by Lucy Quinn
“What’s that?” she asked, straightening and craning her neck for a better look. “There’s something over there.”
“Where?” Dylan paused and shifted to look in the direction she indicated, but then frowned. “I don’t see anything.”
“On the water, or near it. Looks like a piece of metal,” Cookie said, not looking away as she began to move slowly toward whatever it was. “Must not be too big, because you’ve got to be at just the right angle to see it.”
She could hear the scrape of Dylan’s feet scrambling over the rocks to follow her. “I see it,” he replied quietly. Then he cursed under his breath. “Nope, lost it. It’s probably just something that washed up here. It happens. The tide grabs all kinds of things.”
Keeping her gaze locked on the glinting metal, Cookie rushed down to the water’s edge, slipping twice on the loose stone, only to be caught both times by Dylan’s strong arms. It wasn’t exactly a hardship. She’d thanked him both times, but didn’t let her hormones deter her.
Finally, she stood on a broad, flat rock that jutted out over the water. Seagulls called out as they flew overhead, and at her feet she spotted the object of her journey. It was metal, all right. A large metal cage, to be precise, with a hinged door along one side and a latched top. The whole thing was made of thick, sturdy mesh, most of it covered in a protective coating of some sort. What she’d seen had been spots where that coating had recently rubbed or scraped off, leaving shiny metal beneath.
She knew what it was, of course. You didn’t live on an island that still counted lobstering as its major industry without having seen plenty of these. It was a lobster trap, only it didn’t have any lobsters in it.
But it was far from empty.
Instead, the cage was stuffed full of flat, rectangular packages about the size and shape of a bag of flour. Each one had been shrink-wrapped to keep it watertight, and Cookie had a pretty good idea what they contained. She’d been on enough drug busts that all it took was one look through the mesh trap to recognize the contents.
“Okay,” she said, turning toward Dylan as he stopped beside her and stared down at their find. “So why would somebody fill their lobster trap with drugs? And how did the trap wind up all the way over here?” Most lobstermen weighted their traps with bricks to make sure they sank well beneath the surface where the lobsters were more likely to find them, and to keep the traps from getting tossed about by the current. It didn’t look like this one had any bricks in it, though. At least, not of the building variety.
Dylan shook his head. “There have always been stories of drug running in the area.” Squatting down, he studied the trap and its contents. “I guess a lobster trap would be a good way to stash the drugs somewhere, maybe for somebody else to come along and retrieve them. I don’t know anybody who does that, though. The only dealer I ever knew of was Stone, and he was strictly small-time. Plus he’s out of the business now…”
Stone Harris had been lucky. He’d been involved in the cover-up of a man’s death, but it had been an accident. Lucky for him, he’d gotten only a fine and some community service. But it meant the local sheriff was keeping a close eye on him, and although Stone wasn’t the brightest fellow, even he knew better than to try dealing while under that sort of scrutiny. “As far as how it got here…” Dylan studied the trap, then pointed to the top of the cage where an empty metal ring stood up from the surface. “No rope. Either it snapped, or it wasn’t tied right, or somebody didn’t even bother to lash it down. I’d guess the current got it, and it got swept along until it caught up against the rocks here.” He grimaced. “Just our luck.”
Cookie pulled out her cell phone. She wasn’t all that surprised to see she actually had service here. With Secret Seal maybe fifteen minutes in one direction and the mainland city of Hancock twenty to thirty in the other, they had plenty of overlapping signal. She started to punch in the number for the Secret Seal Isle sheriff’s office but hesitated before hitting Enter.
“What’s up?” Dylan asked, twisting and leaning back to study her face.
“Oh, nothing,” she started. Then she shrugged. “It’s just—Deputy Swan, he’s not a bad guy or anything, but he just isn’t…”
“Isn’t exactly Super Cop,” Dylan finished for her. “Yeah, I know. He hasn’t really needed to be. Not a lot of crime out here most of the time.” He shrugged. “Still, he is the local law. You’ve got to let him know.”
