False Illusions: Women's Fiction

Romantic Suspense (The Honeysuckle

Island Series Book 4) Jennifer
Youngblood
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 FALSE ILLUSIONS

WOMEN’S FICTION ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

JENNIFER YOUNGBLOOD
Copyright © 2022 by Jennifer Youngblood.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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 CONTENTS

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue

Other Books by Jennifer Youngblood

About Jennifer Youngblood
 PROLOGUE

E scape.
The word was an intoxicating vapor that enveloped her senses with a longing she could
scarcely contain. Stumbling around in this stupor that had become her life was like constantly
seeing a scrumptious dish of food from afar and yet never being able to taste it. While she looked
perfect on the outside, she was starving on the inside. Starved from finding an abiding love and
purpose that she craved more than air. Memories from before crowded her brain. She’d been strong
then … carefree … so sure about the direction her life was taking.
And then he came into her world.
In a few short hours, everything would change. She would finally be free from her golden
shackles. Free to go where she pleased. Free to live her life as Jackie Dennis. All she had to do was
hold it together for a little while longer. Sharp fingernails of doubt pricked at the corners of her mind
as she went hot all over and then frigidly cold. He would see through the ruse. He would take one
look at her and know what she was about to do.
Trembles ran through her hands as she clutched them together. No! She couldn’t give in to the fear.
She had to pretend. She was stronger than this. Her smile was flawless … fixed in place, and as
perfect as her exquisite designer gown.
“Hello, darling,” an older woman said by way of greeting.
“How kind of you to come.” She caught the sweet fragrance of Maude’s perfume as they air-
kissed.
“Don’t you look lovely?” Maude paused, looking her over with a sharp gaze. “How are you,
Jaclyn?”
“Fine,” she chattered brightly, cringing at the shadow of doubt in Maude’s eyes. Maude’s husband
was close friends with Zachary—Xavier’s uncle, who oversaw the Kiplings’ business affairs and
lucrative estate. No doubt Maude had caught wind of Jaclyn’s recent stay at a mental hospital. Let
them all think she was crazy! Jaclyn didn’t care. They were under the Kiplings’ influence and would
believe whatever the powers that be wanted them to.
After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Maude, Jaclyn floated amongst the well-dressed
guests, laughing lightly at their quips while ignoring the inquisitive eyes that regarded her with
suspicion. She fingered her jeweled necklace. It was worth a fortune—her nest egg that she would use
to start a new life. Everything else would have to be left behind. Her beautiful clothes. The pictures
of her mom. Her favorite copy of Wuthering Heights that she’d had since high school. A bubble of
hysterical laughter rose in her throat as she swallowed it back down. When she was an English major
in college, she never could have conceived that she’d be living out a real-life version of Emily
Bronte’s novel. Or maybe this was Jane Eyre. Worse! Wide Sargasso Sea. Oh, beloved. How did it
come to this?
Xavier had given her the necklace on their one-year anniversary. A pang went through her.
Despite everything, a part of her still loved him. Maybe she was a crazy fool like everyone believed.
She felt the heat of watchful eyes and looked across the crowded room to where Xavier was
talking to a group of men. A smile of acknowledgement trembled over her lips as their eyes caught.
He knows! her mind screamed.
Her knees went weak as alarm roiled her stomach. She might’ve lost it then had a woman not
caught her arm and struck up an inane conversation about an upcoming garden party.
When it was time for the toasts, Jaclyn slipped away. She was met outside by the moist salty air
and the distant roar of waves crashing against the rocks. The Kipling mansion was perched on the
edge of a cliff, the back of the structure giving way to a magnificent view of the ocean. When Jaclyn
first came to the Kipling estate, she was enamored with the drama of a house situated so close to the
edge of a steep cliff. Now, the cliff was a persistent reminder of her precarious situation and the
danger that would befall her with one misstep.
The rustle of her silk gown kept time with the frantic clicks of her heels as she hurried to the
designated meeting place. Almost there! Bud, her driver, would be waiting at the edge of the circular
driveway. Picking her way over the cobblestone and around the conglomerate of expensive cars,
Jaclyn quickened her pace when she spotted the limo.
Her hand had just grasped the door handle when he called her name, the sound carrying eerily on
the fluid hands of the wind.
“Jac—lyn!”
“No,” she whimpered, trying to open the car door, but it was locked.
“Jac—lyn.”
This time, the voice had a singsong quality that reminded her of a tiger toying with its prey.
Slowly, she turned.
“What’re you doing out here, darling?” Xavier asked as he came towards her. Dressed in a
tuxedo, Xavier Kipling was by far the most handsome and elegant man Jaclyn had ever seen. In the
pale light of the full moon, his high cheekbones had an ethereal quality that gave him a phantom-like
appearance.
“Stop!” she shrieked. Holding out her hand, she shrank back against the limo.
He stopped in his tracks. “Darling, it’s me. No need to be afraid.”
“I can’t do this,” she cried. “You have to let me go.” A sob choked her throat. “Please.”
“I could never let you go,” he responded in a wounded tone. “I love you.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as he stepped closer.
“It’s chilly out here,” he said pleasantly. “Let’s get you inside where you can get warm. It’s time
to take your medicine.”
“No!” she barked, a suffocating panic engulfing her. “Bud was supposed to meet me out here.
He’s taking me to the airport!”
He gave her a quizzical look. “The airport? Where are you going?”
“Back home to Florida,” she croaked. “To be with my mom.”
A soft chuckle of surprise sounded in his throat. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
She searched his chiseled face, which was infused with such nobility. No wonder she’d fallen so
hard for him. She’d wanted to believe that he was good … that he truly loved her.
 “Darling, you’re confused. Your mother passed away. Don’t you remember?”
“No!” she uttered as an invisible noose tightened around her neck. He was a monster! “Y—you
killed her?” Her entire body was filled with loathing as she glared at him. “How could you?” Her
mother was all she had left. Xavier had stripped away her spirit … her dignity … and now he’d taken
her precious mother.
The tone of his voice remained calm, placating. “No, Jaclyn, she died of a heart attack. Surely you
remember. I sent you the video link of the funeral while you were in the hospital.”
Her world began to spin. “No!” Was she confused? Everything was so muddled. She searched her
brain. Memories of her stay at the hospital were fuzzy. She’d fought against the orderlies … ranted
and raved about Xavier. But in the end, a curious blankness overshadowed all. It was the pills! It had
to be. She wasn’t crazy … was she? “I have to go. Bud is waiting for me.”
“Who’s Bud?”
A silent scream started in her head, filling her entire body. Her words came out breathless. “My
driver.” Her voice broke. “Please, Xavier. No more games.”
“We don’t have a driver named Bud. Stewart has been our driver for years.”
“No,” she screamed. “You’re a liar!” Bud was filling in for Stewart while he was looking after
his ailing dad. She’d worked everything out with Bud. He purchased her airline ticket. He had her
purse, which contained her driver’s license and what little cash she could squirrel away. Her throat
closed, making it hard to breathe. She pressed her fingers against her temples, wishing she could
make herself disappear into nothing. With her mother gone, she had nothing left to live for.
“What’s going on?” a female voice asked.
Xavier turned toward the woman. “Oh, Merla,” he said in relief. “I’m glad you’re here. Jaclyn
has had a setback.”
“Of course she has,” Merla sneered. “Probably because tonight wasn’t all about her.”
“Enough!” Xavier commanded. He took in a deep breath, his voice resuming its civility. “Jaclyn
is under the assumption that I have a driver named Bud.”
Merla grunted. “That’s a new one.”
“I’ve been trying to tell her that she’s mistaken.” A trace of impatience seeped into his tone.
“Darling, let’s go back inside. I’ll call Doctor Stanton. He may need to increase your meds.” He
spoke as though he were talking to a child who was slow to understand.
“My mother’s dead?” Jaclyn’s mind refused to accept the words. “How could she be dead? I just
spoke to her a few days ago … right before she went on her cruise.” This was a nightmare. She’d
entered a world where up was down and down was up. Granted, she’d experienced lapses in
memory, but this was insane.
“She went on the cruise a couple of days before you went into the hospital,” Xavier said gently.
“In fact, she was on the cruise when she had the heart attack.”
Xavier stepped forward and caught hold of Jaclyn’s arm. She made a feeble effort to pull away,
but he gathered her in his arms.
“My mother’s dead?” she whimpered, searching his face.
“I’m afraid so,” he said sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry.” His voice grew throaty with emotion.
“Darling, don’t ever try to leave me again. You know how much I love you. Remember what I told
you on our wedding day? I’ll always take care of you. Always,” he said fiercely.
All hope of escape dissipated into the humid air as Jaclyn nodded numbly and allowed Xavier to
lead her back to the house.
 1

