“Monet!” The deep voice cuts through the moment, my stomach sinking as I realize this must be Lincoln’s dog. And sure enough, when I glance up, Lincoln is hopping over the side of the boat, his dark knit cap contrasting against his jade eyes, making my stomach clench.
“This thing yours?” Alex asks, pointing down at the dog with a scrunched-up nose.
“Yeah,” Lincoln huffs, stopping a few steps away and crossing his arms. “He is.”
Monet whimpers, pushing his head farther into my hand. My smile widens, my fingers scratching behind his ears. “And he’s such a good boy. Aren’t you?” My palms rub playfully against the sides of his face. “Aren’t you just the sweetest baby ever?”
“Don’t talk to him like that,” Lincoln snaps.
I lift my head to the sky, blowing out a deep breath. Look up the word difficult in the dictionary and I swear to God this man’s picture would be next to it. “Like what?”
“Actually...” His lips spread into a thin grin. “Don’t talk to him at all. Monet, hier.”
I smirk at his German, wondering if the command stems from his time in active duty. Monet obeys immediately, going to Lincoln’s side, his tail wagging as he stares up at his owner. “You sure he’s yours?” I ask.
Lincoln tilts his head. “Does it look like he’s someone else’s?”
“He’s just so... happy, and you’re so...” I wave my hand in front of me.
“Where is everyone?” Alex interrupts.
His voice brings me back to the real reason why we’re here and I take a moment to glance around, noticing for the first time that other than Lincoln and his dog, there’s no one around. No one.
“That’s actually a really good question,” I add.
Seeing as this is the boat that brought a dead body to shore, and with Lincoln as a person of interest, there should be police here collecting evidence and blocking off the area.
But there’s not.
“They can’t already be done collecting everything.” I turn toward Alex. “Did Stoll say that they had been out here?” My mind races, irritation winding its way through my middle as I realize if they have, then we weren’t given all the information.
Alex shrugs. “They had photos. I just assumed we’d be meeting forensics on the scene. It’s kind of elementary, I didn’t think we’d need to double-check.”
“Hmm,” I hum, glancing back at Lincoln, who’s eyeing us, the left side of his mouth tilted up. What the hell is he smirking at?
“Has anyone else been out here?” I ask.
His brows draw in, the sharp angles of his face looking as if he’s cut from glass. “This is private property.”
My eyes narrow, irritation sizzling beneath my skin. “It’s a yes or no question.”
His nostrils flare as he moves toward me, not stopping until the edges of his boots hit the tips of my shoes. A shadow falls over me, my neck burning from the stretch of looking up to meet his glare head-on.
He leans down, his breaths ghosting across my cheek. He’s so close I can almost feel the hatred pouring from his eyes. “No,” he says.
My heart stutters in my chest, stomach tightening.
“Wait.” Alex’s voice snaps me out of my trance and Lincoln straightens, pushing me to the side and jumping from the dock onto the boat.
“You mean to tell me,” he continues. “Nobody has been out here to collect evidence? To do a sweep? Take pictures? Nothing?”
Lincoln leans against the wall, and his jaw tics as he absentmindedly scratches behind Monet’s ear. “Gabe took some pictures, but other than that?” He rubs a hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Nope.”
“And you didn’t find that weird?” I tilt my head, ignoring the way my body is still buzzing from our interaction.
A condescending grin lines his face. “Have you met our local police?”
I cringe, moving forward to climb on board. “He has a point,” I mutter to Alex.
Leaning over the edge, I peer onto the platform of the boat, taking in the wood floor and the blue trim that runs along the edges. It’s stained from years of work, but other than that it’s... really clean. My forehead scrunches, trepidation spiraling through my chest. I lift my leg to hop on board, but my foot gets caught on the side and I topple, my hands shooting out to get purchase on the floor and cushion my landing.
Only, the floor never comes.
