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removed.”
    Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her blood pumping now, she sat forward. “And finally, Kylie Grant, you know, Rosie the fortune-teller’s daughter, she sent me an email that said—”
    She choked to a stop. This all sounded crazy. Only bad things had come out of her desire to own Columbella House, and now she was just projecting more guilt on to herself.
    Dylan ran a strong, warm hand up her back. “What did the email say?”
    “‘Your sister is dead.’”
    “That’s a nice email to send someone, a crazy email.” He lightly clasped her neck and circled his thumb against her skin.
    “That’s not all she wrote in the email. Kylie was here on a case. She works for the FBI and police departments sometimes to help find missing people. While she was—” she waved her hands in the air “—in some kind of trance or something, she felt that Marissa was dead.”
    “And you believe that mumbo jumbo?”
    “Not usually, but Kylie did find that girl who had gone missing from the Coral Cove Music Festival a few years ago.”
    “That happened right before I got here, and Kylie didn’t exactly find the woman. The woman’s killer led Kylie to where he’d stashed the body with the intent of doing the same thing to her.”
    “He’d stashed the body in the walls of Columbella House.” Mia shivered and clenched her teeth.
    Dylan draped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her snug against his body. “I can have my buddy locate Marissa. He’s a P.I. In fact, he worked the case with Kylie. Matt Conner, do you remember him?”
    She nodded, trying not to press her body against his solid frame and soak up all his warmth. She turned her head, dangerously close to finding his shoulder again, and her gaze collided with a wavy blue line from a tattoo peeking from the long sleeve of his shirt.
    She traced the swirl with the tip of her finger and he winced as if in pain. “When did you get this?”
    “A few years ago.”
    She shoved his sleeve up to get a better view, but the cuff stuck on his forearm. She could see that the blue tail-end of the tattoo curled around his wrist, ending in an arrow pointing to his palm. “What is it?”
    Pinching his sleeve between two fingers, he yanked it down. “Another time. It’s getting late. You’re probably going to be sore from the accident. Do you have some ibuprofen?”
    “Plenty.”
    His arm slid from her shoulder. “Then take it and get some rest. That guy Peter…your ex…husband, he’s not going to try anything, is he?”
    “He’s harmless, just annoying.”
    Dylan pushed up from the bed, and she jumped up next to him, putting her hand on his arm. “Thanks for everything today, Dylan. Just like old times, when you used to come to rescue me and Devon.”
    The arm beneath her fingers tensed, and a storm passed across his blue eyes. “Just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
    He bent over and kissed her on the forehead. Even that affectionate gesture left a scorching imprint of his lips on her skin.
    At the door he turned. “You might want to book up all the vacant rooms in this motel so I don’t look like a liar.”
    “Believe me, this isn’t Peter’s style. Just another empty threat on his part. He has plenty of those to spare.”
    “Take care. I guess we’ll be seeing each other around town…as long as you’re here.”
    “Maybe I can buy you dinner some night.”
    “Looking forward to it.” He smacked the doorjamb and ambled away.
    Mia snapped the door closed and leaned against it. Maybe she should’ve taken him up on his dinner offer tonight. That way she could’ve spent more time with him.
    At least he hadn’t laughed about her suspicions about Marissa. That was Dylan—always willing to listen.
    She pushed away from the door and strolled to the bathroom, her head in the clouds. She was not here to reconnect with Dylan Reese. She hadn’t even realized he’d be here. Devon hadn’t written much about her