G rab the crab salad from the deli. Don’t forget the crackers and olives. Make sure to get the
brownies and pastries from the bakery. Tightening her hold on the steering wheel, Olivia kept
running the to-do list through her mind. She needed to remember everything while they were in
Summerhaven. Once they jumped on the speedboat to head back to Honeysuckle, it would be too late.
They’d just have to do without any items she forgot to pick up. There was a grocery market on
Honeysuckle Island, but the pickings were slim, and everything was ghastly expensive.
She laughed inwardly at herself for being such a penny pincher. It wasn’t like a few items at the
grocery market were going to break the bank. She and her family were in way too deep to be affected
by a few measly dollars. They needed something drastic—a miracle—to turn the ship around.
Otherwise, they were facing the daunting prospect of closing the doors of a business that had been in
Olivia’s family since before she was born. A business that was the lifeblood of Olivia’s parents. She
had no idea what would happen to her parents if the business closed. Or what would happen to her.
Running the gallery was also her dream. No, her dream went beyond that. She didn’t just want to run
the gallery but also, one day, she wanted to showcase her art in the gallery.
A dull headache pounded across the bridge of Olivia’s nose. She’d gotten very little sleep the
night before. She tossed and turned, fretting over tonight’s reception. Also, Ryan had woken up
several times. Three years old, her son Ryan was a handful. Olivia thought he’d be sleeping through
the night by now, but no such luck. Being a single mom was not something that Olivia had planned for.
She lived with her parents, who helped look after him. However, not even having her parents’ help
was enough to compensate for Ryan not having a father. Her stomach tightened as she thought of Brent.
His death had been devastating. Now, with the passage of time, she still missed him; but thankfully,
the pain wasn’t as fierce. More than anything, she wished that Ryan wouldn’t have to grow up without
a father.
Her thoughts shifted back to the gallery. Olivia didn’t like being in this frame of mind where
worry over finances gnawed at her like relentless termites eating away the foundation of her dreams.
There was a time when The Seabird Gallery was thriving. That was before another art gallery opened
up a few doors down. The new gallery was run by a resident of Honeysuckle Island. Diana Copeland
was an elite socialite with ties to the New York art world. She knew how to network and gain the
trust of the other residents. Diana was one of the elite who moved in the same circles as her clients.
Whereas Olivia and her family were outsiders—residents of the nearby town of Summerhaven, who
were forced to commute back and forth to Honeysuckle Island by ferry.
When business was thriving, Olivia’s dad had talked of getting a speedboat to make the commute
faster and more convenient. However, that was a pipe dream at this point. Now, the primary thought
on everyone’s mind was survival. Ever since Diana opened her gallery, sales at The Seabird Gallery
had been down a depressing sixty-five percent. At this rate, they’d be out of business by the end of the
year.
Olivia could only hope that the book signing and reception tonight would give the gallery a much
needed shot in the arm to get things hopping again. If anyone could help pump traffic into the gallery,
it was Arden. She glanced sideways at her friend as a warm rush of gratitude filled her chest. Arden
said that she’d come home to visit her parents and brother, Talon. She’d blithely claimed that she had
to come home every now and again to search for the famed treasure that her late grandfather had
supposedly hidden somewhere on the island. However, Olivia knew the truth—Arden flew in from
San Francisco specifically for this event. The fact that Arden was a member of the powerful and
illustrious Chasing family gave her enough clout to get the residents of Honeysuckle Island to the
signing. Add that Arden was also a New York Times bestselling author, and people were sure to
come flocking. At least that was the hope. Granted, it was a stretch to have an author do a reception at
an art gallery. However, Arden insisted that people would still come.
Arden exhaled a long sigh as she trailed her fingers through her long chestnut hair that was cast
with auburn highlights. “Can you believe that Wesley Laramie had the audacity to hit on me?” Her
voice pitched high as she put a hand to her chest. “Me! Of all people.” She shook her head, clipping
out a short laugh. “He must be getting desperate. Wesley knows how much I despise him. Just because
our families have a long-standing friendship doesn’t mean jack squat to me.”
A smile tugged at Olivia’s lips. Sometimes she wished she had half the fire in her that Arden had.
Then again, it was easy for Arden to be bold when she had the mighty force of the Chasing name
behind her. Olivia was merely a regular person, trying to scratch out a living so she could give her
son a future.
“What?” Arden asked, turning towards Olivia.
“I’m sure Wesley knows exactly how you feel. You’re not one to mince words.”
“I have zero patience for beating around the bush,” Arden snipped. “I’ll leave the diplomacy to
you.” She flashed Olivia a sugary smile. “You’re much better at it.” A second later, her voice took on
a snippety edge. “I can promise you this. If Wesley shows up tonight and tries to start anything, I’ll
sock him in the nose.” She balled her fist and raised it in the air.
Olivia’s eyes widened as a sliver of apprehension ran through her. She had no doubt that Arden
would do exactly as promised. And, yes, Wesley Laramie deserved anything and everything that
Arden could dish out. Olivia had more reason to despise Wesley Laramie than Arden. Wesley’s
father, Carter, had murdered Brent in cold blood simply because Brent happened to be in the wrong
place at the wrong time. Hate bubbled up, churning acid in Olivia’s throat. She’d tried to work
through her anger, realizing that it was only hurting her. However, the feelings still surfaced—often
when she least expected it.
She pulled her thoughts away from Carter, reminding herself that the man was dead and could
never hurt anyone else. As for Wesley … he was a notorious playboy who’d been handed everything
on a silver platter. However, that was beside the point. Olivia and her parents needed a win tonight,
not the bad publicity that would surely come from Arden causing a scene.
“Down girl,” Olivia cautioned. “My parents and I need everything to go smoothly at the
reception.”
Arden waved a hand. “I know,” she relented. “Don’t mind me. I’m just spouting off.”
Olivia’s shoulders relaxed. “I hope you know how much I appreciate you doing this.”
 “Of course. It’s no big deal,” Arden said offhandedly, and Olivia could tell that Arden meant it.
Olivia and Arden were unlikely friends who met when Arden stopped at the art gallery during one
of her trips back home to Honeysuckle Island. She was writing a novel about art theft and wanted an
insider’s scoop into the art world. A series of interviews morphed into lunch appointments where
Olivia opened up about the pain she felt over losing Brent in such a violent way. Arden was a good
listener, and while she had every reason to be spoiled and entitled, she wasn’t. She was a true-blue
friend … as evidenced by her dropping everything and coming to help Olivia and her family with the
gallery.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t just get Sadie to cater the reception. She’s practically a
member of your family, after all.”
“I consider her family.”
“As you should,” Arden interjected. “How are she and Ian doing?”
“Great. Happy as clams.” Olivia made a face. “So lovey gooey that they make me sick.”
Truthfully, it had been wonderful having Sadie in her life. Having Brent’s sister around was like
getting a small part of him back. Also, Sadie adored Ryan.
Arden giggled. “Sheriff Ian Russell, lovey gooey? That I’d have to see.”
“Oh, you just wait. You’ll see. Sadie has Ian wrapped around her little finger. They’re supposed
to come tonight … if Sadie feels up to it.”
A former detective, Sadie came to Summerhaven to investigate Brent’s death. In the process, she
and Ian fell in love and got married. “Trust me. I would’ve hired Sadie to cater the reception if I
could have, but she’s been a bit puny lately. Her morning sickness lasts for most of the day.”
“Poor thing. That’s rough.”
“I know. She had to go to the hospital last week and get an IV. She was dehydrated.”
“When’s the baby due?”
Olivia did a quick mental calculation. “Sometime in the fall, I believe.”
“Hopefully, she’ll get over the sickness soon.”
Olivia’s heart dropped when she looked in the rearview mirror. At the same instant she saw the
flashes of lights, she heard the wail of a siren.
“What the heck!” Arden grumbled as she whipped around to look. “You’re getting pulled over?”
Her voice flew up an octave. “That’s absurd! We don’t have time for this!”
“No, we don’t,” Olivia growled. This is the last thing she needed today. Her heart pounded out a
fast beat. They needed to get to the gallery pronto. Even with them taking Arden’s—or rather Talon’s
—speedboat back to Honeysuckle Island they would be cutting it close. They still had two more stops
to make—the grocery store and bakery. Frustration tightened Olivia’s gut as she turned on her blinker
and maneuvered into the right lane. Okay, take a deep breath and get a grip, she commanded herself.
The cop car stayed right on her tail. As soon as she was able, she pulled over to the shoulder of the
road. A ticket! Gah! How much would it cost? Surely the cop wouldn’t give her a ticket …
considering her close association with the police department.
“Why in the heck did he pull you over?” Arden grumbled. “You weren’t speeding.”
“I know,” Olivia spouted, feeling vindicated by Arden’s assertion. They’d passed through a
school zone a mile or so back. Olivia had seen the sign at the last minute and slammed on her brakes
to slow down. However, she was certain that she slowed down in time.
Olivia watched in the rearview mirror as the cop got out.
“Would ya look at him,” Arden jeered, “sunglasses and all. Who does he think he is? Tom
Cruise?” Laughter slurped from her lips. “He even walks with a swagger.”
 “Shh,” Olivia warned, swatting Arden’s leg. “We don’t want to get on his bad side.” Arden wore
her family’s influence like a magical suit of armor that made her impervious to the travail of normal
people. Olivia’s life wasn’t nearly as charmed. She couldn’t afford to be a diva. Her best hope for a
quick resolution to this situation was to play it nice.
Sparks flew from Arden’s eyes. “I’ll show that moron a bad side.”
Great! It was an officer Olivia didn’t know. Why couldn’t it have been Grady or Michael … or
even Ian? The officer was probably new. Now that she thought about it, Ian mentioned something
about hiring a couple of officers.
As he stepped up, Olivia rolled down the window and placed both hands on the steering wheel as
Brent had taught her to do. The officer removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket.
Olivia jerked, taken aback by the vividness of his deep blue eyes. A tidal wave of heat gushed over
her cheeks as she took in his rugged features. She was mortified at the attraction that pinged through
her. Why did he have to be so dang good-looking? And why did he have to exude such a bad-boy,
reckless vibe that called to her inner soul? It didn’t hurt that he filled out his cop uniform well with
his cut biceps and masculine forearms. Great gravity, he was nice to look at.
His gaze lingered on her a moment too long, and then he seemed to catch himself. “Good
afternoon,” he began in a brisk tone. “May I see your license and registration?”
It happened again. Their eyes connected, sending all rational thoughts flying out the window.
When a tiny smile tugged at a corner of the officer’s mouth, Olivia found herself grinning back like a
goober.
His quirk of amusement gave her the jolt she needed to return to her senses. Good grief, she was
acting like a moonstruck idiot! She’d always been a sucker for cops. Add in his stunning good looks
and sense of arrogance, and she was a goner for sure.
“Your license and registration,” he prompted
She snapped out of her daze. No way could she get involved with another cop. Hadn’t she had
enough heartache over Brent to last her a lifetime? Danger followed cops, or rather cops followed
danger. She owed it to Ryan and to herself to find a guy who had a stable, predictable job.
What the freaky Frankenstein was she thinking! Here she was contemplating a future … or
squelching any chance of a future with some guy who probably wasn’t remotely interested in her. He
was simply doing his job. The eye-locking thing was probably a figment of her imagination—proof
that she was in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. She was getting twitter-pated over nothing.
Was the guy even single? She glanced at his ring finger and felt a curious blip of relief when she saw
the naked strip of skin over that all-important finger. Of course, just because he wasn’t wearing a ring
didn’t mean that he wasn’t involved with someone.
“Uh, sure,” she stammered as she turned to find her purse. She glanced down at the floorboard
and Arden’s feet only to realize that her purse was in the back seat. She was twisting around to get it
when Arden caught hold of her arm.
“I’ve got this.” Arden’s voice rang out both confident and indignant.
Crumb! Arden was about to get on her high horse. This was bound to end poorly.
“Officer, do you have any idea who this is?” She looked at Olivia as she spoke.
He raised an eyebrow in faint amusement. “A woman who was speeding in a school zone,” he
quipped dryly.
Olivia’s jaw dropped. “I was not speeding! I slowed down.”
He didn’t back down in the slightest. “When you saw my car. And for the record, you didn’t slow
down soon enough.”
 “I never saw your car.” Anger blanketed her, hot and furious. “I slowed down the instant I saw the
sign. That sign should be displayed more prominently,” she added defensively.
He smirked. “If it had been a snake, it would’ve bitten you. License and registration,” he
demanded, looking her in the eye.
It went through Olivia’s mind that the guy was a jerk. She should be outraged about the snake
wisecrack. But right now, she couldn’t think straight. She was feeling things she never thought she’d
feel again—the stir of ribbons through her stomach, the flush of warmth over her skin, the heady sizzle
of energy pulsing through her like a fireball.
“Fine,” she spouted as she turned to get her purse. Placing it in her lap, she reached for her wallet
and slid out her license. As she handed it over, her hand brushed against the cop’s, rustling awareness
through her. Okay, this idiotic attraction was out of control. She turned to Arden, her discomfort
spewing out in irritation. “Don’t just sit there like a ninny. Get the registration out of the glovebox.”
“I most certainly will not,” Arden harrumphed as she glared at the cop. “Do you recognize her
now?” Her voice held a checkmate tone.
He looked down at the license. “Olivia Burkhart.” Mirth zinged in his eyes as he looked at Olivia.
“Afraid not.”
“Is he a blooming idiot?” Arden scoffed. “How could he not know you?”
Olivia glanced at the cop, noting that his jaw had gone razor sharp. “He’s new,” she explained to
Arden.
Arden made a face. “Ah, that explains it. Listen, Officer Wet-Behind-the-Ears—”
“Yates,” he cut in, the corners of his jaw flicking.
Oops, Arden was taking the condescension too far.
Arden rushed on. “Officer Yates, trust me when I say that you don’t want to give Olivia a ticket.
Sheriff Russell will tan your hide.”
A hard amusement flicked in his eyes. “Is that so?” He looked at Olivia with a hint of challenge.
“I’ll take my chances.” His voice took on a warning edge. “I’ll ask one more time for the
registration.”
Olivia was impressed and infuriated by the guy’s torque. “Just get it,” she grumbled to Arden.
Time was ticking away. She glanced at the clock on the dash, desperation seeping through her. She
needed at least two hours to get the food prepped, and she still had to get ready.
“Fine,” Arden huffed as she threw open the glovebox and rummaged through it for several
seconds before handing the registration to Olivia, who then handed it to the officer.
“Hang tight while I call this in,” Officer Yates said.
“Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” Arden chimed. She flashed him a hard smile. “When you call it
in, be sure and tell them that you pulled over Olivia Burkhart. They’ll love hearing that.”
He shot Arden a look of annoyance before turning his attention to Olivia. “Is she always such a
pain?”
The corners of Olivia’s lips twitched. “Just when she’s awake.”
This earned her a look of admiration from Officer Yates.
“Way to throw me under the bus,” Arden grumbled the second he left.
“You were being a pill. Officer Wet-Behind-the-Ears? Seriously?”
“He is wet behind the ears,” Arden fumed. “You should just drive off right now. What’s he gonna
do?”
Olivia’s eyes flew open wide. “Arrest me!” Arden was taking the tough girl routine too far.
Judging by how Officer Yates had locked eyes with her, Olivia suspected that he might’ve let her off
with only a warning had Arden not goaded him.
She grunted. “I’d like to see him try. Ian won’t let him touch a hair on your head. After all you
went through with Brent, this town owes you big time.” Arden’s voice rang with fury. “Brent gave his
life in the call of duty. The least they can do is treat his wife and child with respect.”
“Technically, Brent and I were never married,” Olivia corrected, the all-too-familiar shame
creeping over her. Her parents were God-fearing people. They’d taught Olivia the sanctity of
marriage. She’d known it was wrong to have a physical relationship with Brent before marriage.
When she got pregnant with Ryan, she and Brent planned to get married, but then he disappeared.
Later, through Sadie’s investigation, it was discovered that Brent had been murdered. Olivia knew
from the moment Brent turned up missing that he was dead. Never would he have deserted her. Her
soul had felt the absence of him in the world the moment he was shot.
Ian, Callie, and the other police officers were like family to Olivia. Arden was right. Neither Ian
nor the officers she knew would dream of giving her a ticket. But this cocky new guy was trying to
prove a point.
It seemed to take forever for Officer Yates to return. A mea culpa smile spread over his lips as he
handed Olivia back her license and registration. “Well, Miss Burkhart,” he drawled, “it seems that
you have friends in high places. I stand corrected.”
“Told you,” Arden snipped.
Olivia half expected Officer Yates to react to Arden’s surliness, but he kept his eyes riveted to her
instead. He leaned down, resting his elbows on the side of the car. The heat flowing between them
was as strong and real as an electric current.
“So,” he began, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “since I can’t give you a ticket, it would seem
that you owe me.”
For a second, Olivia wasn’t sure if she heard him correctly. “Huh?”
A crooked grin stole over his lips. “Have dinner with me.”
Her hand went up around her neck. “I hardly think that would be appropriate.”
“She’d love to,” Arden interjected.
Olivia’s eyes bugged as she turned to Arden. “No, I wouldn’t!”
Arden steeled her jaw. “Yes, you would. I saw how you’ve been looking at him.”
“How am I looking at him?”
“Like you just saw your first Burberry bag.” Arden trilled out a wicked chuckle. “Oh, wait. That
would be me.” She scrunched her nose. “For you, it would be your first set of paint brushes.”
Olivia wanted to crawl under the floorboards. This whole situation was utterly humiliating!
Officer Yates looked impressed. “You’re an artist, huh? Nice,” he drawled. “How about Friday
night? Seven o’clock,” he added before Olivia could articulate a response.
“It’s a date,” Arden said with a cheeky grin. “I would say that Olivia should give you her address,
but if you’re worth your salt, Officer, you would’ve already made a note of it when you checked out
her license.”
The sheepish grin on his face let Olivia know that Arden was right on the money. He winked at
Olivia. “See you Friday.” He slapped the side of the car with his palm and straightened to his full
height.
“I never agreed to a date,” Olivia clarified.
“Hey,” Arden said sweetly, throwing Olivia a wicked grin. “Olivia’s hosting a little reception for
me tonight at The Seabird Gallery on Honeysuckle Island. You should come.”
“Arden,” Olivia blustered. “He doesn’t want to go to that!” Arden could be so infuriating. While
she meant well, Olivia didn’t need her nosing around in her business.
He looked thoughtful. “I suppose I could stop by after I get off work.”
“Perfect!” Arden purred as she nudged Olivia. “All’s well that ends well. See, he’s not so wet
behind the ears that he doesn’t recognize a good thing when he sees it.”
Olivia cut her eyes at Arden, giving her a warning to cut out the shenanigans, but Arden only
chuckled. She brought her hands together with a purposeful sigh. “Well, as much as we’d love to stay
and chat, we’d better get going. We have a lot to do before the reception.”
“See you tonight,” he said, a clear expression of promise in his eyes.
“Officer Yates,” Olivia croaked. “I don’t think this—”
“It’s Flynn.”
“Huh?”
“Call me Flynn. See you tonight, Olivia.” Her name hung on his lips like a caress. Their eyes
caught once again as he flashed a cocky grin that said You know you can’t resist me. With that, he
turned and strode away.
“What the devil was that?” Olivia demanded as she whirled around to Arden.
Arden batted her eyelashes. “That, Olivia Burkhart, was the beginning of what we romance
writers like to call true love.” She clicked her tongue. “I couldn’t have written your meet-cute any
better myself.”
“Meet cute?” Olivia said dully.
Arden chuckled. “Your initial meeting. It had sparks, misunderstanding, attraction … clarification,
and a healthy slice of humble pie when he realized who he was dealing with.”
“My life is not a romance novel,” Olivia spouted. “The last thing I need is to get involved with
another cop.”
“Oh, calm down,” Arden soothed. “Your problem is that you’re thinking with your head instead of
your heart. It’s not like Officer Wet-Behind-the-Ears is gonna profess his undying love and propose to
you tonight. Go out with him on Friday. Give it a chance. It’s just dinner.”
Olivia glanced in her rearview mirror and watched as Flynn got into his car. He looked in her
direction and grinned as if sensing that she was watching. Quickly, she averted her gaze. “I suppose I
could do dinner, but that’s as far as it goes. I mean it,” she growled when she saw the snarky grin on
Arden’s face.
Arden held up her hands. “It’s just dinner,” she repeated with a doe-eyed expression.
Olivia shook her head. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m gonna royally regret this?”
 2
ONE YEAR LATER …