Lincoln grabs my waist roughly, jerking me into him. My fingers curl around his forearms as I gasp out heavy breaths, my heart slamming against my ribs.
I twist until I meet his eyes, our faces so close I can see the faint white lines that run through his irises, and tingles race through me when his arms tighten around my middle. His gaze bounces from my mouth and back up, his fingers digging into the fabric of my clothes.
“Th—thank you,” I stutter.
Something dark flickers over his face and he moves me upright, shoving me away.
“Sloane,” Alex starts, maneuvering his way onto the deck to stand next to me.
I clear my throat, brushing down the front of my jacket. “I’m fine.”
My gaze coasts from the platform up to the steerage, and I slowly walk around the perimeter, recreating the small pieces of information we’ve been given to form a coherent image in my mind. I walk closer to the sheltered area as I imagine finding a carved up body tangled in the lines of a lobster trap. My heart kicks in my chest, my mind going fuzzy, a throbbing starting at my temple. The main area of the boat is clean, nothing out of place, the siding and the floors shiny and spotless. Suspicion filters through me, thick and heavy, as I twist to glance at Lincoln. “Didn’t you find the body while you were on this boat?”
His lips thin. “Your investigative work is stunning. Truly.”
Irritation makes my chest clench. “Who cleaned it?”
“What?”
“Your boat.” I wave my arm around. “It’s been cleaned. And forensics hasn’t even been here yet, so I’m not sure why you would think it’s a good idea to wipe things down before we had a chance to take everything in. In case you weren’t aware, that’s something we call tampering.”
His eyes burn. “Jesus, fuck. I’ve been holed up at the station with you this entire time. Are you really suggesting I had time to clean everything in the ten minutes it took for you two to wander down here from my truck?”
“I’m not suggesting anything.” I shrug.
Alex walks up next to me. “She has a point.”
Lincoln sighs, his hands coming up to rest on the top of his head. “Of course she does.”
“It’s just strange, is all,” I cut back in. “You’ve been fighting this whole time about us even being on your boat, and now here we are, no police in sight and a polished floor.” I point at the ground. “Almost as if there was never a body to begin with.”
“I was the one who called it in,” Lincoln says through his teeth.
“But that’s not really true, is it?” Alex says. “Your friend called it in.”
Something sharp pricks my middle at the realization that Lincoln’s story just isn’t adding up. I don’t want him to be a suspect, but he’s making it damn difficult to clear him. “Who was with you again?”
His eyes cut to me. “Shouldn’t you know that already, Detective?”
I grin. “Just double-checking my memory.”
“Gabe,” he says. “He’s my brother-in-law.”
“And a cop, right?” Alex adds.
“He’s...” Lincoln runs a hand over his knit cap, blowing out a breath as his large hand falls back down to his side. My insides clench. “Yeah. He’s a cop.”
My mind flies through possible scenarios. Is it really possible that the police department here is that inadequate? I’ve never heard of them fucking up a situation so bad where they don’t even send out anyone to an actual crime scene, but here we are and there’s no one in sight.
“And he’s the one that took the pictures?” I ask.
Lincoln n
ods. “Yeah. Look… didn’t you guys question him too? I don’t really have time for this. Take more pictures if you want, search the whole damn cabin.” He flings his arm out to the door leading to the interior. “Just do whatever it is you need to do and get the hell off my boat.”
And with that, he jumps over the ledge, storming down the dock and disappearing.
Alex whistles, his hands in his pockets. “Kinda sus. Should we go after him?”
I shake my head. “No, let’s just do what we can and head back to the station.” I walk toward the interior and pull open the door, trying to ignore the way my chest pulls tight.
Because I have a sinking feeling that Lincoln Porter just went from being a person of interest to a suspect.
Chapter 7
It’s been several days since Detective Sloane and her puppy-eyed lackey made a mess of my boat, practically stripping the vessel in their attempt to uncover a shred of evidence.