“I know.” Cookie sighed. She couldn’t stop thinking about the last time she’d seen Swan—when he’d brought her and Hunter some crucial evidence in the case they’d been investigating. Evidence that the deputy had found at the crime scene days earlier, pocketed, and then completely forgotten about. How she was supposed to call that same man and tell him about what had to be tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of drugs she’d just found?
“Cookie.” Dylan’s voice had just a hint of warning to it. “You’re ex-FBI, remember? He’s the deputy. Call him.”
“Yeah, yeah, fine.” She hit Enter and the phone rang in her ear as she waited for the call to connect.
“Swan,” he barked over the line.
“Deputy,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “This is Cookie, Cookie James. I’m out on Lookout Point with Dylan, and we just found a lobster trap filled with drugs, and---”
“Drugs? Did you say drugs?” he sputtered, then let out an oomph as if he’d just been gut punched. “Dammit. Who left that file drawer open?” he yelled into her ear.
Cookie couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let Swan screw this up, and she was sure he would, so she said, “Um, yeah. Drugs. Why don’t I bring the trap back to the island with me and hold onto it for safekeeping until you and Sheriff Watkins can figure out how to dispose of it?” She didn’t wait for his reply. “Thanks, bye.” She hung up before he could make another attempt at bursting her eardrum.
Dylan was eyeing her with a look that she interpreted as half amused and half…scandalized? Appalled? Maybe just confused? “What?” she asked, tucking her phone back in her pocket. “No sense in him coming all the way out here when we’ve got this handled, right?”
“Right. And you holding onto the drugs for him, that’s just, what, you lending a helping hand?” He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. “The quiet, simple life, huh?”
“I didn’t go looking for a crate full of drugs,” she pointed out. “It came looking for me.” She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Now, are you going to help me carry this thing back to the boat, or not?”
Dylan grumbled something under his breath. Cookie thought she heard “bossy” and “can’t leave well enough alone” and “waste of a perfectly good lunch,” but he grabbed the front of the trap and tried to haul it out of the water. It barely budged.
Cookie jumped into the water, icy waves lapping at her legs as she got behind it to push. Putting her weight into it, the metal bit into her palms, but it still didn’t move.
“I’ve got a better idea,” he said after their futile effort. “Wait here. I’ll bring the boat around, and we’ll just drag it over the side.”
“Makes sense,” Cookie agreed, moving back to the shore. He turned to go, and for once she didn’t watch him walk way. Instead she alternated between staring down at the trap and peering out over the water, her mind awhirl. Somebody was running drugs in her backyard. And not an amateur, not with a haul this size. So who was it? How long had they been at it? And what was she going to do about it, now that it had fallen in her lap like this?
Because one thing she knew for certain—there was no way she was walking away.
3
After using a rope and the leverage of the boat engine to tug the trap free of the rocks, Dylan helped Cookie haul the trap close to the boat.
“This thing weighs a ton,” Cookie said, wiping her brow as she eyed the drug-filled trap. Glimpses of the white packages peeked through the dark water as it sloshed through the mesh. “You ready to flex some muscle?”
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He gave her a cocky grin as he swept his gaze over her. “Are you?”
“Always.” Cookie reached into the water, grabbing one end of the trap. The cold water numbed her fingers. “On three?”
Dylan followed her lead and nodded.
“One, two, three!” Cookie called.
They both let out groans of exertion as they hauled the trap up. But just as they were about to pull it over the side of the boat, Cookie shifted and lost her footing. With a cry, she fell backward, the wet metal slipping from her grip as the trap came crashing over the side, bringing a tidal wave of sea water with it.
Cookie let out a shocked shout as the cold water soaked her from head to toe. “Crap! That’s cold.”
Dylan stood over her, his button-down shirt soaked and molded to his impressive frame. “Are you okay?”