S he’d questioned if she was ready. There were times when she thought she might be. However,
now that the moment of truth was upon her, Olivia realized with a heartrending jolt that she was
most certainly not ready. Her stomach thrashed and hurled like a washing machine as she sat
across the table from Flynn. Oh, how she hoped she was wrong, but the hopeful expression on Flynn’s
handsome face spoke volumes. Even though he was trying his darnedest to hide it, she could feel his
nervous energy oozing out and flowing into her. Please don’t let him pop the question. Everything
had been going so well. Why did he have to ruin it by pinning her in a corner?
Olivia didn’t consider herself to be a superstitious person. However, she couldn’t shake the
feeling that once she and Flynn got engaged that their charmed relationship would fall apart the same
way it had with Brent. If they could just keep things at status quo a little longer, then Olivia could
work through her fears.
Flynn reached across the table and took hold of her hand, his thumb stroking light, maddening
circles over her skin. “What do you think?”
His touch was warm and strong. She forced a smile. “It’s nice.” Nice was an understatement.
Flynn was treating her to dinner at the five-star restaurant at The Oliver Hotel. He’d worn a sport
coat. Even bought her a dozen red roses. Her parents loved Flynn. Ryan loved him. And yes, while
she hadn’t gotten the courage to voice it aloud, she also loved him. However, she still had serious
misgivings about his profession. Flynn knew this, of course. He was probably banking on winning her
over with his quicksilver charm. If any man could break down her resistance, it would be Flynn. He
was the most persuasive man on the planet. Given enough time, he could talk Olivia into almost
anything. However, she had to hold her ground. She wasn’t ready to get married. Not yet. She needed
another year or so to wrap her head around a painful truth—despite her best efforts, she’d fallen for
another cop.
She glanced around, searching for Arden, who was in town to celebrate her grandmother’s
ninetieth birthday. When Olivia realized that Flynn was taking her to a fancy dinner, she panicked and
enlisted Arden’s help. While Olivia couldn’t see Arden, she hoped she was somewhere nearby. The
plan was for her to come running and provide a distraction if Olivia gave the signal.
The corners of Flynn’s mouth turned down. “Are you looking for someone?”
“No,” she said with a shaky laugh. “Just admiring the surroundings.” Flynn knew her too well. He
had to know that she was freaking out here.
“As am I.” He gave her an intense look that dazzled her for a second as she lost herself in the
depths of his deep blue eyes, which were enticing pools of water. Heat brushed her cheeks when she
saw his quirky grin and realized that he was getting a kick out of how easy it was for him to turn her
to putty.
She lifted an eyebrow, her words coming out testily. “Flynn Yates, I don’t know what you have up
your sleeve, but charming me won’t work.”
He laughed easily, his eyes shimmering with amusement. The enticing pools had just been kissed
with sunlight. “Just relax and enjoy the evening.” He released her hand as a waiter dressed in a tux
approached the table and bowed with stiff dignity. “Good evening. Welcome to The Oliver.” He
listed the specials in a smooth, polished tone before telling them that he’d give them a moment to look
over their menus and would return shortly to take their orders.
Olivia glanced at the menu and gawked at the prices. Holding the menu to her chest, she leaned
over and asked in a low tone, “Are you sure about this? We can go somewhere else. Somewhere less
expensive.”
“Of course I’m sure,” Flynn said with a hint of exasperation that let her know that his ego didn’t
like her bringing up the topic of money. “Order anything you’d like.” He flashed her his trademark
dazzling smile that showcased his even white teeth. “This is our night.”
She took in a quick breath. “Okay,” she conceded, “but you know I would’ve been perfectly happy
ordering a burger and fries from the café and taking a walk on the beach.” That would’ve been a lot
less pressure, she added to herself. She wasn’t trying to make Flynn feel bad. Olivia knew how little
cops got paid. She didn’t want Flynn spending all of his money on something as frivolous as an
expensive dinner. And she didn’t want to have to turn him down. Please don’t let him propose!
“Olivia,” he said firmly. “I’ve got this.”
Swallowing the dryness in her throat, she reached for her water glass and took a long sip before
turning her attention back to the menu. When the waiter returned, they placed their orders. Olivia
decided on the salmon, curried rice, and steamed veggies. Flynn got the prime rib, loaded baked
potato, and a house salad.
Flynn sat back in his seat, studying her.
She touched her hair. “What?”
“You look beautiful.”
Her insides melted. “Thanks.” Yes, she might be having reservations about marriage and if they
would be jinxed if they made it official and got engaged, but she couldn’t deny how she felt about
Flynn. The big question was—would he be patient enough for her to work through her trepidation?
“What’s the consensus on the Carmel opportunity?” Flynn asked casually, but Olivia sensed an
underlying seriousness.
She took in a long breath and exhaled slowly, her fingers fiddling with the cloth napkin. “Working
six weeks at The Kipling Gallery is a huge opportunity. Dad and Mom think I would be crazy to turn
down the offer.” She shrugged. “I can see where they’re coming from. I mean, it’s not every day that a
person gets the chance to rub shoulders with one of the greatest artists of our time. The networking
alone would be worth its weight in gold. It could be a game-changer for the gallery.”
“Speaking of which, how is the gallery?” he asked tentatively.
“On life support. Arden’s book signing and reception gave us a great boost that tided us over for a
while.” She let out a long sigh. “But it’s not enough.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, sympathy coloring his rugged features.
Despondency settled over her. “Me too.” She shifted gears, not wanting them to get mired down in
her family’s financial woes. “On a positive note, Zachary Kipling told my dad that Xavier is
considering letting us represent him.” Her voice gathered enthusiasm. “If that happens, everything
will turn around.”
Flynn dipped his head. “So, Xavier is the artist?”
“Yes.” One thing she loved about Flynn was that he showed genuine interest in the things she
loved. He knew very little about art, but that didn’t stop him from trying to learn.
“Who’s Zachary?”
“Xavier’s uncle and business manager.”
“So this artist? His work is good enough to be a game-changer for the gallery?”
“Oh, yeah.” She began talking with her hands as her voice picked up its pace. “You should see
Xavier’s work. It walks the line between abstract and impressionistic. He uses such bold colors and
strokes, and yet, his work has an overall softness or vulnerability that draws the observer in.” She
wrinkled her nose. “I seriously don’t know how he does it. His work is so authentic and original that
it’s no surprise he’s so highly sought after.” She stopped when she saw the grin on Flynn’s face.
“What?”
“You.” His eyes softened. “I love hearing you talk about art. You have so much fire and passion.”
Heat crept up her neck. Flynn was one to talk about fire and passion. She looked at his lips,
thinking how his kisses elicited plenty of that.
“I do love art,” she sighed.
“You should start painting again.”
She blinked. “In all my spare time?”
He gave her a meaningful look. “Some things are worth making time for.”
“I suppose they are.” Right now, she wasn’t really in the right frame of mind for painting. That
would hopefully change when Ryan got older … and when things at the gallery were more stable.
“Who knows? Maybe your work will be the game-changer.”
“Maybe.” Olivia was more of a realist than a dreamer. Yes, she’d dreamed of making it big one
day as an artist, but she’d probably have more of a chance of winning the lottery. Oh, well. Fame was
overrated, but she wouldn’t mind the fortune part. At this point, her primary goal was to take care of
the gallery.
He gave her a speculative look. “So, are you gonna do it? Spend six weeks in Carmel?”
“Six weeks is a long time to be away from Ryan.” Her eyes met his. “And you.”
The tenderness of his expression tugged at her heart. “It would be torture to be away from you for
six weeks.” He paused, the corners of his jaw flicking. “However, it sounds like a great opportunity.”
She crinkled her nose, divulging something to Flynn that she hadn’t even told her parents. “I kinda
told Zachary Kipling that I was going to pass on the opportunity.” When her Dad and Mom heard that
bit of news, they’d freak out. Mom offered to look after Ryan while Olivia was gone, saying that there
was no way she could turn her back on such an extraordinary opportunity.
His eyes widened. “What?”
“I explained that while I’m super grateful that they would consider me for the position, I just don’t
know if I can break away from my life here. Zachary was very understanding and told me to take the
weekend to think over the offer. I’m to give him my final answer on Monday.”
He frowned. “Are you sure?”
A weight settled on her chest. “Not really. I just don’t know what to do.”
He drew his brows together. “Okay, let’s start at the beginning and look at this analytically.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Ah, the cop’s coming out. We need to investigate the scene.”
“Yep,” he chuckled. “How did the opportunity come about?”
She shifted in her seat as she composed her thoughts. “Dad met Zachary Kipling at an art auction.
The two hit it off. Dad mentioned that he had a daughter who would possibly be interested in getting
some on-the-job training from a topnotch gallery, if a position were to ever open up.” She rolled her
eyes. “Of course this was news to me.”
Flynn looked thoughtful. “Do you think that Zachary is vetting you and your family to see if he
wants to let y’all represent Xavier’s work?”
“According to Zachary, this is more about timing than anything else. One of their most trusted
employees just quit because her husband took a job that’s moving them to New Jersey.”
He gave her a doubtful look. “And they need you to go all the way there to fill the position?”
“Zachary claims that my working there temporarily will allow them to take their time so they can
get just the right person.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And you believe that?”
“Not for one minute. I think it’s exactly what you said. They have to be vetting us to see if we’re
worthy of carrying Xavier’s work.” She let out a long sigh. “That’s the only reason why I told
Zachary that I’d take the weekend to think it over. Otherwise, I would’ve turned him down flat.”
Flynn sat back in his seat and pressed his lips together in tight lines. Then, he grabbed his water,
took a long swig, and placed it back on the table with a plunk. “You have to do it,” he said decisively.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” she teased. The thought of being away from Flynn for six weeks
was almost as daunting as being away from Ryan. One minute she thought that she wasn’t ready to
marry Flynn, and the next, she couldn’t bear the thought of being away from him. She was seriously
conflicted.
“No, quite the opposite. I want you to go and schmooze Zachary Kipling, so he’ll realize what I
already know.”
She tipped her head. “What’s that?”
A grin tugged at his lips. “That you’re the best thing since buttered toast.”
“Toast, huh? Not biscuits?”
An amused smile filled his face. “I suppose I can upgrade you to biscuits with one or two
conditions.” He made a point of looking at her lips.
Heat flushed over her. “Ah, I see how you are,” she murmured. They shared a long, tender gaze
that melted warmth down to Olivia’s toes.
“In all seriousness, you should go to Carmel. I know how much your family has riding on the
success of the gallery. If making these connections will help ….”
Her stomach tightened. “I know,” she uttered quietly. That was the crux of the matter. She needed
to go, but she didn’t want to.
“I’ll look in on Ryan.” He offered a smile, but it seemed forced. “It’s only six weeks, and I’ll be
right here when you get back.”
Her eyes grew moist as a feeling of overwhelming love rose in her chest. “How did I ever get so
lucky?” When she lost Brent, she thought her life was over—that she’d never find love again. And
yet, here she was. Even though the rational side of her brain argued that she was a fool for getting
involved with another cop, she thanked God every day that He’d brought Flynn into her life. You’ll
lose him too, just like you lost Brent. Her heart squeezed. Where had that thought come from? A sick
feeling of fear clutched her in a tight hold. She took in a breath, willing herself to calm down. She
couldn’t give in to the fear. This was post-traumatic stress talking.
“I’m the lucky one.” He looked like he wanted to say more but then stopped himself. “You know
how I feel about you.” He pinned her with intense eyes. “I know you don’t want me to say it, but—”
“Flynn, don’t.”
 His jaw tensed. “We can’t keep dancing around the topic.”
Bless their server for saving her by placing a basket of warm bread and Flynn’s salad on the
table. Olivia could tell that Flynn wasn’t happy about being interrupted, but he seemed to be okay to
let it go … for now.
They commenced eating. A short while later, their entrees were served. The food was outstanding.
All the while they ate, Olivia kept thinking about Carmel and everything she’d be giving up by going.
The toddler years were a significant time for growth and development. At three years old, Ryan could
change a lot in six weeks. Her heart ached thinking about how much she’d miss him—how much he’d
miss her. She didn’t like the idea of missing any of the stages of Ryan’s life. She’d never been apart
from him … not even for one night. How would Ryan handle being away from her?
Her thoughts took another direction. If all went well and Xavier Kipling agreed to let The Seabird
Gallery represent his work, it would catapult the gallery to the next level. While the gallery was
doing so much better than it had been a year ago, every month was a fight to keep sales up. It got old.
She was tired of having to put her nose to the grindstone all the time. No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t
mind work. Heck, she’d work her fingers to the bone if her efforts would yield fruit. The hard part
was knowing that she was working as hard as she could, and yet, they were still struggling.
Flynn bantered with her and cracked a few jokes. It was his way of pulling her out of her gloom.
When they finished eating, he began fidgeting with his napkin, sending her nerves into a tailspin. He
tugged at his collar, causing her throat to go dry. She glanced around, realizing that she’d forgotten all
about Arden. Was she still lingering nearby, or had she gotten tired of waiting and left? There was
only one way to find out.
He cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple zipping up and down.
Uh, oh! Time to act! She’d made sure to keep her water glass full.
His eyes held hers with an intensity that cut her to the core. “Olivia,” he began, “from the moment
we met, I knew—”
She knocked her glass over, spilling water onto the table. “Oh, no,” she stammered, setting the
glass back upright. In a flash, she placed her napkin over the water and began blotting it up.
Flynn also placed his napkin over the water. Still, it trickled down the side of the table.
Olivia looked around. “Where’s our server when we need him?” The people sitting at nearby
tables looked in their direction. Olivia offered them apologetic smiles. She forced a laugh. “I’m such
a klutz.” Relief swelled through her when Arden came rushing up to their table.
“Well, hello,” she said brightly. Her eyes widened. “Oops. Looks like you had a spill.”
“Something like that,” Flynn said, giving Olivia a disappointed look.
Was he that perceptive? Surely he didn’t realize that she’d spilled her water on purpose. Shame
blazed over Olivia. With that shame came a spark of irritation. Flynn knew better than to try and force
her hand with a proposal. Why couldn’t he get it through his thick skull that she needed more time to
sort things out? Her mother would tell Olivia that she needed to talk to Flynn about her concerns.
However, Olivia was reluctant to bring her fears out in the open because she knew that Flynn would
tell her she was paranoid for worrying that the universe would jinx them for getting engaged. Flynn
was a man of deep faith in God. He would tell Olivia that she needed to have more faith—that she
needed to believe that good things could happen to her.
There was a time when Olivia saw the world through rose-colored glasses. Then Brent was
killed, and everything changed. While she knew that she couldn’t keep dwelling on the past, she
couldn’t come to terms with her fears. Maybe it would be good for her to get away for six weeks. She
could gain some clarity. She could work through her apprehension on her terms, secure in the
knowledge that she’d made up her own mind rather than succumbing to her intense attraction for Flynn
or his persuasion.
Arden looked across the room and flicked a hand the way one does when used to wielding
authority. “We need some help over here, please.”
A tall, thin, middle-aged man in a tux rushed up. “Hello, Miss Chasing. What can I do for you?”
he asked, his tone deferential.
Arden flashed a polished smile. “I’m sorry to bother you, Trent, but we have a spill and can’t
seem to find our server.”
The corners of his lips turned down. “That’s not good,” he said curtly, his face turning a shade
darker. “I’ll go and find Neil right away.”
“Thank you,” Arden said magnanimously.
With a crisp nod, he hurried away.
Olivia presumed Trent to be the maître d’ and felt a stab of guilt. “I hope our server doesn’t get in
trouble. He did a great job.”
Arden dismissed the comment with a flourish of her hand. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She turned her
attention to Flynn, gracing him with an impish grin. “Well, hello, Officer Wet-Behind-the-Ears. You
clean up nice.”
Flynn gave Arden a partial smile that said he was only semi-amused by her comment. “So do you.
I didn’t realize you were home.” He looked at Olivia as if to say, Now I know who you were looking
for earlier.
Gah! Olivia felt like such a heel. Maybe he could see right through the ruse. Sometimes she hated
that Flynn could read her so well.
“I came into town for my grandmother’s ninetieth birthday,” Arden said breezily.
Flynn’s eyes bugged. “Ninety years old. Wow. That’s impressive.”
“Yes, it is,” Arden agreed.
“Ah, no wonder you came back home,” Flynn observed. “You probably want to spend as much
time with your grandmother as you can … with her getting up in age.”
Arden’s eyes shimmered with laughter. “Actually, I try to avoid her as often as possible.”
Flynn made a face. “Why?”
“Because she’s meaner than a caged cougar, that’s why.”
“Ouch,” Flynn clipped. “That’s harsh.”
“Harsh but true. At the rate she’s going, Grandmother will probably live forever. She’s too ornery
to die.”
“O—kay, tell us how you really feel,” Flynn quipped.
Arden smirked. “Oh, don’t you worry, pretty boy. I will.”
“I heard that,” Flynn grumbled under his breath.
Watching Flynn and Arden go back and forth caused the corners of Olivia’s lips to quiver. From
the day that Flynn stopped them and tried to give her a ticket, the die was cast. Arden and Flynn fought
like cats and dogs. Arden was used to barking out orders, and Flynn didn’t mind putting her in her
place.
The server rushed up, red-faced. “I’m so sorry,” he blustered as he began blotting up the water.
“No worries,” Olivia said kindly, hoping to take the sting out of the situation. It was obvious that
the poor guy had gotten reprimanded. And she was to blame.
When the spill was cleaned up, the server offered another apology and then asked, “Will you be
having dessert tonight?”
 “Why yes, we will,” Arden said sweetly. “That sounds divine.” She pulled out a chair and sat
down.
The mortified look on Flynn’s handsome face caused a nervous giggle to rise in Olivia’s throat.
“Olivia and I were enjoying some alone time,” Flynn muttered, not remotely trying to hide his
frustration.
Arden laughed lightly. “Oh, pipe down, police boy. It’s just dessert.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You know what they say … two’s company and three’s a—”
“Party,” Arden interjected. “Three’s a party!” She puckered her lips into a pout. “Oh, come on,
Flynn, don’t be a Debbie Downer. You know you’re happy to see me.”
He just smirked.
Arden turned to Olivia, sincerity brimming in her jade eyes. “You look beautiful. Red is definitely
your color.”
“Thanks.” Olivia owed Arden one for coming to her rescue.
“I agree,” Flynn murmured, caressing her with his mesmerizing eyes.
A smile curved Arden’s lips. “See, there is something we can agree on. We both love Olivia.”
“Yes, we do.” Flynn gave Olivia a meaningful look that warmed her blood. Her face flushed hot
when she saw the flash of amusement in Arden’s eyes.
“Jumping Jupiter, y’all are giving me lots of writing material.” Arden made a show of fanning her
face. “It’s heating up in here.”
Olivia shoved Arden’s arm, which made Arden fan her face all the more.
The server returned with the dessert menus. He gave them several minutes to look them over.
Olivia noticed that he didn’t venture far from the table before coming back to take their orders. Poor
guy. As they were handing back the menus, Arden caught hold of his arm and said quietly. “This is on
me. Put their dinner on my tab also.”
Olivia couldn’t help herself. She held up a finger, speaking to the server, her expression deadpan.
“If she’s paying, I’d like to change my order to two double fudge cakes and a cheesecake.”
The guy’s eyes widened to golf balls.
“I’m just teasing,” Olivia added, throwing Arden a cheeky grin. “Thank you. That was very kind
of you.”
“I know. I’m just that kind of girl,” Arden sniffed, batting her eyes.
The server looked like he was trying to hold back a grin. “Good one,” he said to Olivia before
turning and striding away.
Flynn grunted. “I can assure you, it’s not necessary for you to pick up the tab.”
Arden waved his comment away with a swish of her hand. “It’s the least I can do since I
interrupted your dinner. Shh,” she hissed when he moved to protest. “I’m paying.” She gave him a
warning look, daring him to disagree.
Finally, he nodded in agreement, but Olivia could tell that he wasn’t happy about the situation.
Even so, she was grateful for Arden’s generosity. Now she didn’t have to worry about the dinner
wrecking Flynn’s budget for the month. She didn’t feel bad about Arden putting the dinner on her
“tab.” Considering that her parents owned the hotel and restaurant, it was doubtful that Arden would
end up paying anything at all.
Arden sat back in her seat. “What’s new?” She pivoted her gaze from Olivia to Flynn.
“Did Olivia tell you about her new opportunity?” Flynn asked.
Arden’s eyes lit with interest. “No.” She turned to Olivia. “Do tell,” she prompted in a juicy tone.
Olivia told her about the gallery in Carmel, finishing with what a great boost it would give the
gallery if Xavier Kipling would let them carry his art.
“That would be huge. When do you leave?” Arden asked eagerly. “I’ll come and visit. I love
Carmel and Pebble Beach. Ooh, I could set a novel there.”
Olivia’s hand went up around her throat. “Don’t jump the gun. I haven’t even decided to do it yet.”
“Why not?” Arden looked at her like she was a few screws loose in the head.
“I’m not sure that I want to be away from Ryan that long.”
“That’s understandable.” A coy smile slid over Arden’s lips as she cut her eyes at Flynn. “I don’t
think Ryan is the only one you don’t want to be away from.”
Olivia grinned, heat crawling up her neck. “True,” she admitted. The pleased look on Flynn’s face
brightened her spirits. The two shared a smile. It gave her hope that everything would turn out okay
after all.
Arden caught hold of Olivia’s hand and squeezed it. “You have to go. Think of what it would
mean for the gallery. You and your parents have worked so hard.”
“I know,” Olivia sighed.
“Great.” Arden brought her hands together. “It’s a done deal,” she punched out. “When do you
leave?”
Olivia felt like she was running to catch a bus that was already in motion. “Next Thursday.” Her
eyes met Flynn’s as he gave her a nod of encouragement.
She took in a deep breath, realizing that she couldn’t keep waffling forever. She had to make a
decision. “Okay, I guess I’m doing this.” Her chest squeezed as she pressed on a smile. It’s only six
weeks. Maybe she could come home one weekend … if plane tickets weren’t too expensive.
They’d just finished dessert when Olivia’s phone rang. She retrieved it from her purse. “It’s my
mom. I’d better answer it to make sure everything’s okay with Ryan,” she explained. “She’s probably
having a hard time getting Ryan to bed.” A chuckle rumbled in her throat. “The little stinker does
everything he can to keep from going to sleep.” Her heart clenched, thinking of how it would be for
the next six weeks. Trying to be a part of Ryan’s life from afar. How was she going to make herself
leave her precious son? “Hello?”
“Olivia.”
Hearing the anguish in her mom’s voice caused Olivia’s breath to freeze a hard ball in her throat.
“What’s wrong?” she squeaked. Flynn and Arden looked at her in concern.
“I—it’s the gallery,” her mom sobbed.
Olivia’s heart lurched, partly with worry but mostly in relief that everything was okay with Ryan
and her parents. “What do you mean?”
“There was a fire. The sprinklers came on.” Her voice broke. “The art is ruined.”
Tears sprang to Olivia’s eyes. “Oh, no.” Her head whirled as she scooted her chair back and
stood. “I’ll be right there.”
 3

