by Lucy Quinn
“What things?” She could see that he was angry now too, though she wasn’t sure if it was at her or just at the situation. “Flirting with the locals? Managing an inn? Fighting with your mother?”
“That’s better than nothing,” she told him. She kicked a rock, and it skittered across the parking lot. The matter-of-factness of her answer drained his rage away as though someone had stuck a spout in his side. “Believe me, I miss it all like crazy,” she continued. “How could I not? Being in the FBI is everything I’d worked for all those years, and I loved it there, Hunter, you know I did. But it’s not safe for me. I can’t be Charlene Jamieson right now. Maybe not ever again. I don’t know. That remains to be seen. But at least Cookie James can try to have some kind of a life, even if it can’t possibly be the same.” She reached across the car roof toward him, the metal under her arms warm from the sun. “I need you to understand that,” she pleaded. “Please.”
For once, Hunter abandoned his tough-guy image and responded, taking her hands in his. “I do,” he promised. “I do understand it.” A small, sad smile blossomed at the corners of his mouth. “Just don’t ask me to like it.”
They held hands for a few seconds before he reluctantly let her go.
But as they slipped into the car to begin their trek back to the ferry, Cookie was lost in her own thoughts. Everything she’d said to Hunter had been true. She missed being an active FBI agent like crazy. She also missed Philly itself, with its energy and excitement and all the possibilities there.
At the same time, there were things she’d found to like on Secret Seal Isle. The Salty Dog was one of them. People like Larry were another. The sunsets were glorious, and the coastline really was beautiful. The seafood was amazing. Getting to spend time with Rain, though frustrating, was something she’d been missing out on for years.
And then there was Dylan.
Could all of that offset what she’d given up when she’d left? Maybe. Maybe not. She wasn’t sure yet.
But she knew that she was willing to find out.
She also knew, if she was being honest, that the last three days had been the best since they’d moved out here. Part of that had been seeing and spending time with Dylan, certainly. But part of it was being with Hunter again.
And the largest part of it was working this case. This was what she’d really missed; the thrill of the chase and the sheer joy of going on the hunt.
Clearly, she mused with a smirk, Dr. Delgado’s theory about names shaping people didn’t always apply. Or maybe Rain had meant to name her something like Hunter, too.
13
The ferry only ran four times a day and took half an hour to get from Hancock to Secret Seal Isle, so Cookie and Hunter had plenty of time to talk over what they’d learned.
Which, unfortunately, wasn’t a whole lot yet.
“We need to figure out the murder weapon,” Hunter said for the third time after they’d finally driven onto the ferry and were standing at one of the rails, looking out over the water. The engine roared as the boat slowly made its way across. “Until we know what the hell it was, we don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of determining who did it.”
Cookie had her phone out in a second and pulled up the photo she’d taken at the morgue. “There’s no way that’s a knife,” she pointed out, studying the large, rounded hole. “A chisel, maybe? Or some kind of spike?” She shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“Me either,” Hunter admitted. “Ask me to guesstimate the caliber of a gunshot wound, and I’ll get it right nine times out of ten. But something like this? Who the hell knows?”
“Actually,” Cookie replied, a thought occurring to her, “I know someone who just might.” She grinned. “But you’re not going to like it.”
“Who?” Hunter twisted around to see her face and scowled at her expression. “Oh, come on. Seriously?”
“He knows tools,” she said. “And that’s what we need right now.” She frowned at him. “Provided you can check your ego at the door long enough to work together.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, turning to stare out at the water again. “Go ahead and call him. Let’s see if Backwoods Bill can be of some use.”
Cookie swatted at him with one hand, already dialing with the other. “Hey,” she said once he picked up. “Any chance you can meet us at the inn in about half an hour? There’s something we could use your help with.” She listened to the reply then said, “Great, see you then.” She tucked the phone into her jeans pocket. “He’ll be there,” she reported to Hunter, who only scowled some more.