“Um…” she stared at the outline of his torso and unconsciously licked her lips.
“Cookie?”
“Yeah?” She tore her gaze away from his mouthwatering abs, and glanced up at him.
“You dropped something.” He pointed to the space beside her.
She followed his gaze and spotted the blue foil-wrapped condom she’d shoved in her pocket after her mother had embarrassed the heck out of her. “Oh, hell.” She reached for it, but Dylan was faster.
He grabbed it, held it up for a second, and then said, “I’ll just keep this safe for now. You never know what we might need if we ever get past a first date.” He let his gaze travel down her body once more before pocketing the condom and returning to the boat’s controls.
Cookie glanced down at herself, noting that her white shirt was now soaked through, and said a silent thanks that she’d decided to wear a bikini and not that see-through lace bra she’d been saving for a special occasion. The first time Dylan got a glimpse of her assets, she planned to have a use for Rain’s protection.
She brushed the hair out of her eyes and took a seat across from Dylan. As he maneuvered the boat back toward Secret Seal Isle, she turned her attention to the drug-filled trap. Her brain whirled with possible drug routes and cartels and dealers. And as a result, she barely noticed when her companion stripped off his wet shirt.
Though she had made a note of it.
“Here.” Dylan interrupted her thoughts and handed her one of the forgotten lobster rolls. “You might as well eat something, since we missed our picnic.”
Cookie bit back a wince as she took the wrapped package. “Thanks. Sorry our date was ruined… again.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, but she didn’t miss the slight edge of disappointment in his tone.
“We’ll get it right one of these days,” she said, and took a bite of the lobster roll.
But he just nodded.
They rode the rest of the way back without speaking, something Cookie only realized after they’d docked. “Sorry,” she told Dylan again as he pulled the boat up beside the pier at its normal slip. “Guess I’m a little distracted.”
“Ya think?” he replied, but one eyebrow rose, as did the corners of his mouth. “I guess a whole crate full of drugs will do that to a girl, huh?”
“Yeah, not really my cup of tea,” she retorted, “but—” She stopped mid-comeback as her mind jumped ahead a few inferences and began blaring warnings. “Oh, crap.”
“What?” She must have had quite a look on her face, because Dylan went from amused to alarmed in nothing flat. “What’s wrong?”
“I told Swan I’d keep these at my place.” She managed not to groan too much. “At the Inn.” She could tell by Dylan’s expression that he wasn’t getting it. “With my mom.”
“Ah.” That was all he said, but it was enough.
Yeah. Ah.
An entire crate full of drugs. Stored in the same building as her mom, Rain Forest, a woman who had once described Woodstock as “a nice quiet weekend with a few close friends.” A woman who had recently started a side business making and selling hash brownies, weed lollies, and other druggie treats. A woman who had launched this new enterprise by buying the entire stock off a drug dealer who had ended up being arrested only hours later, though admittedly, not for drugs. A woman who had a very fuzzy concept of personal space, private property, and other “fiddly little legalities.”
Ah was about right.
“What the hell am I going to do?” Cookie demanded, as much to herself as to Dylan. “If she catches even a hint of this stuff, it’ll be as good as gone.”
“Even though it’s evidence?” he asked, but quickly threw up both hands in surrender. “Sorry, forget I asked.”
She really worried about her facial expressions sometimes. “There’s no way I can store this stuff.” Cookie bit down on her bottom lip, thinking. An instant later, she turned her most winning smile on her companion.
But Dylan wasn’t having any of that. “Oh, no,” he said, laughing as he leaned away from her. “No way. You’re the one who told Swan you’d hang onto the drugs instead of turning them over, so this is all on you. I’m out of it.” He rose to his feet and they tapped lightly on the wooden planks as he hopped easily across to the dock. “I’ll help you haul it back to the Inn, but that’s it.”
“Such a gentleman,” Cookie grumbled as she got up to follow him, but deep down she knew he was right. She’d done this to herself, and it wasn’t fair to expect him to bail her out of it. She’d have to do that all on her own.
