"Oh..."I shifted in my seat to look at him again, and this time, I made sure I focused on his face while we talked. "I was actually thinking I could stay for a few days. Check out the beach, put a little tan on this pasty pallor of mine, and see what else this town has to offer."

"Oh, I thought this afternoon you said you had to get there immediately, that they were waiting for you?" He gave me a deadpan stare, or so I thought. I felt uneasy with all this subterfuge. It was making me a little crazy. As much as I wanted to take the persona of steel-nerved Hanna, my good-girl guilt was ruffling my confidence. Time to bring her back.

"Well, I called my aunt and told her I had found this cute...town that I wanted to explore a little further. She understood."

His features softened and a hint of a smile appeared on his face. "Ah, so you wanna explore the town. Are you sure that's why you are here?"

No, I was on the run from an illegal gambling ring that probably wanted to kill me. What was I supposed to say?

"Yes, of course. What on earth else would it be?"

He nodded. "Of course. Well, I'm glad you've decided to stay longer. The beach is great but too hot for me. I am taking a boat out this week. I hope to do some bass fishing."

"Ah, a professional fisherman and a Harley rider, I see."

His mouth curled into a smile as the edge of his glass touched his lips. Oh no. Now I was gaping at his perfectly kissable lips. I watched as he placed them on the glass to take a drink. I pushed my hair back behind my ear and took a breath. I was jealous of that glass. It had his mouth on it and I wanted to feel those lips on me. What had come over me? I was turning into a pervert for this man's body, wondering how each of his body parts would feel pressed against mine.

"You can come if you like. You'd enjoy it. The ocean breeze will keep you cool and you can tan on the boat."

"Thanks but...no thanks. I'm not really an "out on the sea" person. Last time I was on a boat, I got seasick and spent the whole day hanging over the edge of the boat puking." Not the best way to flirt with a guy. I had better stay in my field of comfort, on terra firma.

He smiled. "All right. I'll let you off the hook this time, but only if you promise me one thing."

"Which is...?"

"Whatever I catch, you'll have to help me eat it." He held his beer glass out for a toast.

I grabbed mine and our glasses clinked. "It's a deal, John. I look forward to tasting your cooking. It has to be better than the food where I'm staying at, Emma's Bed and Breakfast...oh," I paused, embarrassed. This was such a small town. Maybe Emma was a friend of his. "Do you know Emma? She's real sweet but her cooking leaves something to be desired..."

He chuckled. "No, I don't know her, and don't get too excited about my cooking either...although I have been told I make a mean mango salsa for fish."

I laughed. "Well, it's got to be better than what I had tonight." I relaxed back into my high bar chair. Who was this "local," anyway?

"So, John, you haven't told me what you do for a living here in Summerville?"

"You're right. I didn't. Take a guess."

"Oh, I don't know..." My eyes traveled up and down his magnificent physique. "Judging from your appearance, I'm guessing fitness trainer or something like that."

"Not even close. You'll never guess...I'm writing a book."

"You're right, I never would have guessed that. A book about fitness training?"

"It's a crime thriller about a woman who gets killed while on vacation in a small seaside town." He looked at me with a devious smile on his face.

"Ha, very funny. Really, what do you do for a living?"

"I am actually writing a book, a road trip book about traveling across the United States on a motorcycle."

I glared at him with a suspicious glance that ignited a laugh in him. He rocked forward on his chair and sat his beer back on the bar.

"Honest to God, it's the truth." He held up his hand as if he were on the witness stand. "You've seen my bike. You've seen all the bug splatters on the windshield. It's been through a lot with me these past months."

Now I was surprised. "So you don't actually live here?"

"Only temporarily while I finish the book. I rented a small house here for the month. The boat I'm going out in this week is a rental, too."

"So where do you live?"

"Manhattan. Born and raised there."

A sudden chill ran down my spine. Dark thoughts of the money, and why I was here, invaded my pleasant surroundings. I'd come to Summerville to escape New York and now I met a guy who came from there. What were the chances of that? This could be bad news. But then, maybe I was overthinking this. Lots of people from New York come south to vacation, to get away from the city. The entire coast all the way down to Florida was peppered with vacationing New Yorkers. I reasoned that it wouldn't do any good to act skittish. I didn't want to blow my cover. I just needed to lie low for a couple more weeks, and then I could disappear from Summerville as quickly as I had appeared.

John took another swig of his beer. "So now you know all about me, and I know absolutely nothing about you, except that you are staying Emma's Bed and 'Not So Good' Breakfast. Where're you from?"

"Boston," I quickly replied. I was becoming an expert in this "lying" business. "I'm in college, studying psychology. It's my last year." At least that part was true.

"Boston-I'm impressed. Which college?"

"Not Harvard or anything exciting like that. You've probably never heard of it, Massachusetts School of Psychology."

