by Lucy Quinn
Dylan pulled in and parked in front of the inn. She said, “We’d have to be quiet. There are guests.”
Once he turned off the engine they got out, and he stopped Cookie to turn her to face him. He leaned in close and tipped her chin up with a warm finger. He whispered, “I’m not the one that needs reminding.”
Heat rose so fast to Cookie’s cheeks she was afraid they were steaming. “I—”
Dylan said, “You’re so sexy when you blush.” Before Cookie could give Dylan a snappy comeback he kissed her. Suddenly her cheeks weren’t the only thing steaming, and she thought she might not have to worry about throwing down rock salt on the icy steps in the morning as she began to melt—until they heard the wail of two women crying.
Cookie and Dylan quickly pulled apart.
“Rain,” Dylan said.
“And Winter,” Cookie added. They gave each other a wry smile and went inside.
Cookie stood just inside the living room, surprised to see Rain and Winter on the couch in front of the television. A movie was playing and the women had a bottle of wine and a box of tissues between them. Cookie frowned. Rain wasn’t a big drinker, preferring to get high instead. “Mom?” she asked.
Her mother took a swig from the bottle and sniffed as she turned to her daughter, tears streaming down her face. “He wants to take her to Paris, but she doesn’t want to go.”
“Blake?” Dylan asked.
“No,” Winter cried. “Preppy. She’s dying and he—” she broke into a sob.
Recognizing the film Rain and Winter were watching, Cookie turned to Dylan. “They’re talking about the movie.” She walked over and grabbed the wine from Rain’s hand. “Mom, you know too much alcohol just makes you weepy.” She jostled the bottle and the contents sloshed inside letting her know not much was left. “Besides which, Love Story? That one makes you cry when you’re sober.”
Rain nodded. “Pot was making us depressed, so I thought maybe we should change our approach.”
Winter lunged over the back of the couch and latched onto Cookie’s shirt, making her stumble back. “We have to save Blake, Cookie! What if I never go to Paris?”
Dylan steadied Cookie and intervened to peel Winter off of her. Winter’s rings clattered against the wine bottle as she snatched it out of Cookie’s hand, and Dylan set the distraught woman back down on the couch as he said, “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get Blake cleared as soon as we can.”
She clutched the bottle of wine to her chest dramatically. “Then where is he? He’s in that—” She couldn’t finish her sentence as she broke out into fresh tears.
Dylan patted her back, trying to comfort the woman. “These things take time, Winter. You have to be patient.”
Winter let out a hiccup before lifting the wine and guzzling down the remains of the bottle. Then she cuddled up to Rain, who hugged her friend tight.
“I’ll take you to Paris, honey.” A bit of the usual Rain peeked through when she turned and winked at Cookie. “Those Parisian men won’t know what hit them.”
Dylan leaned down and whispered in Cookie’s ear. “Perhaps we should leave them to their movie.”
Cookie nodded as she took his hand and led him into the kitchen. “Would you like something to eat? I’m sure Rain still has some leftover macaroni and cheese. And it doesn’t have any medicinal value.”
Dylan chuckled. “That would be nice. Thanks.”
Cookie popped the casserole into the microwave and pushed a few buttons. It beeped and then began to whirr as Cookie said, “So tomorrow. First we’ll go to the ME and see if he’s determined the cause of death. And then—”
“Do you have a red dress?” interrupted Dylan as if she hadn’t been talking.
“What?”
“A red dress. Do you own one?”
“Uh.” Cookie frowned as she tried to figure out why he wanted to know. “Yes. I do.”
Dylan gave her a sly smile. “Good.”
“Ooookay,” she drew out. “About tomorrow. After the ME we should probably go back to the storage unit and see if—”
“Heels. The ones that are tall and skinny. What do they call those?”
“Stilettos,” Cookie said.
“That’s right. Do you own any of those?” he asked. “Preferably black.”
Dylan was up to something, and Cookie smiled to herself as she walked over to grab two dishes from the cabinet. “I do.” She couldn’t resist teasing him so she continued with the investigation conversation as she spooned out pasta onto the plates. “We should get our hands on the surveillance tapes from the storage facility.”
