by Emily Bishop
All thoughts melt away as he pulls onto the main road and the wind whips my long hair around us both. He’s right—it’s not far off. It’s not docked in the same area as the stolen yacht, and instead he drives out along a dock a few rows away, closer to the rocky shore. He turns off the engine, and I have to pry my arms off of him. Nothing in me wants to let go.
He steps off and unstraps the pack. He nods to the left and my gaze follows the direction indicated. A rickety old boat bobs in the water, almost unnoticeable between the yachts and brand-new boats all around it.
“This is the Lady McLane,” Ben says, his voice proud. “My uncle’s boat.”
“It’s lovely,” I say, out of politeness.
Ben chuckles. “It’s not, but it’s practical, and it’s filled with some great memories. Come aboard.”
He steps onto the boat and sets his supplies down. He holds out a hand to help me board. I don’t need it, but I’m glad for it anyway. Any excuse to touch Ben is a good one. I step inside and wobble a moment, gaining my sea legs. He holds me steady, our bodies facing one another, so close. I don’t feel cold at all.
Quite the opposite.
Ben spreads a soft blanket along the scuffed-up deck, and then he pulls out a pair of lanterns and turns them on. He sets them on either side of us and unwraps the bag, revealing a picnic basket filled with fresh fruits, cheeses, cold cuts, and a few canisters.
“Some hot soup to warm you up?” he asks, opening one of the canisters. The scent is delectable… and familiar.
“That’s my chowder,” I say, surprised.
He laughs. “While you were taking twenty years getting ready, I had Katie fill this up for me. Figured we should have the best available.”
His compliment sends a blush across my cheeks, and I accept the tin cup he gives me, filled with steaming hot soup. When I take a sip, I have to admit that it is pretty darn tasty. I glance up. The stars are twinkling silently above us. The sound of the water lapping against the boat is soothing and romantic all at once, and I find myself feeling relaxed.
There was nothing to worry about, was there?
“Thanks for this,” I say.
“For what?”
“For making me get out. It doesn’t happen that often.”
“Believe it or not, it doesn’t happen for me, either.”
I gesture to the food around us, taking a succulent grape and plopping it into my mouth. Sweet juice explodes in my mouth before I swallow and take another.
“You look like a pro to me.”
“I’m an expert at packing food in a hurry.”
“And how’d you acquire such a skill?”
He hesitates on his answer, and I lean in.
“I was in the Special Forces for several years. We had to learn to pack up and move out within seconds. This was a cinch, by comparison.”
“Wow, what was that like?”
“I think you can imagine, if you’ve seen a war film.”
“Yeah, but those films are about soldiers. Special Forces is a league of its own, isn’t it?”
“I suppose. It was a job I was good at, and a friend of mine convinced me to join up with him. It’s a job I probably would have kept for life.”
“Probably?” I ask.
His eyes are heavy with sorrow. He’s not looking at me. His eyes are steady on the blanket. “I lost a good friend out there last year. It was enough to make me realize that I needed to give civilian life a try, so I came back here.”
A million questions rush into my head, and I wonder how much daring I have to ask them. I’m about to when we hear a bang from a nearby boat. Ben tenses. He stands and looks all around us, and I join him. Two boats down, the silhouette of a lanky man fiddling with something waxes from the darkness.
I know that outline.
“Skippy,” I breathe. “There’s no way that boat belongs to him.”
Ben leaps out of the boat in that instant, and Skippy sees him. The shadow darts off the yacht and bolts toward the shore.
“Stop!” Ben yells, and he takes off after him.
Just like that, our date is over.
14
Ben
That greasy little shit thinks he can get away from me, and he has another thing coming.
My feet pound against the metal ground as I give chase. He bolts up the dock, and when he reaches the end, he makes a sharp right turn. My gaze drifts ahead of him. About half a mile away, a motorcycle wheel pops out from behind a rock.
So, he thought he could sneak in on us, did he? I think about what a nice night I was having, and it only serves to up my rage level. I never get time to enjoy myself, ever. When I finally do, I get interrupted by more petty criminals in a town that was supposed to quiet my mind. My blood boils and my legs burn as I pick up my pace, racing down the boardwalk.
It doesn’t take me long to catch up with him. When he looks back to see where I’m at, I slam my fist into his face and feel a satisfying crunch as he goes down.
“Ah! Fuck you!” he screams. He cradles his face as he rolls around on the ground, but I’m not allowing any of that. The man could easily be distracting me while he reaches for a weapon. His nose is bleeding, and shiny dark blood splatters on the ground.
I drag his ass up and wrap his hands behind his back. I don’t have any cuffs—I honestly didn’t expect that I’d need any. At least, not for something like this. I turn Skippy to face the boats, and Naomi runs up the dock to catch us.
Damn.
She is beyond stunning. Her long brown hair flows behind her as she runs, and her breasts bounce a bit. I had such a night planned for both of us, and now because of this piece of shit, I have to leave her here.
Damn, fuck, damn.
