Death is in the Air (Secret Seal Isle Mysteries Book 5)

by Lucy Quinn

  Neither Rain nor Scarlett had asked anything about Cookie’s love life or the two men fighting for her heart. But Cookie had known that couldn’t last. She’d just hoped to wait them out a little longer. Like maybe until after New Year’s. Or the one after that.

  Still, she sighed. She knew Scarlett wouldn’t stop asking, and Rain was leaning forward, eager to hear as well.

  Besides, this was her mom and her best friend. The two people Cookie was closest to in all the world. Who else could she really talk about this stuff with? She had to admit it might help to talk it out. Then maybe she could finally make a decision.

  “Okay,” she said. She gulped down the rest of her wine and set the empty glass on the coffee table in front of her. Then she sat back and fiddled with her hair for a second before facing her two interrogators. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything!” Scarlett declared, laughing. Then she patted Cookie’s hand. “We’re here for you, CJ. You know that. We know you’ve got a big decision to make. I don’t think it’s really fair to anyone—to you, but especially to them—to put it off. Do you?”

  Cookie shook her head, her auburn hair swirling around her face. “No, not really,” she admitted. She sighed again, and pulled her legs up so that she could hug her knees. “It’s just… it’s not easy, you know? I mean, I care a lot about them both.”

  “Sure,” Scarlett agreed. “They’re both really good guys. And hot. And they care a lot about you, too.” She smiled gently. “But only one of them gets your heart.”

  “I know.” Cookie tilted her head to lay her cheek across her knees. “But which one?”

  “Dylan!” Rain burst out. “You should pick Dylan!”

  Scarlett shot a glare at Cookie’s mom, which shut her up, at least for the moment. “That’s not up to us,” she reminded Rain sharply. “It’s Cookie’s life, only she can decide.” She turned back to Cookie. “So,” she started. “Talk to us. Tell us what you’re thinking.”

  “I don’t know,” Cookie answered. “If I did, I’d already have told them. And you.”

  Her best friend reached out and stroked her hair like she was petting a small, terrified kitten. “Hey, it’s okay,” she promised softly. “We’re not trying to force you to make a decision. Just offering to play sounding board so you can figure it out yourself.” She smiled. “How’s this, then? Think about life with each of them. Tell us about it.”

  Cookie nodded. That she could do. She closed her eyes, blocking out the inn and the real world so that she could delve into her thoughts and shape them into a possible future. “Life with Hunter,” she started. “He wants me to move back to Philly with him.”

  “What?” Rain’s squawk made Cookie blink and look over at her. Her mom looked stunned, eyes wide, and Cookie realized this was the first she’d told them about this.

  “Yeah, sorry,” she said. “It happened after we took down Voelker and his crew. Hunter said he didn’t want to lose me. He asked me to come back, to rejoin the FBI so we could be partners again.” She gulped and forced the rest of the confession out. “Then he suggested we move in together.”

  “He wants you to live with him?” Scarlett asked. She shook her head. “That’s kinda huge for a playah like Hunter, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Cookie agreed. “I was floored. I mean, it was totally out of the blue.” Though not completely, when she thought about it. After all, they’d just been back in Philly together, and Hunter had gone on and on about how great it was down there, how nice it was to be back in civilization, and so on. He’d been doing a hard sell, she realized now, laying the groundwork for his pitch. Which made it seem a lot less spontaneous and a lot more contrived. But nonetheless, she knew he’d been sincere.

  “You can’t go back there!” Rain insisted. “What about that horrid man and his people? That’s why we left in the first place.”

  “I know, Ma,” Cookie assured her. “Hunter claims they can protect me—Spinner said the same when I was there. That doesn’t mean I agree, though.”

  “Well,” Scarlett said slowly, “for the sake of conversation, let’s assume they’re right.” Rain started to object again, but Scarlett’s raised hand silenced her objections before they could emerge. “So let’s say it is safe for you to go back down there again. And that you take Hunter up on his offer. Picture that life. Tell me about it.”

  Obligingly, Cookie closed her eyes again. “Okay,” she said, imagining it all. “I’m back in Philly. I’m living with Hunter. I’m back at the FBI, too, and we’re working together again.” She frowned. “Although, Spinner would never allow that. The second he found out we were together he’d insist we each get new partners. And he’d know, since we’d have the same address.”

  Cookie sighed. “Still, we’d both be in the same office. So we’d see each other every day at work, probably get to handle some larger cases together. And then we’d share a place at night.” She smiled. “And Philly’s great. So much to do, so many good places to eat, so much going on all the time, but it’s not so big that it’s totally crazy like New York or Chicago. You can still see the stars there.”

  “Okay.” She could feel Scarlett nodding beside her. “Sounds nice. Do you think you’d be happy like that?”

  “I—” Cookie frowned. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, I should be, right? A great career doing something important, a great guy who’s crazy about me, a nice place in a great city? What’s not to love?”

  “You don’t sound like you love it,” Rain pointed out.