There’s been no peace in my life in the days following their initial investigation, although that has less to do with the fact that I’m being looked into at all, and everything to do with the memory of Sloane’s body pressed up against mine.
I shouldn’t have touched her; should’ve let her fall flat on her pretty face.
Would’ve served her right for insisting she take a look on my boat.
Unfortunately, I was raised to have manners. To help. And her partner had been too busy staring off into space to realize Sloane’s barely tall enough to clear my chest, let alone climb in the boat without assistance. Add in the fact that I could tell she’s not used to being that close to open water, and the entire encounter was a recipe for disaster.
Now, I’m stuck trying to scrub away the soft feel of her hips, the way my fingers indented into them with the slightest touch. How her plush lips parted just so, a gasp escaping her as those bright eyes met mine, begging to be ravaged.
Or maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve had a good fuck.
“So they didn’t say whether or not you’d be implicated?” my sister asks, pulling me from my thoughts. Her son is propped up on her shoulder as she rubs circles on his back. “I mean, it sounds like they’re going through an awful lot of trouble if they aren’t planning on it.”
Sighing, I focus on drying the ceramic plate in my hand, ensuring it’s spotless before placing it in the cabinet next to the kitchen sink with the others. “They don’t have anything to charge me with. And I’m sure they know it, which is why they’re making a big stink about it.”
Smoothing a hand down one side of her uniform—a plain white button-down and black jeans that all the waitresses at our local diner wear—she purses her lips. “What exactly did they do on your boat?”
My jaw tics in reflex. The better question is probably what didn’t they do—as if invading my privacy wasn’t enough, between Sloane, Alex, and the pricks at the PD who finally showed, the Captain Morgan had been gutted in an effort to find anything connecting me to Alta May’s murder.
I lost an entire day on the water because of it, and unsurprisingly, they found jack shit.
“Nothing of consequence.” I shrug, reaching for another plate. Scraping the remnants of our lobster mac from lunch into the garbage disposal, I scrub the dish clean and dry it off. “Which is exactly what I said they’d find, but God forbid anyone believe me.”
“Maybe you should try being nicer to the police,” she suggests, shifting her son higher on her shoulder.
“Yeah? Maybe they should try not being stupid.”
Daisy hums, tucking a piece of dark hair behind her ear, away from Charlie’s reach. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard from my mouth before; since her husband joined the academy years ago, I’ve been vocal about my complete distaste for local law enforcement.
It doesn’t help that my friendship with Gabe gets me unfettered access to the dirty underbelly of it all; the endless nights, the unnecessary red tape erected by the brass, and the shit pay.
If they bothered to pay their people what they deserve, maybe Gabe and Daisy could move out of our childhood home. And maybe he wouldn’t feel the need to sleep on my boat when he’s not welcome, creating problems for me that I certainly don’t need.
This is the first full conversation I’ve had with my sister since we found Alta May’s body, and it was only initiated because our mother forced us to sit down for Sunday lunch after her church service let out.
“Gabe says there’s a rumor going around that they brought in those Portland detectives because it’s bigger than just Alta May.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, are we speaking to that fucker again?”
She blushes, patting Charlie’s back. “He’s my husband, Lincoln. I’m allowed to be upset when I don’t know where he is.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be.” I switch off the faucet, putting away the last plate, and lean against the sink. “In fact, I think you should be harder on him. He never has to stay sorry for long. You were mad at me longer than you were him.”
“Well, you’ve never been very good at apologies.” She shifts, lifting a shoulder.
“I’m very good at them,” I grumble to myself, wiping my hands on a nearby dish towel. “Just not the kind I can give to you.”
Daisy lets out a sigh, moving Charlie to her other shoulder; his big doe eyes pop open for a moment, then drift closed again once he’s settled, his fist curled into her chest. “Look, I’m a grown woman, and if I want to forgive my husband to make my life a little easier, then I’m going to.”
