In McGillivray's Bed by Anne McAllister Page A

some takeout at The Grouper, then head home.”
    Doc grinned. “You do that.” Both he and Maurice waved Hugh off encouragingly.
    Feeling immeasurably lighter, Hugh set off down the quay, Belle at his heels.
    â€œDon’t do nothin’ I wouldn’t do!” Maurice called after him.
    â€œNo fear.”
    Belle jumped in the jeep. Hugh followed and flicked on the ignition. He looked around. Something was odd. Different.
    It took him a moment to realize what it was.
    No Lisa.
    For the first time in weeks Lisa Milligan hadn’t been waiting at the dock to smile and simper at him. She hadn’t followed him up the quay hanging on his arm, telling him what she’d cooked and how much he’d enjoy it and how happy she was to have him back.
    He was free.
    The ruse had worked.
    And while he might have hurt her feelings, he was sure he hadn’t hurt them as badly as he would have if he’d had to brush her off another, blunter way.
    And all he’d had to suffer for it was the sharp edge of Sydney St. John’s tongue—and a night of sharing a bed with her.
    â€œNot a bad deal,” he told Belle as he stomped on the gas.
    At least, that’s what he thought.
    Until he got home.

CHAPTER FIVE
    S OMETHING else was different, too.
    Hugh could sense it the minute he got out of the Jeep behind the house. But in the dusk everything looked the same.
    And yet…
    He shrugged and gave his head a quick shake. Sometimes he felt a brief disorientation on solid ground after a flight. Maybe that was it. That and having had less than three hours’ sleep last night, thanks to Ms. Sydney St. John.
    Well, tonight he’d make up for it. Tonight, thanks to Ms. St. John’s cooperation, he would spend the evening eating his grouper and peas and rice in peace—with no Lisa hovering. And then he would watch a film or read a book, maybe go for a swim, take Belle for a long walk, then fall into bed—after he’d changed the sheets so no lingering scents distracted him—and have a dreamless peaceful sleep.
    He snatched his dinner off the car’s front seat, then snapping his fingers for Belle, he headed around the side of the house.
    His bicycle wasn’t there.
    Of course, it wasn’t as if it had a definite parking space against the porch railing. But that was where he thought he’d left it. He supposed somebody could have borrowed it. His sister, Molly, or Marcus or Tommy or one of the other kids might have been at the beach and needed to get somewhere in a hurry. It had happened before. Hugh didn’t care. They always brought it back.
    But there weren’t any tracks in the sand.
    There wasn’t even any sand.
    Someone had swept the walk.
    No one ever swept the walk. No one but Hugh knew the house even had a stone walkway around the side to the front steps. But as he stared down between his feet, Hugh saw flagstone, not sand, between them.
    He rubbed the edge of his flip-flop against it as if it might be a mirage. It was hard, unyielding. He frowned, trying to remember the last time he’d seen the walk.
    When he’d bought it, he thought.
    Constance, the real estate agent at Island Breeze Property, had taken him to every available house on Pelican Cay, pointing out all the built-ins and the mod cons, the central air and the screened-in porches. He could have had any of them.
    He’d wanted a view of the water, a breeze, a place to hang a hammock and no nearby neighbors.
    â€œNo indoor plumbing?” Constance had queried.
    â€œThat’d be nice.” But the truth was, he probably would have bought this place without it. It was exactly what he wanted—old and friendly and undemanding.
    But Constance had been unable to stop her rhapsodizing. “It’s got ceiling fans in every room, electrical outlets on the porch and a flagstone walk all the way round. So you don’ go trackin’ in the sand,” she’d added in her