Annoyance pricks under my skin, but I force my grin wider, nodding. “I’m sure you’ve had to give it multiple times if this one is any indication.” My thumb flicks to Klepsky, who’s gripping the manila folder like it’s filled with jewels and I’m a thief coming to steal his treasure. I lean in, my stomach flipping as my gaze locks on his. “Between you and me, if the police here are under the impression I can’t even handle looking at a disemboweled woman, I highly suspect they’ll underestimate my ability to hear about what transpired.”
Lincoln’s lips twitch.
“So, I’m asking as a personal favor, for you to tell it… just one more time.”
His nostrils flare, our eyes chained in a battle that has my palms clammy and my mind whirling. There’s something about him, an energy that weaves its way across the table and tugs, like he’s the rope and I’m the prize.
The way my body reacts to his makes me feel off-kilter, as if there’s something I’m missing.
If I’m honest, this entire town gives me the creeps.
“I don’t do personal favors,” he bites out. “Especially for chicks I’ve never met.”
My chest pulls tight, but I dampen the reaction and chuckle, the ends of my hair tickling my neck as I shake my head.
“I’m sorry.” I turn to Captain Stoll. “Are there more misogynistic assholes I can expect to meet in this town, or did you pack them all in this room as a special welcoming committee?”
Captain Stoll grimaces, opening his mouth to speak, but before he can, a bark of laughter rings from across the table, the sound vibrating through my eardrums.
“I think you need to brush up on what misogyny means,” Lincoln clips. “Turning down your request had nothing to do with what’s between your legs, sweetheart.”
Fire licks through my veins and my teeth grind as I paste a grin on my face. “It wasn’t a request, hun.”
“Lincoln Dean Porter.” Alex’s voice cuts through the air, the door banging open and clicking back shut. “A highly decorated hero.”
My irritation bleeds away at Alex’s presence, and my shoulders drop, happy to have backup—even though our plan was for him to wait longer before coming in.
He grabs a chair that’s propped against the wall and drags it over, the sound grating against the thick silence of the room. The scent of his aftershave wafts into my nostrils, and I smile, his fluffy brown hair bouncing against the tan skin of his forehead as he plops down next to me. He grins across the table. “Met your mom.”
Lincoln sighs, his head tilting toward the ceiling. “I’m sure you did.”
I glance at Alex, pursing my lips. “You’re kind of ruining the whole ‘good cop, bad cop’ thing.”
Alex shrugs and winks, his chocolaty gaze sparkling. “You know I have FOMO.”
Scoffing, I roll my eyes, my attention going back to the other men in the room. “Gentlemen, this is my partner, Detective Caruso. And since we were never properly introduced, I’m Detective Sloane. We’re from the Portland department and have been called in to assist on this case.” I nod at Captain Stoll. “But you already knew that, of course.”
Klepsky huffs from where he’s leaning against the wall. “We’re not incapable.”
I tilt my head, looking to him. “Oh? Plenty of experience in homicide, then?”
“Well, I—”
I stand up and walk toward him. “Have you heard of the Lipstick Killer?”
Alex groans. “Here we go. Now you’ve got her started.”
I glare back at him before meeting the stare of Klepsky again. “He mutilated a six-year-old girl back in the forties, and left a note on the wall in red lipstick, begging to be caught.”
Klepsky cocks a brow. “And?”
“And…” I step into him, my hand reaching out to grip the manila folder that’s wrapped tightly in his fingers. “If I were on the case, he wouldn’t have needed to beg.”
Grabbing the folder, I rip it from his grasp. “Now sit down like a good pup, and let the professionals do their job.” I pat his badge, grinning widely. “I’ll let you know if I need a coffee.”
Spinning back around, I walk to the table, opening up the folder and laying the photos out for us to see.
“Now,” I repeat, my stomach somersaulting as they once again land on Lincoln’s amused gaze. “I’m going to ask again nicely, Mr. Porter. Tell me what happened and don’t leave anything out.”
“And then I can go?” His brow arches in challenge.
