Page 3 of Her Magic Light

Carrie watched me thoughtfully, her eyes narrowed a little. “Told ya not to look,” she said.

But despite my best intentions, something about the man proved to be magnetic, and I glanced again, prepared this time for the eyes that seemed to see right through me.

But he had already shifted his focus back to his copy of the morning paper, coffee in hand. He still looked out of place, but at least now he was trying to blend in somewhat.

“Is he wearing an earpiece?” I muttered my question to Carrie as she fixed lids on the to-go cups.

She nodded. “Yep. And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him speak into his cuff a couple of times, too.”

I wanted to look again. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Hell, I had no need to.

The image of the man with the vivid blue eyes and tousled brown hair was pretty much imprinted on my brain. Everything about his face suggested that we should go to bed together… Or that we’d just been there.

But his suit was all business. And his earpiece was… weird.

“Secret service?” I barely mouthed the question, but Carrie only shrugged.

“I just know it’s odd to see so many strangers in town.”

I laughed. “Well, I’m still new here, and I’m willing to bet there aren’t many that are stranger than me, right?” I winked and tossed my rainbow hair for effect.

Carrie just sighed and shook her head as she handed me the drinks.

If I weren’t so late already, I would have marched up to our mysterious visitor, thrust out my hand in greeting, and demanded to know what he was up to. But sadly that was not to be. Not today, anyway.

two

The bell jangled merrily as I left Sunshine Brew.

A local named Will Parker insisted on holding the door open for me to pass through, and I offered him a polite nod in return. Will had asked me out a couple of times, and I liked him well enough, but I wasn’t interested in inviting gossip while still being such a newcomer to town.

“Morning, Meira.”

I met his overeager smile with a more laid-back grin of my own. “Morning, Will. Have a nice day.”

I stepped around one of the ornamental lamp posts. Walking Main was a little like stepping back in time: Mom and Pop shops with scrolled signs and candy-striped awnings lined the street on both sides. We also had an old-fashioned ice cream parlor, boasting a soda fountain of all things. I deliberately averted my gaze rather than look at that one head-on. It would be all too easy to slip inside for an ice cream every time I passed, but I somehow managed to resist temptation more often than not. I was sure the waistline of my pants thanked me, even if my taste buds and stomach did not.

A movement to my right caught my attention, and I stumbled a little as I turned to look, catching my toe on the edge of one of the low cobbles. Someone grasped my shoulder to straighten me as I concentrated on holding the two cups of coffee without spilling.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, flustered as I met a pair of kind brown eyes.

“No problem. Sorry if I startled you.” The man turned away and walked a couple of paces, stopping in front of the antique store window to study a display of 1920s tea sets.

He slipped a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and pushed them into position on his face, and my gaze slid off the wire coiled into his ear and the broad shoulders that filled out his finely tailored jacket. He was older than the guy I’d met eyes with at Sunshine Brew, but they obviously belonged to the same group.

And there was something intimidating about both of them—barely repressed energy, like they were on full alert and waiting for something big to happen.

I glanced upward, but the blue sky held only the barest wisps of cloud; tree leaves rustled gently above me. No unexpected aircraft and no hulking alien spaceships or dancing lights.

So what were these guys doing then? I shrank back toward the other side of the pathway, trying to ease away without looking like I was.

My purse buzzed with an incoming call on my cell, and I hurried to a nearby wrought iron bench to put my drinks down so I could answer. It was probably Bess wondering where I was. I chuckled at the irony of my boss making me even later by trying to find out why I was late in the first place.

But there wasn’t a caller ID on the screen, and I shoved the phone back down to the depths of the pocket, among the gum wrappers and emergency tampons. I’d started avoiding calls when I had no idea who was on the other end of the line.

There’d been one too many hang ups recently. At first, it had only happened at my house, on the ancient landline that was already installed when I moved in, and I’d assumed those calls came from people trying to reach the previous homeowner—or perhaps on behalf of a faulty line. I hadn’t found time to call the phone company before I started getting the same type of thing on my cell.

Of course, they didn’t happen often, but just enough to creep me out—especially since they’d increased in frequency recently.

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