She reaches us, a little out of breath, and there’s fear in her eyes as she looks at Skippy. It makes me like the man even less, and I honestly didn’t think that was possible.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take this piece of garbage in for questioning,” I say to Naomi. I’m filled with regret, and a little bit of guilt. I have no reason to feel guilty, but I’m deeply disappointed. I don’t want to leave this beautiful woman here, but I have no choice.
“I understand completely,” she says. Her voice has steel in it, and I have to give her credit for bravado. She’s almost convinced me that she’s not afraid, but her body language suggests otherwise. There’s something about Skippy that frightens her more than usual, and I find myself wanting to figure out what that is.
I would love a good excuse to toss this motherfucker in jail.
“One second,” I say, and I pull out my cell phone. I place a call to the station.
Tilda answers with that usual smile in her voice. Thank god for her—she makes my job easier. “Sheriff’s Department, how may I help?”
“Sheriff here. I’m 10-26 and I need a wanted check. We’re stranded at the docks. Can you dispatch a unit to pick up the suspect?”
“10-04, Sheriff. The Suspect’s identification?”
I give it to her and there’s a pause. He comes back as warrant free, which is a big surprise to me.
“There’s a unit on its way to your position, Sheriff.”
“Thanks, Tilda.” I hang up and sigh.
We stand there in tense silence. Skippy glares at the ground. I’m staring at Naomi, who is looking at me like there’s so much she wants to say but can’t in front of the date wrecker. A pair of headlights finally washes over us, and I drag Skippy over to the car.
One of the officers from the station, Georgie, gets out and grins at me. “I’ll take it from here, Sheriff.” He grabs Skippy by the arm, and I tear myself away. I walk back to Naomi.
“Never a dull moment with you, is there?” she asks, her voice soft, backed by the haze of lights on the dock.
I want to kiss her, to apologize. Instead, I reach down and squeeze her hand.
“I’ll make this up to you, OK? We’re going to have a real date, without any of this getting in our way
.”
Her lip curls ever so slightly, and I ache for her in that moment. I want Naomi with every fiber of my being, but I’m on the job now. “You want to question him yourself, don’t you?”
“I do,” I reply.
It bothers me that Skippy was here. I need to know more about this, to grasp control of this shitty situation.
“Hand me your phone,” I say, and she tilts her head in confusion, but does as I ask. I quickly tap my number into her cell and call myself, then hand it back to her.
“I’ll be in touch,” I say. I can’t help myself. I lean in and press my lips against her cheek. “Let me give you a ride back to your restaurant. I doubt you’ll want to take my bike yourself.”
She laughs. “Actually, that might be kinda fun. I haven’t done that in ages.”
There’s a weighted pause, and I hand her the keys to my Honda. “Here you go. I’m trusting you with my baby, now.” That’s got to tell her something. I turn toward the police cruiser, and the waiting officer.
“Ben?”
I look back.
“Be safe, OK? These guys aren’t messing around.”
I wonder what she means by that, but I nod.
“I’m good. Talk to you soon.”
I slide into the car, and we speed off toward the station. I only get a glimpse of Naomi straddling the bike before she’s out of sight. It’s an uneventful ride to the station.
We arrive at the station, and Georgie cuts the engine.
“I’ll question the guy if you want, Sheriff” he says.
“No, I’ll do that myself.” I reply. Together we bring Skippy inside and drag him toward the interrogation room. The blood has dried on Skippy’s face, giving him a gaunt, murderous look. It certainly doesn’t help him in any way, though I wonder if I should offer him a wet wipe. I pull out my cell and dial Naomi’s number. Thoughts of Skippy melt away at the sound of her voice.
“Danger’s Mistress, how may I direct your call?”
I laugh.
“Danger’s Mistress?” I ask.
“Not many other names to go by at this point. I seem to be getting into trouble constantly these days.”
“I take it by answering it means that you’ve made it home.”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Good.” Nothing sucked more than leaving her there.
I cast a glance at the interrogation room, and I know I need to get in there.
“I have to get going. You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Go fight crime. I’ll see you later.”
“Later,” I say and end the call.
I’m glad I called her. Her voice fills me with purpose as I step toward the interrogation room and open the door.
“You better tell me what you know, now.” James sits across from Skippy, his eyes narrowed.
I clear my throat. What the fuck is James doing here? He shouldn’t be on duty. Hell, he shouldn’t even be in this room. This isn’t his collar. I let it slide because calling him out means weakening our position in front of the suspect.
Skippy crosses his arms and stares at me. “I’m not telling you anything.”
“That implies you have something to tell,” I say.
He shrugs. “I was watching that boat for a friend of mine. They asked me to keep an eye on it while they’re away for the season. They give me cash for it, too. Real good deal.”
He stares me as he talks, and his eyes speak volumes. He wants me to know he’s lying. He’s laughing at me in silence because this is clearly a game he’s played before.
“Great. So, give us the name of the boat owner, and when that checks out, we’ll let you go.”
Skippy glares up at me. “I don’t think so. I’m not endangering my work relationship because you morons don’t know how to go after actual criminals in this town. How’s that yacht theft search coming?”
James winds up and prepares to backhand the man, and I grab his fist.
Skippy shakes his head and tsks at James. “Temper, temper, Officer. You should get some therapy for that rage.”
