by Sue Wilder
“Remember rule number one,” I told her as I fastened the clasps.
She made a face. “Never go on the water unprepared?”
“It’s the wave you don’t see that hits you.”
The words came out gruffly. Trouble turned away, her lips parting as she stared through the wide windows. I thought she appreciated the same things I did. The blue-water bay. Puffy clouds in an endless sky. The fresh perspective on the water.
And maybe it was the day. What lay ahead. Or the ocean, because the ocean reminded me of Oz.
Good memories waited out on the water, and I knew—if Oz could see the Ibiza—he’d laugh, slap me on the back and tell me how the ocean would always pull me home. He was the reason I bought the Ibiza, so I could go out, anchor and talk to him where he’d last been alive in this world. No one other than Tad understood.
“You belong here,” trouble said, her voice soft, her smile secretive as she sat beside me in the matching captain’s chair. “This must be the one place where you can be found.”
Sharp, that realization. The way she still pierced through all my bullshit and saw the man beneath. Clear energy tumbled from her smile, her laugh. Her memory had been my anchor during chaotic times, more than I deserved at eighteen, and not a woman I should want now. I was a man who looked only as far as tomorrow, when she had a lifetime ahead of her.
The twin engines rumbled to life, the vibrations familiar as I reversed from the mooring and followed the marked channel beneath the bridge and between the twin jetties. I took a moment to adjust the radio, check the GPS, make sure all the electronics were online, even though I’d checked twice before. We were coming up on the warning signs for the bar crossing. They’d flash if the crossing was dangerous, but ocean conditions were calm. We were in a slack tide. The currents wouldn’t change for a few hours and no other boat was in the channel, other than the few crabbing beneath the bridge.
Ahead, the horizon stretched and trouble laughed with delight. She leaned forward, pointing toward the gray-and-white gulls diving and stabbing at the foamy water. “See—vicious. They can’t tell hair from seaweed.”
“Your hair.” The tease felt natural. “The fish are rising and the gulls see food in the water.”
She sighed, leaning back. “I never should have called you a failed quarterback.”
“It was the truth. I took a lot of risks that year, got cocky. None of my receivers were open, so I tried dancing around the defense and got kicked in the ass.”
“Well, I’m sorry for the way I said it. And… thank you.”
“For what?”
“Coming today.” She stared through the side window. “Doesn’t let you off the hook, though.”
“Didn’t expect it would.”
She continued to stare at the horizon, the way sunlight turned blue water into beaten silver. “Do you fish often?”
“Often enough.”
“Is there bait on your hooks when you fish?” She glanced back, her eyes sparkling. “Or do you throw in your line and sit in the sun?”
I grinned, unrepentant. “Gotta uphold the family name, so yeah, I use bait. Might not be what fish like when I want to kick back and relax.”
“Have you fished for tuna?”
“Salmon, usually. With tuna, I’d need two men and a few hours of work.” Work my back couldn’t handle. “I buy it fresh off the dock.”
“Makes sense.”
Throttling up, I relished the surge beneath my feet, pleased at the way the Ibiza plowed through the growing ocean swells, spewing foamy fantails around the bow and leaving a churning wake. “I bring Tad out with me sometimes. The kid has a sense for fish like his dad.”
“You’re teaching him?”
“What I can.”
The immensity of the Pacific was awe-inspiring, the constant lift and roll of the water. I loved the energy, but deep water alarmed some people.
She looked relaxed and happy, staring out to sea. “Will you tell me about Oz?”
“If he knew how I treated you, he’d be disappointed. He taught me to respect women.”
“We were in high school, Garrett.” She shrugged it away. “Disappointment comes with the age.”
“What I did that day, embarrassing you in front of the football team—I shouldn’t have done that.”
“And I shouldn’t have painted hearts all over your car.”
But we both remembered how I hadn’t stopped harassing her, and if there was a time for honesty, it was now. I cleared my throat.
“I was angry. That’s no excuse, but there you were, this bright light. Like your name. Sunshine. It hurt to look at you.”
“Garrett.”
“I just needed to apologize, cupcake. Let it go.”
The GPS beeped; I changed direction, and the engines dug in with an acceleration that made her grip the padded seat.
“Where are we going?”
“I’ll explain when we get there.”
“More mystery, Garrett?” She looked at me over her shoulder. “You never explained this threat assessment you’re doing.”
“And we’ll talk about that, too.”
When a burst of static crackled from the VHS radio, I adjusted the squelch until a male voice boomed through—Gordy Hayes, captain of the Hay Day. He ran sport charters out of Newport.
I answered, and we switched to an open channel.
“Hey, Ibiza, you out here fishing today?”
“No, just heading up north. Thought I’d drop anchor, sit for a bit.”