Cookie took the food over to the kitchen table and handed a dish to Dylan.
Yes,” he said. “We should definitely do things with our hands.” He scooped up some macaroni with his fork and lifted it up to let it hover in by his lips. “And our mouths.”
Cookie grinned at him. “I don’t think you’re talking about the investigation, Dylan Creed.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Very perceptive, Detective.” Reaching over, he took her hand in his. “Would you have dinner with me on Valentine’s Day?”
“Hmm.” Cookie resisted the urge to scream with excitement like a teenager and throw herself at him as if he’d asked her to the prom. Instead, she tilted her head to the side and pretended she was considering his proposal. “Do you own a crisp white dress shirt? The kind that requires cufflinks?”
Dylan’s eyes twinkled with the kind of amusement that said he was enjoying this game too. “I do.”
“Necktie? Preferably something red. To match my dress.” She shook her head. “No. It should be blue. To match your eyes.”
Dylan’s voiced deepened as he leaned closer to her. “I can rustle something up.”
Cookie leaned in too so that their mouths were only inches apart. “Good. Now about the pants.” She glanced down at his plump lower lip as her voice got husky. “They should be snug but not too tight in the rear.”
“Yeah,” Dylan breathed as he pressed his nose against hers.
Cookie let out a small moan before she said, “Then the answer is yes.”
Chapter 7
Dylan wrapped his arm around Cookie’s waist and pulled her in close as they walked toward the double doors of the ME’s office. They were in the basement of the sheriff’s building on the mainland in Hancock on their way to pump the medical examiner, Jared Delgado, for information. After a large pancake brunch, courtesy of Rain, she and Dylan had hopped the ferry, hoping this visit would be more fruitful for the investigation than the one they’d paid to Crazy Cari.
Cookie smiled up at Dylan, and even though her initial instinct was to pull away, to keep everything as professional as possible while dealing with the ME, his warmth was so welcoming she leaned into him, unable to help herself.
They were still holding on to each other when they walked through the doors.
“Well, isn’t that sweet.” The gruff sarcastic voice cut through Cookie with a swiftness that made her jump out of Dylan’s embrace.
“Hunter?” Cookie asked, her hands on her hips as she gaped at her former FBI partner. The tall, dark-skinned man was dressed impeccably, as always, in a dark gray suit and was as handsome as ever. Only instead of the welcoming grin he usually gave her, he was barely hiding a scowl. “What are you doing here?”
“Apparently I’m investigating a murder.” He ignored Dylan as he answered her in a clipped tone.
“I thought you said you weren’t interested?” Cookie challenged, completely annoyed she’d been blindsided.
“Turns out Sheriff Watkins didn’t trust the local law with such a high profile case. She called and asked for me specifically.” His expression was smug as he cast a dismissive glance in Dylan’s direction.
Cookie curled her hands into fists and took in a deep breath, trying to control the anger welling deep inside her. He hadn’t known she was on her way to see Jared. What had he thought? That he’d interview the ME without her? That
wasn’t how their partnership worked… at least not in the past. And it sure as heck wasn’t going to work that way now. “You didn’t think maybe you should call and let me know you were on your way?”
Hunter shrugged. “Why? I’ve got this. It is my job. Whereas, last I checked, you have an inn to run.”
Ouch. That was harsh. If Cookie hadn’t been so angry with him, she’d have been hurt. “You of all people should know I’m not going to let this case go. I promised my mom and Winter I’d get to the bottom of this.”
“Precisely why you shouldn’t get involved.” Hunter crossed his arms over his chest. “Conflict of interest.”
Cookie snorted. She’d spoken to Sherriff Watkins the night before and gotten the go ahead to work the case. Watkins had mentioned she’d assign the case to an active investigator for the chain of command, she just hadn’t mentioned that might be Hunter. “Please. I never even met the man before yesterday. You’re reaching, Hunter.”
His unreadable gaze shifted to Dylan, though it was clear his next words were intended for her. “Just giving you an out, since it appears you’ve been busy.”