This, she thought as she watched the island approach as slowly and inevitably as the tide, was going to be interesting. At the very least.
“What’s up?” Dylan asked as he mounted the porch steps. There was a spring in his step and a smile on his face, but both faltered when he caught sight of Hunter standing just to the side of Cookie’s seat, arms crossed and face stony. “Agent O’Neil,” he continued in a far different tone of voice. “So is this an official questioning?”
“Why? Do you have anything to hide?” Hunter growled back, but Cookie held up a hand to stop him.
“No, of course not,” she told Dylan warmly. “Like I said on the phone, we could use your help with something.” She patted the seat next to her, the one on the other side from Hunter. “Sit down. Please?”
“Sure.” Dylan lowered into the chair but warily cast a glance back at Hunter, who hadn’t budged. “What do you need?”
“It’s about Chip Winslow, obviously,” Cookie explained, since it was clear Hunter wasn’t going to be much help. “We know how he was killed, but we don’t know what did it. I was hoping you might have some ideas.”
“Me?” Dylan tensed beside her. “Why me?”
“Because we think it could be a tool of some sort, and you know tools,” she answered. “Would you be willing to take a look at the wound and see if it reminds you of anything? It’s a bit grisly, I’m afraid.”
Dylan shrugged. “Sure. Can’t make any promises, but I’ll give it a go.”
“Great.” Cookie smiled at him.
He relaxed a little, and his chair creaked as he settled back into it.
She pulled the picture up on her phone and handed it over. “That’s it.”
“Ouch.” He stared at the picture but didn’t seem sickened by it. Then again, if he’d grown up out here he’d probably seen his fair share of grisly injuries, Cookie thought. Just from what she’d observed, lobstering wasn’t exactly the safest profession, and accidents happened all the time. “How big was this hole?” Dylan asked after a second.
“Um, maybe an inch or two across?” Cookie turned to Hunter for confirmation, but all she got was a brusque nod. So much for being on his best behavior. “About that, I think. Sorry. I should’ve put something next to it for scale, but I didn’t think of it at the time.”
Dylan continued to study the image. “You could be looking at a hammer,” he said finally, “but I doubt it. Most hammers have shaped heads, octagonal or hexagonal or sometimes square for the narrower ones, and those would have left a sharper edge and a more defined hole. This”—he pointed—“looks a lot rounder and rougher, like whatever did it didn’t have any facets.” He frowned. “Too big to be anything like an awl, and those are made to punch through anyway. The way this is all smashed in, I’m guessing whatever hit him wasn’t designed for that. And it hit him straight on, too—there’s nothing to the side—so it wasn’t a wrench or a pipe.” He handed back the phone. “I don’t have a clue what could’ve caused that. Sorry.”
Cookie started to tell him that was fine, it had been a long shot anyway, when behind her Hunter snorted. “Figures,” he muttered, just loud enough for them to hear. Both of them.
Dylan was on his feet in an instant. “You got a problem, man?” he demanded, taking a step toward where Hunter loomed.
“No problem at all,” Cookie’s ex-partner replied, taking care to enunciate each word slowly as if
Dylan were impaired somehow. “But this is a waste of my time. Cookie thought you might be able to help. I was never under any such illusion.”
“Oh, because us simple folks out here on the island couldn’t possibly know anything that Mr. Big City Agent didn’t?” Dylan asked, stopping right in front of Hunter now. Cookie saw that the two men were the exact same height, which of course made glaring at each other a lot easier.
“You said it, I didn’t,” Hunter replied. “But yeah, something like that.”
Dylan glared at Hunter. “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a bad attitude?” he said, his voice low and intense.
Hunter just gave a tight little grin.
“Attitude like that’s likely to end with a black eye and a broken nose,” Dylan warned.
That made Hunter push off the wall he’d been half-leaning against and get directly in Dylan’s face. “Are you threatening a federal agent?” he asked, his voice soft and cold, his eyes black with rage. “That’s a felony.”
