Page 1 of Shades of You

Chapter One

Hunter

I hated cheating spouses.I gently closed the front door after the woman left, trying not to see how her shoulders drooped as I stared through the glass pane. But this was part of what I did—I provided the ugly truths wrapped in sterile manila folders. Truths about husbands who strayed, business partners who embezzled, or people who didn’t know when to stop. What the client did with the information I’d provided was now up to her.

After she backed out of the parking stall, I padded to the front picture window of KeyMark Security, my hands finding the back pockets of my black jeans. Outside, Main Street hummed with activity, a postcard of small-town Florida Keys charm come to life. Cheery hanging baskets swayed gently in the breeze, their bursts of color complementing the crisp, colorful paint of the shopfronts. My soon-to-be sister-in-law’s bakery, Sweet Dreams, lay across the street and a couple of buildings down. I hadn’t chosenthis site for any particular reason—the location for my new business had simply been too good to pass up.

Two figures walked past, their laughter reaching me even through the glass. I recognized my former schoolmates, both guys I’d known once. Instinctively, I ducked away from sight, a shadow dressed in all black amidst the brightness of the day. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, trying to carve out a space on the most visible street in town, yet craving the anonymity I’d once taken for granted under the cloak of night and covert ops. Except that obscurity was a luxury I could no longer afford. Not if I was going to make this new venture work. And in order to do that, I needed to unpack.

I took in the large, open expanse of my new enterprise. KeyMark Security, the symbolic title I’d chosen for my business, was a simple mixture of both my last name and where I was setting up shop. And maybe a subtle reminder that I was still a Markham, regardless of all that had happened.

The space, with its cluster of metal desks and office in the corner, wasn’t just a workplace. This little slice of Dove Key was a clean slate. Taking a deep breath, I let the silence wrap around me, a comforting reminder that while some chapters closed with pain and desolation, others opened with promise.

The promise of home. And maybe if I was really reaching—of forgiveness.

I moved through the stillness of the open area to my office. Framed black-and-white beach scenes adorned the white walls. The prints were designed to instill a sense of peace, the ocean’s timeless rhythm captured in still life—a stark contrast to the turbulent lives that walked through my door. A thick catcher’s mitt was visible inside my gym bag, but I ignored it. That was an off-duty item.

I crossed the floor to unpack one of several cardboard boxes neatly lined up against the wall. Peeling back the flaps of a box, I found myself face to face with the clutter of transferring from one life to another—pens that had seen better days and a tangle of office supplies. As I methodically placed each item in its new home, my thoughts drifted to the dual purpose of my return. Though Dove Key held the promise of becoming home, it wasn’t quite the real thing. But I wasn’t sure I’d ever be a part of Calypso Key again. For now, providing security for my family’s Calypso Key Resort would have to be enough. And moving back would certainly bring on the unresolved whisper of another name. Brenna Coleridge. The name that had seen me through so many dark times.

I chose another box at random and opened it. My breath caught, and my body assumed the precise stillness that was second nature. I reached in and pulled out a framed photograph. Then light flickered off something else in the box, and my eye landed on the trophy I’d packed around for years.

The damn trophy.

I wasn’t ready to deal with that, though the frame in my hands didn’t fill me with euphoria either. I swallowed over a suddenly parched throat as I studied the photo. Two smiling boys stared back at me, young and oblivious to what the future would hold. Evan and me, arms slung over each other’s shoulders at a beach outing.

I traced the edge of the frame, the weight of our complicated relationship pressing down. Gently, I placed the picture inside a desk drawer, not ready to hang it on the wall. I’d kept it nearby all these years, but displaying it would be a symbol of our reconciliation. And we were a long way from that.

I dropped into my chair. My brother had every right to hate me, considering what I’d done to him. Evan was trying to reconcile, and so was I. So far, it had been a tentative, awkward reunion. Could he actually forgive me?

Even more importantly, did I deserve forgiveness?

As dusk fell,I stood and stretched, the toll of the day seeping into my bones. The office was quiet as I locked up, and outside, the hum of Main Street’s night was awakening. I headed for the staircase near the back of the large space.

Upstairs, my apartment welcomed me with the scent of fresh paint and the comfort of simplicity. The light-gray modern couch was sleek and inviting, but first things first. After kicking off my boots by the door, I padded across the new plush carpet. The modern, efficient kitchen lay at the other end of the open space.

I sprawled on the sofa, one arm bent behind my head as I flipped through channels. A day of grieving wives and unpacking had sapped me of the desire to do anything other than seek out the simple pleasure of an evening baseball game.

My phone chimed, an alert tone from my own security system app, and I picked it up. My sister, Stella’s, name flashed on the screen, indicating she’d entered her code to access my building. A thumbnail photo showed her ascending the stairs, and her arms were full of… something. That sparked a flicker of curiosity, enough to coax me into sitting up straight. I shut off the television.

Almost on cue, there was a knock at the door, promptly followed by the sound of it swinging open. Stella didn’t wait for an invitation or a beckoned entrance. She simplywaltzed in like she owned the place. She was the embodiment of Markham traits—dark hair that danced in the ocean breeze, eyes like pools of aged bourbon, and a height that made her stand out in any crowd. Though her genes hadn’t gone as overboard in that department as mine had.

“Ever heard of waiting for someone to answer the door?” I mock-frowned at her. “For all you knew, I could’ve been lying here naked.”

She breezed toward me with that familiar athletic grace of hers, hair swinging as she laughed. “Please. With your security fetish, I bet you have a system rigged that warned you the second I made the decision to come over.” She shot me a teasing glance. “And don’t worry. I’d avert my eyes if you were in your, uh, unmentionables.”

“Sure you would.” I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress the smirk tugging at my lips. There was no denying the comfort that came with Stella’s presence—even if she was invading my personal space with the subtlety of a tropical storm.

The handles of a canvas bag draped over one of her arms, and I couldn’t make out what she held in the other. “I’m surprised you didn’t have your front door locked.”

I scowled at her. “I’m alone inside my own home with both exterior entrances armed. You’re the one invading.” I didn’t mention I was well equipped to handle any situation if that thumbnail had shown someone Ididn’twant ascending my stairs.

Stella’s stride didn’t falter as she approached, her face alight with a mischievous smile that set off alarm bells in my head. Whatever she was up to, it spelled trouble. She reached me and, without missing a beat, deposited a small, wriggling black bundle right onto my lap.

“It’s your lucky day,” she chirped, barely containing herexcitement before continuing past me and toward the kitchen. The canvas bag she carried landed with a soft thud on the quartz counter, its contents a mystery.

“Stel, what the—” My words halted at the surprise she’d dropped on me. It was a tiny fluffball, but one equipped with an arsenal. Miniature daggers sank into my thighs through the fabric of my black jeans, eliciting an involuntary hiss from me. The creature looked up, its bright green eyes meeting mine, and let out a plaintive meow that was somehow both demanding and endearing. “What is this thing?”

Stella’s laughter floated from the kitchen. “It’s a kitten, Einstein.”

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