by Elle James
Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d have to change into something nicer.”
“I’ll wait here with Moby.” He scratched the dog’s ears.
Moby sat beside him and leaned against his leg.
Emma frowned down at her dog. “Traitor.” Then her gaze rose to Creed. “I have been craving one of their spicy seafood wraps.” She inhaled and let out the breath. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” With a quick about-face, she spun on the balls of her bare feet and headed for the hallway.
“Don’t take too long,” Creed called out. “My stomach’s growling louder than Moby’s.”
“Poor baby,” she called over her shoulder. “You wouldn’t have a stomach if that shark had decided you were going to be his meal today.”
“I meant to thank you for pointing him out. Dinner’s on me.”
She ducked into a doorway and half closed the door.
He couldn’t see her, but he could see a dresser with a large mirror reflecting her bedroom. Emma moved into range of the mirror, her back to the dresser, as she pulled the tank top over her head and flung it onto the bed.
Creed groaned.
“Did you say something?” Emma’s head ducked around the door.
“No, not a thing,” he hurried to reassure her.
Again, she left the door half-open, and the mirror gave away her every move as she turned to the dresser, her breasts bobbing in front of her, full, rounded and tipped with the rosiest, perfect nipples.
Creed couldn’t look away, his gaze captivated by perky perfection. So captivated he wasn’t aware he was being watched until the door slammed and cut off his view.
“Really, Creed, you could have told me I was flashing you.”
He laughed. “Not a chance I’d have missed that for the world.”
“You know you can go out to eat without me.” She emerged from the bedroom, wearing another dainty sundress, carrying a sweater over one arm. “That wasn’t very gentlemanly of you.”
“I’m sorry, did you mistake me for a gentleman?” He held out his elbow. “I never claimed to be one. A kid from the poor side of L.A. doesn’t acquire those kinds of skills in street gangs.”
“Street gangs?” She looked up at him. “I’m intrigued. Should I be wary?”
“My lips get looser on a full belly.” He opened the door to her cottage and held it for her as she stepped through.
Moby made a dash for open air, but Creed stepped in front of him before he could claim freedom. “Stay.”
His ears drooping, Moby stopped short of making another attempt at escape.
“You’re better at that than I am.” Emma shook her head. “I don’t have the heart to talk to him sternly. I’m gone a good portion of the day or night, and he’s all alone. But he’s always here for me when I am home.”
“As a woman who lives alone, it’s a good thing you have a dog.”
“Yeah,” she snorted. “If I ever have an intruder, Moby will lick him to death.”
Creed pulled the door shut and Emma locked it with her key.
“We can take my car,” Creed suggested.
“Or we can walk. It’s only a couple blocks and it’s a nice night,” Emma said.
“Nice?” Creed looked around at fog coating the landscape as thick as smoke. He didn’t like that he couldn’t see, especially if someone was looking for them, like Phillip Macias.
Emma grinned and pulled him along. “We can see a whole five feet in front of us. Come on, I’ll get you there. Unless you have issues with a woman telling you what to do?”
“No problem whatsoever.”
“Good.” She led him to a diner at the center of town, with a wide porch filled with tables that most likely would be used on a sunny day. Had the fog lifted, he was certain they’d have a great view of the cape.
“Inside or outside?” Emma asked.
“Inside. It’s a bit cool and damp to be outside.”
She led the way into the diner. Older couples, young families with small children, and a table of older men wearing gum boots and fishing hats crowded around the tables and booths. All the tables were full; the place was well lit and bustling.
Just what Creed had hoped. “We can sit at the counter.” He indicated two seats being vacated as they waited.
Emma slid onto the bar stool, her long athletic legs dangling toward the ground, her sandals hanging off her toes, tipped with pretty pink nail polish.
Creed dragged his mind back to the business at hand—finding out whose large yacht was anchored in the cape.
A short, gray-haired woman set menus in front of them.
Emma smiled at her. “Hi, Nora, what’s the special tonight?”
“Grilled tilapia,” she answered. “Who’s your date?”
Emma blushed. “Oh, he’s not my date. We’re just having dinner together.”
Nora rolled her eyes. “Are you single?” She addressed the question to Creed.
Creed grinned. “I am.”
“Then it’s a date, unless times have changed so much this old woman isn’t keeping up.” She stuck her hand out. “Nora Taggart.”
“Any relation to Chief Taggart?” Creed asked.
“She’s my better half.” Chief Taggart stepped up behind them and slid onto an empty stool on the other side of Creed. “Have to come to the café to get my wife to cook for me.” He winked at Nora. “Got quite the crowd tonight,” he commented to his wife. “Keep this up and I can retire and let you support me.”
“Like you would.” Nora snorted softly, her eyes twinkling. “You love your job.”
“Some days better than others.” The chief’s gaze slipped to Creed.
Emma and Creed both placed orders for the special, grilled tilapia.
