Page 12 of Finding Home

Noah shrugged. “What if we hire a private investigator? They’ll know how to ask questions and find connections that aren’t obvious to anyone else.”

Something clicked in Cole’s mind. “I met someone the other day. Julie was an investigative journalist before she moved here. She worked for a major newspaper for years and covered some controversial stories.”

“Would she do it?” Noah asked.

That was the question, wasn’t it? Cole thought about Julie and what she’d told him at the restaurant. Would she want to work for someone she barely knew?

But he also remembered the flash of interest in her eyes when he’d spoken to her at the community meeting. Her natural instincts were to ask questions and to understand the full story. They were instincts he needed.

“I don’t know if she’ll help us,” Cole admitted. “But I’ll find out. After we’ve finished here, I’ll drive into town and talk to her.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Noah said. “And for what it’s worth, I think you should reconsider the security guards, at least temporarily.”

Cole looked at the damaged equipment, at the site that represented everything he’d hoped to build in Sapphire Bay. Not just a resort, but a legacy. A place that would matter long after he was gone.

Someone wanted to stop him. And until he understood why, how could he hope to succeed?

“All right,” Cole said quietly. “Contact a few security companies. Get quotes. And I’ll talk to Julie. Because even if we can protect the site, I need to understand what we’re up against.”

Chapter 9

Julie was halfway through her second cup of coffee when someone knocked on the cottage door.

She glanced at the clock above the small kitchen sink. It was just past nine in the morning and she wasn’t expecting anyone. The rented cottage sat far enough from the main road that visitors were rare.

Setting down her mug, she crossed the worn hardwood floor, peering through the window beside the door.

Cole Morrison stood on the narrow veranda with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his work jacket. He looked uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

Julie opened the door. “Hi, Cole.”

“Hi, Julie. I’m sorry to show up unannounced.” He shifted his weight, and she noticed the tension in his shoulders, the lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there at dinner. “I asked Susan where you were staying and she gave me your address. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine.” She stepped back, gesturing him inside. “Come in. It’s freezing out here.”

He entered cautiously, as though unsure of his welcome. The cottage’s living room felt smaller with him in it. He was a tall man, and the space wasn’t built for someone his size.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she offered.

“No, thanks.” Cole remained standing near the door. “I won’t take up much of your time. I have something to ask you, and I’ll understand if you say no.”

Julie waited, studying his face. Whatever had brought him here, it wasn’t good news.

“There was an incident at the construction site,” he said. “Someone sabotaged the equipment and stole some expensive tools. The sheriff’s department is investigating, but they don’t have the resources for much more than filing a report.”

The journalist in her came alive and questions formed before she could stop them. “When did it happen?”

“Sometime during the night. I found it this morning.” He met her eyes. “I need someone who can discreetly investigate what happened. I need to understand who’s behind it and why.”

Julie felt something tighten in her chest. “You want me to look into it?”

“You have the skills,” Cole told her. “You know how to ask the right questions and understand what people aren’t saying out loud.”

She took a step back, shaking her head. “I’ve only lived in Sapphire Bay for a couple of months. You need someone who has relationships with the police and knows the community. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“You’d start the same way you’ve started every investigation in your career.” His voice remained steady, but she heard the strain beneath it. “By learning, listening, and by being good at what you do.”

“I’m not a private investigator. I’m a journalist. Was a journalist.” The correction tasted bitter. “There’s a difference.”