Distracted √

Distracted: Chapter Two

Erin drove the twelve hours to Hatteras in a short-lease SUV. Living in a major city with a Metro system, she didn't need a car. With McDowell Publishing picking up the rental car tab, she opted for something large and safe.

She rolled into the ferry parking lot at Swan Quarter at twilight.

"Great. That's just great," she muttered, climbing out of the vehicle and walking to the pier. A weather beaten "Closed" sign swung on a chain strung across the entrance. The last ferry to the island faded to a speck in the distance.

Back at the SUV, Erin turned on the overhead light and studied the GPS, flipping through the digital maps. There was no feasible way to the island. She would have to stay on the mainland and catch the morning ferry.

She backtracked to Route 264 and checked into a small roadside motel. In the lobby, she found a shelf with colorful brochures. She shuffled through them until she found one with the ferry schedule, then tucked it into her purse while the desk clerk ran her credit card.

"Is there a restaurant close by?"

The clerk, a somber, dark-skinned man, shook his head. "There is a convenience store across the street," he suggested.

Instead, Erin stopped at the vending machines near the staircase and punched the buttons for a bottle of water and a pack of peanut butter crackers. She fed more dollar bills into the machine, and then selected a bag of chips and a chocolate bar.

An hour later, showered and wrapped in her fleece robe, she sat cross-legged on the littered motel bed, surrounded by junk food wrappers and cracker crumbs. With the remote control in one hand and a candy bar in the other, she flipped through the channels searching for a weather update. The old television brought in local news only, and none of them included a forecast. Her cell phone trilled, and she dove for her purse. She scanned the caller ID before pushing the green answer button.

"Aidan?"

"Hi. How was the drive?"

Erin chewed her lower lip. "Okay."

"Did you make good time?"

"Aidan. You don't have to check on me."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

After several silent seconds, Erin continued, "I'm not going to talk about this again," Erin said. "You've got things to do. I've got things to do. I can't have you calling me every night."

"Fine. Good night."

Erin shook her head at his abrupt farewell, turned off her phone and tossed it on the side table. Now aggravated, she carried her tote bag to the bathroom sink where she brushed her teeth with vigor and flossed until her gums bled. She twisted her long, blonde hair, tying it into a loose knot, then leaned towards the glass and glared at her reflection. She growled and muttered, "Men!"

She programmed her cell phone to send all calls from Aidan to voice mail.

* * *

In the morning, Erin placed three outfits on the bed and stepped back. The first was a skirt and jacket she found at a boutique known for its inexpensive haute couture clothing. A "power suit," it exuded sexiness. The soft gray blouse with its plunging neck line complemented the pencil skirt. But, the heels on the black, patent-leather pumps were too high for an island visit.

The second outfit consisted of a sleeveless, blue sweater and a pair of flare-legged khakis. The pants emphasized her slim waist and curvy hips. The sweater showed her trim, strong arms to an advantage. A pair of shiny boots with a side zipper finished the ensemble.