He nodded. "You're right about that, I'm afraid I've never heard of it."

He beamed another charming smile that nearly melted me into a puddle on my seat. I fiercely wanted to stop the blush that was rising to my cheek. This wasn't how Hanna would react. To my relief, a screaming guitar riff assaulted my ears, and the boom of a bass drum, accented with crashing cymbals, told us that the band had started. It interrupted our conversation, just when my lies were getting thin. As the loud rock music vibrated through my body, I finally relaxed, feeling the effects of the alcohol loosen my tense muscles.

John bought us another round of drinks, and we both kicked back to indulge in the wall of sound all around us. He was getting into the rhythms of the guitar solo. I was exhausted. The bizarre events of the last few days were finally catching up to me.

The minutes turned into an hour and I told John I needed to go back to Emma's. John was the perfect gentleman and insisted on walking with me the three blocks from the bar to my lodging. As we said goodnight, he lingered for a moment on the front porch. Was he going to kiss me? Hanna wanted him to. So did I. A lot.

"Thanks for walking me home, but you really didn't need to."

"I know, but you can never be too safe, even in a small town like this. Well, goodnight, Ms. Carrington. Hope you sleep well."

Without offering me the kiss, he turned and walked into the warm summer night, leaving me slightly disappointed. I would have liked to feel those luscious lips on mine.

I slipped into my room without turning on the light. The mood of the evening was still prominent, hovering over me like a pleasant misty fog, and I wanted to absorb the feelings of my newfound persona, Hanna. Drawing the floral-print curtain aside with my hand, I glanced out the window hoping to get one last peek at John walking down the narrow cement sidewalk. He was already gone. I sighed, and as the curtain fell back in place, something caught my eye. A shadow. I froze. Someone was out there on the other side of the street under the heavy-hanging branches of a large oak tree. Were we followed? Was someone watching hidden in the darkness? Had someone from New York, who was missing their two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, found me here in peaceful Summerville? I blinked and saw nothing the second time. Was I just being paranoid? Was this how I would spend the rest of my life, looking over my shoulder every day? If only there was a way to erase this whole mess. A way to go back in time and leave that damn briefcase alone.

With only the moonlight of the Summerville night streaming in between the panels of the floral curtains, the blue roses were now muted to shades of gray in the darkness of the room. My eyes blurred and when I looked out the window again, there was nothing but shadows cast onto the sidewalks by the large oak trees. I was tired and probably just paranoid.

I dropped my purse on the nightstand. If some slasher was out there, he'd just have to wait until morning to slit my throat. I was too damn tired to care right now. I kicked off my shoes and flopped onto the bed exhausted, clothes and all. There wasn't another ounce of energy in me to undress or be concerned with wrinkled clothes, and I preferred to drift off to sleep with thoughts of John filtering through my mind instead. I grabbed a bed pillow, tucked it between my knees, and I was dead to the world in no time.

Chapter Ten.

Two days and two more painful meals at the hand of Emma's poor culinary skills had passed since my date with John at The Bar. Emma tried to be a good cook, bless her heart. She just didn't have the talent. To my relief, I had not seen any mysterious dark shadows outside my window since. I had come to the conclusion that I had indeed become overly suspicious of every crow that fluttered its wings in the dark branches of trees or small animals that darted across lawns at night. Who knows, maybe I had even seen a ghost? These old Southern towns were full of macabre and spooky stories. And it seemed to fit with the old Victorian-style house of Emma's, where I rented a room on Main Street.

It had only been a couple days, but Summerville was growing on me. It was a beautiful seaside town, quaint and cozy, exactly as a beach town in South Carolina should be. I decided to stay here until it was safe to go back to New York. If someone was on my tail and saw me get on the bus to Charleston, they would never suspect that I had stopped here. They would be looking for me at my final destination in Charleston. I concluded that it would be safer to stay here than to move on. I was also careful to leave no trace of the real me here. I hadn't used my real first name and always paid cash. It was too risky leaving a paper trail from a credit card. Little by little, I was becoming Hanna instead of Dani, and I loved it.

I hadn't seen John since Sunday night when he followed me home like a puppy dog. A twinge of disappointment surged through me, but seriously, what had I expected? Motorcycle plus author equals-badass? Something was wrong with this equation. Maybe it was the new math, but I wouldn't have given John the time of day back in New York. He was so good-looking, much too good-looking. My pulse came to life every time I thought of his charming smile, every time his eyes flashed fiery blue when he looked at me. I wanted to believe those fervent looks were meant exclusively for me, but I was still guarded. Drop-dead gorgeous guys don't just hang out in seaside towns picking up girls like me.