Nora wrote their order and one for her husband and clipped them to what looked like a clothesline over the window into the kitchen. She turned back to wipe the counter in front of Creed, Emma and Taggart with a clean rag. “More packed than usual for a foggy night,” Nora noted.
“Everyone’s ready for summer. I noticed a few new faces in town, including Creed here.” Chief Taggart clapped a hand to Creed’s back. “Folks are trying to get a jump on the warm weather.”
“Too bad the weather’s not cooperating much,” Emma said. “At least it was clear during the day.”
“I hear you found your boat.” Taggart lowered his voice. “Although I’m not happy to report, the M.E. says the man you brought up was shot in the head.”
“What?” Emma leaned closer to Creed, the scent of her shampoo teasing his senses. “I thought he drowned when the yacht went down.”
Creed hadn’t told her what he’d discovered. With all the blood washed away, the man’s hair covered the entrance wound enough that it took a closer look to determine cause of death was by gunshot wound. He didn’t comment, guessing it would stir up Emma’s ire that he hadn’t bothered to tell her what he’d already determined.
“He thinks it was a small caliber pistol and the shot was taken at close range,” Taggart continued.
Creed nodded. “Probably someone he knew.”
“I suspect it was one of his own crew.”
“Nice crew,” Emma said. “Should we warn Dave not to hire deckhands?”
Chief Taggart faced Creed. “’Fraid I’m gonna have to ask you to hang around in case we have questions.”
“Needed a bit of a vacation anyway.” Creed leaned back. “Emma’s taking me diving tomorrow.”
“I called the Oregon Criminal Investigations Division. They’re sending someone out to investigate as soon as they can. Hopefully tomorrow. You two should steer clear since it’s now considered a crime scene.”
Creed nodded, although he had no intention of staying away from the yacht, any more
than whoever had arranged for the yacht to be at Cape Churn. If there was booty on board, he had to get to it before Macias, or the entire west coast was in jeopardy. For all he knew, whoever killed the captain could have gotten off the boat with the cargo. “Have they identified the man from the yacht or the one who washed ashore?”
“No, but both had tattoos on their upper forearms written in Russian. The criminal investigators might have better luck identifying them. I just hope they complete their investigation before next weekend.”
“Why’s that?” Creed asked.
Nora set glasses of ice water in front of Creed and Emma. “It’s the official kickoff of the summer season. All the schools will be out, and we’ll be inundated with new faces. It would be harder to find a killer in a sea full of strangers.”
“Speaking of strangers, did you see the yacht that anchored in the bay?” Emma asked.
“They got here just in time,” Nora said.
The chief nodded. “The fog followed them in. They won’t be leaving anytime soon.”
“Good.” Nora smiled. “Maybe they’ll get bored and come ashore and spend some of their money. Lord knows we could use the business.”
Creed prayed for the opposite. If they were working for Phillip, they were some of the most ruthless murderers in the world.
“Gabe said they sent a dinghy to shore this afternoon to purchase supplies.”
“Order up!” a voice called out from the window to the kitchen.
Nora spun, gathered steaming plates of grilled tilapia, arranged in a bed of steamed long grain rice and asparagus, and set them in front of Emma, Creed and Taggart.
“Did they say where they were from?” Nora continued.
This was the reason Creed had come to the café. News spread like wildfire in small towns.
“No,” the chief said. “But Joe down at the grocery store said they spoke to each other in a foreign language. Maybe Spanish. When they checked out, they did so in English.”
“Maybe they’re from California.” Nora topped off their glasses of water. “Anything else I can get you two? Not much of a date sitting with my husband, is it.” She gave them a twisted smile and shot a pointed look at the chief.
Creed liked that Emma blushed again.
“We’re not on a date. I’m here for the great food.” She glanced at Creed and added sternly, “I’ll pay my own way.”
He smiled, and her color grew warmer. “You’re in charge. I’m just on vacation.”
She snorted. “So was I.”
Nora turned back from the kitchen. “That reminds me. I heard today that the hospital board of directors cancelled the children’s wing addition. Is that true?”
The warm color faded in Emma’s face, and she stared down at her fork. “So they say. I’m not giving up yet.”
Nora reached out and patted Emma’s arm. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to open old wounds. But you must know that no one blames you for what Randy did.”
“Sure,” she said, not very convincingly.
A female guest waved Nora down, and the older woman set off across the floor to talk to the woman.
Creed ate a bite of tilapia before asking quietly, “Who’s Randy?”
Emma paused with her fork en route to her mouth. “Nobody.” She popped the fish into her mouth and chewed, probably to keep him from asking another question.
Creed didn’t give up easily. “Had to be somebody if he did something that people are blaming you for. What are they blaming you for?”
“You heard Nora—they’re not blaming me. And I don’t want to discuss it.” She set her fork on the counter, dug money out of her dress pocket and laid it on the counter. “If you don’t mind, I’m tired and need to get back to walk Moby before I hit the sack.” She dropped down off her stool.