I smile, my head tilting. “And then you can take me to your boat.”
Chapter 5
I blink at the woman across the room, trying not to let her icy stare make me any more angry than I already am.
Her eyes are soft around the edges, but they’re misleading; in the interrogation room, the longer I sat under her perusal, answering question after mindless question, the more exposed I felt. Like I couldn’t tell there’s a sharpness lingering just under her surface, desperate to peel back my skin and see what secrets lie beneath.
Not that she looks directly at me long enough for it to matter. But for some reason, I can’t stop feeling like a spider caught in her web.
Detective Sloane. Figures Stoll would call in someone from fucking Portland to handle a case like this. Their reputation isn’t much better, but they’re definitely better equipped.
Leaning against the glass doors to the precinct as I await my official release, I trail my gaze slowly over the length of her as she converses quietly with her partner by the water cooler.
I can’t deny the primal surge of desire that stirs in my gut as she puts a hand on her hip, ignoring me even though the pink in her pretty cheeks tells me she’s aware of my speculation.
After a moment, Detective Sloane glances up, and even though it feels like being dunked in a tank of glacial water, I don’t break the connection.
Stoll does, however, exiting the reception office with a slip of paper in hand. He stops in front of me, waving it in my face. “You’re free to go, Porter. Sorry to keep you.”
“Um, no,” the detective’s voice chirps, her birdlike tone at odds with her occupation, as she hurries over. “He’s not. My partner and I really would like to see his boat.”
“No thanks,” I say, snatching the paper from Stoll. “As much as I love strangers invading my personal space, I don’t want the smell of bacon driving the fish away.”
“Don’t you own a lobster boat?” Detective Caruso asks, stepping up beside Sloane. “Can lobsters even smell?”
My eyes narrow, taking in the protective stance he adopts, as if she’s treasure and I’m some fucking pirate. He crosses his arms, cocking a dark brow, practically melting into her.
Worse, she seems to lean into it, comforted by his presence.
The movement tangles my stomach into knots, and I swallow a gulp of air, stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets.
“How do you think they find food?” I snap, irritation licking down my spine like a fire roaring to life.
“Actually,” Sloane interjects, rocking back on her heels, “they use their antennae to scope out sustenance. Their sense of smell is so acute that it can single out strings of amino acids.”
Clamping my lips shut, I study her form in silence for a beat, watching her neck flush fuchsia. My chest tightens, but I ignore the sensation, shaking my head instead. “How do you know that?”
She shrugs, glancing at Caruso and Stoll sheepishly. “I read a lot. And, I think I may have been a fisherman in my past life.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Her partner snickers, nudging her with his elbow. “I’m still not convinced.” He spares me a glance, smirking as if letting me in on some private little joke as he hooks his thumb in her direction. “One time I managed to wrangle her into a fishing excursion, and she couldn’t even bait her hook. Obsessed with serial killers, but spearing worms is where she draws the line.”
My gaze volleys between the two, hitching on Sloane as her blush deepens. She pushes her shoulders back
and scoffs, clearly gearing up for some big lecture, and I find my quota for bullshit capped the second her pretty mouth pops open.
Outside, I can see my mother’s car sitting idle at the curb; looking out past the hood, I see her kneeling in front of the flagpoles, adjusting the hay bales and pumpkins situated around them, as if she was the one to put them there. With a sigh, I turn away from the detectives, give Stoll a solid shoulder slap, and head out of the building before anyone stops me.
“Ma,” I call, my breath clouding in the air. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Don’t you swear at me, delinquent. I’m trying to pay off your debt to society.”
Biting back a sarcastic retort, I walk over to where she’s seated on the curb. She’s tying burlap ribbons around the stem of each pumpkin, mumbling to herself about the state of my soul.
“I’m not detained, Ma. I didn’t kill anybody.” When she doesn’t say anything, I poke the back of her Ked with my boot. “Hello? There’s no debt to erase. Let’s go home.”
“I’m really afraid you can’t do that, Lincoln.”
