by Dani Pettrey
Rissi dipped her head, looking up at Logan. He didn’t believe in God—yet, she’d never give up trying, praying—but surely, he didn’t believe in curses. “You’re not suggesting a curse is at work?”
“Of course not,” Logan said, resting his hand on his knee—no more than an inch from Em’s blue-and-white-striped maxi skirt that fluttered about her as she sat on the sofa’s arm just to Logan’s left.
“What we need to determine is whether the platform is just having a freakish pattern of mechanical problems, or if someone is causing the problems,” Mason said.
“You know who you should talk to,” Em said. “Margaret Gregory at the Maritime Historical Museum. She’s the head docent over there. If anyone knows this Henry legend, she does. She’s a wealth of information.”
“But what’s the point? We know curses aren’t real,” Rissi said, not trying to be rude, but why waste their time investigating something that didn’t exist?
“You know they aren’t real,” Em said, “but some of the men on that rig don’t. When you’re spooked about something or get something in your head, it’s hard to let go. It doesn’t matter if it actually exists.”
“That’s a good point,” Mason said. “Even if we know the curse isn’t real, understanding what we’re dealing with in the crew’s minds would be helpful.”
“That makes sense,” Rissi said. “We’ll add a trip to the museum to today’s list and fit it in with questioning the men of crew one. Thanks, Em.”
Em smiled. “Happy to help.”
“Nice try,” Noah said. “But I’m not budging on the day off.”
Rissi sat forward. “But the investigation . . . ?”
He shook his head. “Can wait a day.” He set the marker down on the ledge. “Need I remind you that you were just in a serious helicopter crash? You’re both off for the day. End of discussion.”
“Yes, sir,” Rissi said, sitting back. She should have let it go from the start, but she just didn’t have it in her. She and Noah were very alike in that way.
“We’ll start with crew one and the environmentalist group tomorrow, and get to Margaret Gregory as well,” Mason said.
“In the meantime, I can start running the financials on the environmentalist group,” Logan said.
“And I’ll start doing a full background check on everyone involved,” Emmy said.
“Great. You might want to start with Gwyneth,” Rissi said. “She’s the leader. I don’t think we got her last name.” She looked to Mason.
“No, we didn’t, but I’d imagine she won’t be too hard to find.”
“Em is the best at finding people,” Rissi said.
“Thanks, Ris.” Emmy smiled.
“Caleb,” Noah said. “You’re with me. We have a distress call to investigate. Coast Guard Petty Officer Towson said the couple aboard have been very jumpy. They found some blood on deck. The couple claimed it was from a fish they gutted, but there were no signs to support that.”
“All right.” Caleb stood. “Want me to drive?”
“Sure.” As he headed for the door, Noah turned to Mason. “Make sure Rissi gets home.”
Mason nodded. “Yes, sir.”
She didn’t need to see Caleb’s face to know he wasn’t happy with that order, the tautness of his shoulders as he walked out the door said it all.
“Okay, old lady,” Logan said to Em. “Let’s see who can find the best dirt on the environmental group.”
“You’re on, and I’m only two years older than you.”
He grinned. “You really think you can keep up?”
“Clearly, you’ve never gone up against her on a mud-runners’ course,” Rissi said.
Impressed shock broke on Logan’s handsome face. “Seriously?” His gaze fixed on Em. “You?”
She linked her arms across her chest. “I’ll take you on any day.”
“Oooh. I might just take you up on that offer.” His infamous sexy smirk curled on his lips.
Em laughed. “I hope you do.”
“And you know I’m just razzing you on the age thing, right?” He stepped around his desk, moving to sit on the corner of hers. “I like older women.”
She smirked. “And I like men. Not boys.”
“See that there,” Logan retorted. “Why take all the compliments I get from other women when I can have barbs to the heart from you?”
Rissi strode to Logan’s side, leaned in, and whispered in his ear. “Maybe you should think about that.” She clapped him on his back.
Logan played it off with his laid-back shtick, but beneath all his charm and slew of one-time dates, there was a man very much in need of the love of a good woman, and Rissi couldn’t think of a better one than Emmalyne.
Noah poked his head back in the front door. He looked to Rissi, his brows arching. “What are you still doing here?”
“We were just on our way out,” Mason said.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Noah waggled his fingers toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Mason gestured for her to go first. After a quick round of good-byes, Rissi stepped out into the warm sunshine. It was a beautiful day. It was practically a crime to sleep it away.
“Good luck on the call,” she said, waving to Noah and Caleb.
“Get some rest,” Caleb said before climbing in his car.
“He’s quite protective of you,” Mason said, handing her his extra helmet.
“Noah?” She knew better.
“I meant Caleb, but Noah is too.”
She shrugged. “Being the youngest on the team has its disadvantages.”
“It’s nice they care so much.”
“True.” She was so thankful for the team—they’d become her family. A real family.
He raked a hand through his spiky hair. “So you and Caleb . . . ?”
“Are teammates.”
Mason arched a brow. “And?” he asked, his voice far lower than when he’d been a teen. His words vibrated deep off his vocal cords, coming out in a gravelly yet alluring register.