F lynn glanced at his phone. No response from Olivia. He let out a heavy sigh. Hopefully, he’d
hear back from her soon. He’d asked how she was doing and if she was up to grabbing a quick
lunch. More than anything, he wanted to make sure she was okay.
It had been a doozy of a weekend. First, there was the foiled proposal and then the fire at the
gallery. Olivia and her parents were devastated over the loss. The fire itself had been minor. The real
damage took place when the sprinklers came on, ruining not only the interior of the gallery, but also
the bulk of the art. The fire started in the small kitchen located at the back of the gallery. Since no one
was in the gallery when the fire started, the assumption was that faulty wiring was the culprit. Flynn
could tell Isaac and Connie hoped that was the case, as it meant that the building owner would be
required to share some of the financial responsibility. The insurance company was sending out
investigators as part of the claim process that could take up to one hundred and twenty days.
Much of the art was on consignment, meaning that the artists would need to get reimbursed for the
loss. From what Flynn gathered, Isaac had carried the minimal amount of insurance required so that
he could keep his premiums low. Olivia was concerned that after the artists were paid, there would
be very little money to start over. Also, it would be tough for the Burkharts to lose several months of
income. Things were already tight, and then with a fire added on top … Flynn wasn’t sure what
would happen.
He sat back in his desk chair and stared out the window of his small office that was located in a
shopping plaza, two doors down from the only grocery market on Honeysuckle Island. Several months
ago, when he was first assigned to work on Honeysuckle Island, his family razzed him about moving
up in the world and hobnobbing with the rich and famous. While Honeysuckle Island certainly had its
share of both the rich and famous, there was nothing glamorous about dealing with haughty, entitled
people who thought their fat bank accounts gave them a free pass to do whatever they pleased. Then
there was his shoebox-sized office with the not-so-impressive view of the asphalt parking lot.
Flynn loved being a cop. He’d dreamed about it since he was a kid. However, in those
daydreams, adventure sought him out on a daily basis as he fought the bad guys and put them away,
making the world a safer place. Here in Honeysuckle, his greatest challenge was fighting against the
monotony of patrolling a sleepy island where he’d write an occasional ticket for parking an electric
golf cart in the wrong place.
Or there were those rare occasions when he’d get called out on a domestic dispute where the
couple was arguing over infidelity. Wealth bred a restlessness and boredom that was a recipe for
extramarital affairs. He’d dodged his fair share of women on the make who tried to get their claws
into the new police officer—simply for sheer sport.
Flynn was no dummy. He knew to stay as far away from those types as he could. He figured that
Sheriff Ian Russell could sense this about him and assigned him to Honeysuckle Island for that very
reason. While Ian didn’t come out and say it, Flynn knew that a cop with a weaker resolve could very
easily become a pawn for these conniving women who went to great lengths to preserve their beauty.
Yes, many of the women on Honeysuckle Island looked perfect, but there was only one woman Flynn
was interested in. The way Flynn saw it, the only perk of working on Honeysuckle Island was being
close to the gallery so that he could pop in on Olivia. Now that perk was gone—at least for the next
six weeks or so.
Would Olivia still go to Carmel? The prospect of her leaving filled Flynn with a heavy gloom, but
he’d done the right thing by encouraging her to go. He never wanted to hold her back from following
her dreams. Maybe she wouldn’t go, considering that the gallery was in ruins.
Flynn had fallen for Olivia the first moment he saw her. The vulnerability in her wide, chocolate-
amber eyes had called to him, making him want to rise up and be her protector. Olivia was beautiful
with her dark mane of wavy hair, flawless skin, and delicately carved features. But her allure went
deeper than the superficial. She was a genuinely good person. He admired her work ethic and how
devoted she was to her parents and the gallery. She was a good mom, taking great care of Ryan.
He’d told himself when he learned about Olivia’s tragic past that he would be patient. He vowed
to wait as long as it took for her to come around. Now, however, he was starting to question if she
would ever be ready—especially after what happened over dinner. He was almost positive that
Olivia spilled her water on purpose, and then her partner in crime, Arden, had traipsed out to run
interference.
Brent had been gone for four years, and Flynn could still feel his ghost looming between Olivia
and him. It was ironic. Flynn was lamenting Honeysuckle Island being such a boring place to patrol,
and Brent Allen had been killed at the lighthouse. It just went to show that tragedy could happen
anywhere … even in the most idyllic places. Flynn understood and even sympathized with Olivia’s
reluctance to marry a cop. And yet, the two of them were already involved. Marriage was the next
logical step. Flynn wanted to settle down and start a family. He was fond of Ryan and knew that,
given time, he could come to love Ryan as if he were his own son.
An image of Nicole flashed through his mind. He’d only been in love one other time. Nicole was
a student at The College of Charleston. Flynn had just graduated from the academy and had gotten his
first job in Charleston. The two met at a Fourth of July barbecue. Nicole rocked Flynn’s world with
her charm and stunning beauty. She’d kept him on the hook for two and a half years before dumping
him for a wealthy doctor. Flynn promised himself then that he would never again fall prey to some
crafty woman’s wiles. Olivia’s honesty was so refreshing. Most of the time, all he had to do was look
at her face to know what she was thinking or feeling. That’s why he was almost certain that the spilled
water thing was a distraction to prevent him from proposing.
If only Olivia could work through her reservations and realize what a wonderful life they could
have together. He thought of the diamond ring tucked in the back corner of his sock drawer. It had
belonged to his late grandmother. Flynn made the mistake of mentioning to his parents and two older
brothers that he was proposing to Olivia. Now they were all giving him crap that it hadn’t taken place
—especially his brothers. Flynn’s family was super close. It had been tough for them when he left
Charleston and took the job here in Honeysuckle. His parents had come here to visit several times.
They adored Olivia and Ryan. They were ready for their youngest son to get married and make some
additions to their growing brood of grand-babies.
 The crackle of the radio jolted him out of his thoughts. Callie’s voice came over the dispatch. “We
got a call about a disturbance on 27 Ramblewood Lane. The maid reported hearing noises in the
house.”
“I’ll go check it out.” Flynn sat up in his seat. Finally! Something to do! He needed something to
keep his brain occupied.
“I’m glad it happened now while you were on shift,” Callie continued. “I’d much rather you deal
with it than one of those yee-haws that Ian hired to do security. The guy who worked last week didn’t
have enough sense to blow up a pea.”
A grin tugged at Flynn’s lips. A spry woman with short gray hair, Callie liked to think of herself as
the power behind the throne … or rather the power behind the police force. A mother of four grown
boys, Callie was used to barking orders and keeping Sheriff Ian Russell and his deputies in line.
To pacify the residents of Honeysuckle Island, Ian hired a private security group to staff the island
when Flynn was off duty. Also, Ian purchased a speed boat, making it easier and faster for Flynn and
the security officers to commute to the island. Callie wasn’t happy about Ian using so much of the
department resources on Honeysuckle Island when the town of Summerhaven and the surrounding
areas had so many needs that were unmet. In Callie’s opinion, Ian was pandering to the affluent.
After spending several months on the island, Flynn was inclined to agree with Callie. A security
force seemed overkill, but whatever. Ian was a smart guy. Flynn was sure that he had his reasons for
wanting to make sure he had eyes on the island at all times. In Ian’s defense, Brent Allen had been
killed at the lighthouse. Not only was Brent one of Ian’s deputies and a close friend, but he was also
Ian’s wife’s brother. For Ian, the death had been personal.
Flynn went to his patrol car. A salty breeze ruffled his hair, carrying with it the fragrant scent of
honeysuckles. It was springtime. Everything was in full bloom … all fresh and green. Maybe after he
went to the call, he’d swing by the gallery to see if Olivia was there. Afterward, he’d drive around
the island, admiring the scenery, until his shift ended. He’d already made his rounds to the shops this
morning, where he’d found Isaac at the gallery but not Olivia. He visited The Oliver Hotel, where he
said hello to Madeline Chasing and made small talk with Talon. According to Ian, it was important
for Flynn to be visible on the island so the residents would feel secure that the sheriff’s office was
doing its job.
It didn’t take long for him to get stuck behind a string of slow-moving electric golf carts. He
turned on his siren, prompting the carts to pull off to the side of the road. As soon as he moved past
them, he turned off the siren. It was a small island, and news traveled fast. There was no sense in
causing undue alarm. Flynn seriously doubted that the maid was in any real danger. She probably
heard the wind flapping against the house or some other similar noise.
It had been odd, at first, to drive a car on the island while everyone else was in electric golf carts.
The only vehicles allowed on Honeysuckle Island were those driven by the police and utility
personnel. The very fact that Flynn was in a car made him more visible. Driving around the island
would not only suit his desire to enjoy the glorious spring day, but it would also help him accomplish
Ian’s directive of being noticed.
Flynn turned onto Ramblewood Lane and checked the address that Callie had given him. The
house in question sat at the end of the cul-de-sac in a pristine spot that overlooked the ocean. All
appeared quiet on the outside. No signs of a forced entry. He pulled alongside the curb and got out as
he scoured the area. Not a soul in sight, which wasn’t unusual. Only a handful of residents lived on
the island full-time. Many of the homes sat empty or were used as vacation rentals.
He went up to the door and pressed the bell. He peered through the sidelights but didn’t see
anyone. The home was well decorated. He pressed the button again. A couple of seconds later, he
saw the movement of a person hurrying to the door.
“Thanks for coming,” the woman began as she stepped back and allowed him to enter.
He stepped into the foyer and did a quick sweep of the area before turning his attention to the
woman whom he assumed to be the maid. “I’m Officer Yates,” he said in the way of introduction. The
woman was in her mid to late twenties. She was tall and attractive with a rawboned look that was
accentuated by her sharp features. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, she wore her blonde hair pulled up
in a ponytail and had on pink rubber cleaning gloves. She eyed him with an interest that made him
uncomfortable. “The dispatch operator said you’re a maid.”
She clasped her hands together. “Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Fiona.”
“Last name?”
“Caldwell.”
“Are the owners on the island?”
“No, but they’re coming back in a couple of days. That’s why they hired me to come in and clean
everything.”
“You heard noises?”
She nodded. “I was cleaning the guest bathroom when I heard someone upstairs.” Her eyes darted
toward the stairs as worry tightened her features. Flynn felt a smidgen guilty for thinking the woman
was into him. He didn’t want to be one of those morons who thought all the girls were chasing him.
His gaze traveled up the length of the fancy staircase. “Do you mind if I have a look?”
“Go right ahead.”
His hand instinctively going to his gun tucked in his holster, he went up the steps and began a
methodical search of each room. His skin prickled with unease. Was an intruder up here hiding?
Maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to assume that all was hunky-dory on Honeysuckle Island.
Something was off. He could feel it. He stepped into a room decorated in pink and orange. The
playful rays of afternoon sunlight coming in through the slats of the plantation shutters were such a
contrast to his heightened awareness that it made the situation feel all the eerier. His pulse ratcheted
up several notches as he stole across the plush shag carpet and looked in the closet. All was normal.
Next, he went into the primary suite. It was so enormous and lavishly decorated that Flynn could
almost believe he was in a castle. His gaze swept over the four-poster bed that was elaborately
carved from dark walnut. The bedspread was crimson red and dripping in gold fringe. Heavy, red
velvet drapes hung over the windows, making the room feel dark and ominous. The upper walls were
covered in hunter-green wallpaper. The bottom portion had dark wood paneling. Oil paintings with
thick gold frames hung on the walls. Who were these people? They lived on the beach … not in the
English countryside.
His heart leapt into his throat when he heard movement from behind. He spun around to find Fiona
standing behind him. It went through his mind that she’d taken her hair out of the ponytail, but she still
had on the pink rubber gloves. Odd.
Her eyes widened in concern as she pointed to the dresser. “The jewelry box,” she exclaimed.
A wooden box sat on top of the dresser. The lid was raised. “Stay where you are,” he cautioned
as he held up a hand.
Fear filled her eyes. “Did you hear something?” she whispered, hugging her arms.
It was unnerving that she’d come up from behind and caught him unaware. He missed the days of
having a partner to watch his back. He stole over to the dresser and peered inside. “It’s empty.”
Her face fell. “Did you take it?”
His heart froze. “I beg your pardon.” Why would she ask something so crazy? The woman must be
delusional. Wariness churned his gut. “Did you take the jewelry … or whatever was in here?” Maybe
Fiona was the perp. She could’ve called 911 to avoid suspicion.
“N—no,” she stammered.
Flynn needed to figure out the best way to handle the situation. “Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to go
back downstairs while I search the rest of the house.” His tone was commanding yet kind.
She nodded, and he thought she was going to comply. But then she darted forward and threw her
arms around him. Before his mind could fully comprehend what was happening, she pressed her lips
to his and gave him a full kiss on the mouth. He tried to push her away, but she kept her arms wound
tightly around his neck. Flynn could’ve easily removed her arms with brute force, but he didn’t want
to hurt her.
“I need you to let me go,” he ordered.
A smile slid over her lips. “You did it,” she exclaimed joyously. “I love you.”
Okay, the woman was definitely crazy.
“Ma’am, I need you to let go,” he growled.
He took her arms and removed them from his neck. Removing an octopus would’ve taken less
effort. The rubber gloves had felt like octopus suction cups against his skin.
Her lower lip quivered as she searched his face. “W-what’s wrong? You don’t love me anymore?
You said if I got you in here that we could be together.” Her voice had a wounded, childlike quality.
“And now you don’t want me?”
Talking about stepping into the Twilight Zone. The woman was nuts. “I have no idea what you’re
talking about.” This was getting out of control. He needed to call for backup. He was reaching for his
radio when a voice cut through the air.
“Don’t move a muscle!”
Ice flowed through Flynn’s veins. A man in a ski mask stood in the doorway, pointing a gun at
Flynn.
“Where is it?” the man snarled.
Fiona looked at Flynn expectantly like she was waiting for him to answer. “I have no idea what
you’re talking about,” Flynn answered, keeping his voice even. He took a snapshot of the man. He
was around six feet tall with a muscular build. He had on a black sweatshirt and jeans and was
wearing close-fitting black leather gloves. Flynn’s first thought was that the man had taken the
jewelry. But if that were the case, then why was he here, wielding the gun and demanding to know the
whereabouts of the jewels or contents of the box?
Flynn considered his options. He could go for his gun, but in the time it took to draw it, the guy
would either shoot him or Fiona. “What items are you referring to? What was in the box?” The more
information Flynn could get, the better.
The guy barked out a raucous laugh. “You wanna play games? Fine!” Fiona let out a shriek as the
man lunged forward and grabbed her. Manacling her neck with his arm, he pointed the gun at her
temple. “Tell me,” he screamed. “Or she gets it!”
Fiona began to cry. She looked at Flynn with pleading eyes. “P-please … just give him the
jewelry.”
“I don’t have any jewelry,” Flynn thundered. “Now put down the gun and let her go.” He locked
eyes with the man. “Trust me when I say that you don’t want to do this.”
 Flynn sensed the guy’s indecision and felt certain that he would back down. Then everything
broke loose. The guy pushed Fiona forward. Flynn drew his gun at the same time the guy fired his. A
poker-hot pain stabbed through Flynn’s thigh as he collapsed, his gun toppling from his hand.
Grasping his injured leg, he looked down as a red circle expanded over his pants.
It occurred to Flynn that the assailant had fled. He heard sobbing and realized it was coming from
Fiona. “I’m so sorry,” she kept saying over and over.
For a second, the intense pain of the gunshot overpowered everything else. He forced himself to
take deep breaths in through his nose and then exhale through his mouth. After repeating the process
several times, it helped him get a handle on the pain enough to think. He was lucky to be alive. If the
guy had shot him anywhere else … or if he’d hung around to finish the job …
He reached for his radio and called the station. “Callie,” he croaked, “I’ve been shot in the leg.
It’s the Ramblewood address.”
Stars exploded before his eyes as a wave of dizziness overtook him. He couldn’t pass out now.
He had to tie a tourniquet around his leg to stop the bleeding. Fiona was still crying, her breath
coming in ragged gasps. “Get a grip,” he commanded. His breathing was labored, making him feel
like someone had poked tiny holes in his lungs, preventing him from taking in a full breath. “I—need
—your—help,” he gasped. His mind began to spin, and it was all he could do not to vomit.
His entire life flashed before his eyes as he saw Olivia. He loved her more than she could ever
imagine. Ever since she’d entered his life, he felt whole in a way that he’d never experienced before.
She made him want to be a better man. Oh, how he wished she could see into his heart. More than
anything, he wanted her to give them a chance.
This couldn’t be the end. He had so much to live for, and Olivia couldn’t handle another
heartbreak. Hadn’t he told her over and over that she needed to stop being paranoid about his
profession? Never could he have imagined that he’d get shot on Honeysuckle Island … just as Brent
had. Was this fate’s way of punishing him for his cockiness? Rookie cops were often accused of
having John Wayne syndrome, meaning they felt they were invincible. Flynn wasn’t a rookie, but he
supposed he still carried a bit of that bravado. Was that such a terrible thing? He thought of his
parents and brothers. They would be devastated if he died.
Determination gripped him in a firm hold. If he had any hope of coming out of this alive, he had to
clear away the fogginess.
“Pull a sheet off the bed.” It seemed to take a superhuman effort to speak like his mouth had been
severed from his vocal cords. He sucked in a breath and then spat it all out in one chunk. “I need to tie
it around my leg.” It would take at least twenty or so minutes for help to arrive. He could lose a lot of
blood in that amount of time.
Another sob.
Frustration pressed on him like a wall of concrete. “Fiona! Do it!”
More whimpering.
He cursed under his breath. “I’ll do it myself.” He moved to get up but groaned when an agonizing
pain shot through his leg. Darkness crowded the edges of his mind, and he felt himself fade.
 4

