Hooked (A Romance on the Edge Novel)

by Tiffinie Helmer

  Funny that he’d signed up for this assignment to clear his head of one woman only to have it muddied up over another.

  “Nice outfit,” Judd smirked as Garrett took a stump between him and Nikolai.

  Garrett ignored him and addressed Nikolai, “How’s Sonya?”

  A look of worry traveled over Nikolai’s craggy face. “No news is good news. She’s with the women and if I know my Maggie May, Sonya will be just fine. Maggie wouldn’t settle for anything less.”

  Garrett breathed a sigh of relief. If anything had happened to her—

  He closed his eyes as the pain in his chest flared. He opened them and regarded Judd and Skip. “Where’re we at?”

  “Ready for your version of the evening’s events,” Skip said.

  Garrett met his eyes, and tried not to flinch at the condemnation in his. He’d sure fucked up. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “The beginning.” Cops always started at the beginning.

  He began with being jerked awake by the first bomb, leaving out where he’d been sleeping at the time. Nikolai flinched when Garrett recounted tossing Sonya overboard, and he lost himself for a moment in the fear she must have felt being pitched into water black and cold as death. His heart burned with the knowledge of what he’d put her through.

  A slight breeze drifted by and an eagle screeched above, while waves lapped carelessly at the shore. The sky flushed pink with promises of a stunning day to come. It all seemed so surreal that the short black hours of the night had been filled with death and confessions.

  “I just remember fragments after that.” Fighting to stay conscious, struggling to stay afloat, fearing he wouldn’t be able to save Sonya, and then the bitter reality that he hadn’t saved her. She’d saved herself. Along with Aidan. She hadn’t needed him. All Garrett had been was dead weight.

  “We need to hear anything you remember,” Judd said, settling into the role of good cop while Skip was deep in the role of bad cop. Garrett bet Skip couldn’t wait to cut him down, but he was professional enough to wait until they didn’t have an audience.

  “I remember Earl admitting that he’d caused the sinking of the Mystic.”

  Nikolai glanced away at his words and Garrett knew this night had to be incredibly hard on the man. He’d fished all these years next to the Hartes and hadn’t known the part Earl had played in his family’s tragedy.

  “Did you witness Aidan shooting Earl?” Skip asked.

  “Yes. It was self-defense. Sonya and I would be dead if Aidan hadn’t reacted as quickly as he had.” He met Aidan’s eye, knowing he owed the man not only his life but Sonya’s. He’d be forever in his debt.

  Didn’t that suck?

  Sonya threw back the mountain of covers and sat up. She’d awakened feeling like she’d been baked too long in an oven. Crispy around the edges and hard as a rock in the middle. The feeling sure as hell beat frozen in a freezer, but she’d had enough. She needed to know if Garrett was okay, and Aidan. The troopers had whisked him away just like she’d feared they would. How was he holding up with their relentless questioning, while he battled the guilt of killing his father? How bad was Garrett’s head wound? Had he lost too much blood? She knew the man could take care of himself, but what if tonight had been more than he could handle?

  What if—

  “What are you doing out of bed?” Thankfully, Grams interrupted her thoughts.

  “I’m much better.” Sonya reached for a brush to pull her hair back into a ponytail. She really needed a shower. The dried salt from her horrific swim made her feel like a piece of dried meat. Skin tight and gritty. The cabin was quiet. Sonya didn’t see any sign of Lana, but Grams had been baking muffins. The tempting smell of cranberries and nuts made Sonya’s stomach rumble. She’d exerted so much energy trying to keep her and Garrett afloat she felt like she could eat nonstop for a week.

  “Sonya,” Grams said, worry wrinkling her brow. “You scared years off my life. I’d feel better if you rested some more.”

  Sonya wrapped her arms around her grandmother. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

  Grams hugged her back. “Don’t do it again. I don’t have that many years left to lose.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sonya let her go with a smile. “Where are the men?”

