A Walk on the Dead Side (Secret Seal Isle Mysteries Book 3)

by Lucy Quinn

  That time Cookie nodded. “For his medical bills,” she filled in. “And the trip he and his wife were going to take.”

  Anthony looked like he was on the verge of tears, and despite herself, Cookie felt a little sorry for him. The guy had definitely gotten in over his head. “Yeah, he was so excited about that. It was all he could talk about. And he was almost there, too. He almost made it.”

  “So what went wrong?” Hunter asked. Cookie was glad someone was able to keep them on track, because she’d been about ready to bawl herself, thinking about Jimmy and the fact that Leslie and Jimmy’s dog was still waiting for him.

  Anthony scowled. “The Coast Guard,” he replied. “Jimmy and I were both out after dusk collecting the latest shipments, you know? And I saw the Coast Guard pass me by. I’d already hauled up one of my traps, though, and I had my running lights off and my engine down while I stowed it, so they didn’t see me. Zipped right on by.” He sighed. “Jimmy wasn’t so lucky.”

  “The Coast Guard saw him?” Cookie asked.

  “Yeah, saw him and told him to stop whatever he was doing since you’re not supposed to be hauling traps after dark,” Anthony replied. “I heard it all clear as day. Jimmy panicked, pitched his trap overboard, drugs and all. The Coast Guard boarded him, but they must’ve not found anything, ’cause after a quick search they let him go. But they warned him not to be out so late without lights or they’d ticket him, maybe impound his boat.”

  That had made sense to Cookie. At night, on the open water, the chances of someone running into you were pretty slim. But here by the islands most boats stuck to the established channels, and if you were near those and running dark there was a much bigger risk of collision. And two boats slamming into each other, either or both going full speed, was a sure-fire recipe for disaster.

  She could guess the rest of the story. “He told the smugglers what happened, and instead of being pleased he hadn’t gotten caught and put the whole operation at risk, they killed him for losing that one trap’s worth of drugs,” she said. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Anthony nodded. “He told them to take the cost out of his share,” he said, near tears again thinking about his friend, “but they just said ‘we do not tolerate failure.’ Then they killed him.” His resolve broke and the large man was unable to hold back his grief.

  Cookie and Hunter gave him a minute before Hunter asked the six-million-dollar question. “Do you know what they did with Jimmy’s body?”

  As it turned out, Anthony did know. That old naval battery hadn’t been a random choice. It was their favorite meeting spot. It was where he and Jimmy had always gone to hand off the drugs, and so it was where they’d shot Jimmy. And then they’d tied a rope around his body and dumped him down the hole at the center of the old gun placement in case they needed him again.

  “Like if they wanted to send his hand along as a warning,” Cookie had said. Still, even thinking about that grisly package, she’d had to fight hard not to grin, and Hunter had been much the same. Because if Jimmy’s body was still there, they had the smugglers red-handed, not just for drugs, kidnapping, and assault with a deadly weapon, but for first-degree murder, too.

  As a result, she’d been feeling pretty good when they left and headed back toward the inn. And she still was now, filled with the satisfaction of knowing this case was nearly at an end. Sheriff Hawkins and her team were handling Jimmy’s remains and talking to his wife. Cookie knew the smugglers would get what was coming to them, that Jimmy would at least get some justice, and his wife would get some closure. But her satisfaction was now mingled with fatigue from everything she’d been through and the after-effects of the adrenaline rush from the confrontation at Winter’s shop. So Cookie was content to just sit there, leaning against Hunter and rocking gently in the evening breeze as she gazed at the churning sea.

  She yawned, and punched Hunter again when he laughed at her.

  “Hey, stop beating on your partner,” he said softly, capturing her fist in his hand. She struggled to pull free for a second, then gave up and rested her hand against his chest instead.

  “Former partner,” she reminded him sleepily, and he harrumphed in reply.

  “Didn’t feel like it today,” he said after a second. “Felt like old times, actually.”