Dylan cleared his throat as if he was going to respond, but Cookie placed a light hand on his arm, silently asking him to let her handle this.
“I don’t need an out,” Cookie said and turned her attention to the two people staring at them from the desk. A petite woman with curly black hair was perched on top of the desk. She wore black skinny jeans, a formfitting Science Girl T-shirt and knee-high, lace-up boots. In contrast, the lanky Hancock ME had on beige Dockers and a blue and white striped button down shirt. His white lab coat completed the look. “Jared, Frankie. It’s good to see you both.”
“You, too, Cookie,” Frankie, Jared’s hot-nerd girlfriend, said with a grin. She swept her gaze from Hunter to Dylan and back to Cookie. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
Cookie chuckled and arched one brow as she stared pointedly at the items scattered over Jared’s desk. “I could say the same for you.”
Frankie grinned. “We’re working out our Valentine’s Day plans. What do you think?” She grabbed two pairs of underwear that were scattered on the desk and held them up. One was black and red with laces on the sides, and the other was pure black with a lacy overlay. “Latex or silk?”
“Silk,” Hunter said just as Dylan said, “Latex.”
Cookie gasped which she quickly hid with a cough. Had she heard that right?
“Reeeeally,” Frankie drew out the word, her smile turning to a mischievous grin as she eyed Dylan. “Not what I expected.”
“Me neither,” Cookie mumbled.
Frankie held up the black and red shiny latex underwear for Jared’s approval. “What do you think, Jared? Want to try these? The laces make them somewhat adjustable. I bet they’d fit you well enough.”
Dylan couldn’t hold back a laugh, while Hunter discreetly coughed. Cookie just stood there, staring at them, wide-eyed.
Jared’s pale face turned bright red as he stammered, “Frankie, do you think we could talk about this later… when we don’t have an audience?”
“It’s just Cookie and her two hot men,” Frankie said, waving an unconcerned hand. “I mean, who hasn’t dressed up a little in order to spice things up in the bedroom? A little latex never hurt anyone… much. Right, Cookie?”
“Um, what?” Cookie asked, her cheeks going just as red at Jared’s. “I’m just here to find out a cause of death. I’m not really the person to ask when it comes to… latex.”
“Sounds like Dylan might be the one to ask about that,” Hunter said, stepping up beside Cookie. He draped a friendly arm over Cookie’s shoulders just like he would’ve in the old days when they’d been partners. “Cookie here is a little more traditional.”
Dylan’s gaze narrowed in on Hunter’s hand now gripping Cookie’s shoulder, and his expression tightened with irritation. But instead of taking the bait, he just said, “Do whatever you’re comfortable with, Jared.”
Cookie, feeling like she was a piece of meat caught between two hungry dogs, shrugged off Hunter’s arm and moved to stand next to Jared. He apparently was the only sane person in the morgue at the moment. She cleared her throat. “So, Jared, have you had a chance to examine Lydia yet?”
“Yes.” Letting out a sigh of relief, the ME gave Cookie a grateful smile, no doubt just as ready to ditch the underwear conversation as she was. He adjusted his glasses as he stood and walked over to a file cabinet. After producing a file, he flipped it open. “This one is fairly straightforward. Crushed windpipe, cracked vertebrae C2 at the base of the spine. The cause of death is strangulation.”
“Any DNA evidence?” Cookie asked.
Jared shook his head. “Not yet. The body is still frozen. We need to slowly let it defrost otherwise the tissue will breakdown and all DNA will be lost. I need about a week.”
“If the body is still frozen, how did you determine there’s a crushed windpipe and broken vertebrae?” Hunter asked.
Jared waved a hand at a door on the other side of the room. “X-ray. That’s all we have for now. I can give you a call after we run any DNA we find.”
“Okay,” Cookie said, blowing out a breath. “It’s a start.”
Hunter pulled a small notebook from his pocket and tapped his pen on the cover. “Crime of passion.”
“That seemed fairly obvious yesterday,” Dylan said.
