by Emily Bishop
“Really? Because when I walked in, a gang member with a knife was about to kill you. You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t thank you,” she hisses, then looks around. She’ll be a source of some juicy gossip for at least the next two weeks, and she knows it, too.
She gives the room an apologetic smile. “You can never know how long it takes to weed out the unsavory ones before they get the message. All is well now. Free cheddar biscuits for everyone?”
The room bursts into good cheer again, the tension gone. Except from Naomi, who nods at the door. She wants me to join her there, and I consider staying put, just to piss her off, but I change my mind. I want her talking. The more she talks, the more I learn.
When I reach the door, she whispers at me, her voice filled with anger.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was hungry. Don’t you ever get hungry?”
“Are you surveilling me?”
It’s a fair question, and not far from the truth. I don’t think that was my original purpose, but deep down, it might have been part of my intention.
“I’m having dinner with my friend. You remember James,” I say, gesturing toward the lieutenant.
His eyes dart between us as some kind of understanding dawns in them. I don’t know what he thinks he understands, but he’s wrong. I see my mistake now. Part of me wanted to see her again, and that increases my annoyance.
“I see we might have come in error. Perhaps burgers will make a better choice. Apologies for saving your life.”
“You didn’t save my life!”
I walk out, and James follows. Likely, he wants to talk about this, and I won’t let him. I slide into the car and speed away toward a fast food place, but my mind is still behind me.
There’s still time tonight to get information out of Naomi, and I’ve got at least one more try in me.
7
Naomi
The rest of the night goes off without a hitch. I get a lot of compliments on my cheese biscuits, and I hope they’re enough to get everyone to forget the little altercation with Skippy and his little group of friends. The last thing I need is people spreading the word that unsavory people frequent my joint and it’s unsafe to eat at. If that happens, I might as well try my luck back in Chicago, even though I love being back home more than anything.
A young couple finishes their lobsters and pays their bill, and, to my great relief, this night has come to an end. This day has felt like an eternity. Somehow, I managed to get arrested and released and still make it to work to finish out the night.
All in all, I’d call that dedication.
“Whew! My feet are killing me,” Katie says. She turns a chair around and plops down into it, resting her chin along the back. Her expression grows serious as she looks at me.
“Hey, thanks for what you did tonight, standing up for me. That was awesome. You looked like a Greek goddess standing up to that guy.”
I laugh at the comparison. I pull a bottle of red wine from the rack and pop it open. I pour two healthy glasses and hand her one.
She holds it up in a toast. “To surviving the scourge of this town and preserving the integrity of this restaurant!”
“Hear, hear,” I agree, and I clink her glass with enthusiasm. The crystalline sound echoes across the empty room.
“And to knights in shining armor,” she adds with a gleam in her eye. “May they always show up exactly when we need.”
My brow furrows at this addition, and I don’t raise my glass.
“I didn’t need any help. I was about to shove that guy’s ass right out the door.”
“Uh huh,” Katie replies, taking a drink. She pulls out a wad of bills and starts counting her tips, which are much larger than usual, thanks to Skippy’s pile. I take a sip of wine, but I don’t finish the glass. I’m too on edge to drink, even though it seemed like a good idea at first.
I slide my glass over to Katie. “Here. Have a party.”
“You leaving? What a slacker,” she teases, and I grin back at her as I head toward the kitchen.
“You’re right, but after the months it took to get this place running, I think I’ve earned the right to slack every once in a while.”
“Or to have some romance,” she retorts, wiggling her eyebrows at me.
“The wine is clouding your judgement. I’m leaving before it gets worse.”
The sound of her laughter resounds behind me as I bid goodnight to poor Paul, who has been the soul of patience this evening even with my absence. I thank him for being such a great team player, and he nods, his eyes warm at the praise. I have a soft spot for Paul, because he reminds me of my brother. I look out for him, as I would Alex.
The thought of my brother sends a rush of sadness through me, and I bid Paul goodnight. I head out the back, not willing to suffer any more teasing from Katie. She means well, but she’s wrong. If I never see Ben again, I’ll be better for it.
“Hi.”
I step out of the alley behind the restaurant only to find Ben leaning against his personal car—an old, brown truck. I release a frustrated breath, and a puff of steam comes out in the cold.
“Haven’t you had enough of me for one day?”
I realize, too late, that this is a loaded question.
Ben has had more of me than many other men out there, and he’s likely remembering how much went down earlier. I want to regret it, but I don’t. A tiny part of me, the part I generally like to ignore, would like to give him more.
Of course, that’s a terrible decision, so I shove it into the back of my mind.
“I thought I’d walk you home.”
A laugh escapes me at this, and I find myself smiling against my will. I turn back to my front door, mere steps away.
“Great job, you did it. You can officially write in the record that you kept me safe tonight.”
“Walk with me,” he says. It’s a question, made in the form of a statement. I can tell that if I say no, he won’t protest, but I don’t want to. I hate that.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because it’s a nice evening, and I would like to take you for a walk.”
