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house?”
    “I needed a safe place to hang while some
of the heat blew over,” he said.   “It’s getting wild out there lately.”
    “Where were you the whole time I’ve been
here?” Cullen said.   “You could have
come out a long time ago.”
    Preston shook his head.   “I’ve been in one of the tunnels,” he
said.   “I fell asleep.   I woke up and heard movement from
upstairs, but I didn’t know who was here, so I waited just to be on the safe
side.”
    Cullen seemed to find this explanation
sufficient, but Ivy felt mortified.   The man had been somewhere inside the house while they were having loud,
passionate sex.
    How much had he heard?
    It gave her the creeps.   And what was this stuff about tunnels?
    Ivy made a mental note to ask Cullen as
soon as they were alone.
      His father was unruffled by the
awkwardness in the room.   “I’m
hungry.   Want to have a bite?”
    “Of course,” Cullen said.   “And maybe some coffee.”
    “Even better!” Preston shouted.
    Ivy sighed, as she followed them out of
the room.
    When they got downstairs, Preston sat at
a high chair next to the island in the center of the kitchen, while Cullen
began brewing coffee.
    “Are you sure it’s safe for you to be
here?” Cullen asked, as he added grounds to the coffee maker.
    “I don’t think the Feds even know about
this place,” Preston said, folding his arms, appearing at ease as he
spoke.   “Although, I suppose you
might’ve been followed down here.”
    “I doubt it,” Cullen said.   “I took a chopper.”
    Preston laughed and slapped the
counter.   “That’s the way to lose a
tail,” he said.
    Cullen prepared three cups of coffee and
then brought one mug to his father and another to her.
    Ivy stood there, watching Cullen and his
father chatting.   They were so
different in so many ways, and yet there was a shadow of his father in
Cullen—it was faint, but visible.
    The way they held themselves, the blue
eyes, the intelligence and guardedness, even behind smiles.
    She snapped out of her reverie when
Preston once again mentioned his hunger.  
    “I could make some eggs and bacon,” she
offered.  
    “We don’t have any fresh stuff in the
fridge,” Cullen told her.
    “Well, is there a market nearby?” Ivy
asked, putting her mug down.
    “There’s a place you could literally walk
to,” Cullen told her.   “Just down
the road and then almost right across the street.   But you don’t have to do that,” he said.
    Preston licked his lips.   “Bacon and eggs does sound nice, though.   I haven’t had a real home-cooked
meal in God only knows how long.”
    “It’s settled then,” Ivy said.   “I’d love to do it.”   She walked over and gave Cullen a peck
on the cheek.
    He grabbed her hand, not letting go.   “You amaze me,” he said softly.   “You know that, right?”
    Ivy smiled at him, feeling her cheeks
flush.   “I’ll be back before you
know it.”   Then she turned to his
father.   “Toast?”
    Preston grinned.   “I never say no to toast, especially
with some fresh butter.”
    “Fresh butter it is,” she said, laughing.   And then she walked out of the house,
smelling the salty air.
    As she walked, she thought about Cullen’s
father and his friendliness.   It was
strange, but somehow she just didn’t trust him at all.
    He’s
only being nice because he wants money.
    The thought made her spine chill.   Even as she walked up the lovely road,
her thoughts were taking her away from the beautiful salty Cape Cod air and
into her swirling mind.
    She didn’t like the feeling she was
getting.
    Preston Sharpe was out for himself.   He didn’t care about the danger he was
putting everyone else in with his presence.
    And for some reason, Cullen didn’t seem
to care either.    
    Ivy tried to shake the bad feelings as
she went inside the small market across the street.   It was a really friendly little place
with lots of local, fresh produce and a few