“And friends,” she said.
He nodded, then his gaze flashed to the station door.
Rissi glanced back to find Logan and Emmy staring out at them.
Mason chuckled. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” she said, climbing up on the bike behind him and once again wrapping her arms around his waist. Warmth and memories shot through her. Would her reaction to him always be so visceral?
He started his bike, the deep growl of the engine rumbling through her chest.
“Ready?” he asked, slipping his visor in place.
Most definitely. “Yep.”
She was already becoming attached to having Mason around, and it’d only been a matter of days. She needed to be careful. There was nothing to say he was staying for the long haul and certainly no guarantee he felt anything more than friendship for her.
He had just inquired about her relationship with Caleb, but it certainly didn’t mean he was asking because of his own romantic interest. If he was interested in her, why would he have taken Maddie’s number?
Speeding down the main road toward the sound side of town and her home, she let her thoughts fall away. She focused on the feel of the wind riffling through her hair and the feel of Mason’s muscular torso beneath her arms. She just wanted to stay in this moment and soak it in. What could that hurt?
TWENTY-SEVEN
Mason pulled his Triumph into the third driveway on the left as Rissi had directed him. He cut the ignition and kicked down the side stand. Pulling off his helmet, he perched it on the gas tank and looked at Rissi’s home, a yellow bungalow with a wide, covered front porch. Old-fashioned red storm lanterns hung from the roof, lining the porch edge. The front door was a matching red.
Rissi climbed off the bike, and he instantly missed the feel of her behind him and the warmth of her touch.
“Nice house,” he said. He’d pictured Rissi so many times over the years. Imagining what she was d
oing, where she lived. He couldn’t have pictured a home that suited her better.
“Thanks.” After pulling off her helmet and handing it to him, she ran a hand through her windblown hair. She looked at the house and then back at him. “Would you like to come in? Have a glass of sweet tea before you head home?”
“I’d love to, but aren’t you supposed to be getting some sleep?” Shut up, Mason. You know you’re dying to go in. But he was trying to look out for her.
“I’m nowhere near ready to sleep, but if you are, I totally get it.”
“No. I’m good.” He practically leapt to her side. Smooth, Rogers. Real smooth.
“Great.” She smiled and led him up the walk and across the white, plank porch.
He looked at the porch swing with cushions piled high, and flashes of him holding her there at night, trailing kisses along the curve of her neck, nibbling her ear . . .
“Mason?”
He snapped his head in her direction. “Yeah?”
“You coming?” she asked, holding the front door for him. When had she opened it?
He took a fortifying breath and strode for the door. Get it together, man. She’s your teammate now. It’s been years. You have no idea where she’s at, how she feels.
He was acting like some lovesick schoolboy, but he wasn’t a teen anymore. Neither was Rissi—most definitely not. She was a woman. He was a man. And they were both in very different places of life than when they were teens. Yet their bond still remained. Hadn’t it? He felt it coursing through his veins whenever he was near her.
“Go ahead and make yourself at home,” she said. “I’ll grab us a couple glasses of tea. I brewed a fresh batch yesterday morning.”
“That’d be great. Thanks.”
Rissi disappeared into what he could only assume was the kitchen, and he turned his attention to the surroundings.
Two hammock-style swinging chairs hung from hook bolts in the rafter above. Across from them sat a low-to-the-ground white sofa with a blue, white, and gray beach blanket draped across the back.
Two teal pottery end tables sat on either side, and a pine coffee table on silver wheels was positioned in the center of the sitting area.
“Here you go,” she said, returning with two mason jars filled with iced tea.
“Thanks.” He lifted the glass to his mouth as she watched, anticipation fluttering in her eyes.
The sweet liquid rolled over his tongue and down his throat. “It’s good,” he said, after finishing the first swallow.
“Thanks. Living in the South now, you better get used to it as a daily staple.”
“Good to know.” He took another sip.
She smiled but shuffled back and forth, a nervous bounce to her step.
He wanted her to feel at ease in his presence. Though, truth be told, he was antsy in her presence, too, but not in a bad way. It was more like dancing again for the first time in years—learning how to move in sync, to let go and allow the music to lead you.
It could take awhile for her to once again feel comfortable in his presence, but he prayed they got there, even if it was just as friends. If he was honest with himself, he wanted so much more. But it was complicated. She clearly had a dynamic with Caleb that went beyond colleagues. What that dynamic was he still hadn’t fully figured out.
“Wanna sit?” she said, gesturing to the sitting area beside him.
“Yeah, thanks. I’m dying to try out one of these hammock swings. What a neat idea.”
“Thanks.” She climbed in one and, kicking her shoes off, stretched her bare feet out in front of her, swaying with the natural momentum of the swing.
“Really cool living space.” Whenever he’d thought of her over the years, he’d hoped she’d found a place where she was happy, safe, and thriving—even if he never got to be a part of it. But God had most definitely smiled on him. He’d reunited them, and Mason had to believe it was the answer to a decade of prayers.
“You changed your last name.” He asked the question most pressing on his mind. “Dawson?”
