Too bad he hadn’t paid more attention to her vehicle yesterday at the wharf. Not very observant for a police officer—but he hadn’t been in law enforcement mode during their brief conversation.

He did a second database search for Christine Powers’s driver’s license. Not his typical protocol in situations like this—but he didn’t usually run into old girlfriends sporting an air of desperation either.

There were no suspensions on the plate, nor any active warrants on the license. The description and date of birth on the license, however, matched what he knew about Christi.

This car belonged to her—and in light of her different last name, she must be married.

A jolt that felt a lot like disappointment shot through him, and he expelled an annoyed breath. So what if she’d given her heart to someone else? Who cared? As he’d told her yesterday, their relationship was ancient history.

But if she was married, why was she here alone? Why did she need money? And what was she doing at an unoccupied cottage?

Much as he’d like to avoid another encounter with her, he was stuck. It was his job to follow through if a trespassing law was being broken.

Resigned, he left the patrol car behind and approached the cottage.

As he got closer, he sniffed. Was that a lingering hint of woodsmoke in the air? Like the kind from a fireplace?

What was going on in there?

He stepped up onto the front porch. Frowned. Where was the sturdy padlock that always secured the door?

After crossing the porch, he clasped the knob and twisted. It turned—but the door refused to open.

The windows were shaded, so he cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the sea-glass-studded sidelights that bookended the front door.

Nothing. It was too dim inside to see anything, and the colorful sea glass mosaic obscured the view, providing privacy for occupants.

Could he gain access through the back door?

He left the porch and circled the cottage to check the rear door.

No luck there either. The padlock on that door was in place.

He retraced his route to the front. Whatever Christi was up to—trespassing, breaking and entering, squatting—he’d have to deal with it.

But he didn’t relish another face-off with her on this otherwise beautiful Friday morning.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Christi jerked her eyelids open at the rude awakening from one of the best night’s sleep she’d had in months. Maybe years.

“Police. Open up!”

Police?

Pulse pounding, she leaped to her feet as the hard, authoritative voice breached the walls of her impromptu motel. Pale light filtered around the edges of the drawn shades as she stumbled toward the door and tried to fight off the lingering sluggishness of her deep slumber. Had she slept all night?

More pounding.

“I said open up! I’m not going to wait all morning.”