  “Yeah?” Cookie had let her eyes drift shut, but now she blinked one open to peer blearily up at him. “When did we ever pull a drug sting that involved me confronting the dealers alone and unarmed?”

  “You know what I mean,” he chided her, but gently. “We were a team today. Like we used to be.”

  Cookie couldn’t argue that. “I’m glad you were here,” she said instead.

  “So am I.” He tightened his grip on her, but not uncomfortably so. In fact, the pressure was nice. Comforting. Protective. “You scared me today, you know.” His voice was soft and deep, a rumble she felt against her cheek and ear.

  “I was scared too,” she admitted. “Especially when he pulled that gun.”

  “Yeah.” Hunter’s heart was racing under her cheek as he gasped for breath. “I thought for a second I’d lost you.”

  “Nope, just a jar of Winter’s best jam,” she answered, but the joke fell flat. “Trust me,” she added, “I was as relieved he missed as you were.”

  Hunter pulled back slightly, and reached down with one hand to take her chin and tilt her head so he could look at her. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you,” he told her, all the emotion he usually kept locked away pouring out in his rough voice and tender gaze.

  “Well, I’ll do my best to keep you from having to find out,” she managed to reply, going for a lighter tone, but her words came out hoarse instead as tears burned her eyes. She tried to blink them away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  The smile Hunter gave her said he had, but that he didn’t mind. “I’d appreciate it,” was all he said.

  Then he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, just the barest brush of his lips against her skin. But Cookie felt it like a bolt of lightning, the electricity shooting right through her all the way to her toes. And later, when they both finally succumbed to their weariness and crawled back inside and upstairs to their respective bedrooms, the memory of it burned in her still.

  25

  “Hey.”

  Cookie glanced up, surprised. She and Hunter were sitting at the dining room table, but instead of food it was covered with papers. Specifically, new details on the case. Like Anthony’s plea bargain and confession, the discovery of Jimmy Calder’s body and the mug shots on the drug smugglers. All of them had been found in the system, mostly for smaller drug charges and things like assault and assault with a deadly weapon. Friendly bunch.

  Cookie had been so focused on everything in front of her that she hadn’t heard the front door open, or any footsteps. So she was shocked to find Dylan standing in the doorway, a wide, flat square box balanced on one hand. “Hey!” she replied, leaning back and smiling at him. He was definitely a sight for sore eyes, or any eyes for that matter, in his worn-soft gray T-shirt and equally worn blue jeans, his dark hair just a little mussed by the evening breeze. “What’s going on? Sorry I haven’t called, it’s just been—” she gestured at the chaos on the table. “A little crazy.”

  “Yeah, I figured.” They hadn’t spoken at all since the events at the tea shop, and Cookie felt bad about that, even though it had only been yesterday. She should have made more of an effort. Although, she’d barely even seen Scarlet today, between her following up on the case and Scarlet keeping abreast of her law firm’s activities. Scarlet was definitely one of those people who was never fully off the job even when she was on vacation.

  The clattering of dishes drew her attention toward the kitchen where Scarlet was currently helping Rain clean up from dinner. But in the next moment, the door swung open and the two of them wandered back in.

  “Howdy, stranger,” Scarlet said, striding over to Dylan and tossing an arm ove
r his shoulder like they’d been friends forever. “Whatcha got there?” She reached for the box.

  “Pie,” he answered, shifting and stretching to keep it out of her reach. “I was hoping Cookie might have a few minutes to step out with me, watch the sunset, and enjoy some dessert.”

  “How about she gets the sunset and I get the pie?” Scarlet countered, using his neck as a pivot to swing around and grab for the box again. “What kind is it?”

  “Blueberry,” Dylan answered, laughing and performing what looked almost like a dance move to keep the box away from her. “I’ll save you a piece.”