Inhaling deeply at the sound of yet another intrusion, I spin around slowly, already way more familiar with this hot detective’s lush tone than I care to be. I don’t like the way it glides across my skin like silk, bringing life to the bits of me I prefer to stay dead.
My mother scrambles to her feet, brushing dirt off on her jeans and pressing down on the lapels of her coat. “Oh, god, I knew it. What are you booking him for?”
“She’s not booking me at all,” I say, shooting Sloane a dirty look. “And don’t call me Lincoln.”
One of Sloane’s dark brows arches. “Isn’t that your name?”
“A name reserved for friends and family, of which you are neither.”
“Lincoln.” My mother’s fist lashes out, sucker punching me in the gut, her diamond engagement ring smarting as it hits me. “Quit being such an ass.” She offers Sloane an apologetic smile, and I roll my eyes. “I’m sorry, dear. I truly don’t know where he gets this attitude. I suspect it’s been quite some time since he’s been laid, and it’s starting to get to his psyche.”
I choke on my saliva, a groan getting caught in my throat. Sloane, for her part, barely even blinks; instead, she grins and nods at my mother, indulging the explanation.
My hands curl inside my pockets, fingernails digging into the meat of my palms until they’re numb.
“Linc—Mr. Porter’s neglected libido aside,” the detective continues, although I swear I note a flash of heat behind those annoyingly mesmerizing eyes, “while he’s not an official suspect in this case, he is what we like to call a person of interest. And unfortunately, your boat is a technical crime scene.”
She pauses, as if waiting for me to acquiesce.
I don’t.
With a sigh, Sloane drags a hand through her dark hair; the wind kicks up as if on some sort of cue, brushing her soft, floral scent across my nostrils.
“Mrs. Porter, do you mind if I have a moment alone with your son?”
Swinging her eyes to me, my mother frowns. “Are you detaining him? I have a right to know. So I can arrange a lawyer.”
The corners of Sloane’s lips tip up slightly. “No, ma’am, we’re not detaining him.”
I roll my eyes as my mother turns to me, reaching up to pinch my cheek. “Be good. I expect to see you at the house later.”
My eyebrows raise, apprehension settling deep in my gut. “Will Daisy be there?”
“Well, she lives there.” Her fingers squeeze my skin, numbing the area, and then she lets go and steps away, walking back to the pumpkins to collect her ribbon. Gathering it in her arms, she heads over to where her Nissan is parked, stuffing everything in the back seat before climbing behind the wheel. “Six p.m. sharp, mister.”
With a final wave, she peels out of the parking lot, apparently completely unbothered by the police presence as she speeds away.
Then it’s just Sloane and me. She stares at the collar of my jacket, lips pursed, and a sharp pang ripples through my chest, my body wanton just from her proximity. I can’t quite tell if it’s the fact that I’ve not been laid in... a long time, or if it’s the energy surrounding this little vixen.
And a vixen she is—agonizingly alluring, without even trying. The way she’s somehow demure and commanding all at once, like a siren luring men to their deaths.
I swallow, willing away images of her kneeling before me, focusing instead on my headache’s return and the fact that I’m sure she’s the cause.
Finally, those wicked eyes slide up the length of my throat, colliding with mine like a car crash; everything screeches to an abrupt halt as I try to ignore the reminder they serve of my greatest loss.
Of Morgan Jensen, the daughter of Skelm Island’s lightkeeper—although that’s more of an arbitrary title at this point. Her eyes were the same electric blue, bright as gemstones, snuffed out far too soon.
Two decades later, I’m still lamenting her ghost, living in the shadow of the island’s lighthouse as though it might help keep her memory alive.
The detective tilts her head to one side. “Look, I don’t want to detain you, but—”
“Sure about that?” I ask, cutting her off. Taking a step closer, I stare down my nose at her petite form, maintaining her gaze as a surge of desperation sweeps through me. The need to shift our power dynamic, get ahold of myself and show her who’s in charge.
Her eyes flutter, obviously tempted to look away, but she doesn’t.
The contact makes me hard as a fucking rock.
