Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} Breeding Ground by Madelaine Montague Breeding Ground by Madelaine Montague. Completing the CAPTCHA proves you are a human and gives you temporary access to the web property. What can I do to prevent this in the future? If you are on a personal connection, like at home, you can run an anti-virus scan on your device to make sure it is not infected with malware. If you are at an office or shared network, you can ask the network administrator to run a scan across the network looking for misconfigured or infected devices. Another way to prevent getting this page in the future is to use Privacy Pass. You may need to download version 2.0 now from the Chrome Web Store. Cloudflare Ray ID: 660b521e5d274e4f • Your IP : 116.202.236.252 • Performance & security by Cloudflare. Montague & Strong Case Files Books In Order. Publication Order of Montague & Strong Case Files Books. Tombyards & Butterflies (2017) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Full Moon Howl (2017) Amazon.de | Amazon.com No God is Safe (2017) Amazon.de | Amazon.com The Date (2017) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Blood is Thicker (2017) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Silver Clouds Dirty Sky (2018) Amazon.de | Amazon.com The War Mage (2018) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Homecoming (2018) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Dragons & Demigods (2018) Amazon.de | Amazon.com A Proper Hellhound (2018) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Bullets & Blades (2018) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Hellhound Blues (2018) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Hell Hath No Fury (2019) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Reaping Wind (2019) Amazon.de | Amazon.com The Perfect Cup (2019) Amazon.de | Amazon.com The Golem (2019) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Saving Mr. K (2020) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Dark Glass (2020) Amazon.de | Amazon.com Requiem (2021) Amazon.de | Amazon.com. Montague & Strong Case Files Series by Orlando A. Sanchez Author Orlando A. Sanchez pens the “Montague & Strong Case Files” series of urban fantasy novels. The series began publication in the year 2017, when “Tombyards & Butterflies” was released. Simon Strong is an immortal and the very best private detective in all of New York City. His partner is Tristan Montague, a mage of unknown age. “Tombyards & Butterflies” is the first novel in the “Montague & Strong Case Files” series and was released in the year 2017. A missing ferryman, an immortal detective, and an undead dilemma. An emissary from the Dark Council just materialized in the Montague & Strong Detective Agency office, and makes Simon Strong an offer he just can’t pass on. Charon has vanished. Nobody’s seen the legendary ferryman that’s responsible for transporting sorcerer souls across the river Styx in days now. With each hour that goes by, those that are unable to cross the river are just left to walk with the living, which tilts the world even further out of balance. Simon Strong, is the best private detective in New York City and an immortal. Along with his partner, Tristan Montague, who is a mage of unknown age, they have to locate the Ferryman and get him back to work before there’s another Supernatural War ravages planet Earth, destroys all of humanity as well as Simon’s local coffee shop. Time’s running short. Karma with a capital K pays him a visit (who can be a real mother), and his landlord wants rent. Join the Montague & Strong Detective Agency and help them find Charon, so he’s able to restore balance to the universe as he puts the dead sorcerers to rest. Maybe even solve the old conundrum: tea or coffee? Orlando delivers a novel featuring witty and clever writing, fantastic dialogue, and an excellent plot that moves along at a fast pace. These main characters are deep, complex, and very realistic, as is the world they live in. Both are immortal and are unlike the fictional beings ever seen before. “Full Moon Howl” is the second novel in the “Montague & Strong Case Files” series and was released in the year 2017. Revenge, malice, and mystery. Bloody messages and broken bodies are showing up in the darkest corners in New York City. Infected werewolves roam the streets and attack innocent people. The Dark Council is demanding answers. They summon Tristan and Simon to look into the matter. The evidence is pointing to a powerful mage. However there is but one mage in this city that’s powerful enough to cause this sort of infection. Tristan Montague. Tristan and Simon have to locate the magical infection’s source before the Dark Council declares Tristan to be a dark mage, then destroys all of the werewolves, and wrecks the fragile peace within the supernatural community. Join Montague and Strong Detective Agency as they are pursued and hunted. All as they attempt to reveal the identity of their unseen foe before time runs out. This is an action packed read with a few side plots that blend into the main story well. Readers found themselves growing attached to Monty and Peaches. Simon is quite funny and, at times, can be a bit of a smartass. The action, witty dialogue, and all the fun found in the novel makes Orlando an author not to miss. “Blood Is Thicker” is the third novel in the “Montague & Strong Case Files” series and was released in the year 2017. An ancient enemy, a broken pact, and a bitter betrayal. What could a vampire fear more than sunlight? The Cazadoras Sangrientas- Blood Hunters. Michiko Nakatomi has been leading the Dark Council for more than a hundred years, keeping an uneasy truce between the supernatural and humanity. However when an ancient foe comes back this delicate balance is ruined and vampires begin dying. Now, Michiko has to fight to survive and for the Council’s survival. She’s got nobody she can trust. Her inner circle is destroyed, the Council is very close to collapse, and her only hope lies with Tristan and Simon. Join them as they battle the Blood Hunters to prevent them from destroying the Dark Council and plunging mankind right to its doom. “Silver Clouds Dirty Sky” is the fourth novel in the “Montague & Strong Case Files” series and was released in the year 2018. London Bridge’s falling, however, it isn’t their fault, for the most part. Montague and Strong have left the building. Matter of fact, they’ve left the continent. A teleportation circle ships them to London, The Penumbra Consortium, which is a darker and older version of the Dark Council requests Montague & Strong to look into the murder of Mage Nigel Warrenton, the leading demonologist. There are just a few complications: Michiko has to return so she can take her seat on the Council before her brother is challenged, Tristan is being pursued by Golden Circle magistrates, and demons roam the streets of London. Now with the aid of Thomas Rafael (mage that doesn’t believe in magic) they have to avoid the magistrates, get Michiko back to the Dark Council and ensure that London doesn’t become a demon breeding ground. What could potentially go wrong? “Homecoming” is the fifth novel in the “Montague & Strong Case Files” series and was released in the year 2018. There isn’t any place like home, however, they are not headed to Kansas. The Sanctuary is a sect of powerful mages’, known as the Golden Circle, hidden home. This is a sacred place of magic, learning, and deep secrets. When Tristan finds his dad, Connor Montague, is being held captive he makes a vow to go back to the Sanctuary and release him. There is a problem. The Sanctuary’s been taken over by Mage Oliver, an Elder that’s unleashed all of the magistrates and has vowed to destroy Tristan the moment that he steps onto the mountain. Now with Simon’s help, they have to face a mountain of mages, free his dad, and escape from the Sanctuary before one Arch Mage is able to delete them from existence. Archive of Our Own beta. 2 Works in Hamlet (Hamlet) & Mercutio (Romeo and Juliet) Navigation and Actions. Works. Listing Works. The Heart Wants What It Wants by bleuberrie. Fandoms: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Hamlet - Shakespeare, Macbeth - Shakespeare, Othello - Shakespeare, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare, Twelfth Night - Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice - Shakespeare. Mature Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings F/F, F/M, M/M Work in Progress. Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings. Summary. Hogwarts: the world's most respected school of witchcraft and wizardry. Also a breeding ground for scandalous love affairs, teen pregnancy, and best of all, amazing friendships. Follow a band of familiar, loveable teenagers as they try to survive another year at magic school. The Prince by soljoe. Fandoms: Hamlet - Shakespeare, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare. General Audiences Major Character Death Other Complete Work. Major Character Death. Summary. When Romeo meets the oddly charming Danish prince at one of his very own Montague parties, he doesn't expect to form such close bond with the estranged man. in the 1970s: Breeding ground for a school of poets. Four decades ago, UCC student poets flourished in a vibrant artistic scene. Poetic circle: Jim McAuley, , Theo Dorgan and Dardis Clarke. Photograph: Alan Betson. If you are interested in literary history, you may have heard of the Bloomsbury set, or the Beat Poets. Closer to home, you may be familiar with the Belfast Group, a term used to refer to poets such as , or , who met and critiqued each other’s poetry under the watchful eye of Philip Hobsbaum during the early 1960s. In other literary movements, the determining factor can be a manifesto, such as the Surrealist Manifesto written by André Breton in 1924. Other writers are associated with a literary magazine – this was the case for the Irish language poets, such as Michael Davitt, Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, Liam Ó Muirthile, , who published in , a journal founded when they were still students in at the end of the 1960s. The examples I have quoted reference a location, an individual or a definite aesthetic stance, yet some cohorts of writers seem to fly under the radar, and resist classification. One such cohort is formed by a group of poets (, Theo Dorgan, Seán Dunne, Thomas McCarthy, , Gregory O’Donoghue, ) who attended UCC in the 1970s, slightly later than the INNTI group. My new book, English Language Poets in University College Cork 1970-1980, explores the factors that enabled this group of poets to emerge onto the scene. Many of them came to the university convinced of their own poetic calling – this is the case with