I don’t comment, turning around to stare at her as I lean against the stainless steel stove. Because, once again, Gabe is nowhere to be found.
How is that making her life easier?
“Honestly, I’m not looking for a lecture. And certainly not from a man whose last meaningful relationship was almost twenty years ago.”
Her comment hits like snowball-sized hail, knocking the breath out of my lungs. A flash of blue eyes and a toothy, goofy grin plays across my vision like a camera reel, but the second I blink, it fractures, disintegrating like dust. Something sharp flares to life in my chest, a tremor throbbing from the chambers of my heart, and I clear my throat as my mother walks in, carrying a brown paper sack filled to the brim with groceries.
“Oh, no.” She pauses in the archway from the foyer, dark eyes swinging between Daisy and me. My nostalgia evaporates immediately, drying up like an unused well the second she breaks the silence. “Who died?”
“Alta May Davis, four days ago.”
My mother flips me the bird, walking over to slam the paper bag down on the granite countertop. “I mean, the tension in this room is unholy. It only ever gets like this when you’re here, you know.”
I roll my eyes. “Then stop making me come over.”
Clicking her tongue, she shoves me out of the way as she begins unloading the bag. “No can do. Who else will carry my things in from the car?”
“Daisy?” I offer.
“Okay, you hold Charlie and I’ll go get the rest of Ma’s shit.” Daisy points at her son, smoothing a hand over his brown hair.
Glancing at the sleeping baby, I hesitate. My mother hip checks me, pushing me farther down the counter. “Make yourself useful, delinquent. You might not have been arrested, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting you off scot-free.”
My eyes narrow, irritation coursing like hot lava through my veins. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Not yet.” She takes out a head of Romaine lettuce, pulling open the fridge to drop it in the crisper. “Consider your service a preemptive strike against your general bad attitude.”
Feeling a headache coming on, I reach up to rub my temples as I quickly exit the room. The sunflower wallpaper in the hall feels entirely too bright as I bypass the living room and head for the front door, yanking it open as a cry pierces the air.
I’m just pulling the door shut behind me and stepping out onto the porch when it turns into a full-fledged wail.
A heavy breath escapes my chest, and I stop to catch the relief it brings, pausing to look around at my childhood home. The porch and yard are littered with tacky Halloween decorations from when Daisy and I were kids and our father would ransack the bargain bins.
The house’s white siding is in desperate need of a power wash, the stones outlining the front walk cracked and grown over by grass and dead leaves.
Things Gabe should be taking care of, but are neglected because of the time he spends at the police department.
My headache spreads, pulsing behind my eyes, souring my mood almost palpably. I make a mental note to bring my pressure washer over later this week and clean the siding myself, then make my way to where my mother’s Toyota is parked haphazardly in the wraparound drive.
Leaning down to grab the last few paper bags from the trunk, I’m startled when a soft voice floats in from my side; it caresses my skin, producing goose bumps in its wake, and I jump at the sound of my name, smacking my head on the trunk lid.
“Jesus Christ.” The bags fall from my arms, groceries toppling out of them, and I snap into a standing position, whirling on the intruder.
“Oh, my god! Are you okay?”
Detective Sloane rocks back on her heels, standing entirely too close to me. My hand flies to the knot on the back of my head, applying pressure as I glare down at her.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snap, massaging the spot. I don’t move back, though, unwilling to be the one to give in this situation; if she wants to rub up against me, I’ll let her.
Maybe if I get a taste I’ll be able to stop thinking about the way she seems to fit into me.
“Stalking you, obviously.” She gives me a little lopsided grin.
Now, I do shift away, my body’s reaction to this woman completely infuriating, all things considered. I shouldn’t be attracted to the devil, yet here I am.
Dropping my hand to my side, I turn and reach back into the trunk for the groceries. “Do you maim all of your leads?”
Her face contorts, eyebrows scrunching. “Only when they’re begging for it.”
Be Still My Heart: A Romantic Suspense Page 5