“Seems to me like you could’ve sent your partner out here to let me know you want to see my boat,” I continue, stopping mere inches away from her body. From my peripheral, I see the bob of her throat, and my chest constricts, my bones humming with the need to soak in her reaction to me.
It’s completely fucking inappropriate, especially given that she’s absolutely not on my side, but I can’t help myself.
“Alex doesn’t get quite the same results with suspects as I do,” Sloane says, and fuck me if her voice doesn’t betray a hint of breathlessness.
“Oh? Is that because he can’t seduce them into confessing?”
“No, he probably could.” Her tongue darts out, wetting her plump bottom lip, and my cock pulses angrily. “But they never expect me to do this.”
Something hard wedges against my rib cage shoved up under the flap of my jacket, and it takes me a split second to realize she’s holding me at gunpoint.
I didn’t even fucking notice she’d removed the weapon from its holster, much less put the barrel against me.
So much for BUDS and SEAL training.
“Now,” Sloane says, lifting her chin, “I suggest we do this the easy way, and you take us to the boat. Or I will have the vessel impounded as evidence, and you arrested for obstruction of justice. Think of the paperwork and all the badges that’ll be around if you’re thrown in jail. Can’t imagine that’d be good for business...” she trails off, nudging me back so there’s more space between us. “And you can’t really afford another dip in profit, can you?”
My temple throbs, searing pain spreading like molasses along the front of my skull. Unfortunately, she’s right, and I fucking hate it.
Clenching my jaw so tight it vibrates from the pressure, I let out a low breath—something half grunt, half growl—and step back, making a sweeping gesture across the parking lot with my arm.
I watch as she tucks the gun back into her belt, a flash of hesitant triumph taking over her features for the briefest moment. She schools herself almost as soon as it happens, though, and glances at me expectantly.
Biting back a chuckle, I nod to where my truck’s parked. “Let’s go, killer.”
Chapter 6
I’ve never been on a lobstering boat in my life, but as I make my way down the wooden dock, Alex humming the Gilligan’s Island theme song at my side like an idiot, familiarity worms its way through my veins. I shake
off the feeling, attributing it to the photos I skimmed before making my way here.
The boat itself is nothing spectacular—bigger than I expected—a basic white with blue trim, Captain Morgan gleaming on the side. I swallow over the knot lodging in my throat when we make it close to the edge of the walkway, my fists clenching as my eyes take in the name of the boat.
“Look at that, carina.” Alex nudges my side. “The Captain Morgan. Not exactly a name that strikes fear into people’s hearts, huh?”
I smirk. “It’s always the nice ones that end up holding the knives, Alex. You should know that by now.”
The truth is, I’m not a huge fan of the sea. Something about being near it; the rocky coasts and the salty winds make my chest pull and my head hurt, spinning my insides until vertigo threatens to collapse me right where I stand. But there’s nothing I can do except grit my teeth and bear it because it turns out the murderers of Maine love to make use of water.
It doesn’t help that the vibe of this entire town is seriously off. Fog rolls in steadily off the ocean, and a rainbow of yellows, browns and reds blanket every square inch of ground. The streets are lined with jack-o’-lanterns and gourds, as if fall was made specifically for Skelm Island. Honestly, it’s hard to imagine it any other time of year.
Alex stops when we’re about five feet from the end of the dock, his head twisting around to take in our surroundings. My gaze is locked on the boat itself, a chill skating up my side, something heavy settling in the center of my chest, weighing me down. I can’t stand the feeling, but I shouldn’t be surprised. With someone like Lincoln owning the land, I’m sure negative energy just exists within its foundation.
A loud bark whips through the air, a golden lab leaping over the edge of the vessel and bounding down the walkway toward us. A grin takes over my face as I crouch down, my hand reaching out to pet its soft yellow hair.
“Well, hi there, sweetie.” The dog’s breath is hot against my palm, its tongue hanging out of its mouth. “So sweet. Yes you are,” I say, my other hand coming up to scratch under its chin.
Be Still My Heart: A Romantic Suspense Page 4