  Watching the two of them was like watching a cross between performance art, dance, and a comedy routine, and Cookie couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Oh, fine.” Scarlet stopped lunging and pouted instead, making herself instantly adorable. Cookie had witnessed her use those moves on many a man in her personal life, always to devastating effect. The fact that Dylan only laughed again and tousled her hair in a big-brother sort of way both amazed Cookie and impressed her. And judging by the knowing look Scarlet shot her over Dylan’s broad shoulders, her best friend felt the same way.

  “Go,” Hunter grumbled, apparently throwing Dylan a bone. “It’s not like the paperwork won’t still be here when you get back.”

  “Are you sure?” Cookie asked, already sliding from her chair. “Because if it were to magically disappear or be completed before I returned, that’d be like Christmas come early.”

  “Bah, humbug,” her ex-partner grumbled back. His eyes were slits as he said it, but Cookie ignored his jealousy and turned away before he could change his mind.

  “Right, let’s get out of here quick, before Scarlet makes another try for the pie,” she suggested, linking her arm with Dylan’s and leading him toward the kitchen. “How about out back?”

  “Sounds good,” he agreed, letting her guide him. Together they traipsed through the kitchen, pausing just long enough to snag a pair of plates and utensils before heading out the back door into the yard.

  The sun was indeed just starting to set, casting alternating fingers of shadow and streamers of light everywhere. The yard had been transformed into a beautiful, almost haunting setting, with the inn as the backdrop and the water stretching away as the main view. Looking out over the ocean as it glowed and shimmered was breathtaking, and Cookie froze, drinking it all in for a second. Then, beaming herself, she led Dylan over to the lawn chairs and the little table between them. The same one they’d used for their make-up picnic dinner that felt like ages ago.

  “Look familiar?” she asked as she set down the plates and eased onto one of the chairs. “I think maybe we’ve been here before.” She grinned. “Only this time you brought the food.”

  “I figured it was my turn,” he answered, taking the other seat. He carefully opened the pie box, and a deliciously sweet berry aroma wafted out.

  “Wow, where did you get that?” Cookie asked. There was a bakery in town, but while their cookies were decent, and their breads were good, she’d never seen anything there that looked or smelled like this.

  Now it was Dylan’s turn to grin. “So you remember Mrs. Ledger?” he asked, his attention on carving two large slices and setting them on the plates.

  It took Cookie a second, then it came to her. “The one with the flooded basement?”

  “One and the same.” Finishing his task, he closed the box again, set the cake-server atop it, and lifted his plate, fork already in hand. “Turns out she is a pie-maker extraordinaire. I was over there today to make sure everything had dried out okay, and she presented me with two fresh-baked pies. This one and an apple. I kept the apple.”

  “Hmm, so I only rate blueberry?” Cookie frowned, or tried to. “Guess I’ve got something to work up to, then.” But when she took a bite of her pie, the tart blueberries mixing perfectly with the sugar of the filling and the flaky, buttery texture of the crust, she felt like she’d already hit the jackpot.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the amazing dessert, the incredible scenery, and each other’s company. “This is really, really nice,” Cookie said finally, after she’d polished off her piece and set the plate back down. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, meeting her gaze. There was a comfortable silence as they watched each other. Then his attention shifted to her mouth, and she leaned in toward him, lips parting slightly.

  But he pulled away.

  For half a second, she thought he’d missed her intent, or that she was misinterpreting his reaction. But he was staring at his empty plate, heavily invested in using his fork to scrape up practically nonexistent scraps of pie, and most definitely avoiding meeting her eyes.

  “Um, okay.” Cookie righted herself. “Is something wrong? Do I have blueberry between my teeth? Is Rain staring at us through the kitchen window? What’s going on?”

  Dylan sighed and lowered his plate. “I’m sorry,” he said after a second, finally glancing up at her again. In the deepening twilight, his eyes were almost completely gray, but a lighter shade than she’d seen when he was angry. “But I don’t think this is going to work.”

