Driftwood Cove--Two stories for the price of one

by Debbie Mason

  She huffed a breath. “I didn’t steal your ex’s diamond engagement ring. You gave it to me, remember? You told me not to take anything under fifty grand for it.”

  “Of course I remember, but I gave it to you because I thought you were alone and on the run. I didn’t know then that you were working undercover.”

  “Well, you didn’t ask for it back when I returned Atticus to you later that day, so I just assumed you considered it payment for him and for the information I gave you on your ex’s father and lawyer.”

  The information she’d gathered had saved him at least five times the cost of the ring and no doubt his reputation. “You’re right. It’s fine. I didn’t want the ring anyway. I hope you got at least fifty for it.”

  She made a noncommittal sound in her throat and then asked, “How’s Atticus?”

  “Slowing down a bit.” Michael was doing everything he could think of to keep his best friend healthy and around for as long as possible. “I’m sure he’d like to see you. If you’re ever in Boston—”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I—”

  “No, you’re right. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Take care, Shay.” As he disconnected, he fished in his pocket for another antacid. The pain was different than the typical dull burn of his ulcer. This time it was the deep ache of yearning for something he finally had to admit was lost to him for good. Like he so often did, he looked for something positive to focus on. The only thing he came up with was that he’d put that part of his life on hold for a year waiting for Shay, and now he could move on. Funny thing was, until today, he thought he had.

  Chapter Three

  Roxy, you be a good girl and go tinkle for Auntie Shay,” Cherry said from where she was stretched out in the backseat.

  Shay looked from the shivering pink poodle, squatting in the only patch of snow at the edge of the gas station’s parking lot, to the woman wrapped in a blanket with a pink satin eye mask pushed to the top of her head, and thought, I should’ve gone to Greece.

  But really, that wasn’t an option, and hadn’t been since she’d spoken to Michael. She was pretty sure he had no idea just how much anger and resentment had been festering inside her on the other end of the line. It didn’t matter how he tried to frame his questions—she knew exactly what was going on. They were looking at her uncle for Fat Tony’s murder. And they were looking at him for exactly the same reason Sims had been looking at Shay.

  It’d been four days since she’d last spoken to Michael, and she could still feel it, just under the surface, like a deep, angry itch she couldn’t scratch or soothe. After disconnecting from him and calling everyone her uncle knew, she’d discovered Charlie had basically dropped off the face of the planet. Which meant she wasn’t only angry and resentful, she was worried too.

  It was an emotional combination she was familiar with when it came to her uncle. And just one more reason she’d accepted the job in Vegas. Charlie’s drama somehow managed the two-hundred-and-fifty-mile trip to New York but petered out halfway through the twenty-three-hundred-mile journey to Vegas. Until now, she reminded herself. Her uncle and Michael had managed to drag her back home, to a past she couldn’t seem to escape. Come to think of it, she hadn’t had much luck escaping it in Vegas either.

  At least that situation had been taken care of—mostly. Sterling Securities had closed their doors for the foreseeable future, leaving her and Cherry out of work and Shay’s bright and shiny future shattered like a pane of glass.

  “Shaybae!”

  She shot to attention, scouring the gas station’s parking lot for whatever made Cherry yell. When she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, she said, “What?” unable to keep the testiness from her voice. She’d been driving for thirty-six hours with very little sleep thanks to the woman in the backseat.

  “I told you before. I don’t understand why you keep forgetting. Turn your back on Roxy or she won’t tinkle. She’s shy.”

  Why? Shay asked herself for probably the thousandth time in the past thirty-six hours. Why had she agreed to bring them with her? It had been the road trip from hell. She was tempted to drive past the turnoff to Harmony Harbor and head straight to Logan International Airport in Boston and put them on a plane back to Vegas.

  She rubbed the Harry Winston Belle engagement ring between her fingers. It hung from a thin chain under her sweatshirt. The two-carat diamond was her backup plan. But what good was a backup plan if she lost her ever-loving mind dealing with a diva and the diva’s dog? Last time Shay checked, she could easily get a hundred grand for the ring. It was enough to pay start-up costs for her business and to help Cherry out until she found a job. There were only two problems with that plan.