  “Still outside pow-wowing around the fire pit.”

  “Any news on Garrett?” She was afraid of the answer.

  “Wes and Peter returned with him about thirty minutes ago.”

  “He’s here?” Wanda had released him? “Have you seen him? Talked to him? How’s he doing?”

  “One question at a time. From what Wes said, he has a concussion, and Wanda hadn’t been too keen on letting him leave. He didn’t give her much choice. It took fifteen stitches to close his head wound.”

  “He should be under observation.”

  Grams nodded in agreement. “I’m sure you’ll tell him that when you see him. You might want to ask yourself why he demanded on returning. His head’s got to be paining him something awful.”

  “You think he came back for me?”

  She nodded, her gaze wise. “Don’t you?”

  Sonya didn’t know what to think. Garrett was passionate about his job, but then last night in her bed he’d been pretty passionate regarding her too. A blush heated her cheeks at the memory. Question was, which of the two did he care about more?

  The door burst open and Peter rushed in. “Good, you’re up,” he said when he noticed Sonya. “You feel like going over the Double Dippin’? If not, the fish cops said they could handle it without you.”

  “No one’s getting on my boat without me.”

  His knowing grin lit his face. “Thought you’d see it that way.” His nose sniffed the air. “Muffins?”

  “They still have five more minutes of baking,” Grams said, hands on her hips. “Then they need to sit for a few.”

  “Ah, man.” Peter stomped his way back out like a little kid at the end of his patience.

  Sonya reached for one of the many hoodies hanging on nails around the cabin. She chose the one which had the words, “Shut up and Fish,” blazing across the front.

  All she’d wanted to do was fish this season and to date, she hadn’t caught enough. This summer had presented more challenges and revelations than she’d bargained for.

  She shut the door on those thoughts, not ready to deal with what had been revealed tonight. She didn’t know when she would be. Until then, she had a boat to protect from a bunch of nosy fish cops.

  She found the men where Grams had said they’d be. Peter and Wes were down the beach, each with a shovel digging out the doomed outboard engine. Gramps must have put them on the chore to keep them busy and out of the way.

  Garrett was the first to notice her. “Sonya,” he said, rising to unsteady feet, the action causing him to momentarily shut his eyes in pain.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. The man needed to be lying down in a hospital bed.

  “My job.” Garrett tightened his lips into a thin line. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. How’s your head?”

  “Fine,” he bit out.

  “Liar,” she returned softly.

  “Sonya,” Gramps said, his tone chastising her. “It’s been a hard night for everyone. Let’s not add name calling to it.”

  “Right.” She turned to Aidan. He looked as though he’d aged a decade. She walked over to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. “How are you doing?”

  “Been better.” He tried for a reassuring smile, which failed miserably and reached up to clasp her hand in his, giving it a squeeze before letting go. He stood and addressed the troopers. “If you don’t need me anymore, I’m going to check on Lana.”

  “You’re fine to leave, for now,” Skip said. “We’ll contact you when the body is ready to be released.”

  Aidan paled, swallowed, and then nodded.

  “Harte, you see or hear anything regarding Roland, you let us know,” Skip
followed up as Aidan turned toward his camp.

  “I will.” Then he was gone. Sonya ached for what he was going through. Hopefully Lana would look after him. She was a sweet girl, contrary to her genetics.

  “Wait,” she asked Skip. “What’s the deal with Roland?”

  “He’s missing,” Skip answered. “We’d like to question him.”

  Sonya looked to the troopers, settling on Garrett. She knew he hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she’d showed at the fire pit. She’d felt a weird mix of heat and cold coming from his direction. “You think Roland had a part in this also?”

  “He and Earl seemed integrated,” Garrett said. “He had to know what Earl was up to, even if he didn’t have a hand in it himself.”

  “You think he did, don’t you.” She continued not waiting for an answer, “What about the Mystic? Do you think he had a part in that too?”