“M ommy, airpane.”
“That’s nice,” Olivia said absently as she glanced at the plane he’d made from Lego
bricks. Ryan was becoming more and more verbal. She should probably correct his speech, but Ryan
was so darn cute with his mispronunciations that she wanted to hold onto the toddler phase as long as
she could. Making buzzing noises, Ryan moved the plane through the air. Meanwhile, Olivia watched
her dad as he talked on the phone with Zachary Kipling. He was sitting in a chair, leaning forward
with his arms resting on his thighs. One hand cradled his forehead, and the other held the phone
pressed to his ear.
It had been a grueling weekend in the Burkhart home. While worry over finances had been a
constant theme over the past several years, Olivia and her parents were managing the situation. Now,
however, their world was in chaos. The quandary became how to survive until they could collect the
insurance money. No one wanted to talk about what would happen if the insurance didn’t pay enough
for them to repair the smoke and water damage. They could only deal with so much turmoil at once.
Olivia had planned to call Zachary Kipling first thing this morning to turn down the Carmel
opportunity. Leaving town while the gallery was in shambles was out of the question. However,
before Olivia got the chance to call, Zachary contacted her dad on his cell. Had she not been in the
study when Zachary called, she wouldn’t have even realized a conversation was taking place.
Losing interest in the plane, Ryan contorted his little body around to look at Olivia. “Me hungry.”
“Gram is making lunch. It’ll be ready soon.”
Excitedly, he started bouncing on her lap. “I want a nola bar.”
A grin tugged at her lips as she tousled Ryan’s wheat-colored hair. He’d been tow-headed as a
baby, but his hair was turning darker. Brent’s hair was medium brown, and hers was a deep walnut
brown, so she figured Ryan’s hair would keep getting darker. “If you eat your peanut butter and jelly
sandwich, you can have a granola bar for dessert. How about that?”
“Okay, Mommy,” he chimed as he squirmed out of her arms and climbed down from her lap.
Holding his plane tightly in one hand, he crouched down and grabbed a fistful of Lego bricks from the
assortment scattered over the wooden floor.
“I show Gram,” he said as he pattered out of the room.
Olivia turned her full attention back to the phone call and her dad. Isaac Burkhart had never been
movie-star handsome. In his younger years, the best he could earn was cute with dark hair and
matching eyes that held a perpetual twinkle. What little was left of his hair had turned silver. He often
complained about his expanding waistline, joking that the weight gain was owed to Connie’s fabulous
cooking.
Isaac was more of a dreamer than a businessman… as evidenced by their floundering business.
Olivia wished she was better at business, but in many ways, she was like her dad. She’d certainly
inherited her passion for art from Dad. Isaac had started out determined to be an artist. Then, when
Jake and Olivia came along, he realized that his wife and children needed stability, so he turned his
sights to running a gallery instead. Isaac’s dry wit and ability to not take himself too seriously were
what drew people to him. He was jovial and loved to laugh. He made quick friends out of
acquaintances. Hence, his association with Zachary Kipling. It was arguable that if Isaac Burkhart
were better at putting on pretenses, then his gallery might be more successful. After all, affluent
people enjoyed having their egos stroked. Something which Isaac wasn’t willing to do. He subscribed
to the What you see is what you get mentality.
Isaac straightened in his seat as an expression of cautious hope lit his ruddy countenance. “I think
we can manage that,” he said neutrally. “Providing that it’s a good fit for you and your gallery …
okay, if you’re sure … very well. Olivia will be pleased. I’ll let her know.”
Olivia frowned, wishing she could hear the other end of the conversation.
“Thank you,” Isaac said in parting. “We’ll talk soon. Bye now.”
He ended the call, a broad smile of triumph filling his fleshy face. “Hot dog!” he exclaimed,
slapping his hands together. “There may be a silver lining yet.”
Wariness overtook Olivia. “What’s going on?”
His voice was husky with enthusiasm. “That was Zachary Kipling.”
“I gathered that,” Olivia said dryly.
Isaac rushed on. “He called to tell me how sorry he was about the fire at the gallery.”
She frowned. “How did he know?”
“News of that sort travels fast in the art world. He heard about it through an acquaintance who
owns a vacation home on Honeysuckle Island.”
“Oh, wow. I guess news does travel fast.”
“Zachary expressed his deep sympathy for our troubles.” Isaac’s eyes danced. “He feels that a
partnership with The Seabird Gallery is in the best interest of Xavier. In fact, we will most likely
showcase Xavier’s work during our grand reopening.”
“Really?” Olivia sputtered. She knew her dad was good at building relationships, but this was
unprecedented!
“Yep.” Isaac laughed with glee. “We agreed to talk more about the arrangement after your six
weeks are up. In the meantime, Zachary is willing to pay you three times the normal rate, and you can
stay in the guest quarters of the estate. There will be no cost for your room and board.”
It took Olivia a second to process the words. “Are you serious?” she squeaked.
He nodded.
She raised her eyebrows. “What’s the catch?”
“Xavier has been looking to get his art into Honeysuckle Island. He—or rather Zachary—feels
that paying you extra and covering your room and board is a small price to pay for a long-term
relationship that could pay dividends in the end.” Isaac’s eyes grew moist as his jaw worked. He
looked up at the ceiling to contain his emotion. “Your mom and I have been praying for a miracle.
This is it. God is good,” he breathed, pressing his hands together in prayer mode. “Thank you.”
Olivia’s mind whirled. Three times the normal rate? “Is he talking about three times the normal
rate of pay in North Carolina or the normal rate in Carmel?” While Honeysuckle Island was an
exclusive area, pay wages were still considerably less than they were in Carmel.
 “Carmel.”
Olivia merely shook her head, trying to take it all in. She spoke aloud as she ran through her
thoughts. “I could send the money back to you and Mom.”
“Exactly!” His face shined with excitement. “We were worried about how to get by until the
insurance money came in. This is our answer.”
“It certainly seems to be,” she agreed. A second later, she frowned. “Why did Xavier pick us?”
Isaac looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Why not pick Diana Copeland’s gallery instead? She’s the rising star, after all.” Resentment
stirred in her breast. Diana Copeland was a snake. It had gotten back to Olivia that Diana had been
badmouthing The Seabird Gallery, saying that the gallery’s selection of art was stodgy, and it was no
wonder their sales were down.
“Hush your mouth,” Isaac reproved, his face going beet red.
As far as her dad was concerned, Olivia was speaking heresy. She held up a hand. “I meant no
offense. I’m only playing the devil’s advocate. If Xavier wanted to get his art in Honeysuckle Island,
he could put it in Diana’s gallery now and save himself the trouble of waiting until we rebuild. Also,
he wouldn’t have to pay me triple the going rate—for Carmel,” she added for emphasis, “while
housing me for six weeks.”
“Because I’m the one who nurtured the relationship with Zachary,” Isaac thundered.
“You are,” Olivia acknowledged. “I’m not trying to dis on the gallery or your ability to nurture
relationships.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Isaac harrumphed.
“I’m simply analyzing the situation.”
His words came flying out like torpedoes. “No, you’re throwing a monkey wrench into the mix
because you’re afraid to leave home.”
“That’s not true.” Olivia’s stomach tightened with the knowledge that her dad was right. “I just
hate to leave you and Mom with the gallery in such a state.” As devastated as Olivia was about the
fire, a tiny part of her had hoped that the tragic event would get her out of going to Carmel.
Isaac’s voice rose. “Don’t you see? You’ll be helping us by going. The money will tide us over,
and then we can showcase Xavier’s art at our reopening. This could turn out to be a good thing.
Hadn’t we talked about remodeling?” His voice boomed. “Well, here’s our chance.”
She hated to keep digging a knife into the wound, but she needed her dad to look at the facts
straight-on. He often saw only what he wanted to see, glossing over the rest. “If the insurance gives us
enough to rebuild.”
He waved a hand and scoffed like he was pushing aside a pesky fly. “They will.”
Olivia gave him a dubious look.
“If they don’t …” He spread his hands. “I’ll figure something out.” A boyish grin slid over his
lips. “I always do.” Sympathy touched his features. “Look, I’m no dummy. I know what this is about.
You’re afraid of leaving Ryan.”
A lump formed in her throat as she swallowed it down. “I am.”
“And Flynn.”
“Him too.”
“It’s only for six weeks. Your mom and I will take great care of Ryan.”
“I know you will.”
He locked eyes with her. “Some time away from Flynn might do you good.”
She flinched, instantly going on guard. “Why do you say that?”
 He took in a breath. “Your mom told me about Saturday night.”
A hot anger surged through her. “What? How could she?” Olivia had told her mom about how she
foiled Flynn’s proposal. And, she’d given her mom express instructions not to tell a soul.
“Oh, don’t be mad at your mom.” He chuckled triumphantly, jutting out his chin and causing his
jowls to jiggle. “She didn’t wanna tell me. I weaseled it out of her.”
Olivia lifted her chin. “She still shouldn’t have said anything.” She couldn’t be too mad at Mom
for caving to Dad’s inquisition. Dad could pester the stripes off a zebra.
“Brent’s death threw you for a loop. That’s understandable.” He paused, giving her a tender look.
“Sugar plum, pretty soon you’re gonna have to bury those fears and jump back in the saddle. Flynn’s a
patient man, but he’s not gonna wait around forever.”
“I know,” she sighed, her insides lacing up tight. Flynn had sent her a text, checking to see how
she was doing and asking if she would be at the gallery so they could grab lunch. She hadn’t texted
him back yet. The truth was, she’d been using the fire at the gallery as an excuse to avoid him. She
was embarrassed that she’d ruined his proposal, and she was so dang conflicted about her feelings
and fears. She gave her dad a hard look. “Why did you say that some time away from Flynn would do
me good?”
“Maybe it’ll give you some perspective and help you come to terms with your fears … make you
realize how much he means to you. A man like Flynn Yates doesn’t come around every day. He’s one
of the good ones.”
Her eyes grew moist. “I already know how much Flynn means to me,” she said miserably. Her
love for Flynn wasn’t the issue.
“And yet, when he tried to propose, you bumbled it up.”
She winced. “I did.” Gah! She was such a coward. She’d panicked … plain and simple.
He gave her a perceptive look. “Does Flynn know that?”
“I think he suspects that I spilled my water on purpose.” She thought of the disappointment that
had shrouded his eyes after Arden came on the scene. Yep, Olivia was pretty sure Flynn knew. She
clamped her arms over her chest. “I’m such a wreck.” A tear escaped a corner of her eye and
dribbled down her cheek. Hastily, she wiped it away.
“Everything will be okay,” Isaac soothed. “Go to Carmel … take some time for yourself … figure
out your feelings.” His voice lifted. “And when you get back, you and Flynn can get hitched.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Get hitched? Really? You certainly have a way with words.”
His dark eyes sparkled with teasing. “Okay, scratch that. Y’all can tie the knot.”
A giggle rose in her throat. “That’s so much better,” she said sarcastically.
Olivia once tried to give her dad a makeover, both in his dress and behavior. Her intent had been
to help him fit in with the residents of Honeysuckle Island. It didn’t work. Isaac Burkhart was
comfortable in his own skin and saw no reason to spend a fortune on clothes. Nor did he intend to
temper his manner of speech.
Olivia should be thanking her lucky stars that a man like Zachary Kipling—who, from what Olivia
could tell over the phone, was the epitome of culture and grace—would give her dad and The Seabird
Gallery the time of day. Maybe Zachary had the rare ability to look past the superficial and realize
that her dad knew a great deal about art. And he was a good, honest person.
“Lunch is ready,” Mom called from the other room.
Olivia and Isaac both stood. “Come here,” he said as he pulled her in for a tight bear hug. He
smelled of hair gel and peppermint, taking her right back to her childhood. She’d always felt
comfortable in her dad’s strong embrace. A second later, he pulled back, appraising her. “Did I ever
tell you how proud I am of you?”
“A few times,” she grinned, “but I never get tired of hearing it.”
His expression grew serious. “You going to Carmel is a tremendous help to our family and the
gallery. Aside from that, it’s an opportunity of a lifetime. Enjoy it.” His expression brightened. “Soak
up some information that’ll help us transform the gallery.”
“I’ll do what I can.” While Olivia was grateful to be able to work with her parents in the family
business, the pressure to keep everything afloat was overwhelming—especially now with the fire.
Maybe she should be grateful for this opportunity, but right now, it felt like it was more of a burden.
Sometimes she wondered if she should’ve followed her brother, Jake’s lead. He wanted to strike off
on his own and run his own business, independent of the family. Jake owned and ran a paint store in
Wilmington. He was happily married to his childhood sweetheart, Gretchen. The two of them had a
son who was a few months older than Ryan.
No, Olivia couldn’t think like that. She was invested in the gallery. Her home was here in
Summerhaven and Honeysuckle Island. She couldn’t imagine ever living anywhere else or pursuing
any other career. She wanted the gallery to be a success as much as her dad and mom wanted it. The
three of them would succeed. Olivia was determined!
“I know you will,” Isaac said heartily.
As they were going into the kitchen, Olivia’s phone rang. She pulled it from her back pocket. It
was a North Carolina number that she didn’t recognize. She clicked the side to stop the ringing as she
placed it back into her pocket. Olivia didn’t answer calls she didn’t recognize. She and Isaac stepped
into the kitchen to find Ryan perched on a stool beside the island, his legs swinging back and forth.
Olivia’s mom was on her cell phone.
“Oh, my gosh!” Connie uttered as she turned to face Olivia. “I’ll tell her. Thanks for letting us
know, Sheriff.”
Olivia’s heart clenched. “Tell me what?”
Tears rushed to Connie’s eyes. “I can’t believe this,” she uttered, shaking her head.
“What?” Olivia demanded.
“Flynn has been shot.”
It was her worst fear coming to light. “Oh, no.” Olivia’s knees gave way as her hands went to her
mouth. Isaac stepped up and caught hold of her arm to steady her.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Connie continued, but the doctors think he’s gonna be okay. “He’s at the
hospital.”
A weak relief swept through Olivia. “Thank God,” she breathed. The desire to get to Flynn was
overwhelming. “I need to go there now.”
Connie nodded. “I’ll watch Ryan.”
“Thank you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her mind was bursting with questions. How did it
happen? Who shot him? Why?
Connie glanced at Ryan before lowering her voice. “He responded to a call. A maid on
Honeysuckle Island heard noises in a house she was cleaning.”
The words came at Olivia like a sucker punch as acrid anger scorched through her. “See! This is
why I knew better than to get involved with another cop.” She couldn’t go down this road again. She
couldn’t put Ryan in a position where he’d get attached to Flynn and then lose him. Losing one father
was enough. Her anger soared to new heights when she saw the concerned look that passed between
her parents. “What?” she barked.
Her outburst caused Ryan to turn around in his seat. His little face scrunched. “M—Mommy?” he
stammered.
“She’s okay.” Connie offered him a reassuring smile.
Ryan wasn’t convinced. “Mommy?” he asked again, his lower lip trembling.
“I’m fine,” Olivia answered, forcing a smile as she swiped at her tears. She went to Ryan and
wrapped her arms around him. “I’ve got to leave for a little while, but I’ll be back.”
“Can I have a nola bar?” The lilt in his voice suggested that he’d quickly gotten over his worry
over her sadness.
Olivia looked at his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Connie had gone to the trouble of cutting off
the crust. It looked like Ryan had only eaten one bite. “Eat a few more bites, and then you can.”
Connie nodded her approval, letting Olivia know she would follow her request.
Giving Ryan a kiss on the cheek, Olivia grabbed her purse and darted out the door.
 5