  “Wait, what?” She was staring, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. Her stomach had just lurched and now it was knotting up. “You don’t think this is going to work? You mean us? Why not? I thought…I mean, sure, we’ve hit a few bumps in the road—”

  “Each of those bumps being a dead body,” he pointed out.

  She waved that off. “What about dinner the other night? That was nice—up until we got interrupted. And being on your boat, that was nice too—until Dickie happened. And on the island, that was great—until we found the drugs. And—”

  “That’s kind of my point,” Dylan interrupted. He reached out and caught her hands in his, his fingers rough but warm. Reassuring. “I really like you, Cookie,” he said, and he definitely wasn’t looking away now.

  “Yeah? Well, I really like you too, Dylan,” she replied, matching his gaze. “So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that I’m not the only one you like,” he answered bluntly, and now it was her turn to look away. “Or the only thing.” He waited until she felt compelled to meet his gaze again before he continued. “I saw what happened between you and Hunter at the tea shop.”

  “Oh.” Suddenly she felt small and stupid and horrible. And that pie that had been so delicious was now a lump in the pit of her stomach. “That.”

  “That.” He shook his head. “Look, it was a scary situation, emotions were running high, you were almost killed. I get it. But you can’t tell me you don’t genuinely feel something for him.”

  A part of her, the part that wanted Dylan to stay, really wanted to tell him just that. But Cookie couldn’t. Both because she didn’t want to lie to him and because she couldn’t lie to herself.

  He just nodded. He didn’t look angry, either. More resigned. “It’s more than that, though,” he continued slowly. “It’s the job. I asked you before if you missed being an FBI agent. If you could really be happy here, with the inn, with me. And you said you yes.”

  “And I meant it,” she insisted. But he was already shaking his head again.

  “Maybe you wanted to mean it,” he corrected gently. “Or maybe you even did mean it at the time. But I’ve seen you in action, remember? You love it.”

  Again, she couldn’t deny that. Because she did love it. She loved the thrill, the danger, the power. It was when she felt most alive.

  “I told you once that I wasn’t the kind of guy who’d cut into an existing relationship,” Dylan reminded her. “Even when it was just something that was starting out. I meant that. You told me then that you didn’t have feelings for Hunter, but either you weren’t being honest, you didn’t realize them, or that’s changed. Whichever it was, I can’t keep seeing you as long as there’s a chance you’re into him. And I can’t see you if you’re going to be busy wishing you were back in the FBI with him instead of
here with me.”

  He stood up and, leaning over, brushed a kiss across her forehead. Ironically, it was in almost exactly the same spot Hunter had kissed her the night before. But whereas Hunter’s kiss had electrified Cookie, Dylan’s now felt like an icicle piercing right down into her heart, freezing her into a numb shock.

  “I’ll be around,” he promised. “You know that if you need me, I’m here. Plus, I’m hoping we’re still friends, no matter what. And if things change… well, we can talk about this again, maybe. But until then, this is the way it’s gotta be. I’m sorry.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Cookie shifted to watch him go, his footsteps nearly silent as he moved. She wanted to call him back, to say that she did care about him, that she did like it here, that she wanted things to work out between them. But she knew that wasn’t being fair to him. Or to her. He’d made it clear where he stood, and she had to respect that, even if a part of her felt like curling up and crying her eyes out, or cursing and breaking everything in sight.

  Because another part of her knew that by stepping back, he’d actually given her the space to decide for herself exactly what she wanted.

  And whom.

  26

  “Wow.” Scarlet wrapped her arms around Cookie and held her for a minute before pulling back slightly to study her face. “Good for him.”

  “What?” Cookie thwacked her best friend on the arm. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “CJ, I’m always on your side, you know that,” her friend replied in a serious tone. “But there isn’t a ‘your side’ or ‘his side’ here.”

  “He dumped me!” Cookie exclaimed. She grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved it against her face to muffle any other awkward announcements she decided to scream out at the top of her lungs with both her mother and Hunter nearby.