Flight

by Laura Griffin

“Let me out, Joel!”

  He rolled to a stop, and she reached for the door handle.

  “Wait. Just—hang on.”

  She turned to look at him, her eyes blazing.

  “I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to boss you around.”

  “What is your problem?”

  He put the truck in park. “Nothing. I just don’t like seeing you walking around alone in the rain.”

  It started drumming on the windshield, making his case for him and preventing him from looking like a complete idiot.

  “Sorry.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I’m tired and I’ve had a shit day.”

  “Well, don’t take it out on me.” She unlooped the camera from around her neck and settled it on the floor. Then she turned to face him. “Why have you had a shit day?”

  God, he wanted her. Just being alone with her in his truck was making him want to take her back to her house for a repeat of last night.

  He looked through the windshield as the rain thrummed down. “We got the results back on the lighthouse fire. The accelerant used was turpentine.” He looked at her. “No can recovered, so the perp likely used the can that was there and took it with him when he left.”

  Worry flickered in her eyes, and Joel felt guilty again for getting her involved in this. He felt guilty every time he looked at that bandage on her arm.

  “I saw you out here alone and—I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Until we get a handle on what’s going on, until we make an arrest, I won’t feel good about your safety.”

  Her eyes softened at that.

  Joel picked up her hand. “Sorry I snapped at you.”

  She leaned in and kissed him. It was soft and brief, and she started to pull away, but he touched her cheek and held her in place. He wanted more. He kissed her longer, and she tasted as hot and sweet as she had last night.

  He combed his fingers into her hair, and she slid closer, running her hands over his shoulders. She scooted over and hitched her hip onto the console, and that was all the encouragement he needed to pull her into his lap. She never broke the kiss and made a soft sound in her throat as she melted against him. He glided his hand over her warm thigh. She squirmed on his lap, and all the blood in his body went straight to his groin as she kissed the hell out of him.

  She pulled back. “We’re in your truck,” she said breathlessly.

  He kissed her again, pulling her closer, and she ran her fingers into his hair. Rain pelted the windshield as the kiss went on and on. Then she pulled away. She shifted her weight, and he thought she was sliding off, but instead she straddled him. Lust shot through him, and he gripped her hips. She settled her arms on his shoulders and rested her breasts against his chest. He slid his hand under her shirt.

  “Joel.” She squirmed closer as he filled his hand with a perfect breast.

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought about you today.”

  She tipped her head back as he leaned forward and kissed her neck. Her skin was smooth and warm, and she smelled even more amazing than she had last night. He reached around her and unclasped her bra, and she shivered as he slid his hand around to touch her.

  A loud whelp of a siren made her jump. She scrambled off his lap, and Joel looked in the rearview mirror to see a Beach Patrol unit stopped behind them.

  “No parking on this beach,” said a voice over a megaphone.

  “Oh my gosh.”

  He glanced at Miranda, who’d turned a deep shade of pink as she sank down in the seat and refastened her bra.

  The patrol unit rolled up alongside them, and Joel glared at the kid behind the wheel. The guy recognized Joel and gave a quick wave before driving on.

  Miranda closed her eyes. “Crap.”

  “Relax. I know him.”

  “I know! That’s why I’m embarrassed.”

  Joel put the truck in gear. He moved slowly down the beach and took the first right turn to the highway. The rain was really coming down now, and he switched the wipers to high.

  “Joel.”

  “What?” He turned toward her house.

  “We can’t keep doing this.”

  He shot a look at her. “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  Her house came into view. She didn’t say a word as he turned onto her driveway and bumped over the ruts. He rolled to a stop behind her Jeep and shoved it in park again.

  She started to say something, but Joel’s phone interrupted her, and he dug it out. Emmet. He tucked the phone back in his pocket.

  “Do you need to answer that?” she asked.

  “Later.” He looked at her. “I meant what I said last night. Everything’s the same as it was before.”

  “No, it’s not. I wasn’t making out with you on a public beach before.” She closed her eyes and squeezed the bridge of her nose.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head.

  “Miranda, look at me.”

  She looked out the window instead. “What’s wrong is I’m completely stressed. But, hey, what else is new?”

  She met his gaze, and the anguished look in her eyes pulled at him. He wanted her to talk to him, and he tried to pick his words carefully so she wouldn’t shut him down this time.

  “It seems like you’re dealing with something,” he said. “You referenced it at dinner the other night.”

  She’d called it burnout, but he knew there was more to it. She looked away again.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  She looked at him. “It’s not your job to help me.”

  “Okay. But I want to.”

  She stared through the rain-slicked windshield, and he could see the debate going on in her head. She was analyzing again. Weighing the pros and cons of letting him in. The humid air in the truck was thick with tension as she stayed silent.

  Joel was in uncharted territory here. Usually he was the one who kept his feelings on lockdown. As a rule, he avoided emotional conversations, and now here he was asking Miranda to open up.