Dylan had driven to the docks, so with some brute strength, they tossed the lobster trap into the back of his old pickup and then drove back up to the Inn. Pulling up before her home and business, Cookie found herself admiring the old building yet again. It really was a beautiful place, a full Victorian with its wide front porch, side turret, peaked roof, and carved posts. She’d never lived in a place as old as this, but its age lent it grandeur rather than squalor. The house had been a bit rundown when she and Rain had bought it, but even so it had carried an air of elegance that you don’t find in newer homes. And of course Dylan had already helped immensely in restoring the old beauty to her former glory.
The tailgate of Dylan’s truck thudded open. He groaned as we lifted the lobster trap and carried it up the steps and onto the front porch, setting the wire cage down near the Inn’s front door. “You got it from here?” he asked.
“I guess I’ll have to,” Cookie shot back, then mentally scolded herself. It really was her own fault and her own mess. Dylan had helped a great deal by getting it back here for her. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m good. Thanks. Really.”
He grinned and tossed her a half-salute as he climbed back into his truck. He’d barely pulled away before Cookie had her phone out again. This time, the number was one she knew by heart.
“Hey,” she said when the recipient picked up. “It’s me.”
“Hey, me,” he replied. “What, do you miss me already?”
“Something like that.” She eyed the object near her, and its contents. “I’m currently staring at a lobster trap filled with what looks like high-grade coke. At least a dozen kilos, maybe more. Found it floating in the water by Lookout Point, hauled it back here and I’m waiting on Swan or Watkins to come check it out. Thought you should know.” She waited as he laughed into the phone. It took a good twenty seconds before he regained enough control to speak.
“I’d ask if you were kidding, but there’s no way you’d call just to make a joke about that,” he said finally. “Right?”
“Right.”
She heard him sigh. “Fine. I’m on the next plane out. Don’t do anything stupid until I get there.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she promised. “I’ll save all the stupid for you.” Then she paused. “Thanks.”
“Of course.”
He hung up, and Cookie pocketed her phone. Already she felt a little better. Hunter was a damn good FBI agent. He was also her former partner, and still her friend. Though he’d made it clear he wanted to be much more, or at the very least friends with benefits. Large portions of Co
okie’s brain and other parts of her anatomy were still outraged that she’d thus far not agreed to the suggestion.
Now that she knew Hunter was on the way, Cookie relaxed a little. Once he got here, Hunter would be able to help her keep Rain away from the drugs. But she still had at least a day and probably more like two before he arrived.
One of the reasons she and Rain had picked Secret Seal Isle was because it was isolated. Great when you’re hiding from a revenge-obsessed mobster, not so spectacular when you’re desperately waiting for help to arrive. Which meant she’d have to find a way to hide the drugs from her mother. At least until Hunter got here, or until Swan or Watkins came to collect the evidence. But where was she going to hide twelve kilos of drugs in the house her mother knew at least as well as she did?
Okay, Cookie thought, studying the trap. First things first. I can’t carry all of them and the trap, there’s just no way. I’ve got to get them out of there. It took a little fiddling to get the trap’s top undone. Rust stained her fingers before she was able to swing the top panel up and out of the way, exposing all of wrapped drug packages. Bingo, she thought, grinning as she pulled a kilo free.
Now what? She could get all of the drugs out of the trap, sure. But how was she going to be able to smuggle them into the house? And where would she put them? Until she could figure that out, Cookie decided to leave the drugs where they were. All except the one kilo she already had in her hand, which she kept for gauging size. Spotting an old throw draped over the back of the wicker couch, she snatched it up and shook it out. Then she turned the trap up on its side and tossed the throw over it.
Voila, instant end table! By pushing and shoving, the trap scraped across the porch as she managed to get it over and against the end of the couch where it was just another piece of furniture. That would have to do for now.