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honey colored skin. “Shoes. I need shoes.” And no, I wasn’t ready, but a bike was about as far as I could get from a rocking chair.
    “And a jacket with long sleeves. It can get breezy.” Was that a wink? My stomach did a happy flip. Winks were good, right?
    Mitch rinsed our dishes while I put on shoes, a jacket, and washed the sudden rush of have-you-lost-your-mind fear from my palms. Damn. A motorcycle.
    He tucked my hair into a spare helmet, pulled my arms tightly around his waist, and gunned the engine. Trouble. I was in such trouble. Just let me say—a bike is a living entity. A thinking, breathing, powerful entity, capable of creating tiny internal earthquakes . Or was that the man I had my arms wrapped around? Hard to tell.
    We pulled back into my driveway thirty life-altering minutes later. Mitch helped me from the bike, laughing as I tried to get my helmet off and my hair under control. He tried to help, wove his fingers through my unruly mop, untangling strands of hair from the fittings on the helmet. His breath caught, an audible hitch that sent heat rushing through my veins and into my cheeks. Could he tell my hormones had kicked into high gear?
    His eyes darkened, turned to ebony pools that held a promise I ached to explore. I fought to keep my fingers curled, to not reach for him, touch him. His hand cupped my cheek, and right on cue bells started ringing. Not the good kind. He checked the number on his phone and gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Have to take this.”
    I wandered to the porch, shedding my jacket and toeing out of my sneakers, then laid back on the warm wooden stoop, eyes closed to let the late afternoon sun beat on my still vibrating body. It’d probably bring out the freckles, but…
    Mitch was quiet, stealthy even, but I knew he stood next to me because he blocked the sun and awareness rippled over my skin.
    “It’s really red.” His voice held a touch of amazement.
    I sat up, bracing on my elbows. “You’re referring to my hair, right?”
    “Yeah. Looks like fire in the sunlight.” He held out his hand to help me up. “Gotta go. It’s—”
    “One of those you’d-have-to-kill-me-if-you-told-me things.”
    He tipped his chin then pulled me into a hug. “Didn’t want this to end quite yet. Rain check when I get back?”
    I nodded, my forehead brushing against his shoulder, fingers tucked firmly into my palms where I’d kept them for the entire bike ride.
    He set me away from him, rubbed a few loose strands of my hair between his fingers. “Pretty.” And then he cupped my chin again. A brush of lips. A shiver of heat.
    The bike disappeared around the corner of the cul-de-sac, leaving the echo of power shimmering in the air, and a chill touched my body where he used to be.

    Tuesday, before daybreak—
    I had my ring-tone set to a soft chime but it still brought me from a deep sleep to confused awareness. The clock read two. In the morning. Not good.
    “This is Everly.”
    “I’m sorry, El, but I had to call…” Violet’s words pierced the soft place in my belly and left the sharp ache of hollow fear behind. “You’d want to know, and I’m going to need your input. I just got a new client. Her name is Jayne Hunt and her brother, Mitchell Hunt, is missing.”

Five

    I stumbled from bed and wrapped myself in a warm robe—red fleece—totally unnecessary in the warmth of a North Carolina October, but considering the chills attacking my body, a necessity. I headed for the kitchen, one step at a time, hands braced against the wall. I planned to put on a pot of decaf, but somehow managed to spill the fresh-ground beans all over the counter. I took a deep breath and the coffee scent brought tears stinging to the surface. Unexpected.
    Enough with the melancholy, Everly. Mitch and Violet need you . I splashed cold water on my face and gave some serious thought to the bottle of scotch tucked in the cupboard above the refrigerator. Bad idea. Really bad idea.
    I took