Hunter narrowed his eyes at the other man then cut his gaze to Cookie. She could tell by his pinched expression he wasn’t at all happy Dylan knew more than he did about the case. Well, that was just too bad, wasn’t it? She’d called him yesterday, and he hadn’t wanted any part of the case then. She wondered what Watkins had said to convince him to come to Secret Seal Isle. Because after he’d hung up on her, she was certain she wasn’t going to see him any time soon.
“Yeah. Who would’ve ever thought to have a love nest at the island storage warehouse?” Jared shook his head and grimaced. “Can you imagine dropping off your grandmother’s old furniture and hearing what must’ve been going on in there?”
“Sheet metal walls don’t provide much of a sound barrier,” Dylan agreed.
“We should probably talk to the people who rent the neighboring units, see if they know anything,” Hunter said.
We? Cookie thought. Was Hunter including Dylan in that equation? He’d helped them solve cases before, but now that she was officially dating Dylan, the three of them working together would definitely be a crowd. “It’s been five years. I don’t know how much luck we’ll have talking to the other renters, but it’s worth a shot I guess.”
“I guess it’s a plan, then.” Hunter thanked Jared and nodded to Frankie. “Hope Valentine’s Day works out.”
Jared’s face flushed again as he nodded and averted his gaze.
“Yeah, man.” Dylan clasped Jared on the shoulder. “Just remember not to wear them for too long. You don’t want to experience any chaffing.”
A vision of Dylan wearing nothing but latex boy shorts flashed in her head and she couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up from the back of her throat.
“Don’t you worry about that,” Frankie said with a wink. “I’m not that patient.”
Dylan just smiled and held his hand out to Cookie.
Swallowing her laughter, Cookie slipped her hand into his, told Jared she looked forward to hearing from him once he had the DNA results, and then waved at Frankie as they followed Hunter out of the morgue.
Once they were out on the street, Hunter stopped, took one look at Cookie and Dylan’s joined hands, and tightened his jaw. “I guess our first stop is the storage place.”
Uncomfortable with the PDA in front of Hunter, Cookie gently pulled her hand from Dylan’s and stuffed both into her jacket pockets. “Seems like the logical first step. We can also find out who’s been paying the rent for the last five years.”
“And check out security tapes to see who’s been to the unit recently,” Dylan added.
“Okay.” Hunter stared over Cookie’s shoulder, his gaze fixed on the churning bay behind her. “I’ve got the Mustang, so I’ll meet you there.” Without waiting for a response, he strode off, his shoulders hunched and his head down.
“I guess that means we’re walking?” Dylan asked her.
She nodded. “Looks like it.” Putting Hunter out of her mind for the moment, she slipped her hand into his jacket pocket, twined her fingers through his and said, “Come on, Mr. Creed. There’s a boat we need to catch.”
He smiled down at her. “But first we stop in for hot cocoa.”
“You really know the way into a girl’s heart,” Cookie said, letting him lead her to a café across the street.
“No,” he said, opening the door for her. “I know the way into my girl’s heart.”
Chapter 8
The day was crisp and clear with the sun shimmering off the water. The sea salt scented the air, and if it hadn’t been for the biting wind chilling her to the bone, Cookie would’ve gladly stayed near the railing of the ferry. But when she shivered, Dylan tugged her into the cabin. It was late morning and the ferry was almost empty.
Empty except for the three cars parked down below, one of them Hunter’s black Mustang rental. She knew if Dylan hadn’t been there with her, he would’ve joined her upstairs and spent the ride brainstorming theories and leads to pursue. They’d banter like they always had and fall into the all too familiar pattern they’d long ago established as partners. A pang of loss made her feel as if a piece of her had been taken and there was nothing she could do about it.
She’d chosen Dylan at Christmas, and she had to learn to live with the consequences of her decision.
“You okay?” Dylan asked, peering at her.
She forced a smile. “Sure. Just thinking about the case.”
“More like the FBI agent sulking in his rental,” he said, not unkindly, as he waved toward the cars below.
“No. I wasn’t. I…” Cookie sighed. “You’re right. I just don’t want things to be awkward. Why can’t we just go back to the way it used to be?”