Midnight Mask

By Elise K. Ackers

We all wear masks. Some for a night. Others for a lifetime.

On the eve of a new life, ex-undercover investigator James finds himself at a beach masquerade party, the honoured guest of an unknown host. There he meets Fiona no-offered-surname, and the pair fall into a fast intimacy. But it’s clear this woman is wearing more than one mask.

With time against them and secrets between them, will this be just one unforgettable night, or will this be the chance to unmask at last?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elise K. Ackers
• Release date: Feb 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370740628

Elise K. Ackers

Elise K. Ackers is a freelance editor and award winning fiction author of contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and young adult fiction. Elise has completed undergraduate studies in Psychology and Communications, and post-graduate studies in Professional Publication and Editing. She's been writing since she could hold a crayon and telling stories all her life. She's a magnet for unusual accidents, a laser tag enthusiast, and an animal adoption advocate. Elise travels wherever she can, whenever she can. Website: https://www.elisekackers.net/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Elise-K-Ackers/145929782088997 Twitter: https://twitter.com/EliseKAckers Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/elisekackers/      

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PRAISE FOR ELISE K. ACKERS

‘Elise K. Ackers is certainly one to watch’ Chanticleer Book Reviews

‘One of the best books I've read this year! For those who love Nora Roberts’ Rachael Johns, bestselling author of The Art of Keeping Secrets and The Greatest Gift

‘An amazing new Australian voice’ Cathryn Hein, bestselling author of Rocking Horse Hill and The Country Girl

‘I … will read anything this author writes’ Arijana, Goodreads

‘Ms. Ackers' writing was mesmerizing’ Jacek, Goodreads

‘Romantic, refreshing and perfect. Ms. Ackers is a master wordsmith’ Ashia, The Romance Reviews

‘An author who’s definitely leaving her mark on the Australian industry’ The Never Ending Bookshelf

‘This is a prime example of what happens when it all goes right’ M.A. Grant, author of First

ALSO BY ELISE K. ACKERS

Small Town Storm

The Man Plan

Unforgettable

Midnight Mask

Dear Stranger

With Benefits

Summer Return

Autumn Vows

Winter Beginnings

One for the Road

The Road Less Travelled

The Road Not Taken

Midnight Mask

Elise K. Ackers

This edition first published in Australia 2016.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photo-copying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events that happen are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organisations, or people, living or dead, is purely co-incidental and beyond the intent of the author and publisher.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Web: www.elisekackers.net

Cover design: Elise K. Ackers & Ainslie Paton

Cover image by prometeus at Deposit Photos

Copyright © 2016 Elise K. Ackers

All rights reserved.

For those who know and love the light and dark of me

One

The fiftieth princess arrived, fashionably late and electric blue. The coastal wind carried the scent of salt and brine up to her on the bluff and tousled the feathers against her face. The ocean burned like melted gold and the waves played the same game as her heart – build and break. Build and break. Fiona didn’t have fine words or social graces, nor the skills to mimic them, but nevertheless she was here, the special guest of an unknown host, in an ankle-length gown bought for a bargain at her local charity shop. A short distance below her other well-dressed people moved about the sand, a curious juxtaposition with their surrounds. She was one of a hundred, and had no idea why she was here.

It was a strange theme for a party, if only because of the setting. Ball gowns, sparkles and three-piece suits were so rarely guests at a venue such as this; a beach far from the ears of locals, a decent walk over dunes and rocks, tucked tight against a moderate cliff. Kegs and portable speakers surrounded a makeshift dance floor and plastic camping lights pushed into the sand marked the party boundaries. Canvas bunting

Fiona touched her full skirt and drew a breath so deep that the dress pulled tight over her chest. She stepped onto the sand. Her first beach party and her first masquerade ball. Her first Friday night off in three months.

There had to be one hundred people here, all kitted out in the finest fashions of the last century. Pre-loved wedding dresses, flapper dresses, green suits and black coat tails. Top hats. Gaudy jewellery. All manner of masks decorated in all manner of ways.

Facebook had done the trick. Tonight had been organised through a private group, invitees added for reasons unknown. Something linked everyone here, but she couldn’t guess what. The mystery and flattery of such an exclusive invitation had been a lure – a very successful one. The event description had implored her attendance; someone she knew had nominated her, someone was counting on her being here. So when the location had been disclosed at five o’clock this evening, Fiona had booked a cab.

