waiting half my life to confront an intruder with a sword. Think I’d give them a shock?”

“Maybe.” The thought of her confronting an intruder, with a sword or otherwise, turned him cold. “I hope you won’t ever need to find out.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Zach. I can take care of myself.” Her voice was soft and he knew she wasn’t just talking about the physical threat of an intruder.

“The first stage of taking care of yourself is having basic security in place.” Choosing to ignore the message she was sending, he returned to the job he’d been doing when she arrived. He’d stopped at the store and bought the best lock Puffin Island had to offer. The best had been pitiful, and he’d felt like making some suggestions to Ted Whittaker, who owned the only hardware store on the island, then decided he didn’t need to draw attention to a past that was already part of island gossip.

A past Brittany now had access to.

The cold rush of panic was disturbed by a clatter as she lifted mugs from the cupboard.

“How much do I owe you for the lock?”

“Nothing.” He wiped his brow with his palm. “Turns out Ted Whittaker is Grace Green’s uncle.”

“I know who Ted is, but— Oh!” She filled the kettle and gave a nod of understanding. “You’re the hero of the hour and he gave you the lock without charge?”

“I’m guessing Grace has been exaggerating, but so far I’m getting more free stuff than I did when I stole it.”

“I love that.”

“Yeah, there’s an irony there.” And there was an irony in the fact that he was the one with the skills of breaking and entering, and yet Brittany had somehow found her way into the locked vault inside him. She’d sneaked in there, around the deadly barbs of protection that had kept him safe for years. He watched as she made fresh coffee and poured it into both mugs. The rich fragrance of roasted beans filled the kitchen. “That’s the best thing I’ve smelled in a long time.”

“It’s not bad, but I miss Greek coffee. Thick, black and guaranteed to keep you awake when you’re working on a paper in the middle of the night.”