His lips twitched as he motioned for me to lead the way off the dock. “That could come in handy. Sounds like you’re pretty busy.”

“I am, sir—I mean, Brody.” I bit back a curse. I couldn’t help the desire to use a more formal title. To create some distance between us somehow and make sure things remained completely professional.

“You like living on this island all by yourself? You don’t get lonely? From what I understand, the Dowds weren’t out here all that much.”

The loneliness set in more than I wanted to admit. But no amount of loneliness could make me give up my safety. I couldn’t tell him any of that, though. “I love it here. The peace. The quiet. It’s my favorite place in the world.”

“I hope I feel the same way about it.”

I could feel Brody’s gaze on my back as I climbed, almost hear his mind asking a million silent questions. “I hope you do, too.” Maybe if he’d actually visited Harbor before dropping close to ten million dollars on it, he would’ve been more certain.

“This path runs the entire exterior of the island and has several offshoots that lead up to the main dwelling. If you have any large items delivered, we have a pulley system that we can set up to bring it up to the house.”

“That’s good. Do you know how the solar power system works? I’ve never used one before.”

I kept my gaze focused on the path ahead of me, afraid if I glanced at Brody, I’d trip over my feet. “I do. I can make small repairs on that and the generator. The maintenance teams have been good about teaching me every time they come out.”

Brody made a humming sound in the back of his throat. As we crested the hill and the buildings came into view, he sucked in an audible breath. “It’s gorgeous.”

More of the tension left my muscles. Maybe everything would be fine. Brody would be happy here. I’d make sure he was. He wouldn’t fire me. And when Michael was released, I would be safe. Surrounded by the thing that terrified him more than any other: water.

4

Brody

This was a disaster. I watched as Shay moved seamlessly through the kitchen, pulling out a tray of what looked like expertly arranged snacks. Uncovering it, she placed it on the counter. “Would you like a beer? Or a soda? Water?”

I forced my gaze away from the curves of her body—the dip in her waist and the flare of her hips. Even clad in denim and fleece, I could trace the peaks and valleys with my eyes—the way I wanted to with my pencil against paper. “Water would be great. Thank you.”