She set her glass down on the closest end table, swiping a drop of tea from her full, pink lips. “Yeah. Watson wasn’t my name anymore. Hadn’t been since I got put in the system. Since . . .” She pulled her knees to her chest.
He reached his hand across the distance separating them, and with a soft smile, she grabbed hold.
He’d missed this. Holding her hand, feeling her skin next to his. Just being there to comfort her.
“I decided when I left Hank’s that I needed to stay under the radar.” She sent him a sad smile. “When you were checking my back, I could tell you noticed scars you hadn’t seen before.”
He nodded, encouraging her to continue but hating to hear what Hank had done.
“One day after you left, Hank went ballistic, beat me so bad I could barely walk after he finished. I made my way to the attic and then blacked out. When I woke up, I heard him yelling for me, threatening me, so I hid out until everyone was asleep, shoved my things in a garbage bag, and left.”
“Ris, I’m so sorry. I should have protected you.”
“How? You had no place there after you turned eighteen. And in a way, you did help me.”
His brow furrowed.
Glancing down at her feet, then braving a glance in his direction, she said, “Your strength encouraged me to leave, even though I had no idea where I was going.”
She took a deep breath. “I didn’t want Hank or anyone from child services finding me, so I switched my name first to Sanders when I introduced myself.” She swallowed. “The woman who ran the shelter I ended up at, who provided the first safe haven for me, her last name was Dawson. I thought it was a good change, so I went by Dawson.”
“I’m sure she appreciated it.”
“I never told her. I just stayed a short time there and then moved on—shelter to shelter, city to city. Figured it was best to keep moving. I changed it legally when I turned eighteen.”
He reached out, brushed the hair off her forehead, and cupped her face. “I like it.”
Looking down, almost leaning into his handhold, she smiled.
Now it made sense why it had been so hard to locate her. He’d tried so many times and nearly given up hope of ever seeing her again until he walked into his Wilmington station and saw her standing there. He still couldn’t fully wrap his head around it. Reluctantly, he lowered his hand back into his lap, his thoughts racing through the painful years apart and how he prayed that was never the case again.
“Now who’s woolgathering?” She nudged the toe of his boot with her foot.
“Sorry.” He smiled. “Just . . .”
“I get it.”
He cocked his head. “You do?”
“It’s kind of surreal, right?”
He couldn’t have put it better. “Yeah.” He rubbed his thighs, trying to keep his hands busy. To distract him from assuming . . . from thinking that she could love him as he did her?
“So you were telling me about Caleb,” he said. “He and Lucas don’t appear to be much alike?”
“No. Lucas definitely doesn’t take after his uncle. Caleb is self-disciplined, a hard worker, a dependable guy, and a great agent.”
“Sounds like you really admire him.”
“I do. He’s a great teammate, but Lucas . . .” She shook her head. “He’s a mess.”
“It looked like Caleb took the news pretty hard.” He lifted his glass for another sip.
“Yeah, Caleb’s really been more like a dad to Lucas than an uncle.”
“Lucas’s dad’s not in the picture?” he asked.
“No. I don’t think he ever really was. I know he never married Susie. But his stepdad—well, latest ex-stepdad—is a roughneck who’s out on rigs most of the time, but he does try with Lucas . . . when he’s around.”
“Sounds like a complicated family situation.”
She shrugged. “Most are.”
“True.” He looked down, fingering th
e raised lettering on the mason jar. “It’s nice Caleb’s trying to be a solid influence for him.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “It is.” She swung back and forth slowly, rhythmically. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“When you left Hank’s, you said you were going to join the Marines. How did that shift to the Coast Guard?”
“I was headed for the Marine recruiter, and on the way, I walked by the Coast Guard station. I saw all the boats lined up and something hit me—the freedom a boat brings. Traveling. Being away from it all. Being out at sea. So I went in to talk to the Coast Guard recruiter instead.”
“That’s cool. You seem to really be at home in the water. Even if you gave me two heart attacks last night.”
His lips curled into a smile. “Sorry. I just couldn’t—”
“Sit back and do nothing while someone was drowning. I totally get it.”
“What about you? How’d you end up at CGIS?”
“I wanted to work in a job where justice was done, where evil people were caught and paid for their crimes. I wanted to see them off the streets and behind bars before they could hurt anyone else.” She spun the swing partway around, so she was facing the side of his swing, and he swung to meet her face-to-face. “I worked my way through college as quickly as I could, and then applied to the FBI academy. I had an aptitude for profiling, so that’s where they put me. After a while, I wanted a change. I vacationed down here and fell in love with the place. So when I saw a CGIS job open up, I jumped on it.”
“How long have you been on the team?”
“Two years.”
“Very cool. Where did you go to school?”
“University of Mary Washington. They offered me a great financial aid package and a job on campus. And it’s really close to the FBI academy so I figured I might as well get used to the area.”
Thirty minutes later, Mason realized the time. And as painful as it was to pry himself from Rissi’s presence, he managed to do so. He could have stayed with her . . . well, always, but Noah was right. She needed her rest, so he thanked her for the tea, saw himself out, and drove home.