Chapter 8: Clause Nine

Rafe let go of me first.

He put himself half a step in front of me and called across the lot, perfectly polite.

"Gate's locked, sir. We're closed."

Brett's silhouette came up the gravel with his phone flashlight bouncing.

"I'm not here for the hall," he said. "I'm here for my fiancée."

"Brett," I said, stepping out from behind Rafe's shoulder. "What are you doing?"

He stopped at the gate.

His flashlight swung over me, then over Rafe, then back to me, and his face went through three expressions before it picked a friendly one.

"Your mother called," he said. "She said you weren't in your room. Dawn pulled up your phone location on the family plan."

"The family plan," I said.

"It's for emergencies, babe."

"This is a boathouse."

"At midnight."

"I couldn't sleep," I said. "I came to see the linen colors with the owner, because the vote is in six weeks and somebody has to."

Rafe didn't look at me.

"Rafe Donnelly," he said, and unlocked the gate.

Brett stepped through and didn't take the hand Rafe offered.

"Donnelly," he repeated. "Carol said a Donnelly ran this place. I didn't make the connection."

"What connection?" I asked.

"Nothing. She said stay out of the hall's business, that's all." Brett looked Rafe up and down. "She said you'd moved back from Alaska."

"I did," Rafe said.

"Funny that Jo booked your place."

"Funny," Rafe agreed.

It was a very small silence, and I did not like what was in it.

Brett turned to me with his easy smile, the one he used at customer lunches.

"Come on, Jo. I'll drive you home. You can pick napkins in the daylight."

"I'd like to finish here."

"At midnight?"

"The owner stayed up for me."

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