A n immense feeling of gratitude gushed over Flynn when he came to in the hospital. He offered
up a prayer of thankfulness that he was alive. Then, his leg began throbbing. A short while
later, a nurse came into the room and increased the morphine flowing in through the IV. Flynn
relaxed when the pain subsided. Questions percolated through his brain. Had Fiona pulled herself
together enough to tie a tourniquet? Had the man with the ski mask been apprehended? Olivia! Did
she know that he’d gotten shot? That he was okay?
He must’ve dozed off for a time. The next thing he knew, Ian was standing by the bed. “How ya
doing?”
He didn’t try to hide the cavalier grin that curved his lips. “Glad to be on this side of the dirt.”
A hint of humor touched Ian’s lips. The sheriff was known for being tough, but Flynn knew that Ian
cared deeply about his deputies. He also figured that his getting shot had hit too close to home for Ian.
He’d probably relived the trauma of losing Brent.
Thankfully, the fogginess in Flynn’s brain was starting to clear. Of course, that meant that the
morphine was leaving his system, bringing back a dull ache that pulsed through Flynn’s leg. He
looked down at the bandage.
“You in pain?” Ian asked.
“A little.”
Ian looked around. “You need a nurse.”
“Naw, I’m okay.” The morphine had sent Flynn off to dreamland earlier. He would put up with the
pain if it meant having a clear head. While Ian was here, Flynn was determined to get answers to his
questions. “Did Fiona tie the tourniquet around my leg?”
“Who’s Fiona?”
“The maid. I’m sure someone got her statement when they came on the scene.”
“Grady and I were the first ones on the scene. No one was there except for you.”
Flynn was floored. “What? She left?” Both anger and puzzlement circled through him. “How
could she have left me like that?” he seethed.
“Do you feel up to talking about it?”
Flynn took in a deep breath. “Sure.” He ran his mind back through the events, trying to decide the
best place to start.
“Callie got the call from dispatch,” Ian prompted.
“Yes. I told her I’d go and check it out. A maid heard noises in the home she was cleaning.”
Ian nodded like he already knew that part.
 “When I approached the house, all was normal.” Everything had looked so cheerful … like he
was in Mayberry. “I rang the doorbell. The maid answered and said her name was Fiona Caldwell.”
“What did she look like?”
“Mid-twenties. Blonde. Tall and thin. Attractive. She’d heard the noises upstairs. I went up to
check the house. I cleared the first couple of bedrooms and then went into the primary. I heard
something. Fiona was behind me.” He paused, wondering if he should tell Ian everything that
happened. The events were strange. Fiona was obviously nuts. The whole thing had left him feeling
unsettled … and not just because of the gunshot wound.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he answered gruffly. “As well as I can be. Why?”
Ian motioned.
Flynn looked down, realizing that he was twisting the sheet into a knot around his fist. He let go of
the sheet, forcing his hand to relax.
Ian gave him a penetrating look. “I need you to tell me everything.”
“Of course.” Why wouldn’t Flynn tell all? He had nothing to hide. “Fiona pointed to a wooden
box resting on the center of the dresser that was directly behind me. The lid was open.”
“Had you noticed the box before?”
“No, I was too focused on the other parts of the room. I’m sure I would’ve turned and seen it, but
when I stepped into the room, I looked first at what was in front of me.”
“Makes sense.”
“Here’s where it gets strange.” He hesitated. “Fiona asked if I had taken it.”
Ian made a face. “Taken what?”
“I don’t know.” The pain in Flynn’s leg was getting worse. Also, his head was starting to hurt. “I
asked Fiona if she’d taken the jewelry or whatever had been in the box. She said no.” Heat flushed up
his neck. This next part could be incriminating. Flynn’s work record was impeccable. The last thing
he wanted was for Ian to start second-guessing him.
“What is it that you’re not telling me?” Ian demanded.
“She jumped me.”
Surprise flicked over Ian’s face. “She what?”
“I told her to go back downstairs and wait there until I’d finished clearing the upstairs. The next
thing I knew, she rushed at me, flung her arms around my neck, and kissed me.” A hot embarrassment
overtook him. “I removed her arms and pushed her away, trying not to hurt her in the process.” The
incredulous expression on Ian’s face mirrored how Flynn had felt when everything went down.
“Fiona then proclaimed that she loved me and said something to the effect of, ‘You did take it.’”
“Was she referring to the contents in the box?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. The next second, a guy wearing a ski mask stepped into the room
holding a gun.”
“Did you happen to pay attention to the make?”
Flynn thought back, trying to unearth the information from his beleaguered brain.
“A Glock … maybe a Glock 19.” He pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry. I don’t know for sure.
Everything happened so fast. The guy asked me where it was.”
Ian’s eyes rounded. “Was he referring to the contents of the box?”
“I’m not sure. I tried to get more information from the guy. I asked if he was referring to the items
in the box. He accused me of playing games. He grabbed Fiona and pressed his gun to her head.”
Flynn paused, the terror of the events rushing back, causing his head to throb with pain.
 “We don’t have to do this now.”
“I’m okay,” Flynn said brusquely. He took in a deep breath, trying to ease the tight web of tension
inside him. “Fiona begged me to give the man the jewelry.” A hard laugh clipped his throat. “Of
course, I didn’t have it. The guy pushed Fiona away, shot me in the leg, and ran.” Flynn’s stomach
squeezed, remembering how helpless he’d felt … how he’d begged Fiona for help. His breath came
faster. “I asked Fiona to grab a sheet off the bed and make it into a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but
she was in too bad of shape. She broke down, sobbing, telling me she was sorry.”
Ian furrowed his brows. “Sorry for what?”
“I dunno. Maybe me getting shot? The next thing I remember is waking up here.”
Ian tipped his head. “I wonder why she left before we arrived.”
“I have no idea,” Flynn muttered. This whole thing was whacked.
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Me too.” He thought of something else. “What kept me from bleeding out? How long did it take
for you to get there?”
“A little over twenty minutes. Someone did tie a tourniquet around your leg.”
“Fiona must’ve done it.”
Ian rubbed his neck. “Yeah, she must have.” He gave Flynn a pointed look. “It saved your life.”
“I don’t understand why Fiona would leave.”
Ian pressed his lips together. “Yeah, something’s fishy about this whole thing.”
“I agree,” Flynn grunted.
Ian tipped his head. “You’ve never seen Fiona before today?”
“Never,” Flynn shot back, jolted that Ian would ask such a thing. He gritted his teeth, looking Ian
in the eye. “I simply responded to Callie’s call.” The two locked gazes for several beats until Ian
nodded, seemingly satisfied with Flynn’s assertion. Flynn’s mind jumped ahead. “Does the house
have cameras? Can we pull the footage?”
“Callie is getting the contact information of the homeowners.”
“Good. Fiona said the homeowners were coming back into town and had hired her to clean the
house. It should be easy to verify that with the homeowners. If Fiona is who she claimed, then the
homeowners will be able to give us her information.”
“What’s the description of the shooter?”
“Around six feet tall. Muscular. He was wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt.” While Flynn
wasn’t his sharpest at the moment, the masked man would forever remain imprinted in his brain.
Ian’s voice grew musing. “One theory is that Fiona and the shooter were in cahoots.”
“If that’s the case, then why did Fiona call the police?”
“Maybe to absolve herself of guilt. She could’ve stolen the jewelry and then called the police.
Maybe she double-crossed the shooter and was trying to place the blame on you.”
“Yeah, that certainly could be the case.” Flynn bunched his brows. “Granted, I’m in no condition
to be doing any hard thinking, but it certainly feels like we’re not seeing the full picture.” It was so
strange how Fiona had grabbed him and kissed him. And then, at the end, when she was sobbing and
saying that she was sorry, it was almost as if she believed herself to be responsible for the situation.
“I agree. Hopefully, we’ll learn more after we get in touch with the homeowners.” Ian shoved his
hands into his pockets and shifted his feet like he was suddenly unsure of himself. “I’m just glad
you’re okay.” His throat clogged. He cleared it and looked away.
“Me too,” Flynn sighed. “Regardless of who Fiona is or isn’t, I’m just glad she tied the
tourniquet.”
 “Or at least someone tied it.”
“Good point.” Flynn assumed it was Fiona, but had someone else come on the scene? “I just hope
the homeowners have cameras.”
“Me too.”
Ian took in a breath. “Well, I should probably let you get some rest.”
Rest was starting to sound good right about now. The pain in Flynn’s leg was getting worse.
Maybe he needed more happy juice to put him back to sleep. “If you hear anything …”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
As he was turning to leave, Flynn stopped him. “Hey, does Olivia know about me?”
“Yeah, I called and spoke to Connie. I tried to call Olivia, but she didn’t answer, so I called
Connie instead.”
Flynn closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. He could only imagine the turmoil that Olivia must
be going through. Now she’d be even more paranoid about his profession. Paranoid enough to walk
away? His chest squeezed. It was certainly possible. “Did you tell her that I’m okay?”
“I did.”
“Good.” He looked around. “Where’s my cellphone? I need to call her.” It dawned on him for the
first time that he was wearing a hospital gown.
“They put your items in a locker when you were admitted. I’ll go and ask the nurse about them.”
“Thanks.” He closed his eyes, his mind racing a hundred miles an hour. He needed to sort through
the events piece-by-piece to see if there was anything that he’d overlooked. As soon as he was able,
he’d write everything down. The record would not only be important for Flynn but also for the
Sheriff’s department. Flynn thought about his conversation with Ian. It had been touch-and-go for a
few seconds there. However, Flynn could see now that Ian was simply doing his job. As the sheriff, it
was his duty to ask the hard questions.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” he responded, assuming it was the nurse. His eyes widened when he realized it was
Olivia. “Hey.”
She rushed up to him, her expression rigid with apprehension. “Are you okay?” She reached for
his hands. “I was so worried.” Tears glistened in her eyes.
He gave her a weak smile. “I’m good.” Actually, he wasn’t so good. The pain was getting worse.
He’d better not wait too long before requesting morphine. Otherwise, the pain might get out of
control.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “When I got the news …” Her voice broke. She sucked in a breath
and tried again. “I was so afraid,” she uttered softly.
He pulled his hands from her grasp and caressed her damp cheek. “I’m fine,” he said firmly.
She sniffed, nodding. “What happened?” She searched his face.
“Hazard of the job, I’m afraid,” he joked but then stopped when he saw her stricken expression.
“Scratch that. I’m sorry.” The tightness of her expression caused his stomach to clench. She didn’t
have to voice her thoughts for him to know exactly what was running through her mind. “It was an
isolated event.” His words sounded lame in his own ears. “It won’t happen again.”
Sorrow darkened her eyes to the shade of walnut. “You can’t promise that,” she uttered hoarsely.
“No one can.”
The pain, mixed with the emotional turmoil, was getting to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
he growled.
She winced, causing him immediate guilt for lashing out.
 “I’m sorry. My leg is giving me fits.” He took in a haggard breath, trying to hold it together as his
hand went to his bandage. It felt like someone was jabbing an ice pick through his leg. “Hang on. Let
me call the nurse.” He pushed the call button on the bedside remote before offering Olivia an
apologetic smile. “Once I get the pain under control, I’ll be more pleasant to be around. Come ‘ere.”
He reached out and caught hold of her hand. She was standing next to him, but he couldn’t shake the
feeling that he would lose her. He moved his thumb over her silky skin in light strokes as he stared
into her expressive eyes that often changed in color from mellow amber to deep chocolate whenever
she was upset or worried. “I’m so sorry for the turmoil this has caused you.”
Tears pooled, getting caught up in her lashes as she blinked several times. “It’s not your fault.”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Me too.”
The nurse entered the room, prompting Flynn to release Olivia’s hand.
“What’s going on?” the nurse asked.
“The pain is getting worse.” Flynn gritted his teeth, trying to push aside the throbbing agony.
Briskly, the nurse went to the IV and injected some morphine. “It shouldn’t take long for this to
take effect,” she assured him as she checked his vitals and then ambled from the room.
Flynn took in a deep breath as he threw Olivia a brave smile. “I’ll be okay.”
Hesitation clouded Olivia’s beautiful features as her hand went to her forehead. “You need your
rest. I should go.”
“No,” he countered. “Stay.” He couldn’t bear the thought of not having Olivia with him. Maybe he
was being hypersensitive due to the situation but seeing Olivia’s uncertainty jolted him to the core.
There was so much he wanted to say to her … like how when he didn’t think he was going to make it,
she was the first thing he’d thought of. He ran his eyes over her slim figure, taking note of her mane of
lustrous dark hair and how her lashes fluttered softly against her high cheekbones. He searched her
face. “We’ll get through this.” He spoke the words for his own reassurance as much as for her. The
look in her eyes about ripped out his heart. “Don’t do it.”
She flinched. “Do what?”
“Don’t run away from me … from us.” He could read her thoughts as surely as if she’d spoken
them aloud.
She glanced at the door like she wanted to make a break for it.
“Olivia,” he said sharply. “I mean it.”
She gave him a mechanical smile. “Let’s not talk about this right now.” She motioned to the IV.
He locked eyes with her, willing himself to push past the pain. “I love you.”
“I know,” she uttered, a haunted expression shadowing her features.
His voice grew hard. “You love me too.” He needed her to say it out loud to quiet the unease
squeezing him in a tight grip.
She gave him a pleading look as she clutched her hands. “Flynn, let’s not do this.”
A part of him knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. All of his
emotions had boiled to the surface, and he could no longer contain them. “Saturday night. You
knocked over the water on purpose.” He saw the truth in her anguished expression. It cut him to
shreds to think of all the thought he’d put into the proposal—taking her to The Oliver Hotel. Even
more important, he’d planned to give her his grandmother’s ring. He’d been so nervous … so hopeful
that she was finally coming around. And it all got shot to crap.
“I’m sorry.”
He balled his fist, disgust overtaking him. “Why?” His voice escalated, but he no longer cared.
“Why can’t you see how much I love you?” His voice quivered with fervor. “That the two of us are
meant to be together.”
Sparks shot from her eyes. “Why can’t you understand that I can’t go through this again?” She
gritted her teeth. “Do you have any idea the agony that I went through when I heard that you’d been
shot?” Her face turned crimson. “I knew that something like this would happen. I told you as much.”
He pushed out a hard laugh. “So now this is my fault?”
“No!” A wild look overtook her features. “The fault is mine.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
She wiped them away with jerky movements as she laughed to herself. “I never should’ve allowed
myself to fall for you. It was a mistake.”
The pain was finally subsiding, and a raging river of anger had taken its place. Maybe it had
surfaced from the injustice of him getting shot. Or maybe it was fueled by the cold cylinder of fear
lodged in his throat. He couldn’t lose Olivia. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what his life would
be like without her. There had to be a way to get through to her.
“I’m going to Carmel,” she said flatly.
His mind began to spin, and for a second, it was hard to breathe. “With the fire … well, I
wondered if you would leave your family and the gallery.”
“It seems like the best option.”
Hurt battered his insides. Couldn’t she see that he needed her now more than ever? Forget that
he’d encouraged her to go. That was before today. It was startling how fast the close brush with death
was shifting his perspective. Before, he’d believed he had time on his side—time to persuade Olivia
to come around. Now, however, everything was different. She was slipping away.
His jaw worked. What he wanted to do right now was burst into tears. Instead, he bottled up the
emotion and tamped down the lid. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
“So soon?” he croaked.
Her voice turned practical. “I think it could be a good thing. It’ll give us a chance to figure out
what we both want.”
For a second, he couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. His eyes narrowed. “Are
you serious? I know what this is,” he lashed out. “You’re running away—plain and simple.” To heck
with the crying. If he hadn’t been confined to the stupid hospital bed, he would’ve punched a hole
through the wall.
“I’m doing what I need to so that I can help my family.”
Flynn couldn’t help but think that this was more about running from him than helping her family.
He scoffed. “You keep telling yourself that.” His eyes cut into hers. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“I just said we need time apart,” she stammered.
He balled his fist and jammed it into his mouth.
Her voice trembled. “Flynn, please try to understand. This isn’t just about me. I have to do what’s
best for Ryan. He lost Brent. I can’t afford for him to lose you too.”
An incredulous laugh nearly choked off his breath. “You didn’t lose me. I’m right here,” he
seethed. “Right here!”
“Is everything okay?” the nurse asked. Flynn hadn’t even realized the woman had stepped into the
room. Oh, well. She was getting an ear full.
“Everything’s fine and dandy,” he said sarcastically. “Right, Olivia?” He knew he was being
nasty, but he was sick and tired of her being so wishy-washy. Shouldn’t him almost dying make her
heart grow fonder?
 Olivia glanced at the nurse like she was embarrassed before directing her comments to Flynn.
“You’re not yourself. We need to talk about this later.”
“You know what?” he barked. “I’ll do us both a favor.” He pointed at his chest, enunciating every
word. “I’m—breaking—up—with—you.”
Her face drained. “I—I only said we needed space.”
“Well, now you have it,” he said grandly, raising his hands into the air. “I’ve given you plenty of
space, Olivia.” He threw her a condemning look. “Brent died four years ago,” he continued hoarsely.
“Time to either reel in the fish or cut bait and move on.” Flynn’s chest heaved up and down as he eyed
Olivia. Although she was standing by the bed, she might as well have been a world away. The wall
between them was too tall and treacherous to scale.
Her jaw worked as she nodded. “Goodbye, Flynn,” she said as she fled the room.
“I guess that’s that,” he muttered, his vision blurring with hot tears. He lay back against the pillow
and squeezed his eyes shut, letting the tears fall freely down his face. The best he could hope for was
that the morphine would do its job and put him into a long, catatonic sleep.
 6