  Cookie wanted to argue that she did, but found she couldn’t. “Maybe just because it’s such a crazy idea,” she said. “I mean, when we left there I didn’t know how I’d survive being stuck all the way out here in the boonies. But I’ve gotten used to it. Now it’s the idea of going back that seems weird. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love it again after a while, though.”

  “Sure,” Scarlett said, her tone calm and placating. “You absolutely could.” She patted Cookie’s shoulder. “So, now tell me about life with Dylan.”

  Cookie smiled. “That’s easy. I wouldn’t have to go anywhere, for starters. I’d still be here at the inn with you and Mom.”

  “True,” her best friend agreed, “but don’t think about us right now, okay? Pretend—pretend I’ve gone back to New York and your mom’s on a world cruise with Winter, or something.” Her hand brushed Cookie’s shoulder again, the touch warm and reassuring. “Not that either of us is going anywhere,” she promised. “But this is about you and him, not us.”

  “All right.” Cookie frowned but kept her eyes shut and let herself sink into the fantasy world again. This time she pushed the images of Rain and Scarlett to the background so she could concentrate on her and Dylan, just as Scarlett had suggested. “Well, I’d be running the inn,” she said slowly, “and probably still working with the sheriff from time to time. Dylan keeps busy with all kinds of projects, so he’d be out and about a lot.”

  Cookie smiled. “But he’d never be far away. We’d meet up for lunch sometimes, either at the Salty Dog or here or maybe down by the docks. On nice days we’d take his boat and go to one of the smaller islands, or just out on the water, nothing but sky, sea, and us. We’d explore the whole island, or I guess really he’d show me all of it, since he knows every bit of this place. All kinds of fun little nooks and crannies to see.” A giggle escaped her lips. “Perfect places to sneak a kiss or three.” Or more, her mind suggested, and she could feel herself blushing as her thoughts drifted to all the other things she and Dylan could do with a little privacy. “Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat, “it’d be nice.”

  “Nice?” Scarlett asked. “Is that what you want?”

  “I’d say so,” Rain commented. “Considering how much she’s grinning.”

  She was, Cookie realized. Her smile had become a huge, sappy grin. And she felt warm and cozy, not just from being here with them but from the thoughts she’d been having. From picturing herself with D
ylan.

  “It’s more than just nice,” she said, piecing it together as she spoke. “It’s… comforting. Caring. No, that’s not fair, that sounds like it’s a cop-out or a consolation prize or something.” She blinked and lifted her head to look up at Scarlett. “It’s amazing. It’s like knowing you’re not alone anymore, that you’ve got someone who’s always going to put you first, and who you want to put first, too.”

  And that was exactly what Dylan had done, she thought, the discovery hitting her like a thunderbolt. All winter he’d been there, always nearby, whenever she needed him. He’d picked her up when she’d needed a ride, provided a shoulder to cry on, an ear to bend, a hand to hold. He’d never pushed; just made it clear that he cared and that he’d do whatever she needed him to, without question. Like when he’d gotten up on that stage last night. Most guys would have balked, but not him, and it wasn’t because he was a born exhibitionist, either. It was what he’d told her afterward. He’d done it for her, not for Rain. Because he’d do anything for her.

  And, Cookie finally acknowledged to herself, she’d do anything for him, too.

  Scarlett had been studying her face. “I think you’ve got your answer,” she said with a smirk.

  “Yeah,” Cookie agreed. She really did—there wasn’t any sense ignoring it or pretending otherwise. “Hunter’s a great guy,” she confirmed. “He’s a hell of a catch, and a few years ago I’d have thought he was perfect.” She chuckled. “I guess I grew up a little, though. I don’t want that anymore. I don’t need the big city and the running around, and I definitely don’t need the stress.”

  She glanced over at her mom and smiled. “I love it here,” she said, pretty sure it was the first time she acknowledged it. “I really do, Mom. I love the inn, and the island. It’s beautiful, and it’s peaceful, and it’s like for the first time in my life I can really just relax and be myself, you know? And Dylan’s a big part of that. Hunter wants me to go back to the way I was, but Dylan’s happy with me the way I am.”

  Rain smiled, and Cookie saw that she had tears in her eyes. “I’m glad, sweetie,” her mom said with a tremor in her voice. “I really am. I worried that you’d hate it here—hate me for bringing us here. All I wanted was for you to be safe and happy.”

  “I know.” Cookie scooted off the couch and crossed the room to hug Rain. “I love you, Mom. And this place, you did great. It’s perfect for us.” She smiled. “And I think Dylan’s perfect for me.”

  “Good.” Scarlett refilled her wineglass and then Cookie’s, as well. “I approve.” She handed Cookie the glass, and they both toasted. “You can tell him all that tomorrow. But tonight? Tonight is just for us.”

  Cookie laughed. “Hear, hear,” she agreed. She smiled at her mother and her best friend. “Merry Christmas.”

  25

  The next morning, Cookie was awakened by the lovely scent of bacon. “Mmm,” she murmured and rose out of bed, pulling on her robe. Still half asleep, she stumbled down the stairs, holding onto the railing to make sure she didn’t break her neck before she managed to snag a piece of the meat that was calling her name.

