Scarlett Red: A Billionaire SEAL Story, Part 2 (In the Shadows) Read Online Free

resort. I hope that’ll be conducive to some recharging time for you.” Patting my hand, he grins. “Of course, over the next several days we have planned activities if you care to join in. I believe you have some romance in your books, yes? At least that’s what Patty tells me. There’s a listing of all the social events waiting for you on your desk.”
    Chuckling, I nod. “Yes, romance is a small subplot that runs through my books. Thank you so much. You and your wife are fantastic hosts. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble accommodating Delia Chambers in my place last year?”
    His hand around mine tightens a bit. “Not at all, Miss Lone. It was just so tragic.”
    I release his hand and furrow my brow. “What was tragic?”
    He blinks for a second as if waiting for recognition to filter through. “Oh, you didn’t know?”
    “Know what?” I ask, tension edging into my voice.
    “That Mrs. Chambers had to be rushed to the hospital for anaphylactic shock after returning from an outing in town. When I called to check on her, the doctor told me they couldn’t save her and she’d passed away.”
    My heart jerks. “Oh no. I had no idea. How awful.” I wondered why Delia hadn’t emailed me later to let me know how much she enjoyed Hawthorne’s last year. I’d given away several big prizes as a thank you to those who’d helped support and run a huge on-line social media campaign when my second book was about to release.
    Delia, along with a few others, ran my fan club, and since I had a looming deadline, I drew her name as the winner of my weekend. When I didn’t hear from her after the getaway weekend had passed, I just assumed she’d gotten busy with life and hadn’t had a chance to email me.
    Mr. Hawthorne ushers me away from the desk to stand beside a tall fern, his tone turning to a low hush. “I assure you, Miss Lone, we take every precaution here at the Hawthorne resort for guests with special food requirements, but there’s no way we can control what they eat while out exploring the town.”
    I nod my understanding. “I’m sure you did. No one’s to blame. It’s just so sad. I had no idea.”
    Nodding his obvious relief, he pats my shoulder. “We sent flowers to her family, but please, next time just make sure to let us know in advance whenever you send any more guests our way. We’d like to give them extra special treatment if we can.”
    I tilt my head, confused. “But I did let you know Delia was coming. I spoke to your wife about her.”
    “Oh, yes.” He nods. “I wasn’t referring to Mrs. Chambers. I’m referring to Mr. Sheehan.”
    The name Sheehan only sounds slightly familiar. Was he new to my fan club? I didn’t have another weekend at the Hawthorne to give away, so I’m not sure what exactly the owner is talking about. Is he mixing me up with some other author? “Mr. Sheehan? When was this?”
    “Yes, Bradley Sheehan. He was here five months ago. He brought in a voucher for a one-night stay, saying you’d sent him. That night he ate dinner here, but the maid said his room looked like it’d never been slept in. That’s why I remember. It was so odd that he didn’t take advantage of our wonderful beds.”
    Worry clouds my thoughts, but I don’t want to alarm the owner. Not yet at least. Maybe the guy used the name Sheehan once, then switched to an on-line persona later. I have a picture of a fan club meet up that Delia sent me last year in my email. Maybe he’s in it. “Do you remember what Mr. Sheehan looked like? Maybe his description will ring a bell. I’ve given out several prizes this year, so it’s hard to keep track.” None of the prizes I gave was another trip to Hawthorne. That was a one-time, unusual circumstance.
    “Donald might remember. He was helping out behind the desk that night.” As soon as Mr. Hawthorne waves to a young, floppy-haired bellhop, calling him over, his phone rings. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he says to me, “He’ll be