  “We don’t know. It’s one of the many reasons we’d like to talk to him.”

  Sonya realized how hard this had to be on Gramps. Grams didn’t even know yet, unless she’d been filled in when Sonya had slept, but she didn’t think so. Otherwise Grams would have mentioned something to her. Gramps would have to be the one to tell her. She reached for his hand.

  He took it, holding it in both of his. “You up to looking over the Double Dippin’?” When she nodded, he asked, “Do you need me there?”

  “No, I can handle it. Grams made cranberry nut muffins. I’m sure she’s pulling them out of the oven right now. Better beat Peter to them.”

  Gramps stood and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking deep into Sonya’s eyes. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  Tears clogged her throat as she saw the worry and fear he clearly felt. She nodded and reached out to hug him. His arms enclosed her in a bear hug, and he squeezed the very breath out of her. If he kept this up, she’d be bawling like a newborn. He released her, his own eyes suspiciously wet.

  He cleared his throat and turned to Garrett. “Keep her safe.”

  “With my life,” Garrett returned.

  “Safe from what?” She frowned. The threat was over now that Earl was dead.

  “Until we find Roland and assess his role in all of this, everyone needs to remain on their guard,” Garrett said.

  Well, fucking fiddlesticks.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Sonya boarded the Double Dippin’ with Garrett and Judd. Wes had delivered all of them, including Skip, to the Calypso. In turn, the Calypso took them to the Double Dippin’ and then tied up alongside.

  “Look at this mess,” Judd said, snapping pictures of the destruction with the camera slung around his neck.

  Sonya treaded carefully across the deck, taking in the damage. Garrett seemed distant as he stood off to the side. She didn’t know if it was from the pain of his head injury or something else. He should be lying down, doing what Wanda had no doubt prescribed.

  Her booted feet crunched on glass from the broken windows of the pilot house. The deck and side rails of her boat resembled a pin cushion. She didn’t even know what she was looking at. It was like her boat had literally been nailed. A hole had been blown through the aluminum cover in one of the holds, scorch marks flared out in blackened shadows where the bomb had detonated. Most mystifying of all were the nails sticking out of everything.

  “The son of a bitch packed the pipe bomb with framing nails,” Garrett said, yanking one out of the aluminum side rail. His jaw tightened, a vein in the side of his face pumping in tune to his pulse. It was sexy as hell, and Sonya found herself wanting to concentrate on that rather than the destruction the pipe bomb had caused.

  “Bet that’s what hit you,” Judd said, snapping Garrett’s picture. “You’re one lucky SOB. A nail to the forehead would have killed a lesser man. It probably ricocheted off that hard head of yours.”

  Sonya sucked in a breath. She could have lost him. Tears she’d been keeping wrangled sprang free.

  Garrett came over to her. “It might look like a lot of damage, but once we get the mess cleaned up, it shouldn’t interfere with the running of your boat. Though you’ll want a welder to fill in these holes after the season.”

  She slapped his arm. “That isn’t it, you idiot. I don’t care about the boat, well I do, but Judd’s right.” She reached up and gently touched the side of his head where a white bandage covered his stitches. “You could have died.”

  “As could you.” The breath from his words caressed her face.

  She’d been strong for her family, but now she wanted his strong arms around her, his broad shoulders carrying the heavy burden of worry, while his body made her forget all that had happened here tonight.

  He stepped back from her, putting distance between them.

  She turned and pretended to assess the condition of the net while she corralled her scattered feelings. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t the weepy kind of woman who needed a man to help shoulder the load. Her emotions must be out of whack.

  Was she pregnant? That would account for the weepiness. She’d heard that pregnant women cried all the damn time. She did some calculations, trying to remember when her last period had started. Hell, she wasn’t even sure what day it was. With everything that had gone on this summer, how was she to keep track of it all?

  One thing at a time.