Thomas McCarthy, for instance, who had a poem published in The Irish Times before leaving school. Yet, vocations alone do not suffice to explain the flowering of poetry in a city that had for so long been associated with the short story. UCC at the start of the 1970s benefited from the influx of students who arrived in third level via Donogh O’Malley’s 1967 Education Act. The student poets, in those heady days of the early 1970s, were not focused on vocational concerns, but revelled in the exploration of knowledge for knowledge’s sake, immersing themselves not just in lectures, but in the vibrant artistic scene that flourished in Cork at the time. Poetry workshops. For Cork city itself was thriving, with full employment, and a sense of confidence that had ebbed in the lean post-war years. Nor was there any sense of opposition between town and gown. Poetry workshops were held within the university walls, but The Long Valley on Winthrop Street also served as an unofficial headquarters for poetry in Cork. The Cork Examiner published a monthly poem; the Examiner journalist Robert O’Donoghue (father of Greg) was always on hand to slip impecunious poets a fiver and encourage them in their endeavours. The variety of bookshops, especially the Lee Bookshop, offered a bounty of second-hand books; at the instigation of William Wall, it also printed the poetry pamphlets of some of the debutant poets. The Mercier Press published poetry anthologies that circulated widely in shops throughout Ireland. The forerunner to the Triskel Arts Centre, the Tubular Gallery, offered a venue for readings. The atmosphere in UCC itself was propitious. The Irish department in UCC, for instance, in a daring move, appointed the poet Seán Ó Ríordáin to a position equivalent to that of creative writer on campus, years before such a practice became widespread in Irish universities. His talismanic presence was matched by that of Seán Ó Riada in the music department. Theo Dorgan was part of a group of poets who emerged in Cork in the 1970s. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill. Later, Ó Riada’s friend, poet and academic Seán Lucey, was instrumental in bringing John Montague to Cork. And genial poet-dramatist cum academic Seán Ó Tuama, in his 1960 volume An Grá in Amhráin na nDaoine, showed how clearly Irish literature was attached to the European continent, offering a reading of Irish literature that ran counter to the narrow-gauge nationalism preached by Daniel Corkery. These individuals were significant in the development of the student poets and can be seen as tutelary figures, encouraging and nurturing the creative spirit on campus. Montague’s influence. Poetry in Ireland in the 1970s was dominated by the northern poets and the arrival of Montague, an emissary from Ulster poetry, was greeted with enthusiasm. McCarthy recollects his arrival in the following terms: “When Montague arrived in Cork in the early seventies, he was bursting with energy: energy radiated from his massive physique, always clad in a massive overcoat, filling space with the same kind of weight as Ted Hughes.” Montague and Lucy were both convinced of the importance of the poetic way of life. Together they revised the university syllabus in English, placing contemporary poetry front and centre. Outside the lecture halls, they monitored, mentored and adjudicated workshops. The younger poets were introduced to the rites and rituals associated with the poetic life: the submission of manuscripts, the role of literary magazines, the view of poetry as an art form where one had to work one’s apprenticeship. was also a student on campus at the time; his place as an established poet was a spur to his contemporaries. The poets also chose exemplars that were local. They invited to speak at the literary society. Like Lucy, they were convinced of the importance of . Delanty and Robert Welch would issue Galvin’s New and Selected Poems from Cork University Press in 1996. As a generation of poets, they share Galvin’s social engagement and Hartnett’s passion for translation, combined with his abiding interest in the Irish language. Long after they left UCC, the poets continued to work together on editorial and poetic projects, the most notable of which was the Cork City of Culture Translation project, where poets from the EU accession states in 2005 were translated by Cork poets. In an interview, Montague acknowledged the talent of the cohort: “Overall I would have to say that the students I had for the next half-decade were probably the best students I ever had.” The American academic, Thomas Dillon Redshaw, has called them “the glittering generation”, an epithet that appeals to a certain Cork sensibility. Clíona Ní Ríordáin is professor of English at the Sorbonne Nouvelle in Paris where she teaches Irish literature and translation studies. English Language Poets in University College Cork 1970-1980 is published by Palgrave Macmillan. Breeding Ground by Madelaine Montague. ( c ) copyright by Madelaine Montague, 2016. Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, 2016. New Concepts Publishing. Lake Park, GA 31636. This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence. There was a tall drink of water propped against a support column near Stella’s car as she left the small shop that adjoined the full service gas station where she’d refilled the tank of her SUV. She checked at the sight of him—not because he was a stranger but because he made everything inside of her go haywire—totally blew her mind. She didn’t think one thought crossed it for a full minute. Her heart leapt painfully as if she’d just been hit in that vulnerable spot. He was big—all over, she hoped! Big boned, brawny, and yet had a trim waist, hips—long, long, lean legs. His arms were crossed over his chest, emphasizing bulging chest and arm muscles. His face—what she could see of it beneath the ball cap he was wearing—was all manly plains and angles, reminding her of ‘the Marlboro man’, beauty in male form not ‘pretty boy’ pretty. There was a hint of five o’clock shadow along his hard jaw line and chin and it was barely ten o’clock in the morning. Ignoring the urge to fan herself—hoping he hadn’t noticed she’d braked like she’d hit a wall the moment she set eyes on him, Stella shifted her burdens—her shoulder bag and the huge basket of goodies she’d just bought—and tried to act nonchalant as she headed toward her car. “You new around here? Or just passing through?” Oh my god! She thought she orgasmed as the deep voice—thick with southern drawl and sweet as molasses—rumbled from his chest. Resisting the urge to clamp her thighs tightly together when she felt warmth invade that area, she glanced around to be certain he wasn’t talking to anyone else before she met his gaze. There was amusement gleaming in his narrowed eyes and a faint smile on his hard mouth when she glanced at him again. “I beg your pardon?” she asked as casually as she could as she marched briskly to the back of her vehicle, opened the back of her SUV, and looked around for a spot big enough to stick her basket in. “Looks like you’re movin’ in,” he drawled from just behind her, almost making her knees buckle. Stella whipped a sharp look at him, glared, and slammed the hatch door. “You are a nosey one, aren’t you,” she snapped, unnerved in some unfathomable way by his proximity and his intense scrutiny. Briefly, he looked taken aback. Not surprisingly, she saw a flicker of anger follow, but what did surprise her was that it was a mere flash of temper and the amusement returned. Although this time she got the impression that it was from some sort of private joke. “Maybe,” she said testily, moving away from him and toward the driver’s door, “I just like to make sure I have everything I need when I travel.” She got in the vehicle then, locked the doors decisively, and then fastened her seat belt. There was a tap on her passenger side window as she started the car and she glanced that way to discover the stranger had moved around the vehicle and bent down to look at her through the window. She chewed her lip but finally lowered the automatic window just a hair. “You have a nice trip, ma’am,” he murmured. “Sheriff Tibidoux! Just the man I was looking for!” The man at her window responded by looking toward the voice. “Be with you in a minute, Fred.” He looked at her again and that time he grinned and patted the roof of her car as he straightened away. “Stay safe!” By the time Stella reached the highway, her face felt like it was on fire with embarrassment. “Oh my god! Good one, Stella!” she muttered out loud. But how the hell was she supposed to know he was a cop? He wasn’t wearing a uniform! It was the general consensus amongst her close relatives that she’d lost her mind. Actually, she was inclined to wonder about that herself, which was why she was currently headed toward her Grandma’s little cabin in the woods —to do a little self-searching and maybe find her lost marbles. Well, her cabin now and actually for many years, although it had been held in trust most of that time. Her Grandma had left it to her when she’d passed many years before, so long ago she’d faded into a fuzzy, indistinct memory that was probably more legend than truth to the woman who’d adored her Grandma as a little girl. Stella shook that thought. She’d held tightly to every memory, however insignificant it seemed. She refused to believe any of them weren’t completely authentic even though she’d heard that people tended to ‘fill in the blanks’ with their faulty memories, mending them over time as they faded, maybe embroidering them just a little. She remembered the neat little cabin with its garden as a magical sort of place and although, naturally, she didn’t believe in magical things anymore, she still expected (hoped) she was going to find that it had changed very little from her memory of it. Except, of course, the most important part, she amended with a touch of sadness. Grandma wouldn’t be there to greet her with hugs and kisses and joyful laughter. The place wouldn’t smell like fresh baked cookies. It was the main reason she hadn’t been to the cabin since her grandmother had died. Grandma wouldn’t be there and that was the most magical part. As long as she didn’t go, she could hold on to the thought that her grandmother was still there. She hadn’t felt like she could handle the emptiness until now. Now, she needed some of the old magic that used to permeate the place. She needed to heal to move on. Rafe only became aware of the time that had passed when discomfort finally filtered into his mind. He shifted his position then, still staring unblinkingly at the ramshackle cabin perched on the slight rise in the center of a woodland thicket, waiting. He hadn’t fully acknowledged what his purpose was in