  The first was that she couldn’t send Cherry and Roxy back because Special Agent Bryant had recommended they get out of town until things cooled down. Junior’s partners were still footloose and fancy-free, and no doubt knew by now that Shay and Cherry were the ones responsible for derailing their money train. And Shay didn’t trust anyone but herself to protect her pain-in-the-butt friend.

  The second was related to the ring her fingers caressed. The only way to provide for Charlotte and Roxy in Vegas until her friend found a job was to sell the Harry Winston Belle. Which, up until now, Shay had been unable to do. It bothered her to think about, so, for the most part, she didn’t. There had to be a reasonable explanation as to why she hadn’t been able to part with the ring. She’d tried, oh yeah, she’d tried. Three times. But in the end, she hadn’t been able to go through with it.

  Annoyed at herself, she released the ring. She needed to sell it or at least put it in a safe. “If she doesn’t hurry up, she’ll freeze that way,” she said about the dog, who hadn’t moved from its spot in the snow.

  Wondering if that may well be the problem, Shay squinted at Roxy in the faint glow of the sign’s neon lights. The dog stared back at her. She noted the petulant ire in the poodle’s eyes, similar to that of her owner, who’d sat up to glare at Shay from around the headrest.

  “You know what, I’ll sit in the car, and you can be on”—she refused to say tinkle out loud—“pee patrol.”

  “My false eyelashes stuck together the last time I went out. I hate to think what it’s doing to my implants. You really should’ve warned me how cold it was…” The lines at the outer edges of Cherry’s mouth relaxed into a proud smile. “Oh, Roxy Roo, you’re mama’s best girl. See,” she said, giving Shay one of those pursed lip faces she’d become accustomed to over the past three days, “if you would’ve just done as I told you, we wouldn’t have been sitting here freezing our patooties off for the past ten minutes.”

  “Or your boobs, apparently,” Shay said under her breath, though for the amount of time Cherry had been outside, she didn’t think she had to worry.

  Shay waited a second before scooping up Roxy and then slid into the driver’s seat of the Challenger, passing the poodle back to Cherry. “Okay, are we good now? We’re not stopping again, so speak now or—”

  Cherry’s hand went to her hair. It was such a mess that it looked as if Roxy had been digging in it for a doggy treat. “We’re at least three hours away. Can’t we stop just outside of town? I want to make a good first impression. We need to freshen up before we see anyone.”

  “Unless my uncle is at home and ignoring his phone, you don’t have to worry about making an impression on anybody. By the time we get into town, it’ll be close to midnight.”

  “I thought we’d go to the pub. Your friends must be anxious to see you. Did you let them know—”

  The engine revved as Shay’s foot came down on the gas and the car shot out of the parking lot. Thrown against the backseat, Roxy yelped and Cherry gasped.

  Shay winced. “Sorry, you guys all right? I hit black ice.” Her hands tightened around the steering wheel as she eased off the gas. If she allowed the suggestion that her nonexistent friends were anxiously awaiting her arrival to get under her skin, she’d need to grow an extra-thi
ck layer of epidermis to get through the next few days. “We’re too late to go to the pub. Last call on Sundays is eleven.”

  “Shaybae, what’s wrong?”

  Cherry’s voice was close to her ear as she moved in behind her. Wrapping her arms around the seat and Shay, she was enveloped in Cherry’s concern and sweet, cotton candy scent.

  “I’m fine. Sit back and put on your seat belt.”

  “I’m sorry, all I’ve been doing is complaining about being trapped in this coffin, eating in dives, staying in no-frill motels with none of those fancy shampoos and stuff, and freezing my patootie—”

  “And your boobs, don’t forget your boobs,” Shay said, amused despite herself. Even Cherry’s apology was a complaint. But at least she was self-aware enough to realize she’d been a pain in the patootie. It gave Shay hope that she’d make a better roomie than a roadie.

  “—while you’re worrying about your uncle. It’s probably like you said, and he just got tired of the cold. Maybe he took a trip to Mexico.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I’ll have a better idea what he’s up to once I search the house.” And see if his passport and stash of cash were missing or if he’d left her a note.