“You better talk, or I’ll fuck you up more than you can possibly imagine.”
“Ooh, I’m real scared. You think I don’t live under that threat every day? Fuck you, man.”
“James. A word outside.”
“Oh, somebody’s in trouble now,” Skippy taunts, and I nearly have to shove James out the door.
When it closes, I cross my arms as I look at him. “You’re off this case.”
His eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? I’m not here to do paperwork, Ben. Let me do my fucking job!”
“Your job is to keep your head, and right now you’re losing it. I’m not taking on a legal suit for police brutality because you can’t get it together in an interrogation.”
“You arrogant prick. You are not the only cop who can do anything around here. I’m tired of being your bitch, doing all the grunt work!”
“And I’m tired of this conversation. Go home and cool off. You shouldn’t even be here this late. I expect you to be rational in the morning. If you can’t swing that, don’t bother coming back.”
He’s staring at me, his eyes calculating. I don’t move.
“Whatever, man.”
I let him have the last word as he storms out of the building and takes off. I rub a hand along my eyes. I don’t have enough to hold Skippy, and his story could easily check out. It’s a small town, and I can find him if I need to. I walk back into the room.
“You’re free to go then,” I say, and Skippy’s out of his chair in an instant. He walks past me as I step aside. “Don’t think you will be for long, though.”
He grins back at me. “You’re the least of my worries, Sheriff.”
He wiggles his fingers at me as he makes his grand exit right behind James. I wonder if I should have tried to make up a reason to lock him up. What if he’s a danger to Naomi? Was it a coincidence that he was there, two boats away from us? What am I missing here?
Is Naomi in danger, or am I?
15
Naomi
It is an excellent morning for music.
I turn on my favorite stream and blast it through the restaurant. I have to take inventory of my stock, and so I opted to wake up before the sun to come in and get it done. I don’t mind being up when it’s dark out. Outside the front windows, the sun peeks over the thin line of ocean along the distant horizon, and the sky melts from an inky black to an indigo glow along the edges.
It’s my absolute favorite time of day.
I sing along to an upbeat song as I check off my list, my hand loaded with printouts. It’s a love song, and my mind naturally flows to Ben. If only last night hadn’t been interrupted. There was so much more I wanted to do.
There’s so much more I want to know.
It’s so weird being into a cop. I promised myself I would never trust one again after what happened to Alex, but Ben is irresistible. There’s something about him that draws me in, a magnetic force field that I can’t deny. He can be so prickly and distant, but then a coin flips and he’s calling to make sure I get home OK and lending me his jacket on a romantic twilight picnic.
I’m counting all my cans of tomato paste when there’s a knock on the back door. I look at the clock. It’s not even eight in the morning. I’m not expecting Paul in for another hour or more to start with the prep. Another three knocks. Whoever is out there has a firm set of knuckles.
My heart flutters—it might be Ben, here to surprise me, to make up for our interruption last night. With that thought in mind, I practically skip to the back entrance and throw open the door.
“Hey, stranger,” I say, and then stop cold.
A lump of ice sinks to the pit of my stomach at the sight of Jordan.
He’s wearing a black leather jacket and worn jeans. His hair matches his coat, and his soul.
His eyes pierce through me as he steps in without an invitation. “Expecting me, were
you?”
“I thought you were someone else.”
“The pig, you mean?”
“He’s not a pig!”
I’m playing into his hands. He wants me flustered. He wants me to give myself away. With that one comment, I already have. He steps around me, and I’m forced to turn to face him. I leave the door open in case I need to scream. I have no idea if anyone would come to help. If it wasn’t so cold, there would be crickets chirping on the dock.
Jordan chuckles and paces around me, circling his prey. He thinks this is a game. He likes to toy with people, to get into their heads then leave them damaged while he moves on to the next person. I never saw who he truly was until it was too late.
“You sound a little defensive of your true love, Naomi. You better watch that tone, or I’ll think you’ve gotten over me already.”
“I got over you a long time ago, and you know it. Now get out of here, or I swear to God…”
“That you’ll what? Call your boyfriend to come after me?” He strolls casually by a counter and slides a shucking knife from its sheath.
My heart beats a little faster. How far is he willing to go to scare me? “I happen to be in good standing with the local sheriff’s department. Besides that, you kill me and Ben will find you. I know he will.”
“I know he will,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery. “You sound like the heroine in a trashy romance novel, Naomi. Grow the fuck up. That cop will screw you in any way you let him, and then he’ll disappear. Maybe he’ll frame you for a crime you didn’t commit, to get you off his back.”
“He wouldn’t do that. He’s nothing like you.”
“Tsk, tsk. Now let’s not go making wild accusations where they aren’t warranted.”
He’s still pacing around me, sliding the knife between his fingertips, caressing it like a pet snake.
“Enough of this. Say what you came here to say and leave. I don’t need you to toy with me, Jordan. If you ever cared for me at all, you’ll leave me in peace.”
That works, on some level. He sets the knife on another counter and approaches me. He faces me head on, standing a foot away. He jumps at me, and to my undying shame, I flinch.