F lying first-class from Wilmington to Monterey, California was not something Olivia expected.
Her ticket was paid for by Zachary Kipling. It would seem that the man didn’t do anything
halfway. She might have enjoyed the first-class experience had the flight not been so bumpy due
to turbulence. A couple of times, the plane had dropped what felt like several stories, sending her
stomach falling to her feet. She’d clutched the arm rests on her seat and offered a silent prayer asking
for safety and protection.
When the plane landed, she wanted to bend down and kiss the ground. She’d collected her
luggage from the carousel in baggage claim and was wheeling it through the airport toward the public
transportation area. Zachary had texted, saying that a car would be waiting for her outside. She wasn’t
sure how she was supposed to figure out which car would be picking her up. If all else failed, she’d
text Zachary and ask. It was a small airport, so hopefully, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to find her
ride.
It was a little after three p.m. in Monterey. Even though Wilmington was only three hours ahead,
Olivia was so exhausted from the travel and emotional strain that she felt like she could go to bed
right this minute and sleep until morning. An image of Ryan flashed through her mind. She saw his
rosy cheeks and the love and trust in his dark eyes. He and her mom and dad would be eating dinner
right about now. Was Ryan missing her as much as she missed him? The desire to be back home with
him was overwhelming. She swallowed the thickness in her throat as she willed herself to get a grip.
She couldn’t fall apart in the middle of the airport.
A dull headache throbbed over the bridge of her nose as her thoughts turned to Flynn. She blinked
fast to stay the moisture brimming in her eyes. She was still furious with him for acting so hostile. It
hurt to know that they’d parted on such awful terms. Her heart squeezed. Was he serious about
breaking up with her? She’d checked her phone the minute she switched it off of airplane mode,
hoping that Flynn had called to apologize. But no. He hadn’t. Already, she missed him fiercely. She
gritted her teeth. Flynn was the most exasperating man she’d ever met. While she loved his fire and
passion, he could be a big, fat jerk, especially when she didn’t fall in line with his expectations.
Sympathy welled inside her, crowding out her angst. He'd looked so vulnerable hooked up to the
machines. And he was in so much pain. No wonder he was cranky. What he’d said about Brent had
cut her to the quick. It had been four years since he was here. If she were being completely honest, she
missed the memory of him more than anything. She felt the echo of him in Ryan’s smile. There was a
certain look that Ryan got. It reminded her so much of Brent that it was bittersweet.
Would she ever be free of her incessant worry and fear? Flynn getting shot was a razor-sharp
reminder that his job was dangerous. He’d nearly died. A shiver ran through her. But he didn’t, her
mind inserted. At least not this time, she argued. But what about the next time or the time after
that? She went hot all over and then clammy-cold. Even if Flynn did apologize, it still didn’t change
the fact that it wasn’t fair to keep him on the hook. This was her problem. Not his. Flynn deserved to
be happy. He deserved to find someone with whom he could settle down and start a family.
An invisible knife stabbed her through the heart. She couldn’t think of Flynn with anyone else. It
was too painful. But like he so bluntly pointed out, it was time to reel in the fish or cut bait. Staring
death in the face would cause Flynn to do some hard thinking. Like her dad said, a man like him
wouldn’t wait around forever. If she’d been more courageous and less selfish, she would’ve cut him
loose a long time ago. She couldn’t keep waffling forever. She had to make a decision. Melancholy
gripped her in a tight hold. Maybe Flynn had already made it for her. He’d not texted or called.
Maybe he was serious about the breakup. Should she call him? And say what? That she was sorry she
was such a hot mess? She couldn’t exactly ask him to wait for her when she didn’t know if she could
ever put her fears to rest enough to come around to his way of thinking. Maybe it was better to just let
things be … at least for now.
Her shoulders ached from the stress. She was so tired she could cry. She stepped outside into the
warm breezy air. The cheerful sunshine mocked her apprehension, turning her mood even darker. She
looked around, wondering how in the heck she was supposed to find her ride. Realizing she couldn’t
keep standing in front of the double doors and blocking people’s way, she made her way over to the
nearest passenger pickup area. She stood her suitcase upright and placed her purse on top. She was
pulling her phone from her purse to text Zachary when a sleek, black limousine pulled up beside her.
The driver rolled down the passenger window and leaned toward her. Wasn’t there a separate pickup
section for limos and taxis?
Surprise flicked over the man’s expression when he got a good look at her face, but he was quick
to recover. “Miss Burkhart?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Stewart, your driver.”
Why had the man looked at her so strangely? Zachary had obviously given him her description, or
he wouldn’t have recognized her. Olivia’s photo was on the gallery website, which is how she
presumed that Zachary knew her general appearance.
“I’ll help with your luggage.” He got out and came around to help. “Allow me,” he said cordially.
“Thanks.” The man was older and studious looking—more of the professor type than what she
would’ve pegged as a driver. He was tall and impeccably dressed, right down to his expensive-
looking wire-rimmed glasses. He exuded a sense of grandeur that made her feel like she’d left the
modern world and traveled to Downton Abbey. She handed over her luggage, grateful to be free of the
cumbersome thing. One of the wheels was on the fritz, making it a beast to maneuver. She’d probably
need to retire the suitcase after this trip. Of course, she’d said that the last time she traveled with the
decrepit thing; but with funds being short, she’d had to make do.
After Stewart placed her suitcase in the trunk, he opened the passenger door for her. He waved
his hand in a ceremonious flourish. “Madam.”
She fought the urge to giggle. “Thank you.”
He nodded, offering a gracious smile. There was something unnerving in the way Stewart kept
assessing her. It wasn’t leering but rather a curiosity thing. No, not mere curiosity but something else.
She couldn’t figure out why he seemed so fixated on her. It was odd. Did she dare get into the car
with him? What other choice did she have? Zachary had sent him. To refuse the ride would be absurd,
Another random document with
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therefore, decided to have Yehonala and the Empress Consort
assassinated on the road, and to that end gave orders that they
should be escorted by the Chief Regent’s personal bodyguard. Had
it not been for Jung Lu, who got wind of the plot, the Dowagers
would assuredly never have reached the capital alive. Acting with the
promptitude which Yehonala inspired, he deserted the funeral
cortège by night with a considerable following of his own men, and
hastened on to the protection of the Empresses, overtaking them
before they reached Ku-pei K’ou, at the end of the pass from the
plains into Mongolia, which was the spot where the assassination
was to have taken place.
Heavy rains had fallen just after the departure of the procession
from Jehol. The roads became impassable, and the Empresses were
compelled to seek shelter in the Long Mountain gorge, where no sort
of accommodation had been provided. The cortège was then ten
miles in their rear. Yehonala, mindful ever of the proprieties, sent
back several men of her escort with a dutiful enquiry, in the name of
her colleague and herself, as to the safety of the Imperial coffin. The
reply, in the form of an Edict by Prince Yi and his Co-Regents,
reported that the catafalque had reached the first resting place in
safety; whereupon Yehonala, asserting as of right the prerogatives of
supreme authority, donated to the bearers a thousand taels from her
Privy Purse in recognition of their arduous services. Prince Yi,
knowing full well that his own danger was increasing every hour, and
would continue so long as the Empresses remained free to work
against him, nevertheless played bravely the part prescribed for him,
conforming in the grand manner to the traditions of his position. He
forwarded a Memorial to the Empresses, humbly thanking them for
their solicitude for the Emperor’s remains. Yehonala, in reply, praised
him for his faithful devotion to duty. Thus, on the road to Death, they
played at Etiquette. Both these documents are filed in the Dynastic
records and afford remarkable evidence of the supreme importance
which Chinese and Manchus alike attach to forms and the written
word even at the most critical moments. Similar instances could be
cited at the height of the Boxer chaos.
 The rains having ceased, the Empresses were able to proceed on
their journey, and having come safely through the hill passes under
Jung Lu’s protection, they were free from further danger of ambush.
They reached Peking on the 29th of the 9th Moon, three full days’
journey ahead of the procession. Immediately upon their arrival a
secret Council was held, at which were present the Emperor’s
brothers, together with the Ministers and Imperial clansmen known to
be loyal to their cause. Long and anxiously did they confer. Although
the Empress Mother was in possession of the seal of legitimate
succession, there was no known precedent for so drastic a step as
the summary, and possibly violent, arrest of high officers of State
convoying the Imperial coffin. Such a course, it was felt, would be
regarded as disrespectful to the late Emperor and an inauspicious
opening to the new reign. The consensus of opinion was, therefore,
on the side of slow and cautious measures, and it was decided thus
to proceed, conforming to all the outward observances of dynastic
tradition. The coffin once arrived, the first step would be to deprive
the Regents of their usurped authority; the rest would follow.
The cortège was due to arrive at the north-west gate of the city on
the morning of the 2nd of the 10th Moon, and on the previous
evening Prince Kung posted a large force of troops at this point to
prevent any attempt at a coup de main by Tsai Yüan’s followers. The
boy Emperor, accompanied by the Empresses Dowager, came out to
meet the coffin as it approached the city, and with him were the late
Emperor’s brothers and a great following of officials. As the
catafalque passed through the gate, the Imperial party knelt and
performed the prescribed acts of reverence. Before the coffin came
the Imperial insignia, and behind it a large body of Manchu cavalry.
Prince Yi and his Co-Regents, having performed their duty in
bringing the coffin safely to the city, next proceeded, as required by
custom, to make formal report in person to the young Emperor, upon
fulfilment of their charge. For this purpose they were received in a
large marquee erected just inside the city gate. Both Empresses
were present, together with the late Emperor’s brothers and the
Grand Secretaries Kuei Liang and Chou Tsu-p’ei.
 Yehonala, calmly assuming, as was her wont, the principal rôle
and all attributes of authority, opened the proceedings by informing
Prince Yi that the Empress Consort and she herself were grateful to
him and to his colleagues for the services which they had rendered
as Regents and Grand Councillors, of which duties they were now
relieved. Prince Yi, putting a bold face on it, replied that he himself
was Chief Regent, legally appointed, that the Empresses had no
power to divest him of authority properly conferred by the late
Emperor, and that, during the minority of the new Emperor, neither
she herself nor any other person was entitled to attend audience
without his express permission.
“We shall see about that,” said Yehonala, and forthwith gave
orders to the attendant guards to place the three Regents under
arrest. The Imperial party then hastened to the Palace to be ready to
meet the coffin upon its arrival at the main entrance to the Forbidden
City, for, however acute the crisis, the dead take precedence of the
living in China. The deposed Regents quietly followed. All hope of
escape or resistance was out of the question, for the streets were
lined with troops faithful to Yehonala’s cause. Her triumph was
complete, essentially a triumph of mind over matter. It was her first
taste of the pomp and circumstance of supreme power.
Forthwith the Empresses proceeded to regularise their position by
issuing the following Decree, which bore the Great Seal of “Lawfully
transmitted authority”:—

“Last year the coasts of our Empire were disturbed and our
capital was in danger, misfortunes entirely due to the
mismanagement of affairs by the Princes and Ministers to
whom they had been entrusted. Prince Yi (Tsai Yüan) in
particular and his colleagues failed to deal satisfactorily with
the peace negotiations, and sought to lessen their
responsibility by their treacherous arrest of the British
emissaries, thus involving China in charges of bad faith. In
consequence of these their acts, the Summer Palace was
eventually sacked by the British and French troops and the
Emperor was forced, greatly against his will, to seek refuge in
Jehol.
“Later, the Ministers of the newly established Tsungli Yamên
were able to arrange matters satisfactorily, and peace was
restored to the capital. Thereupon His late Majesty repeatedly
summoned the Grand Council to decide upon a date for his
return to Peking, but Tsai Yüan, Su Shun and Tuan Hua
conspired together, and, by making him believe that England
and France were not sincere in regard to peace, were able to
prevent his return and thus to oppose the will of the people.
“Subsequently His Majesty’s health suffered severely from
the cold climate of Jehol and from his arduous labours and
anxiety, so that he died on the 17th of the 7th Moon. Our
sorrow was even as a burning fire, and when we consider
how wickedly deceitful has been the conduct of Tsai Yüan and
his colleagues, we feel that the whole Empire must unite in
their condemnation. On ascending the Throne, it was our
intention to punish them, but we kept in mind the fact that to
them the Emperor had given his valedictory instructions, and
we therefore forbore, whilst observing carefully their
behaviour. Who could possibly have foretold their misdeeds?
“On the 11th of the 8th Moon, a Memorial was presented to
us by the Censor Tung Yüan-ch’un, at an audience of the
eight Grand Councillors, in which it was asked that the
Empresses Dowager should for the time being, and during
our minority, administer the Government, that one or two of
the Princes should advise them and that a high official should
be appointed as tutor to ourselves. These suggestions met
with our entire approval. It is true that there exists no
precedent in the history of our Dynasty for an Empress
Dowager to act as Regent, but the interests of the State are
our first concern, and it is surely wiser to act in accordance
with the exigencies of the time than to insist upon a
scrupulous observance of precedent.[7]
 “We therefore authorised Tsai Yüan to issue a Decree
concurring in the Censor’s proposals; but he and his
colleagues adopted an insolent tone towards us and forgot
the reverence due to our person. While pretending to comply
with our wishes, they issued a Decree quite different from that
which we had ordered, and promulgated it in our name. What
was their object? They professed to have no idea of usurping
our authority, but what else was their action but usurpation?
“Undoubtedly they took advantage of our extreme youth
and of the Empresses’ lack of experience in statecraft, their
object being to hoodwink us. But how could they hope to
hoodwink the entire nation? Their behaviour displays
monstrous ingratitude for His late Majesty’s favours, and any
further leniency on our part would be a just cause of offence
to the memory of the departed sovereign, and an insult to the
intelligence of the Chinese people. Tsai Yüan, Su Shun and
Tuan Hua are hereby removed from their posts. Ching Shou,
Mu Yin, Kuang Tu-han and Chiao Yu-ying are removed from
the Grand Council. Let Prince Kung, in consultation with the
Grand Secretaries, the six Boards and the nine Ministries
consider, and report to us as to the proper punishment to be
inflicted upon them, in proportion to their respective offences.
As regards the manner in which the Empresses shall
administer the Government as Regents, let this also be
discussed and a Memorial submitted in reference to future
procedure.”

The Empresses duly performed the proper obeisances to the

Imperial coffin at the eastern gate of the Palace, escorting it thence
to its temporary resting place in the central Throne Hall.
In the security of Peking, and confident of the devotion of the
troops, Yehonala now proceeded to act more boldly. She issued a
second Decree in her own name and that of the Empress Consort,
ordering that the three principal conspirators be handed over to the
Imperial Clansmen’s Court for the determination of a severe penalty.
Pending the investigation, which was to be carried out under the
Presidency of Prince Kung, they were to be stripped of all their titles
and rank. The vindictive autocrat of the years to come speaks for the
first time in this Edict.

“Their audacity in questioning our right to give audience to

Prince Kung this morning shows a degree of wickedness
inconceivable, and convicts them of the darkest designs. The
punishment so far meted out to them is totally inadequate to
the depth of their guilt.”

Against Su Shun, in particular, the Empress’s wrath burned

fiercely. His wife had insulted her in the days of her disgrace at
Jehol, and Yehonala had ever a good memory for insults. Next
morning she issued the following Decree for his especial benefit:—

“Because of Su Shun’s high treason, his wanton usurpation

of authority, his acceptance of bribes and generally
unspeakable wickedness, we commanded that he be
degraded and arrested by the Imperial Clansmen’s Court. But
on receipt of the Decree, Su Shun dared to make use of
blasphemous language in regard to ourselves, forgetful of the
inviolable relation between Sovereign and subject. Our hair
stands on end with horror at such abominable treason.
Moreover he has dared to allow his wife and family to
accompany him, when on duty accompanying the Imperial
coffin from Jehol, which is a most disgraceful violation of all
precedent.[8] The whole of his property, both at Peking and at
Jehol, is therefore confiscated, and no mercy shall be shown
him.”

As Su Shun’s property was worth several millions sterling at the

lowest estimate, the Empress Dowager thus acquired at one stroke
the sinews of war and a substantial nucleus for that treasure hoard
which henceforward was to be one of the main objects of her
ambition, and a chief source of her power. During the present
Dynasty there is a record of one official wealthier than Su Shun,
namely Ho Sh’en, a Grand Secretary under Ch’ien Lung, whose
property was similarly confiscated by that Emperor’s successor.
But Yehonala’s lust of vengeance was not yet appeased. Her next
Decree, issued on the following day, gives evidence of that
acquisitive faculty, that tendency to accumulate property and to
safeguard it with housewifely thrift, which distinguished her to the
end:—

“Su Shun was erecting for himself a Palace at Jehol, which

is not yet completed. Doubtless he has vast stores of treasure
there. Doubtless also he has buried large sums of gold and
silver somewhere in the vicinity of his Jehol residence, in
anticipation of the possible discovery of his crimes. Let all his
property in Jehol be carefully inventoried, when a Decree will
be issued as to its disposal. Let all his property be carefully
searched for treasure, to be handed over when found. Any
attempt at concealment by the Jehol authorities will entail
upon them the same punishment as that which is to be
inflicted upon Su Shun.”

On the 6th of the 10th Moon, Prince Kung and the Imperial
Commission sent in their report on the quite perfunctory enquiry into
the charges against Tsai Yüan and the other conspirators. In the
following Decree the offenders were finally disposed of:—

“The Memorial of our Imperial Commission recommends

that, in accordance with the law applying to cases of high
treason, the punishment of dismemberment and the lingering
death be inflicted upon Tsai Yüan, Tuan Hua and Su Shun.
Our Decrees have already been issued describing their
abominable plot and their usurpation of the Regency.
“On the day of His late Majesty’s death, these three traitors
claimed to have been appointed a Council of Regency, but, as
a matter of fact, His late Majesty, just before his death, had
commanded them to appoint us his successor, without giving
them any orders whatsoever as to their being Regents. This
title they proceeded to arrogate to themselves, even daring to
issue orders in that capacity and without the formality of our
Decree. Moreover they disobeyed the personal and express
orders given them by the Empresses Dowager. When the
Censor Tung Yüan-ch’un petitioned that the Empresses
should assume the government, they not only dared to alter
the Decree which we issued in reply, but they openly asserted
at audience their claim to be our Regents and their refusal to
obey the Empresses. If, said they, they chose to permit the
Empresses to see Memorials, this was more than their duty
required. In fact, their insubordination and violent rudeness
found expression in a hundred ways. In forbidding us to give
audience to our uncles and to the Grand Secretaries, they
evidently meant to set us at variance with our kindred. The
above remarks apply equally to all three traitors.
“As to Su Shun, he insolently dared to seat himself upon
the Imperial Throne. He would enter the Palace precincts
unbidden, and whether on duty or not. He went so far as to
use the Imperial porcelain and furniture for his own purposes,
even refusing to hand over certain articles that we required for
ourselves. He actually demanded an audience with the
Empresses separately, and his words, when addressing them,
indicated a cunning desire to set one Empress against the
other, and to sow seeds of discord. These remarks apply to
the individual guilt of Su Shun.
“Her Majesty the Empress Dowager, and Her Sacred
Majesty the Empress Dowager, our mother, duly informed the
Commission of Enquiry of these facts, and they have to-day
given audience to all the Princes and Ministers to enquire of
them whether the guilt of these three traitors admits of any
extenuating circumstances. It is unanimously determined that
the law allows of no leniency being shown to such flagrant
treason and wickedness as theirs. When we reflect that three
members of our Imperial kindred have thus rendered
themselves liable to a common felon’s death in the public
 square, our eyes are filled with tears. But all these their
misdeeds, in usurping the Regency, have involved our
tutelary deities in the direst peril, and it is not only to
ourselves but to our illustrious ancestors that they must
answer for their damnable treason. No doubt they thought
that, come what may, they were sure of pardon, because of
their having received the mandate of His late Majesty, but
they forgot that the mandate which they have claimed was
never legally issued, and if we were now to pardon them we
should render the law of no effect for all time and prove
unfaithful to the trust reposed in us by our late father. The
punishment of dismemberment and the lingering death, which
the Commission recommends, is indeed the proper
punishment for their crimes, but the House-law of our Dynasty
permits of leniency being shown, to a certain extent, to
members of the Imperial Family. Therefore, although, strictly
speaking, their crimes allow of no indulgence, we decide that
they shall not suffer the penalty of public disgrace. In token of
our leniency, Tsai Yüan and Tuan Hua are hereby permitted to
commit suicide, and Prince Su and Mien Sen are ordered to
proceed forthwith to the ‘Empty Chamber,’[9] and command
the immediate fulfilment of this order. It is not from any feeling
of friendliness towards these traitors that we allow this, but
simply to preserve the dignity of our Imperial family.
“As to Su Shun, his treasonable guilt far exceeds that of his
accomplices, and he fully deserves the punishment of
dismemberment and the slicing process, if only that the law
may be vindicated and public indignation satisfied. But we
cannot make up our mind to impose this extreme penalty and
therefore, in our clemency, we sentence him to immediate
decapitation, commanding Prince Jui and Tsai Liang to
superintend his execution, as a warning to all traitors and
rebels.”