John reminded me of a guy I met my freshman year at college, a lot like him-heart stopping good looks and a chiseled body to go with it. His name was Ernesto. He was a foreign exchange student from Italy. Every day in my Art History class, he would burst into the large lecture hall after everyone else was seated. Then he would pause at the top of the stairs, as if he knew he was baiting all the women, and before he found a seat, all the girls' heads would turn to get an eyeful of him standing there with his chest puffed out, his black leather jacket flung wide open. I would swear it always seemed like the wind was blowing his long dark hair back from his face. But that was just an illusion drummed up by my imagination. There was no wind inside McBride Lecture Hall. His presence would expand until it seemed to fill the entire room, as if he was saying, "Yes, I am God's gift to women and I can have every last one of you."

Later, I learned that he did have most of the women, myself included. Yes, I was swept up by his charm and hot body. I foolishly thought that I was so amazingly special that he would want to be with me over all the other girls who drooled over him. One night at a party, off-campus, I ran into him and let myself be taken, flattered that he had picked me out of all the women he could have had. The night ended with him disappearing and I had no way of getting back to campus. I had to take my chances with some stranger, a guy who had a car and offered me a ride. But before I left, I got a last glimpse of Ernesto. He was back at the crowded party, and through paper beer cups and raised elbows, I overheard him bragging to a group of guys how he had "plucked that ripe tomato." I realized I was just another notch on his belt, but most importantly I realized how little I thought of myself to be used by him; that something was deficient inside of me that I thought I could fulfill with attention from him. I learned my lesson the hard way that night, and now I wanted to make sure that John wasn't just another Ernesto.

Of course his lack of communication could mean that he was just busy writing, which I hoped was the reason. Oh no-now I was making excuses for him. Stop it. That was the old me. The new me said Hanna didn't make excuses for anyone. So I chided myself for being such a wussy and launched into a home improvement project with Emma.

In the absence of John, I had been spending most of my time hanging out with Emma and her little pixie daughter, Michelle. The light dusting of freckles across her nose just made me want to hug her every time she walked in the room. Although Emma protested a lot about Michelle annoying me, I didn't mind it at all.

Emma was becoming my new best friend. She was sweet and funny, and despite being the worst cook ever, she was a good and stable mom for Michelle. Not like my mother, who cared more about the bottle than her own daughter. I admired Emma for the dedication she put into her daughter's upbringing and the hard work she put into this old house.

Emma told me that her mother had died earlier this spring and left her a small inheritance. The money was a blessing in disguise for Emma. It allowed her to purchase this Victorian-style house. With eight bedrooms and turn-of-the-century charm, it was easy for Emma to turn it into a Bed and Breakfast. She said she did it for Michelle's sake. It would allow her to spend more time with her daughter. With her previous job, waitressing evenings at the local diner, she hardly saw Michele most of the week. Renovating an old house like this one was harder than she'd anticipated. With leaky roof problems and ancient plumbing, it took a considerably larger amount of time and effort than she had counted on. She had hoped that everything would be ready for the big summer season, yet here summer had arrived and she still had so many rooms to fix up. There were days when she thought about going back to being a waitress; but in the end, all of her blood, sweat, and tears were worth it to be her own boss and have time for Michelle.

For me, helping out here was the perfect distraction. I needed it while I waited for my hot money to cool down-my guilty treasure, the one I had wrapped in a dark garbage bag, hidden in my suitcase in the closet of my bedroom. Helping Emma fix up the rooms for more customers was just what I needed to get my mind off other things.

And then there was John. My mind kept turning back to him whenever I was given a quiet moment. I thought about making him my diversion. He certainly was a pleasant distraction, or so my alter ego, Hanna, was telling me. Damn him. Sure, I could spend time lying on the beach every day, but that really wasn't my scene, and with all this anxious energy about the money, I wouldn't be able to keep still. No, I needed to burn off this excess energy: do work, dig holes, plant bushes, paint, or whatever. Just do something. Besides, I sunburned too easily, and I would waste a perfectly enjoyable experience with questions about John pecking at my mind, like the birds on the beach pecking at pebbles. It was better that I worked.

So, this fixer-upper project was just what the doctor ordered, and Emma's house needed a lot of work, starting with a new paint job for the walls and doors. The kitchen cabinets needed new hinges and they would all benefit from a nice dark cherry-stain job.

Emma was thrilled that I wanted to help. Her brown eyes beamed. "That would be great. Thank you so much, Hanna. With your help, I can open the other rooms for guests sooner. There are only three more months left of the season, so every day counts. You're a godsend."

"Just tell me what you want me to do. I am all yours," I said. I hoped that if I checked myself in a mirror right now, I would see a glowing halo above my head. I grabbed a big clean paintbrush with a shiny new metal band. I checked for my reflection in the metal, almost expecting to see that halo. But no; all I saw was a liar and a fraud.