  There’d been things she’d held back from Michael when they spoke. Like the fact that Charlie knew exactly who Tony D was, and so did Shay. Back in the day, he’d been known in the Angel household as Uncle Tony, an old friend of her father, Charlie’s older brother. By then Tony had been trying to get out of the business.

  She remembered him as the nice man who smelled like doughnuts and pulled quarters from behind her and her sisters’ ears, but she’d seen another side of him when he’d shown up at her hearing. He’d sat behind her in court, giving her piece-of-crap attorney a coronary by telling him that, if he didn’t get her off, he was a dead man.

  There’d been a cold promise in Tony’s gaze that day. At nineteen, she’d seen her fair share of the seedier side of life and the men who inhabited it and knew without a doubt she was looking into the eyes of a killer. After she and Charlie made it clear that wasn’t something either of them wanted him to do, Tony backed off. It didn’t stop him from offering to off Maura Gallagher and the judge, though. Still, Shay had been glad he’d been there when the sentence came down, for her uncle’s sake. And later, for her own.

  He’d known a woman, Gwen, who was serving time for armed robbery. He’d asked her to keep an eye on Shay as a personal favor to him. The older woman had put Shay under her protection, teaching her the ropes, keeping her safe. At least she did for the first year.

  “Don’t you have family or friends who could’ve checked for you?” Cherry asked.

  There she goes again, circling back to the friends thing, Shay thought. Cherry must’ve picked up on something in her voice. And knowing the woman like she did, Shay didn’t hold out hope she’d get any peace until she gave Cherry something. “Look, I’m not like you. I don’t need friends. I didn’t have many growing up, and that was just fine by me.”

  She didn’t need them for the first twelve years of her life because she’d had her sisters. They’d been sent to live with Charlie after their parents died. He’d tried his best, but raising three little girls between the ages of four and ten was a lot to expect of a confirmed bachelor. Shay looked after her younger sisters as best she knew how. She’d thought they were doing okay until the day social services arrived at their door and removed them from Charlie’s care.

  Six months later, they were separated forever. Her sisters were adopted, and she never saw or heard from them again for sixteen years. She’d spent the year after she’d lost them running away from the group home and back to her uncle and Harmony Harbor. After the seventh time, the powers that be finally gave up and allowed her to stay with Charlie.

  “Right?”

  “Sorry, I missed what you said.” A wind as strong as her emotions buffeted the car. She held the wheel steady, trying to banish thoughts of her sisters and Charlie. She flexed her fingers on the wheel, focusing on the taillights of the truck ahead of her through the spray of slush and salt. She couldn’t afford to be distracted right now.

  The road conditions weren’t ideal, especially for the Challenger that handled winter weather about as well as Cherry. Shay’s car had been another reason she’d second-guessed her decision to drive instead of fly. In the end, she refused to leave her pride and joy unattended in Vegas, afraid that Junior’s friends would take their revenge out on her car.

  “I said, you must have some family, right?”

  “Wrong. I only have Charlie.”

  “Oh, Shaybae. My heart is breaking. Do you hear it? I just heard it crack.” She flopped back against the seat with her hands pressed dramatically to her triple Ds.

  “Maybe your implants really did freeze, and the crack you heard was them—”

  “Don’t even joke about that,” Cherry said, her voice muffled.

  Shay glanced in the rearview mirror. Sure enough, Cherry’s head was bent as she checked beneath her unzipped jacket, no doubt looking for signs of deflation or saltwater damage. A chuckle bubbled up in her throat. The woman might frustrate Shay to no end, but she was good for a laugh every now and again.

  “Everything’s fine down there,” Cherry said, sounding relieved as she scooted forward to rest her arms on the back of Shay’s seat. “Okay, so with your looks and bite-me attitude, I can see why you wouldn’t have a lot of girlfriends, but you must have had the boys sniffing around you twenty-four-seven. Like your friend the FBI agent with the panty-melting voice. Tell me about him. I sense a story there.”

  Shay gauged the safety of the maneuver and then tapped the brake, sending Cherry flying back against the seat. “Lots of black ice on the road tonight. Better buckle up and let me concentrate.” And hopefully that would be the last Shay heard of Panty-Melting Gallagher for the rest of the night.