Note.—The hereditary Princedoms of Yi and Cheng which were

forfeited by the conspiring Princes after the death of Hsien-Feng, in
1861, were restored by the Empresses Regent to commemorate
their thanksgiving at the suppression of the Taiping rebellion and the
recapture of Nanking (1864). In an Edict on the subject, Tzŭ Hsi
recalled the fact that the original patent of the Princedom of Yi was
given to a son of the Emperor K’ang-Hsi in 1723 and was to endure,
according to the word of that Monarch, until “the T’ai Mountain
dwindles to the size of a grindstone, and the Yellow River shrinks to
the width of a girdle.” After referring to the main features of the Tsai
Yüan conspiracy and the guilt of the traitors, Tzŭ Hsi proceeded “We
permitted these Princes to commit suicide because they were
ungrateful to ourselves, and had brought disrepute on the good
name of their ancestors. If these are now conscious of their
descendants’ misdeeds, while they wander beside the Nine Springs,
[10] how great must be the anguish of their souls! At the time we
were advised by our Princes and Ministers of State, to put an end for
ever to these Princely titles, and we did so in order to appease
widespread indignation. Since then, however, we have often thought
sorrowfully of the achievements of these Princely families during the
early reigns of our Dynasty, and now the triumph of our arms at
Nanking provides us with a fitting occasion and excuse to rehabilitate
these Princedoms, so that the good name of their founders may
remain unblemished. We therefore hereby restore both titles as
Princes of the blood with all the estates and dependencies
appertaining thereto, and we command that the genealogical trees of
these two Houses be once more placed upon our Dynastic records
in their due order, it being always understood that the usurping
Princes Tuan Hua and Tsai Yüan, together with their descendants in
the direct line for two generations, are expressly excluded from
participation in these restored privileges. Original patents of the
Princes of Yi and Cheng are hereby restored, together with their
titles, to the Dukes Cheng Chih and Tsai Tun. And take heed now
both of you Princes, lest you fall away from the ancient virtue of your
Houses! See to it that you long continue to enjoy our favour by
adding fresh lustre to your ancestral good name!”
The intention was undoubtedly well meant, but the Houses of Yi
and Cheng continued to incur the displeasure of the gods. The next
Prince Yi but one, was permitted to commit suicide in 1900, for
alleged complicity in the Boxer rising, but it is significant that his
name was not on any Black List drawn up by the foreign Powers,
and that his death was due to his having incurred the displeasure of
the Old Buddha at a time when her nerves were not particularly
good, and when she was therefore liable to hasty decisions. As to
the House of Cheng, the holder of the title in 1900 committed suicide
on the day when the Allies entered the city, a disappointed patriot of
the best Manchu model.
Tzŭ Hsi’s wrath against Su Shun found further vent three years
after his death in a Decree which debarred his sons and
descendants from ever holding public office, this punishment being
inflicted on the ground that he had allowed personal spite to
influence him, when consulted by the Emperor Hsien-Feng regarding
the penalty to be inflicted on an offending rival.
 IV
THE FIRST REGENCY

Although the collapse of the Tsai Yüan conspiracy, and the stern
justice administered to its leaders, rendered Yehonala’s position
secure and made her de facto ruler of the Empire (for her colleague
was, politically speaking, a negligible quantity, or nearly so), she was
extremely careful, during the first years of the Regency, to avoid all
conspicuous assumption of power and to keep herself and her
ambitions in the background, while she omitted no opportunity of
improving her knowledge of the art of government and of gaining the
support of China’s leading officials. For this reason all the Decrees of
this period are issued in the name of the Emperor, and Tzŭ Hsi’s
assumption of authority was even less conspicuous than during her
period of retirement at the Summer Palace after the conclusion of
Kuang-Hsü’s minority. The first Regency (1861-1873) may be
described as Tzŭ Hsi’s tentative period of rule, in which she tasted
the sweets, while avoiding the appearance, of power. During the
second Regency (1875-1889), while her name appeared only
occasionally as the author of Imperial Decrees, she was careful to
keep in her hands all official appointments, the granting of rewards
and punishments and other matters of internal politics calculated to
increase her personal popularity and prestige with the mandarinate.
The “curtain was not suspended” during Kuang-Hsü’s minority, as he
was the nominee of the Empresses, whereas the Emperor T’ung-
Chih held his mandate direct from the late Emperor, his father. It was
not until the final Regency (1898-1908), which was not a Regency at
all in the strict sense of the word but an usurpation of the Imperial
prerogative during the lifetime of the sovereign, that, assured of the
strength of her position, she gave full rein to her love of power and,
with something of the contempt which springs from long familiarity,
took unto herself all the outward and visible signs of Imperial
authority, holding audience daily in the Great Hall of the Palace,
seated on the Dragon Throne, with the puppet Emperor relegated to
a position of inferiority, recognised and acclaimed as the Old
Buddha, the sole and undisputed ruler of the Empire.
At the outset of her career, she appears to have realised that the
idea of female rulers had never been popular with the Chinese
people; that even the Empress Wu of the eighth century, the greatest
woman in Chinese history, was regarded as a usurper. She was
aware that the Empress Lü (whose character, as described by
historians, was not unlike her own), to whom was due the
consolidation of power that marked the rise of the Han Dynasty,
enjoys but scant respect from posterity. On the other hand, she knew
—for the study of history was her pastime—that the Empresses
Dowagers of the past had often wielded supreme power in the State,
principles and precedents notwithstanding, and their example she
determined to follow. Upon the taking off of the three chief
conspirators, the Censors and Ministers urged her to deal in similar
drastic fashion with their aiders and abettors, and Prince Kung was
anxious, if not for revenge, at least for precautions being taken
against those who had had the ear of the late Emperor during the
last months of his reign. But Yehonala showed statesmanlike
forbearance: early in life she realised that a few victims are better
than many, and that lives spared often mean whole families of
friends. After cashiering Prince Yi’s remaining colleagues of the
Grand Council, she dealt leniently with other offenders. When, for
instance, Chen Tu-en, President of the Board of Civil Appointments,
was impeached on the ground that it was he who had first persuaded
the Emperor to flee to Jehol against her advice, and that, after the
Emperor’s death, he alone of all the high officials at the capital had
been summoned to Jehol by the usurping Regents, she contented
herself with removing him from office, though his guilt was clearly
proved. Another official, a Minister of the Household, who had
endeavoured to further the aims of the conspirators, by dissuading
Hsien-Feng from returning to Peking in the spring of 1861, on the
plea that an insurrection was impending, was also cashiered. But
there was nothing in the nature of a general proscription, in spite of
the pecuniary and other advantages which usually commend
retaliation to the party in power at Peking. In an able Decree, Tzŭ Hsi
let it be understood that she wished to punish a few only, and those
chiefly pour encourager les autres. It was always a characteristic of
hers that, when her ends were safely secured, she adopted a policy
of watchful leniency: moderata durant. In this instance she was fully
aware of the fact that Tsai Yüan and his colleagues would never
have had the opportunities, nor the courage, to conspire for the
Regency had they not been assured of the sympathy and support of
many of the higher officials, but she preferred to let the iron hand
rest in its velvet glove unless openly thwarted. She would have no
proscriptions, no wreaking of private grudges and revenges. It was
this characteristic of hers that, as will be seen in another place,
obtained for her, amongst the people of Peking in particular, a
reputation for almost quixotic gentleness, a reputation which we find
expressed in frequent references to the “Benign Countenance,” or
“Benevolent Mother,” and which undoubtedly represented certain
genuine impulses in her complex nature. So, having crushed the
conspiracy, she contented herself with exhorting all concerned to
“attend henceforth strictly to their duty, avoiding those sycophantic
and evil tendencies which had brought Chen Tu-en and Huang
Tsung-ban to their disgrace.” In another Decree she emphasised the
principle that sins of omission are not much less grave than overt
acts, roundly censuring the Princes and Ministers of her Government
for having failed to denounce the conspirators at once, and charging
them with cowardice. It was fear and nothing else, she said, that had
prevented them from revealing the truth; and then, with one of those
naïve touches which makes Chinese Edicts a perpetual feast, she
added that, should there be any further plots of usurpers, she would
expect to be informed of their proceedings without delay. Above all,
she bade the Imperial Clan take warning by the fate of the three
conspirators, and intimated that any further attempts of this kind
would be far more severely dealt with.
One of the first steps of the Regency was to determine the title of
the new reign. The usurping Princes had selected the characters
“Chi-Hsiang,” meaning “well-omened happiness,” but to Yehonala’s
scholarly taste and fine sense of fitness, the title seemed ill-chosen
and redundant, and as she wished to obliterate all memory of the
usurpers’ régime, she chose in its place the characters “T’ung-Chih,”
meaning “all-pervading tranquillity,” probably with one eye on the
suppression of the rebellion and the other on the chances of peace
in the Forbidden City. As far as all good augury for the Emperor
himself was concerned, one title was, as events proved, no more
likely to be effective than the other.
On the same day as the proclamation of the new reign was made
by Edict, the Empresses Dowager issued a Decree explaining, and
ostensibly deprecating, the high honour thrust upon them.

“Our assumption of the Regency was utterly contrary to our

wishes, but we have complied with the urgent request of our
Princes and Ministers, because we realise that it is essential
that there should be a higher authority to whom they may
refer. So soon as ever the Emperor shall have completed his
education, we shall take no further part in the Government,
which will then naturally revert to the system prescribed by all
dynastic tradition. Our sincere reluctance in assuming the
direction of affairs must be manifest to all. Our officials are
expected loyally to assist us in the arduous task which we
have undertaken.”
 Exterior of the Ch’ien Ch’ing Palace.

Photo, Ogawa, Tokio.

Following upon this, a Decree was issued in the name of the

Emperor, which represented the boy as thanking their Majesties the
Regents and promising that, so soon as he came of age, he would
endeavour, by dutiful ministrations, to prove his gratitude.
For the procedure of Government it was then arranged that the
Empresses should daily hold joint audiences in the side Hall of the
main Palace. At these, and at all except the great Court ceremonies,
the Emperor’s great-uncle and four brothers were excused from
performing the “kotow,” the Emperor’s respect for the senior
generation being thus indirectly exhibited.
Upon their acceptance of the Regency, honorific titles were
conferred upon both Empresses. Each character in these titles
represents a grant from the public funds of 100,000 taels per annum
(say, at that time, £20,000). Thus the Empress Consort became
known by the title of Tzŭ An (Motherly and Restful) while Yehonala
became Tzŭ Hsi (Motherly and Auspicious), one being the Empress
of the Eastern, and the other of the Western Palace. At various
subsequent periods, further honorific characters, in pairs, were
added unto them, so that, on her seventieth birthday, Tzŭ Hsi was
the proud possessor of sixteen. On that occasion she modestly and
virtuously refused the four additional characters with which the
Emperor Kuang-Hsü (not unprompted) desired to honour her. Tzŭ An
lived to receive ten in all; both ladies received two on their thirtieth
birthdays, two on the Emperor T’ung-Chih’s accession, two just
before his death in recognition of their “ministrations” during his
attack of small-pox, and two on their fortieth birthdays. Tzŭ Hsi
received two more on her fiftieth birthday, two on Kuang-Hsü’s
marriage, and two on her sixtieth birthday. Tzŭ Hsi’s complete official
designation at the end of her life was not easy to remember. It ran,
“Tzŭ-Hsi-Tuan-yu-K’ang-yi-Chao-yu-Chuang-ch’eng-Shou-kung-
Ch’in-hsien-Ch’ung-hsi-Huang Tai-hou,” which, being translated,
means “The Empress Dowager, motherly, auspicious, orthodox,
heaven-blessed, prosperous, all-nourishing, brightly manifest, calm,
sedate, perfect, long-lived, respectful, reverend, worshipful,
illustrious and exalted.”
At the beginning of the Regency it suited Yehonala to conciliate
and humour Prince Kung. In conjunction with her colleague, she
therefore bestowed upon him the titles of “I-Cheng Wang,” or Prince
Adviser to the Government, and by special Decree she made the title
of “Ch’in Wang,” or Prince of the Blood (which had been bestowed
upon him by the late Emperor), hereditary in his family for ever.[11]
Prince Kung begged to be excused from accepting the former
honour, whereupon ensued a solemn parade of refusal on the part of
the Empresses, one of whom, as events proved, certainly wanted no
adviser. Eventually, after much deprecation, Their Majesties gave
way as regards the hereditary title, but on the understanding that the
offer would be renewed at a more fitting season. Yehonala who, in
her better moments of grateful memory, could scarcely forget the
brave part which Prince Kung had played for her at Jehol, made
amends by adopting his daughter as a Princess Imperial, granting
her the use of the Yellow palanquin. The influence of this Princess
over Tzŭ Hsi, especially towards the end, was great, and it was
strikingly displayed in 1900 on behalf of Prince Tuan and the Boxer
leaders.
Ignorant at the outset of many things in the procedure of
Government routine, feeling her way through the labyrinth of party
politics and foreign affairs, afraid of her own youth and inexperience,
it was but natural that Tzŭ Hsi should have recourse to the ripe
wisdom of the late Emperor’s brother and be guided by his opinion.
But as time went on, as her knowledge of affairs broadened and
deepened, her autocratic instincts gradually asserted themselves in
an increasing impatience of advice and restraint. As, by the study of
history and the light of her own intelligence, she gained confidence in
the handling of State business and men, the guidance which had
previously been welcome became distasteful, and eventually
assumed the character of interference. Despotic by nature, Tzŭ Hsi
was not the woman to tolerate interference in any matter where her
own mind was made up, and Prince Kung, on his side, was of a
disposition little less proud and independent than her own. When the
young Yehonala began to evince a disposition to dispense with his
advice, he was therefore not inclined to conceal his displeasure, and
relations speedily became strained. As Tzŭ Hsi was at no pains to
hide her resentment, he gradually came to adopt a policy of
instigating her colleague, the Empress of the East, to a more
independent attitude, a line of action which could not fail to produce
ill-feeling and friction in the Palace. In the appointment of officials,
also, which is the chief object and privilege of power in China, he
was in the habit of promoting and protecting his own nominees
without reference to Yehonala, by direct communications to the
provinces. Eye-witnesses of the events of the period have recorded
their impression that his attitude towards both Empresses at the
commencement of the Regency was somewhat overbearing; that he
was inclined to presume upon the importance of his own position
and services, and that on one occasion at audience, he even
presumed to inform the Empresses that they owed their position to
himself, a remark which Tzŭ Hsi was not likely to forget or forgive.
At the audiences of the Grand Council, it was the custom for the
two Empresses to sit on a raised daïs, each on her separate Throne,
immediately in front of which was suspended a yellow silk curtain;
they were therefore invisible to the Councillors, who were received
separately and in the order of their seniority, Prince Kung coming
first in his capacity as “adviser to the Government.” Beside their
Majesties on the daïs stood their attendant eunuchs; they were in the
habit of peeping through the folds of the curtain, keeping a careful
eye upon the demeanour of the officials in audience, with a view to
noting any signs of disrespect or breach of etiquette. Strictly
speaking, no official, however high his rank, might enter the Throne
room unless summoned by the chief eunuch in attendance, but
Prince Kung considered himself superior to such rules, and would
enter unannounced. Other breaches of etiquette he committed
which, as Her Majesty’s knowledge of affairs increased, were
carefully noted against him; for instance, he would raise his voice
when replying to their Majesties’ instructions (which were always
given by Tzŭ Hsi), and on one occasion, he even ventured to ask
that Tzŭ Hsi should repeat something she had just said, and which
he pretended not to have understood. His attitude, in short (say the
chroniclers), implied an assumption of equality which the proud spirit
of the young Empress would not brook. Living outside the Palace as
he did, having free intercourse with Chinese and foreign officials on
all sides, he was naturally in a position to intrigue against her, did he
so desire. Tzŭ Hsi, on the other hand, was likely to imagine and
exaggerate intrigues, since nearly all her information came from the
eunuchs and would therefore naturally assume alarming proportions.
There is little doubt that she gradually came to believe in the
possibility of Prince Kung working against her authority, and she
therefore set herself to prove to him that his position and
prerogatives depended entirely upon her good will.
She continued watching her opportunity and patiently biding her
time until the occasion presented itself in the fourth year of the
Regency (April, 1865). In a moment of absent-mindedness or
bravado, Prince Kung ventured to rise from his knees during an
audience, thus violating a fundamental rule of etiquette originally
instituted to guard the Sovereign against any sudden attack. The
eunuchs promptly informed their Majesties, whereupon Tzŭ Hsi
called loudly for help, exclaiming that the Prince was plotting some
evil treachery against the persons of the Regents. The Guards
rushed in, and Prince Kung was ordered to leave the presence at
once. His departure was speedily followed by the issue of an
Imperial Decree, stating that he had endeavoured to usurp the
authority of the Throne and persistently overrated his own
importance to the State. He was accordingly dismissed from his
position as adviser to the Government, relieved of his duties on the
Grand Council and other high offices in the Palace; even his
appointment as head of the Foreign Office, or Tsungli Yamên, was
cancelled. “He had shown himself unworthy of their Majesties’
confidence,” said the Edict, “and had displayed gross nepotism in the
appointment of high officials: his rebellious and usurping tendencies
must be sternly checked.”
A month later, however, Tzŭ Hsi, realising that her own position
was not unassailable, and that her treatment of this powerful Prince
had created much unfavourable comment at Court and in the
provinces, saved her face and the situation simultaneously, by
issuing a Decree in the name of herself and her colleague, which
she described as a Decree of explanation. In this document she took
no small credit to herself for strength of character and virtue in
dealing severely with her near kinsmen in the interests of the State,
and pointed to the fact that any undue encouragement of the