It was a great color, a warm sandy tone like the beaches of South Carolina. It brightened the guest room tremendously, better than the ugly old army-green the walls had been covered with before. I had to put on three layers of it to cover the old green, but it was worth it. I looked down at myself and chuckled. I had sandy beige-spotted arms. Apparently I'd covered more than the walls while shoving the roller up and down. That's what I got for my exuberance, but it was actually not a bad color for me. Better than the usual pale white. Maybe I should hit the beach more often.

As I picked up the sticky roller and paint tray to go clean it, I heard a familiar voice coming from the hallway. "Hello, anybody home?"

My heart raced and the empty aluminum paint tray slammed to the floor with a bang. It was John's voice. My hopes spiked high.

"In here," I shouted out from the bedroom.

He poked his head in the open door as he spoke. "Love your new highlights," he said, pointing to my hair, and winked.

I checked my reflection in the window. My dark hair was speckled with several beige streaks, compliments of my lousy paint job. Guess my application to join the local Painter's Union would be denied.

"Battle wounds," I muttered as I raked my fingers through my hair. "So you finally got out of your writing cave, or were you drifting aimlessly at sea?"

"Yeah, sorry about that...I had a sudden burst of inspiration for my book and wrote fifty new pages." A very believable story, although he could also have been holed up in a smoky poker game in some back room of a bar, slamming whiskey for days, according to Hanna's beliefs. Dani, on the other hand, would think he was rescuing puppies from the pound.

He stroked his facial stubble. "I would have called but I never got your number."

"I thought I gave it to you. I don't remember. I was exhausted that night from my bus ride and...well, that's okay. I have been pretty busy myself, as you can see." I waved a paintbrush in a half-circle around, pointing at the fresh walls. "But I'm glad you got some writing done. Can't wait to read your book."

John scrutinized my paint job. "I can see that. I like the color. It goes with...your hair." John's eyes landed on my face and he smiled as his gaze lingered there.

I pressed my lips together and swallowed hard. Every time he looked at me like that, I felt my blood heat up under his assertive gaze. It wasn't intimidating, just commanding, as if he could order my blood to boil at any moment. Hanna liked it that way; not sure about Dani. This split personality game is getting to be confusing.

"Hey, are you okay? You seem...tense."

He must have sensed my confusion. "I'm great. In fact, I'm glad you are here. We can use any help we can get." I picked up the paint tray and ducked out of the room.

He followed as I walked to the kitchen to clean the brushes and roller. "I would love to help but I have some errands to run today. Maybe tomorrow?"

I smiled. "I'm just teasing you. I'm not so sure those highlights suit your hair color."

He gave me another infectious smile. "Listen, I never got to go out with the boat and catch that dinner for us. Come to dinner with me tonight. There's a nice seafood restaurant down by the harbor. I think you'd like it."

The words "No thanks" formed in my head, but Hanna once again took possession of my mind and body, blocking the words from coming out.

He was tall and so handsome, and his heartbreaking blue eyes drew me in every time I looked at him. I left the water running in the sink and forgot about the paintbrush for a moment, caught up in the allure of his presence. He stood so close to me-as if he were about to reach for the paint brush and help, but froze, caught in the brief, intense exhilaration of the moment. My gaze drifted to his lips and a warm feeling rushed through me. I could faintly smell the waft of his aftershave. He was so intense, it was as if his entire being radiated an energy that was strong enough to jump the empty space between us and not weaken even a fraction by the time it reached me. It was as if hot sexiness oozed from every pore of his body and I was there to lick it up. I wanted to feel those lips on mine as I slowly straddled him and...I shook my head to force the images out of my mind.

His eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you are okay?"

"Yes, it just..." I turned and shut off the running water faucet. "Well, never mind."

"So, it's a date?"

"Yes, of course. I'd love to," Hanna replied for us.

He broke into a smile. "Great. I'll pick you up at seven. Wear something for the motorcycle ride."

"It's hot, it's summer, and I'm in a beach town, I should be wearing strappy sandals on a dinner date."

He furrowed his brow and frowned, then opened his mouth like he had something else to say.

"I get it, I get it. I'll wear something appropriate. Mr. Safety comes before Beauty."

I showed him out and watched him walk away as I leaned against the doorjamb. As soon as he was out of sight, my heartbeat finally slowed to a normal pace. All I could think of was John sitting on his bike and me, with my arms around him, pressed up against his muscles of steel. I wondered what he would think of me in high heels and a light summer dress and nothing much underneath but a lacy little secret. Oh my, it's hot in here.

Chapter Eleven.

"Michelle, get your shoes," Emma yelled up the stairs. "We're going to the store." Michelle groaned and dropped her cards to the bedspread where we sat, cross-legged. I was teaching Michelle to play Blackjack, but we called it Twenty-one for Emma's sake. I didn't want to be known for corrupting the youth of Summerville with tips on how to win at gambling, but Michelle had begged me to show her the game.

She yelled back down, "I don't wanna go. I want to stay here with Hanna and play Bla-aa..."