When Creed moved to follow suit, Emma raised her hand. “No, don’t get up. I know my way home, fog or no fog. Stay and finish your meal. Nora’s café has the best food in town.”
Nora returned to the counter as Emma was leaving. “Leaving already?” Her gaze took in the full plate of food. “Was the tilapia bad?”
“No, no,” Emma reassured the older woman. “I’m not very hungry.”
“Then let me box it for you to take with you.” Nora didn’t wait for an answer, but charged through the swinging door into the kitchen, returning a couple seconds later with a foam to-go box. She scooped the fish and trimmings into the container and handed them to Emma. “In case you get hungry later, pop it into the microwave for thirty seconds. That ought to do it.”
Emma thanked Nora and all but ran for the door.
Creed counted to twenty and followed, determined to get answers to all of his questions. Number one, what had this Randy done to make Emma react so strongly?
* * *
With the mention of the cancellation of the children’s wing heavy on her mind, Emma hurried toward home and the promise of a hot bath with fragrant salts and oils to soothe her frayed nerves. She doubted the day could get any worse. From the news about the wing to the dead man floating into her face and a shark eyeballing her for lunch, it had been eventful, crazy and scary.
What scared her most was the way Creed had been watching her. Every glance he sent her way made her blood burn and her thighs ache for more than just a look. She wanted to pound her head against a wall and beat the image of his sexy smile out of her head so that she could concentrate on what was important. Finding the funds to build the wing.
Carrying the box of tilapia, Emma hurried toward home, glad to leave behind the diner filled with all the townsfolk she knew and cared about. People who had contributed their hard-earned cash toward a project they stood behind wholeheartedly. An addition to their small hospital that would be dedicated to the children of the community.
God, she felt lower than snake spit. It was her fault Randy had stolen the money. Had she not been gullible and in love with the idea of being loved, she might have seen the signs and stopped it before it happened.
“Emma,” Creed’s voice called out behind her.
“Leave me alone.” She didn’t turn around. Instead, she walked faster and faster until she was running through the fog.
She stumbled on a curb in front of the picket fence surrounding her house and would have fallen if strong hands hadn’t reached out and caught her, pulling her against a wall of muscles.
She leaned her head back against his chest, too disheartened to fight him and finding his strength incredibly hard to resist. For too long she’d been on her own, the only person she could count on. Even if it was only for a moment, leaning on someone else felt damned good. “You really do have a problem with following orders, don’t you?”
He turned her in his arms and crooked a finger beneath her chin, tipping her face upward. “What did this Randy do that made you feel you had to run away from your friends?” He brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek.
“He stole the money for the children’s wing,” she said, her tone flat, matter-of-fact.
“And why would that be your fault?”
“You’re going to love this.”
“Try me.”
“I introduced him to the board of directors. They hired him based on my recommendation.” She glanced away from his gaze, her heart squeezing hard in her chest as she admitted, “He was my fiancé.”
“Again...why does it make it your fault?”
Emma was glad she still carried the to-go box of fish; it put just enough distance between her and Creed, plus occupied her hands. She swallowed hard before answering, “He wouldn’t have had access to the money if not for me. Don’t you see?”
“I see you beating yourself up over a bastard who didn’t deserve to call you his fiancée.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Want me to take it up wit
h him?”
She laughed, the sound choking on a sob. “You can’t.”
“Why?”
“He’s dead.”
Chapter 5
“Then why can’t you get the money back?”
“He died in a car wreck. No one knows what he did with the money. The state crime investigators could only trace it to a bank in the Cayman Islands, and from there it just disappeared.” She sighed. “It doesn’t matter. They cancelled the project today. I had hoped to find...” Her words faded off.
“The Anna Maria?”
Emma walked toward the house, digging in her pocket for her key. “I know it’s a long shot, but I’d hoped to find the Anna Maria and maybe a treasure aboard that could be used to replace the money Randy stole.”
“You’re right, that is a long shot.”
She paused with the key in her hand, her jaw tightening and lips forming a straight line. “Maybe it’s stupid, but I have a couple more days of vacation.”
“And I interrupted one day you could have spent looking for the ship.” He smiled. “Now I understand why you weren’t very happy with me.”
“Laugh all you want.” She jammed her key into the lock and twisted it. “It’s my only hope,” Emma whispered.
“Of redeeming yourself for something you didn’t do?” He pushed the door open.
“Of getting a new wing built on the hospital.” Emma entered her house, immediately attacked by Moby. “We need it. Don’t we, boy?” She bent to hug the dog and scratch his ears. “The community has outgrown what we have. Young couples are moving into the area with children or having babies, and they need to know they have a hospital nearby in case of emergencies. A hospital that can handle the needs of their small children.”
“You don’t have to sell me on the idea. It sounds great.” As soon as Creed spoke, Moby launched himself at the man.
Emma grabbed for Moby’s collar, missed and cringed as Moby slammed into Creed. A hit that would have knocked most men to the ground only made Creed stagger backward a step before he braced himself and shoved the animal to his feet.