The white sand squeaked under her rubber thongs. It was a warm night as predicted and the sky was clear in every direction. Constellations and galaxies were tonight’s chandeliers, the midnight blue sea and the grass-covered dunes were the frescoes. The music playing wasn’t mainstream, she didn’t recognise it but she liked it. It rode the line between Ed Sheeran and Cold Chisel and filled the air with long notes and words of longer promises. Kegs were tapped, buckets were full of wine and ice.

It was already the time of Fiona’s life.

She could stand here on the fringes and watch and the night would be fascinating, but she had an invitation to be involved, so she intended to find her way to the middle of the crowd, to never find herself on the edge. Tonight her mask would empower her. Her anonymity would make her brave. She would dance with strangers, talk about life the way she never dared to at work, and she would smile. If nothing else, she would just smile. There hadn’t been much occasion for that lately.

As Fiona neared the heart of the party a plastic cup of beer was pressed into her hand. A masked man in a three piece suit offered her an informal salute, then filled another cup from the keg and passed it to the guest behind her.

There was a bonfire. Not yet lit, it was a tower of scrap wood and kindling. In a circle around it people sat on driftwood logs and overturned plastic crates. Another masked man dressed similarly to the one filling drinks, struck a match. There was a roar of approval from those standing closest to him. He threw the small flame – through air thick with salt and kerosene – and the pile erupted. It was like someone turned on the lights. The fire ate the kindling in moments then curled its fingers around the lengths of wood. Embers danced like fireflies, freewheeling until they burned themselves out. Smoke obscured the stars.

Fiona drifted closer.

‘Cheers,’ said a stranger. He was dressed in a loose cotton shirt with a layered lace front. On his arm was a woman who appeared to have stepped right out of the twenties; her sequined dress caught the firelight in interesting ways and the peacock feathers of her headdress dipped artfully around her eyes.

Fiona smiled at them and raised her drink. ‘Cheers.’

They touched their cups together and drank.

‘What’re you here for?’ the man asked. His mask was a clever blend of lace and leather and stopped just above the curve of his mouth.

‘I have no idea,’ she said. ‘I was about to ask you the same thing.’

‘We’ve no clue either,’ said the woman. She gazed around at the assembled guests. She’d painted her eyelids the same luminous green of her feathers, so when she blinked her eyes all but disappeared. ‘But I love a good mystery.’

‘You love a good party,’ the man said over his cup.

She laughed. ‘True.’

Fiona narrowed in on this exchange. ‘You know each other?’ The invitation had said no plus ones – guests were to come alone.

The woman looked up at the man. ‘We work at the same hospital. Sort of.’

The man touched his shirtfront, ‘Paramedic,’ then indicated to his friend, ‘Emergency.’

Beside them the fire crackled and spat.

The woman drained her cup. ‘I’m empty.’

The man nodded at Fiona. ‘We’ll see you ‘round. Let us know if you figure all this out.’

She watched them go. What did she have in common with two hospital workers? Was there a connection to be found at all? Perhaps the invitations had been random. That would go a long way to explaining why Fiona – with her thirty Facebook friends and even fewer phone contacts – had been one of the lucky few to score an all-access pass to this shoreline celebration.

She drank again and turned on the spot, taking it all in; the orange glow on skin and cloth, the dance of light and shadow. Strangers meeting for the first time, exchanging questions and names. Whatever the mystery, she was glad to be here. Fiona rarely did things for herself – a night out was an indulgence. And a beer in her hand? Only on special occasions. So she would treat this night as one and be grateful in the face of intrigue.

Having had her first conversation for the night, Fiona felt more confident about having a second. She was looking around for who might next be free to talk, when her gaze touched upon a lone figure by the water.

He stood ankle deep in it. The sea curled around him, just missing the rolled up hems of his cream trousers. His pale pink dress shirt was untucked on one side and stretched tight over his back. His arms were crossed. Moonlight touched his shoulders and the top of his chaos of black hair, and firelight touched his back. He was a canvas for both peace and passion, and standing there, his eyes on the white caps in the distance, he looked a little bit magic.

Fiona blinked and looked away, unbalanced by the fanciful thought.

When she looked back, he was making his way up the beach. His plain mask covered only his eyes, and was as white as his tie. He held his shoes in one hand but seemed to be carrying so much more than what she could see.

This time she didn’t look away, and he noticed.

He changed direction and came towards her. ‘It’s the pink, isn’t it?’ he asked in lieu of a greeting.

She smiled. ‘You’re not even defensive enough to call it salmon.’

He laughed. ‘Well, you’re interesting.’ She accepted his hand and they shook. The muscles in her arm tingled. ‘James,’ he said.

‘Fiona.’

‘Fiona. I dare say I wear pink as much as you wear ball gowns.’