driving out to greet the newest parish resident—or at least the only new resident he had any interest in lavishing with greetings of a highly intimate nature—until he’d arrived and gathered in a whole host of scents he hadn’t expected to find. This unassuming, time-battered little cabin looked—well smelled—like grand central station for a major drug operation. And that discovery had his belly tied up in so many knots he was having a great deal of difficulty keeping his beast at bay. He realized after a few moments that he was majorly disappointed—not excited by his discovery. It didn’t take a lot of soul searching even in his current state to arrive at the reason for that. Stella Hood, granddaughter of the late parish witch, Glenda Hood, was the mate he’d been searching for for a very, very long time. Even if she didn’t appear to know it yet. He’d come to further his acquaintance, though, hopefully get the ball rolling on his courtship—at the very least mark his territory against incursion by any other horny bastard that might catch her scent. And instead of romancing his woman, he was lurking in the woods like some sort of pervert watching her and trying to use his nose to help him assess the situation, the danger, the direction of the danger. It wasn’t her. He’d checked her and her vehicle out pretty damned thoroughly when she’d first arrived in town. He’d run into her in town a couple of times since—or at least gotten within sniffing distance. She wasn’t the source. He would be willing to stake his life on it. He wasn’t willing to stake her life on it, though. He’d suspected for a while that his parish was home to a drug kingpin of at least minor status. There was too much trafficking going on in the neighboring parishes for his to be pristine. Well, not exactly pristine, but the bulk of the activity seemed to be all the way around his parish, making it like the eye of a hurricane and that was what had given rise to the suspicion that the skunk in charge was very local. But nobody had been near Glenda Hood’s old cabin in years that he was aware of. He was going to chew some ass when he found out which one of his deputies had dismissed this place as a possible lab/center for a drug operation. Because it definitely had been until very recently. Deciding finally that no one but Stella was anywhere near the cabin at the moment, Rafe hesitated and finally made his way carefully through the thicket. Anger dominated Stella’s thoughts as she struggled to keep her balance and apply the caulk she’d bought to seal the roofing—the leaking roof— until she could properly assess the situation and decide whether it needed to be completely replaced or if it just needed the shingles replaced. She’d done her best to dismiss it and focus on the issues that had brought her to the woods to start with, but she absolutely hated it when she was … robbed! Cheated out of something that was hers. For years, money had been paid out of the estate to take care of maintenance of her grandma’s cottage—her cottage! And the bastard had taken the money and let it … practically fall into ruin! She’d been so furious when she saw the state of disrepair she’d fired the bastard outright without even considering that she needed to press charges. And now the son-of-a-bitch had either taken off or he was in hiding! Either way, she had no help fixing the mess he’d left the place in. She was wrapped up so deeply in her internal venting that it wasn’t until she heard a stick crack that she realized she was no longer alone. She jerked at the sound, whipped a quick look in that direction—and then lost her balance and fell off the roof. Luckily, the sheriff broke her fall. Almost as if he was trying to catch her, he caught the full brunt of her tumble when she slammed into him and bowled him over. They landed in a tangle in the knee high weeds that filled her grandmother’s once neat little garden. Stella didn’t move for several moments. She was so stunned it took her a few moments even to focus her mind to assessing damage reports from her nerve endings. She registered a good bit of impacted areas but virtually no pain, but she couldn’t decide if that was because there wasn’t any real damage or if she was just still too shocked to feel the pain she was going to feel. “I’m glad to see you again, too, cher, but did your grandma never teach you only bad women throw themselves at men?” Stella lifted her head and stared at him in blank faced, slack jawed disbelief, trying to grasp whether there actually was a flirtatious innuendo in the comment or if she’d knocked something loose in her head. He grinned at her cockily. “Of course I’ve always had a warm place in my … heart for bad women.” Stella blinked at him. “I fell.” “Right into my arms, cher. The stars have aligned.” Stella blinked at him again and pushed herself up a little, examining the body she was plastered against. She could feel hard things she was abruptly certain she didn’t want to examine too closely. He didn’t try to stop her when she rolled off of him and mowed down more weeds. Instead, he rolled onto his side and bent one arm for support, propping his head on one hand. “You ok, cher?” he asked, all seriousness now. Stella pushed herself upright with a grunt and examined herself visually. “Scraped up a little but I guess I should thank you for breaking my fall ….” She frowned thoughtfully, trying to recall what had happened. He pushed himself up and got to his feet, brushing off the dirt and debris from the collision with the ground. “You’re welcome. Anytime.” Stella sent him a sharp glance and felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Sorry ….” He frowned. “Ah! No, Cher. I caught you on purpose.” He shrugged. “I startled you and made you fall. It was the least I could do.” Stella bit her lip, struggling with amusement and finally gave in to the urge to tease him since he seemed inclined to flirt anyway or at least tease her. “Dumb. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I could’ve done a lot of damage falling on you like that.” He chuckled huskily. “You ain’t much more than breath and britches, little bit. I wasn’t worried about catching you. I was worried about … damages you might have if I didn’t.” The comment startled a laugh out of Stella. She wished she was breath and britches! She was actually more athletically built because she’d always loved to dance and she danced a lot. At least she had before. Before the snake she’d loved once upon a time had spent years tearing her down and making her feel self-conscious. She shook the thought as soon as it intruded. She’d actually become pretty adept at simply not thinking about the years she’d wasted on a relationship that was never going anywhere—that hadn’t gone anywhere. But she discovered it was easier now, that pushing it to the back of her mind didn’t leave her feeling hollow. Because the man standing in front of her smiling appreciatively made her little heart pitter patter just a little faster, excited her on some primal level she wasn’t accustomed to. Granted, he was drop dead gorgeous—the complete package. She supposed the broken nose and the perpetual five o’clock shadow should have been a turn off. Clearly, he was more than a little rough around the edges. But she found it had the opposite effect. He turned her on. She had only to get a glimpse of him and she was running into walls and tripping over imaginary cracks trying to get a better look. And his voice! Oh that deep, rumbling voice made her kegels clap frantically! She couldn’t decide whether she was just desperate for sex because of the long dry spell or it if was all him, but she strongly suspected it was just him—which made her a little uneasy even though she’d managed to discover that he was single. The problem was that he was single! And a few years younger than her. But the single part—well a man that reached his thirties that was still single was generally one that couldn’t be caught because he liked playing the field. “Uh … I guess we sort of got off to a bad start the other day—well, last week when I got to town.” He remembered the meeting very well, but he frowned thoughtfully. “At the gas station …?” “Ah!” he responded, nodding. “When you called me a nosey bastard?” Stella blinked at him in shock, feeling her face heat with embarrassment, but she saw the gleam of amusement in his eyes and relaxed. “I didn’t!” She pretended to think it over. “Ok, so maybe I was thinking that, but I know I didn’t say it that way.” He grinned at her. “I knew that’s what you were thinking.” “I suppose it comes with the job ….” He shrugged. “Actually, I just sort of have a nose for trouble,” he said wryly, tapping that particular feature with an index finger. “That was what led me to the job.” “So now I’m ‘t rouble’?” Stella asked teasingly. “I suppose that means I couldn’t interest you in a cold drink?” His dark brows rose, but he ignored the provocative comment, much to Stella’s chagrin, making her wonder if she was coming on to the local law enforcement a lit-tle too strong. “You certainly can interest me in a cold drink,” he responded. Wondering if she’d gone way over bounds, Stella struggled to maintain a polite attitude as she led him inside her grandmother’s cottage. It was hard to ignore the fact that he stayed just inside the door while she headed to the fridge for the offered beverage, glancing around her place with a keen eye, she didn’t doubt, for detail. “Sorry about the mess,” she muttered. “The guy that was supposed to be caretaker seemed to have a little problem understanding his duties.” Rafe studied the water marks on the ceiling and then surveyed the bags of what his nose told him was garbage. He was frowning when he took the glass of iced tea she offered. “Oh? In what way?” Stella studied him a little doubtfully, but he seemed genuinely interested. Struggling with the anger that rose in her and threatened to boil over every time she went back over all the bastard’s trespasses and failings, she settled on the ragged couch and motioned him toward the chair facing it and launched into her tale of woe. Pete Marchant had been hired by her father five years earlier when the original caretaker—a man her grandmother had chosen—had reached an age where he’d needed care himself and had retired to a nursing home. Marchant had insisted that the place was already a wreck when he’d been hired and that he’d done all that had been asked. It was a lie. When he reported that anything needed to be repaired, he was sent money based on the materials assessment and hours. He’d been trusted too much and had too much leeway for theft. Because that was what he’d done as far as she could see. He’d requested money for repairs and then just spent it. None of the work that was supposed to have been done had been.