“Maybe you should get a dog. I hear they like to be taken for walks.”
“Do you fight this hard about everything?”
“Who said I was fighting?”
“Are you coming or not?”
“Oh, now we’re getting serious. As long as you promise not to detain me again, I’d be willing to do one loop around the dock.”
Even in the dark, I see his lips twitch, and I crave him more than ever. Against all better judgement, I want to suck on that full bottom lip of his, maybe take a little bite. Maybe taste a little lower. Or a lot lower.
The twilight has befuddled my mind. I give my head a gentle shake and walk up to stand next to him, nodding ahead with my chin. “All right then. Let’s get this over with.”
“Get what over with?”
“Whatever scheme you have crafted. Is this some kind of ploy to get information out of me?”
“Must everything be a trick with you?”
“You tell me,” I counter, and he walks on in silence.
The ocean laps against the shore, waves caressing gray stones then pulling back toward the sea. I inhale. I love the scent of the ocean at night, paired with the cold. Fall is in the air, and the promise of a new season, of change, always fills my heart with excitement.
“Do you come down here often?” he asks. He glances out at the boats, and his expression is hard. This is killing him. He wants answers, but he’ll be disappointed. I’ve got nothing to share.
“Not to this exact place, no. I meet a lot of our fish and lobstermen out down the way a bit to negotiate prices.”
“So, you don’t own a boat or anything?”
I look up at him. His chin is strong and angular. The shadows of night cast against his face make him look even more domineering than usual, and, to my dismay, I find it hot as hell.
“I had nothin
g to do with the theft, Ben,” I say.
He looks down at me and searches my eyes, seeking answers there. I stare up at him. I have nothing to hide. He might as well figure that out now, so I can save myself another arrest.
“Do you remember anything about the man you saw on the boat? Anything at all that might prove helpful as a clue?”
I reach into the corners of my mind. I’ve been trying to hold onto any image of that man, of the situation, but my defense mechanisms are hard at work. I recall the barrel of the gun, the black mask, but nothing beneath it. I tell Ben as much, and he nods, walking on.
“That’s normal for victims of crimes like this,” he says. “But if you do remember anything, you’ll tell me?”
“Of course, I will. I want that asshole to be caught, too. It’s not every day someone tries to kill me.”
“Well, now, that is good to hear,” he says. The humor in his voice is comforting in the dark, and I nudge his shoulder with my own.
“Shut up,” I say.
“Fine,” he agrees. We walk back to my place and stop at my front door. I glance at the spot where he fucked me earlier, my back pressed to the wall. Will he make a move again? I turn to look up at him.
“Well, thanks for stuff.”
“I’m sorry, ‘stuff?’”
“Ugh,” I grumble. “Thanks for saving my ass tonight. It was helpful.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“And now I regret it. Goodnight, Sheriff.”
He looks down at me. Is he going to kiss me? I’m perfectly happy to have another go. This guy knows what he’s doing with a woman’s body, and I wouldn’t mind taking full advantage of that. He steps back, and a pang of disappointment hits me in the gut.
“Goodnight, Naomi. I’ll be in touch.”
“About the case?”
I sound so desperate. I wish I could take the words back.
He nods. “Yes. About the case. Sleep well.”
He turns and walks off into the night, back to his truck. I stare after him a moment, safe in the shadows. Does he trust me, or does he still suspect my involvement?
Could he have sex with me and still think I’m an accomplice?
8
Ben
My body shoots out of bed, my back moist with cold sweat as I stare around the room. My heart pounds in my chest, and my eyes dart around as they acclimate to the light of day.
Just another dream. Another goddamned fucking dream.
I lay back against my thick white pillow and close my eyes. I breathe in and out, focusing on that action, like my post-discharge therapist taught me to do. At first, this kind of thing did nothing to stop my anxiety, my terror. Over time, it’s gotten slightly easier, but no matter what, the nightmares still come.
They are one of the reasons I never stay the night with a woman.
I release one final breath and open my eyes, taking in my peaceful surroundings.
I’m in my room, in Maine. The distant tide crashes against the shore. I glance at my clock. Shit, I’m going to be late if I don’t get my ass up, and I jump out of bed. When I move, I don’t think. It keeps me in action most of the time.
I shed my shorts and underwear, and I turn on the shower. I step beneath the water and allow my nightmares to melt away. I turn my thoughts to the day ahead and what needs to be done.
Quite a bit, actually.
I think about it, wash up, then step out and make fast work of dressing for the day in a pair of blue jeans and a white button-down shirt.
I roll up my sleeves, slide into a pair of comfortable shoes, and head out the door. I cast a glance at a few of my car projects and make a mental note to work on one or two of the engines later. Tinkering helps calm my mind. If only I had time to do that this morning, to clear my head.
I don’t have that luxury, so I slide into my take-home cruiser and drive to the station. I pull into my spot and walk in, wondering if I’ve beaten James or not. I haven’t. He’s sitting right at the desk in front, staring at his cell phone. He looks up and presses a button, sliding it under the desk.
“Working hard?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow at him.