“Good thing you’ve got that badge to hide behind, then,” Dylan answered just as intensely. “Wouldn’t want to have to face anyone on your own two feet.”
“If you want a piece of me, Farmer Bob, I’m more than ready—” Hunter began. But by that point, Cookie was fed up.
“Enough!” she shouted, leaping to her feet and shoving between them, pushing both of them back with one hand. “Stop being idiots, the both of you. A man’s dead, and whoever did it is still out there, and you two are standing around here dick-waving instead of doing anything to help.”
Both men stared down at her, glowering, and for an instant she felt as if she’d leaped out in front of a pair of raging bulls and was about to get trampled. Then their eyes cleared and both men smiled just a little. They quickly hid their amusement, but Cookie had spotted it and found she could breathe again.
“Dylan, thank you for your help,” she told him, turning her back on Hunter. “Even just ruling things out is useful. If you do think of what could’ve caused that wound, let me know, okay?”
He nodded and turned to go, though he did shoot Hunter a parting glare over Cookie’s head.
Hunter started to say something once Dylan had gone, but Cookie held up a hand to stop him before he could even get a word out.
“Don’t,” she warned. “I’m seriously pissed at you right now, and anything you say is only going to make it worse. Why don’t you go take a walk along the shore or something? I don’t want to see you before dinner.” Then, not giving him a chance to respond, she turned and walked inside, the screen door slamming behind her.
Cookie was still fuming, her feet pounding on the stairs as she ran up to her room. I need to talk to somebody about all this, she thought, digging her phone back out of her jeans. She pulled up a number and hit Call, then flopped back onto her bed to wait for the phone to connect.
“CJ!” Scarlett’s welcome voice boomed in her ear. “Everything okay? When I saw the number I almost freaked!”
That got Cookie to laugh, at least. “Everything’s fine,” she promised. “Well, no, not fine, exactly. But I’m okay. Personally.”
“Oh, that doesn’t sound good,” her friend said with a sigh. “All right, I’m sitting down. Tell Mama Scarlett everything.”
With another laugh, Cookie began filling her best friend in on the events of the past few days. She and Scarlett had first met back in college, when Cookie was studying criminal justice and Scarlett was working on a degree in political science. Although very different in some ways, the two had become fast friends, even rooming together their senior year. They’d stayed close ever since, keeping in touch while Cookie went to Quantico and became an agent and Scarlett went to law school. She was one of the few people who knew where Cookie had gone and how to get hold of her.
“Well, you’ve certainly been busy,” Scarlett commented once Cookie had finished her recap of recent events. “And why am I not surprised that you’d find a dead body out back of your new home? Or at least that Rain would. Sounds like the place is perfect for you.”
“Ha ha,” Cookie replied, rolling over to prop herself up on one arm. “Trust me, that was the last thing I was looking for.”
“Sure,” her old friend scoffed. “Come on, I can hear your eyes twinkling from here. You’re loving this. You thought you were going into exile out there in the boonies, and lo and behold, a murder investigation falls right in your lap. Almost literally.”
“All right, maybe I am having fun with that part of it,” Cookie admitted. “And yes, before you ask, it is nice seeing Hunter again. Though he’s still just as infuriating as ever.” Scarlett had heard all about Cookie’s ex-partner and had even been there for Cookie’s agonizing bouts of indecision about whether she should go after him or keep it professional. “And now he’s being an absolute horror.”
“You mean because of this new guy, Dylan?” Scarlett’s tone was knowing, and Cookie could practically see her friend’s smirk. “He’s a real hottie, huh?”
“He is,” Cookie agreed with a sigh, closing her eyes to conjure up an image of him. Those eyes, that smile, those strong features—yeah, hot was definitely the word for it. “Though he’s not exactly making things easy, either. The two of them were going at it like a pair of dogs trying to prove which is alpha.”
“Is it them you’re really upset with?” Scarlett asked, her tone going serious for a change. “Or is it just bugging you that you can’t decide between them?”