  The smell grew stronger as she descended, and soon was accompanied by the sizzle and pop of bacon in the pan. But there were other smells as well, different but equally rich, and all of them mixed delightfully to create an aroma that drew her in as surely as any lure. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” she declared as she stepped into the kitchen, eyes half-shut from both lingering slumber and burgeoning delight, “but I wholeheartedly approve.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you had to earn this,” a rich, velvety male voice responded. Cookie blinked and looked around. Rain was nowhere in sight. Instead, Dylan was standing at the stove grinning at her, wearing a too-small apron that proclaimed Kiss the Cook! He looked far too cute in that apron and Rain’s lobster-claw shaped oven mitts.

  “Hey,” Cookie managed, now wide awake and aware that she was standing there in her fluffy bathrobe, flannel PJs, and bear-claw slippers, with her hair a giant tangled mass that was likely matted to her head. “I didn’t know you were here. Where’s my mom?”

  “Stepped out for a few,” Dylan answered, glancing away from her long enough to grab tongs and snatch two strips of bacon from the pan. He set them carefully down atop a paper towel-lined plate before continuing. “Scarlett’s gone, too. Something about a scene they hated to miss?”

  “Uh-huh.” Cookie stepped a little closer and observed that there was also a saucepan on the stove. Plus there was a tray off to the side, holding several plates, cups, and mugs. “Did Rain just leave you here to finish up while she’s out?”

  He pretended to be stricken, even going so far as to press one mitted hand to his chest. “You wound me!” he declared loudly. “I’ll have you know that I’m capable of more than just putting food on a plate.” He winked at her. “Thanks to the wonders of YouTube, anyway.”

  She laughed and moved closer still. “Okay, okay, you’re a master chef,” she agreed easily. “Sorry. Is that why you came over? To show off your cooking?”

  “Something like that.” He shut off the burner, stripped off his mitts, and swiveled to lift a food-laden tray off the counter. “Voila!”

  Alongside the plate of crispy bacon was a second plate, this one covered with thick square slabs of golden-brown French toast. A small bowl of berries nestled in beside them, and one of cream, plus a glass of orange juice, a tumbler of water, and a mug from which wafted the lovely smell of steaming chocolate.

  Because she’d only just woken up, it took Cookie a second or two to get it. When she did, she melted inside. “You remembered,” she gushed.

  “Of course.” He carried the tray over to the center island, set it down, and pulled out the stool, ushering her toward it. “Merry Christmas, Cookie James.”

  Because of course it was exactly what she’d said she wanted for Christmas: French toast, bacon, and hot chocolate. A nice, quiet, cozy morning.

  And Dylan had managed to give her exactly that. Just like he’d done his best to give her exactly what she needed, every step of the way.

  “It’s perfect,” Cookie assured him, settling herself onto the stool. “But I hope there’s enough for two here. Because the only thing better than a good meal is sharing it with someone special.”

  “Well, I don’t know how special I am,” Dylan joked, pulling out another stool beside hers and perching on it, “but I’ll do my best.”

  Cookie didn’t stop to think about it. She just leaned forward and took his hands in hers. “You are special,” she insisted. “To me.”

  “Yeah?” His lips still quirked in a half smile, but his eyes were serious. “You sure?”

  She leaned in further. “Absolutely positive.”

  And then she kissed him.

  “Does this mean what I think it means?” he whispered after they parted, though he pulled back only far enough to meet her eyes.

  “It does,” she agreed, her lips still tingling and her whole head abuzz. Her heart, though—that was singing as she smiled and pulled him back in for another kiss, murmuring just before their lips met again, “Merry Christmas, Dylan Creed.”

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  More Secret Seal Isle Mysteries

  New Corpse in Town

  Life in the Dead Lane

  A Walk on the Dead Side

  Any Way You Bury It

  Death is in the Air

  Signed, Sealed, Fatal I’m Yours

  About the Author

  Lucy Quinn is the brainchild of New York Times bestselling author Deanna Chase and USA Today bestselling author Violet Vaughn. Having met over a decade ago in a lampwork bead forum, the pair were first what they like to call “show wives” as they traveled the country together, selling their handmade glass beads. So when they both started writing fiction, it seemed only natural for the two friends to pair up with their hilarious, laugh-out-loud, cozy mysteries. At least they think so. Now they travel the country,
meeting up in various cities to plan each new Lucy Quinn book while giggling madly at themselves and the ridiculous situations they force on their characters. They very much hope you enjoy them as much as they do.

  Deanna Chase, is a native Californian, transplanted to the slower paced lifestyle of southeastern Louisiana. When she isn’t writing, she is often goofing off with her husband in New Orleans, playing with her two shih tzu dogs, or making glass beads.

  Violet Vaughn lives in coastal New Hampshire where she spends most mornings in the woods with her dogs, summer at the ocean, and winters skiing in the mountains of Maine.

  www.lucyquinnauthor.com

  lucy@lucyquinnauthor.com