  * * *

  It was Sunday night, and instead of putting his feet up and reading a good book, Michael was driving under the stone arch to Greystone Manor. An early evening altercation with a neighbor had turned Michael’s abstract thoughts of leaving the city for the country into a reality. He’d called his grandmother an hour before to ask if his family’s cottage was available.

  The spotlights in the front gardens lit up the imposing mansion built of local sand-colored granite. Across the parking lot, he spotted his cousin leaning against his truck. Aidan looked up from his phone when Michael pulled in beside him. With his blue eyes and dark hair and height, he could’ve passed for Michael’s brother. All the Gallaghers looked alike.

  Aidan cocked his head and pointed to his eye. Obviously, the parking lot lights illuminated the interior of the Range Rover and his cousin had caught a glimpse of Michael’s shiner. At the reminder, Michael brought his hand to his eye and winced. He should’ve iced it or tried to conceal the swelling and bruise before heading for Harmony Harbor.

  Strapped in the passenger seat beside him, Atticus whined and leaned in to give Michael a sloppy doggy kiss.

  “Don’t feel bad, buddy. I’d take a punch for you any day of the week.” He ruffled the wolfhound’s coarse, gray coat. “Stay here while I get the key, and then we’ll check out our new digs.”

  Aidan met Michael as he got out of the SUV. “What happened to you? You finally meet a situation you couldn’t smooth talk your way out of?”

  “Yeah, an eighty-year-old former marine who didn’t appreciate Atticus bowling his wife over.” It hadn’t been intentional on his dog’s part. Atticus wasn’t only the size of a small horse, but he also had degenerative eye disease and was going blind.

  “They gonna sue?” his cousin asked.

  “They planned to until I laid out the reasons why they couldn’t win against me.”

  Aidan laughed. “I forgot you can still be an arrogant smartass when you want to be.”

  He didn’t take offense to his cousin’s remark. Michael had been an arrogant ass in his teens and early twenties. “You�
�re just jealous because GG loved me best.”

  “Right now, you’re Gram’s favorite. She’s over the moon that you’ve decided to move into the cottage. No doubt GG’s dancing a jig in heaven now that another member of the Save Greystone Team’s come home.”

  “Founding member. I still can’t understand why we haven’t gotten everyone on board yet. Even my brothers are holding out.”

  “How are they? I haven’t seen them since GG’s funeral.”

  Michael was the baby of the family. Logan was the oldest, and then there was Connor. In Harmony Harbor, they were known as the summer Gallaghers. “Logan’s leaving his last overseas posting for good next week. He’s been reassigned to the president’s security detail.”

  “They couldn’t ask for a better man. Your parents must be glad he’ll be closer to home.”

  Aidan was right about Logan. There wasn’t a Secret Service agent any tougher, smarter, or more capable and dependable than his brother. Michael looked up to his oldest brother and always had. “Yeah, Mom’s planning a welcome-home thing for him. No doubt you’ll get an invite. You can catch up with Conner then too.”

  Aidan grinned. “How is the black sheep of the family?”

  Connor was a big-time corporate lawyer, who was more interested in the money than the law. That wasn’t entirely true; he was very interested in the law and manipulating it to work to his advantage. Which he was very, very good at. “Rich and full of himself.”

  Even though he didn’t exactly approve of his brother, Michael loved him and felt guilty for dissing him. “He probably just needs the love of a good woman to turn him from a beast into a prince. I hear congratulations are in order, Beast,” he teased his cousin.

  “Har har. Let me guess, you’ve been talking to Liam. You two always were a pain when you got—” He broke off at the approach of a woman with wild dark hair and big purple eyes in a pretty, pale face.

  Aidan grinned when she reached his side. “You’ve stopped pulling out your hair, so I take it you were able to access your manuscript and get it off to your editor. Julia’s a writer,” he informed Michael. “I don’t think you two have met. This is my cousin Michael. Michael, Julia.” His cousin lowered his voice and said to Julia, “Don’t embarrass him by saying anything about the shiner, babe. He got beaten up by an octogenarian. He always was more of a lover than a fighter.”