“They’re messing up the investigation,” Cookie protested, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of her mind that told her Scarlett might be on to something. “That’s what’s bugging me.” She gazed out the window at the vast expanse of ocean and noticed the boats that dotted the horizon, making it look like a postcard image.
“Okay.” Her friend didn’t sound convinced. “So make sure they both keep their heads in the game, their eyes on the prize, and all that motivational stuff.” She paused. “But you are going to have to make a choice, sweetie. The old partner or the hometown hottie. You can’t have both. And as long as you leave it open, they’re going to keep fighting over you. The sooner you make a clear choice, the sooner the pissing match can end.”
Cookie scrubbed at her face with her free hand. “I don’t have time for all this relationship drama.”
“Nobody ever does,” Scarlett said. “That’s why it’s drama; because it happens at the worst possible time. But you’ve gotta make room for it and figure it out. And the sooner the better.”
“You’re probably right,” Cookie agreed.
Her friend laughed. “I usually am. Listen, sweetie, gotta go. Catch you later, okay? Let me know how it all turns out. Love ya, bye.”
“Love ya, bye,” Cookie replied just before the call ended. Dropping the phone onto the night table beside her, she let her head fall back, the mattress bouncing as she closed her eyes and lay there for a few minutes. There’d be plenty of time later to go downstairs, find Hunter, and deal with him. For right now she just needed a little quiet time on her own.
But try as she might, she couldn’t stop hearing her friend’s advice. You are going to have to make a choice.
14
The next morning found Cookie eyeing her ex-partner and struggling to keep a grin from plastering itself all over her face. “Guess now you wish you’d brought a different kind of suit, huh?” she couldn’t help teasing.
“Shut up,” Hunter groused, glaring at her from behind his mirrored shades. “This is ridiculous.”
“No. You look ridiculous. This is standard procedure, and for good reason.” They were making their way along an expanse of rough, slippery, well-worn wooden planks that had been nailed together over long support beams, connected to thick wooden posts as pylons. The island had several different docks, but this one butted right up against the town’s main street, and was both the most convenient and the most expensive port on the island. The ferry had a reserved space here, but the rest of the dock was available for bot
h short-term and long-term rentals.
And, as Hunter had discovered after some routine investigating the night before, Chip Winslow had locked in the use of one particular slip for a period of six months.
Cookie had attired herself appropriately, both for the warm weather and for their destination, pairing cut-off jean shorts with a bikini top and a tied, cropped shirt, plus a pair of rubber-soled water shoes. A baseball cap kept the sun off her face and her hair out of her eyes.
Hunter, on the other hand, was wearing the same dark suit, though with a different shirt and tie. He was sweating in the late-morning sun, and his polished leather shoes kept slipping on the wet planks. He was clearly out of his element here, and Cookie was enjoying his discomfort far more than she should have.
“Let’s just find the damn boat and check it out,” Hunter grumbled, clutching tightly to the rope strung between pylons as a rough barrier. He let out a string of curses as his foot slid and he grabbed wildly for the rope with both hands to keep from plummeting into the water. The dock tipped precariously with his motions as water splashed over their feet.
“It’s at slip number eight,” Cookie said, not bothering to hide her laugh. “That should be the next one on our right.”
Sure enough, slip eight held a beautiful powerboat, sleek and sophisticated. According to the handsome gold lettering on its side, its name was Wins Low. “That’s awful,” Cookie said, staring at the pun and shaking her head. “A guy like that didn’t deserve a boat like this.”
“Well, it’s not like he can enjoy it anymore,” Hunter pointed out. He stepped carefully onto the boat, his feet finally gaining traction on the ridged floor mats. “Come on.”
Cookie followed him onto the fancy speedboat. They did a quick canvas of the topside but didn’t find anything useful, revealing, or incriminating either up by the pilot’s console or back in the lounge area with its comfortable leather seats. “Looks like we’re going down,” she joked as they headed for the steps leading down belowdecks.