Chapter 4 The Eye of the Storm

The hurricane warnings had commenced at dawn.

Lena was standing on a ladder in the front window of the bookstore, pounding plywood over the glass as the wind howled through the streets. With the governor ordering mandatory evacuations, it would have been best for her to leave. But not with the entire first edition collection still unprotected. Not while hearing Tom's condescending voice from yesterday, saying, "The building's going condo, Lena. My father's firm owns the lease. But maybe we can work something out..."

Ryan's motorcycle screeched into the curb.

He popped his helmet visor up, rainwater sluicing down his jacket. "What the hell are you still doing here?"

"Securing my store," said Lena, driving another nail home. "Unlike some people, I don't abandon things when it gets hard."

Ryan's jaw tensed. He killed the engine and walked inside, his feet leaving little puddles on the Persian rug her grandmother brought back from Morocco. "The surge comes in two hours. You're leaving."

"Not going to happen."

He grabbed the hammer from her hand. Their fingers brushed-electricity even now. "So I'm staying."

Power gave out as the storm really began to hit.

They moved in silence-all tense and charged, rare books up to the second-floor storage room in flashlight mode. Each accidental brush burned. Each glance was stifled, heavy with meaning.

"You want to take these upstairs," Ryan said, lifting a box of leather-bound journals.

"Why do you care? You have been meeting with Coastal Development Group for weeks."

Ryan went deadly still. "How did you-"

"Mrs. Calloway saw you at their office. She told the whole damn book club." Lena's voice cracked. "Were you ever going to tell me they're my new landlords?"

Outside, a thunderous crash-a tree branch speared through their makeshift window cover. The rain and debris shattered into the shop.

Glass splintered as Ryan pushed Lena behind him, his arm cruelly coming up over her head, body a solid wall separating her from danger. Salt and cedar filled her senses-his damp skin.

In the midst of the turmoil, his lips brushed against her ear. "I wasn't working for them, Lena. I was trying to stop them."

The truth stretched its long convoluted arms of blackness:

Ryan's midnight phone calls? Writing a proposal for preservation. Cancelled plans to go out? Meetings with historical societies. That tattoo of the blueprints on his forearm? The original layout of the bookstore-he had been working on renovations in secret.

Lena's knees buckled; she balanced against the bookshelf. "You...you were saving the store?"

Ryan's flashlight caught the painful hope in his eyes. "I was saving you."

A monstrous gust shook the building. The ceiling groaned.

Then-

CRACK.

A support beam split like kindling overhead.