  The net. It would have to be laid out to assess the full damage, but it seemed to have fared pretty well considering. Singed in a few areas that they would have to mend, but it would fish the next opening. The worst of the damage—besides the embedded nails—were the broken windows. Out of the six in the pilot house, she was down to three. The front two windows remained, but one had a perfect spider web crack, which would make seeing out of it difficult if not impossible. The windows over the bunk, and to the side of the captain’s chair, were history. Cleaning up the boat would take the rest of the day. Somehow she’d need to find a way to cover up the windows without losing visibility.

  Sonya left Garrett and Judd on deck to take a look at the pilot house herself. She entered to find glass shards sprinkled like the devil’s confetti over everything. An ocean breeze teased through the broken windows as if finding amusement with her situation. There was lot of work to do before fishing this afternoon. First order of business was to locate a broom.

  Did she even own one? A punch of sadness caught and seized her breath.

  How did she deal with it all? Everything she’d thought she knew was wrong. Twisted.

  All these years, she’d blamed the wrong man. Had her family’s actions soured Chuck Kendrick into the ornery man he’d become? Had she been responsible, in part, for his death? The fight she’d started at the Pitt had been unfounded. She’d provoked a man who was innocent. Though innocent did seem the wrong word to describe Kendrick, but he surely wasn’t guilty of what she’d charged him with.

  Her family had fished next door to a killer all these years. Broke bread with him. Celebrated good seasons and bad, right alongside him.

  She’d made love to his son, and would probably have married him if Aidan hadn’t shown her a side of himself that she couldn’t live with. Earl would have been her father-in-law, grandfather to her children. She shuddered.

  “Don’t think about it,” Garrett said. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her. Hadn’t realized how long she’d stood there staring at the destruction. “Just focus on the job at hand, and we’ll get through this.”

  “Can I start cleaning up now?”

  “Let Judd get some snapshots, and then we’ll clean up.”

  Her gaze flicked to his. “Aren’t you leaving with Judd?”

  “No. You’re stuck with me until Roland’s found.”

  “You’re staying?”

  His jaw tightened as though he was gearing for an argument. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t going to fight me on this?”

  “No. I’m too tired and right now, you aren’t much of a compe
titor. Besides, with everything—” she shrugged “—I’d rather not be alone.”

  Judd showed and shooed them out of the pilot house so he could snap a photo spread. Then he was gone, along with the Calypso, leaving Garrett and Sonya alone.

  “I need to find a broom,” she said.

  Garrett assessed her pale skin. She was dead on her feet. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  She shook her head. “Need to sweep up this glass.” She looked around as though she had no idea where to start. She gazed under the bunk, pulling out the bench. It grated as she dragged it over the broken glass. She peered under the captain’s chair, then to cabinet next to the small fridge. A hiccupping sob escaped her. She bit her lip as if to keep it in and yanked open the door to the fridge.

  “Sonya.” Garrett grabbed her shoulders.

  “Where the hell is a broom?” She lost the battle of tears. He pulled her into his arms, and she sobbed into the cartoon scrubs he wore. A hysterical laugh joined her tears. “I don’t think I own one. Why don’t I have a damn broom?”

  “Probably because this is a boat, and you didn’t see the need.” Garrett held her and rubbed his hands up and down her back in soothing motions. This wasn’t about a broom. Until she could deal with all that happened, if she needed to lose it over a broom then she could.

  “How am I going to clean up this mess?”

  “We’ll radio your camp. I’m sure your grandmother has a broom.” He was more concerned with pulling the nails out of the aluminum sides and decking of the boat before her family visualized what could have happened to her. The anger that caused his head to pound each time he imagined her flesh pierced with nails made his concussion seem like a paper cut in comparison.

  Her sobs subsided, followed by the occasional sniffle and hiccup. He continued to stroke her back, murmuring soothing words into her ear. She snuggled farther into him, and his heart swelled.