The words landed and sat there. No one said anything. Both men continued staring at her in silence. She had to fight to keep from shifting her weight around. Or bolting from the room.

“So, yeah. That happened.” She cut off the words there, figuring less was better in this instance.

Connor leaned forward in his chair. “You were playing the role of informal neighborhood watch?”

“Sure. That sounds reasonable, right?” After years of pretending to be someone else she should be better at lying. She vowed to work on that skill to prevent scenes like this in the future.

Connor didn’t blink. “You’re the one who hit me?”

“I was trying to help.” That wasn’t even a little bit true. With the notes, she was on edge but he still deserved an explanation. Shame she didn’t have a good one. Except panic. She lived in that state now.

No one had stepped off the ferry and stayed on Whitaker in more than a month. After all the press died down about the killings that happened here over the summer and the unexpected visit from a US Senator, gawkers came. She hid from all of them, not wanting her location to be exposed in the rush of interest about the people on Whitaker, who they were, and why they came here. She ignored every reporter and refused to read any of the special interest stories or the news about what happened.

Then he came—McHottiePants—right as she’d started to relax, and she hadn’t been ready.

Connor hadn’t stopped watching her since she made the semihonest, half-rambling admission of sorts. He leaned forward and balanced his elbows on his thighs. “I was napping on the couch.”

And that was a good point. One she couldn’t really get around without accidentally tripping up and spilling far too much about her past. “Yeah, well. Criminals are weird. We’ve all heard stories about them robbing banks and dropping their driver’s licenses.”

Connor looked at Ben. “Does that sort of thing happen a lot on Whitaker?”

He shook his head. “Never, actually.”

She fiddled with the knob, turning it and ignoring the clicking sound it made. “I thought I was helping.”

“By hitting me with . . .” Connor’s eyebrow rose. “What was it?”

“A piece of firewood.” From his yard, but she left that part out because they had enough facts floating around without adding more.

“Jesus,” Ben whispered under his breath.

“Not a hard hit.” She felt like that qualification should be out there.

“Lucky me.” Connor didn’t show any emotion. “And once I was on the floor you jumped on my back.”

Ben whistled that time. “This story keeps getting better and better.”

She tried not to be distracted. Breaking eye contact with Connor didn’t prove to be that easy anyway. Something about McHottiePants held her spellbound. “Self-defense classes.”

“More like a wrestling class.”