  His phone buzzed again, and he cursed.

  “Sounds like someone needs you.” She reached for her camera. “Thanks for the ride.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Miranda dashed up the stairs with her camera tucked under her T-shirt. She ducked under the narrow overhang and dug the house key out of her pocket. The sight of Benji on the other side of the glass flooded her with relief.

  She stepped inside, shaking off the water, and crouched to give him a hug. His nose looked better. She tried to hold his head still so she could examine it, but he wiggled away and made excited circles around her as she dropped her stuff on the armchair.

  Her phone chirped from the kitchen where she’d left it charging, and she hurried to grab it.

  “Hi,” she said to Bailey.

  “I got your message. Miranda! What the hell?”

  She’d left her a brief message about the fire, downplaying everything. She’d also mentioned the new homicide case, which might end up on the news in Austin, where her sisters lived.

  She hadn’t mentioned Joel.

  “Are you all right?” Bailey asked. “I can’t believe you were in a fire. The pictures look awful.”

  “What pictures?”

  “It’s in the Corpus Christi paper. I googled it. Did you seriously climb down from a four-story window?”

  “It sounds more dramatic than it is.”

  “Right. Uh-huh. It’s totally normal that you had to be rescued from a burning building. What does your detective think?”

  Miranda plopped into the armchair. “He’s not my detective.”

  “Well, does he have any le
ads in the case? I read an AP article that said they’re conducting an arson investigation.”

  Miranda sighed. Dodging Bailey’s questions was pointless, so she gave her a rundown of everything she knew, including her suspicion that whoever set the fire knew she was in the building.

  Bailey was uncharacteristically quiet.

  “Are you there?” Miranda asked.

  “I’m thinking.”

  “What?”

  “I’m truly worried about you.”

  “Please don’t worry.”

  “Well, I am. And I’m glad you’re involved with a cop. Don’t pretend you’re not—I can tell by the way you talk about him.”

  She leaned her head back against the chair. “It’s confusing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. I like him a lot.”

  “That’s good.”

  “But we’re working together now. I don’t want to do this again.”

  “Well, too late. You did it.” Amusement crept into her voice. “Was it good?”

  “Very.”

  She squealed. “Yes! Finally.”

  Alarmed by the noise, Benji nudged his head against her knee.

  “Finally what?”

  “Finally, you’re getting over Ryan. It’s been almost two years.”

  “I’ve been over him forever.”

  “But now you’re over him over him. Good sex makes it official.”

  Miranda smiled. But then her stomach knotted because it wasn’t nearly as simple as she was making it out to be.

  I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.

  It’s not your job to help me.

  Joel hadn’t liked that response. But at the moment, it was the only one she was prepared to give, and she couldn’t feel guilty about that.

  “Seriously, though, what’s he like as a detective?” Bailey asked.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, is he good at his job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, do you have confidence they’re going to figure out what the hell’s going on?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sound sure.”

  “I am.”

  Joel was very good at his job. And she didn’t doubt for a moment that he was one hundred percent committed to solving this case. Still, worry gnawed at her. Her concern had more to do with the Lost Beach Police Department than Joel. Such a small department wasn’t accustomed to dealing with three homicides and an arson in the space of one week.

  “They’ve formed a task force,” Miranda said, not sure whether she was trying to reassure Bailey or herself. “It includes the sheriff’s office, the FBI. So, it’s a coordinated effort, and they’ve got a lot of good leads. I wouldn’t be surprised if they zero in on a suspect soon.”

  Her sister’s silence told Miranda she was skeptical.

  “You sound optimistic,” Bailey said.

  “I am.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  Lost Beach had more than a dozen hotels that catered to families by offering complimentary breakfast, kitchenettes in the rooms, and giant pools with elaborate kiddie slides.

  The Sand Dollar Inn wasn’t one of them.

  The place offered highway views, spotty Wi-Fi, and a pint-size pool that emitted a funky smell. But what it lacked in amenities, it made up for with cheap rates and a prime location next to Lost Beach’s liveliest strip of bars. Families avoided the place, but it did a booming business with college groups and bachelor parties, and Nicole was only mildly surprised to see the flickering NO VACANCY sign as she pulled into the parking lot.

  Nicole checked her watch. She’d been at it for two hours, and the Sand Dollar was her final stop tonight. If it didn’t pan out, she’d likely get tapped to spend half of her Sunday checking out the campgrounds again and interviewing regulars.

  After scanning the parking lot, she walked into the unimpressive lobby, where she was greeted by an electronic doorbell and the smell of onion rings.

  The guy behind the desk didn’t look up from his computer. Early twenties, skinny, goatee. Nicole didn’t recognize him—which was good. After a string of drug busts on the property, the police department wasn’t exactly a favorite of the Sand Dollar management team. Nicole approached the desk, and the guy glanced up from his game of solitaire. He had a napkin at his elbow and a pile of rings.

  “Help you?” he asked, wiping a crumb from his goatee.