It feels weird to be his boss. I’ve led teams before in the military, but that was different. Those men were like my brothers. James is more like a distant cousin that I don’t know how to connect with, so I don’t.
He shrugs off my comment. “You’ve got a voicemail,” he says, changing the subject.
“How do you know?”
“Because I was reading the morning paper, and the mayor has published some pretty strong words about this yacht theft.”
Ugh.
Why is this my life? I nod and head toward my office, where the ominous red light blinks. I take a seat, prepared to face the day. Anything is better than facing my own sleeping brain. Isn’t it?
The bustle of officers going about their business, grabbing coffees or discussing work surrounds me, but I block it out.
I pick up the phone and check voicemails. There are twenty-nine. One of them is from the mayor. The rest are from concerned boat owners calling to check on the status of my hunt for the thief.
“If you could give me a call back and let me know what’s going on, I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”
I take down the names and numbers. They should’ve called the sheriff’s department directly, but everyone around here has a contact who has my number. It grinds my gears.
James may have thought his comment was smart earlier, but he won’t be as thrilled when I hand this paper to him for follow up on. Finally, I listen to the mayor’s message one more time. He wants a call, and I’m not about to turn it down.
I dial the number and wait for the other line to answer.
His secretary, Bette, picks up. “Mayor Robichaud’s office, how can I help you?”
“Hey, Bette. It’s Ben.”
“Ben! How are you, dear?”
“I’m wonderful, and yourself?”
“Oh, fine, fine, though it’s not my boat that got stolen. Let me patch you through.”
“Thanks.”
I only wait a second before Beau Robichaud’s voice pierces my ear.
“Ben? What in God’s name happened there? My office is being swarmed with anxious callers, all convinced they’re going to get their property stolen. We have a reputation as a safe town, Ben!”
“I know, Beau. We’re getting them, too. And we’re going to fix it.”
“You better, because our reputation, our survival as a town, depends on people being willing to come up here to visit, to get away. If we get a rep for being dangerous, we’ll lose a lot more than a yacht.”
“I know. I’ve got it handled. The culprit will be caught and charged.”
“They better, because if they don’t, I’m not sure we can trust you to provide for this town’s safety. Every day that passes the people trust us, and you, less.”
Seriously?
I have to fight hard to maintain my training. Beau is a superior, and my employer.
“Understood. I’ll be in touch soon.”
“I’ll look forward to that report,” he says, his voice terse. He ends the call then, and I hang up. I run a palm across my face, rubbing my eyes. What a fucking mess this is. Maybe I should have stayed in the military, after all.
Even as I think it, I don’t believe that. It was time to get out, but is civilian, small-town life good for me? If something like this can destroy my career, is it worth it?
I stand and fold the list of callbacks, keeping it in my hand at my waist as I step back out. James is waiting for me, and he glances up, trying not to look like he’s excited for gossip.
My god, small town people are predictable.
“How’d it go?” he asks. There is a tinge of excitement in his voice.
“He was disturbed by the news, but he has faith in us to solve this mystery and bring the asshole to justice.”
James’s face falters a little, but he’s quick to bring it bac
k to a neutral expression. If I hadn’t been trained in reading people from every angle, I would miss something like that. This morning, it doesn’t go undetected.
Poor James. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. He ran against me for sheriff and he’s never gotten over the loss.
“Does he have any leads?”
“Why would he have any leads?”
James shrugs. “Sometimes political leaders know things that cops don’t. They’re better connected.”
“I don’t think anyone around here is that connected.” I glance around at the other deputies and sigh. What the fuck is James on today?
“You don’t?” he asks, and I don’t like his tone. I stare at him and wait for him to elaborate on that.
“You brought in Naomi Greeves yesterday, dripping wet, right out of the water. I could have sworn that you were convinced of her guilt, even pissed that you didn’t have enough to go on and had to let her go. This morning you’re telling me that no one here is connected, when there are pieces of evidence all over that woman.”
My gut twists with anger at his insinuation, and it shouldn’t. He’s not altogether wrong. I did drag Naomi in a day ago with full intent of making her confess to the crime, or at least that she was an accomplice in one way or another.
But now, after speaking with her, seeing her in action at her restaurant, I think she’s telling the truth.
I’m not convinced Naomi has anything to do with the crime. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I’ve spoken with her several times since then. I don’t have a reason now to think that she was connected to the crime. I think she’s innocent.”
“You think? Was that during the romantic drive home you provided last night? Did something happen after that to change your mind?”
He’s making outrageous insinuations. What pisses me off the most is that they are close to the truth, and I don’t like that he’s making correct guesses about this. Is the fact that I’ve slept with Naomi clouding my judgement?
I never let sex get in the way of my better judgement. It’s been a rule of mine for a long time, and it’s kept me out of a lot of trouble. I shouldn’t have had sex with her, but I can’t quite find the will to feel bad about it. I still crave her, even now. I want to grab her hair as I get her on her knees. I want to drive my dick home, nice and hard, and watch her come from that angle.