  “I hope so.” She smiled and held up her police ID. “I wanted to see if you recognized this guest.” She held up a printout of Trevor Keen’s Colorado driver’s license photo. It was a better picture than his mug shot and had the added benefit of not putting people on guard when she flashed it around.

  The guy pursed his lips and looked at the printout.

  “Mind?” He reached for it.

  Nicole handed it over, and her pulse picked up because she could tell he recognized him.

  “He looks familiar.”

  “This would have been sometime in the last two weeks.”

  “Yeah, I’ve definitely seen him.” He handed the picture back. “Don’t know if it was here, though.”

  Score.

  “Could you check your computer? The name’s Trevor Keen, two e’s.”

  He closed out of his game. “Trevor Keen?”

  “That’s right.”

  Nicole held her breath as she waited. She’d already resigned herself to another day in the sun tomorrow, but maybe her luck was turning. It was about freaking time. The only surprise was that the Sand Dollar Inn had anything to do with it.

  “Nope.”

  She felt a stab of disappointment. “You sure?”

  “K-E-E-N, you said?”

  “That’s right.”

  The door behind the desk opened, and a heavyset woman bustled out. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Nicole talking to her staffer.

  “There a problem?” she asked.

  Nicole smiled and held up her ID. “Nicole Lawson, Lost Beach PD. I’m looking for someone who might have stayed here recently.” She slid the printout across the counter, but the woman didn’t even glance at it.

  “You got a warrant?”

  “No.”

  “Our guest records are confidential.” She shot a look at the clerk, probably wondering what he’d already revealed.

  Nicole glanced at her name tag and smiled again. “Ms. Grady, our department is investigating three homicides right now. I’m sure you—like other local residents—are hoping we can bring a quick resolution to these cases, especially with Memorial Day just around the corner. Anything you can do to help us is much appreciated.”

  Her jaw tightened, and Nicole could see she was torn. She glanced down at the computer. Nicole glanced, too, and noticed the guest registration screen was gone now, replaced by a generic desktop.

  “What’s the name?” The woman stepped over, and the clerk rolled his chair out of the way as she reached for the keyboard.

  “Trevor Keen. K-E-E-N. This would have been sometime in the last two weeks.”

  She tapped at the keyboard. “He’s not in here.”

  Nicole wanted to ask if she was sure, but the woman’s defiant glare made her bite her tongue.

  “Thank you.” She nodded at the clerk. “Y’all have a good evening.”

  She left the lobby and pulled the small spiral notebook from her back pocket. The clerk had recognized the picture, but the guest wasn’t in the records. So maybe he’d registered under a different name. Or maybe the clerk had seen him somewhere else on the island. Nicole jotted down the clerk’s first name and glanced around the parking lot.

  The tiny pool was deserted. On the opposite side of the patio, the door to one of the rooms stood open and a housekeeping cart was parked outside. Nicole gl
anced at the lobby and then crossed the lot. It was after seven, which seemed late for housekeeping, but Nicole heard someone in the room as she approached. She leaned her head in the door.

  A thin woman with short brown hair bent over the bed, stripping the sheets. Sunny Luciano. She’d gone to high school with Nicole’s older brother.

  “Hi, Sunny.”

  No response. Nicole stepped into the room, and Sunny jumped.

  “God, you scared me.” She plucked out an AirPod from her ear.

  “Nicole Lawson. I’m with LBPD.”

  “I know who you are.” Sunny looked wary.

  “You got a minute? I’m investigating a case, and I’m making the rounds.”

  “I really don’t, sorry. I have three more rooms left and our dryer conked out, so I’m already behind.” She wadded the sheets into a ball and brushed past Nicole on the way to the cart, where she stuffed the bundle in a hamper.

  Nicole racked her brain for details about Sunny. Nicole knew she was divorced and was fairly sure she had a young kid at home.

  Sunny strode back into the room and cast a wary look over her shoulder. “Marge will chew me out if she sees me talking to you.”

  Nicole stepped farther into the room. “This will only take a minute.” She held up the picture.

  Sunny cast a furtive glance outside. Then she swung the door almost closed and stepped over to look at the picture.

  Up close, Nicole saw that Sunny’s nose was pink and her skin looked wan. She seemed like she might have a cold or allergies.

  “What about him?” Sunny asked.

  “Have you seen him around in the last two weeks? His name’s Trevor Keen.”

  She dug a tissue from the pocket of her sky blue uniform and blew her nose. “He drives a black Honda.”

  Nicole’s heart skittered. That was the vehicle registered to Trevor Keen in Colorado.

  “You’ve seen him?”

  “Yeah. Him and his girlfriend.” She turned and grabbed a stack of sheets off the dresser. “Look, I really have to finish this.” She snapped the sheet up, and it floated down over the mattress pad.

  Nicole grabbed a folded pillowcase off the dresser and reached for a pillow. “So, where did you see him?”