“Aw—damn, Garrett. Forgot what day it was.” Gordy had known Oz, gone fishing with him on occasion. “We’ll throw in somewhere else, make sure we stay well away from your anchor line.”
“Be safe,” I responded before we both signed off and I looked at trouble. “There’s bottled water in that refrigerator, if you’re thirsty.”
“Maybe later. Can you show me what all those flat screens do?”
I pointed out the forward and rear thrusters, the fish finder. The navigational array confused the uninitiated, and I needed her to feel secure. At least until I sat her down and told her what Wade uncovered during the previous twenty-four hours—and what I planned to do about it.
We reached the coordinates on my GPS, although I knew the location by heart: the edge of the Yaquina reef. Surf conditions were dangerous, but the water was calm with the slack tide. I set the controls, then dropped the anchor remotely and watched the red buoy rise and fall on the swells before I led trouble down to the salon.
A wave surged. With her arms out, she adjusted her balance, glancing up like the girl I’d once deliberately provoked and now found appealing. “Would you believe I was pretty good on the balance beam?”
When I shook my head, she stuck out her tongue. Managed a little hop and wobbling twirl that made me smile. She twirled again, graceful in the orange life vest, before following me into the galley kitchen.
“So, what are we doing here, captain?”
“Waiting,” I told her, silently arranging three glasses on the marble counter. Added half an inch of whiskey to each and pushed one glass toward trouble.
She held it while I handled the other two, leading her outside to the cockpit deck. The breeze held the damp and the salt, but the sun radiated off the teakwood deck with relaxing warmth. Padded benches bracketed the salon door. Bait and fish lockers edged sections of railing. I held both whiskey glasses in one hand while I checked the helm station and made sure we would maintain this position.
Overhead, the gulls cried, and I sensed the moment when trouble tipped her head to stare at the clear sky.
“This is a sacred spot,” she said before I spoke.
“It is.”
“Talk to me, Garrett.”
I turned to study the horizon. The far side of the sky. “Oz loved being out here, on the water.”
“I wish I’d met him.”
“He would have liked you,” I admitted. “Fishing is a hard-going, tough-fighting way to
support a family, but he loved every moment. Loved his wife—my mom. Did his best to teach me how to be a man.”
“He did a good job.”
I frowned, stared hard at nothing, remembering how Oz had more honor than I did. “I ran pretty wild. He caught me more than once. The last time, it was a group of us from the team. We were all underage—seventeen and dumb as sand. Didn’t stop us from buying beer, planning to get drunk on the beach like no one would notice. Oz, he came striding out to the bonfire—should have seen the way some of those guys ran.”
Trouble laughed softly. “Not you, though.”
“No. I stood tall and took what I deserved. Oz didn’t yell. He said he’d share that first drink with me, buy the whiskey when I turned twenty-one. He missed it, buying my first drink, so… every year, I come out here. Honor the day he died. Talk and catch up on things, then share a glass of whiskey with him.”
I held up one glass until sunlight flashed amber on the rim. When I raised the second glass, trouble reached out. Her fingers were warm and steady against my skin as she held on, held Oz’s glass with me while she brought her own whiskey to her lips.
“We’ll drink with him together.”
She sipped. I sipped. Her storm-laced eyes were clear and her gaze held mine. She guided our joined hands toward the railing.
Her fingers relaxed.
I let go.
Oz’s glass dropped, bobbing like a cork on the waves until water closed in, covering the whiskey.
As the glass sank into the depths, I pushed hard against the emotion, against how easily moments came. Then slipped away. And I’d just shared a ritual with trouble that I’d never shared with anyone.
The realization was altering.
“Can we stay here for a while?” she asked.
“Until you get cold.”
“I won’t.” She hadn’t pulled the hoodie up, which I’d expected since the air was cool. But she seemed to enjoy it, standing at the railing with strands of her sunlit hair lifting like flags in the breeze—and what I saw was a woman, wild and free, with the sex appeal and beauty that burned on the big screen.
Soleil St. Clair, the dream of men, the envy of women. And she was here. With me, revealing what she hid behind the image. Sensitivity, vulnerability, and a wariness that was tangible.
“What’s a threat assessment, Garrett?”
Carefully, I stared down at my whiskey glass. “We analyze situations, identify potential dangers and weakness. Research backgrounds. Determine the level of threat, the motives. Probable outcomes.”
“That’s it—a data report or something?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.” She sipped whiskey instead of looking at me. “What happens after the threat assessments?”
“We offer defensive plans. Implement them.”
“Ah… the obvious.” Her head tipped while she considered it. “You must have laughed your ass off when I walked in and asked for fake ID.”
“I wasn’t laughing, cupcake.”
She captured strands of her tumbling hair with one hand, held them at her nape before letting go. “The thing is… that first day, in your bar. I didn’t even recognize you.”
I’d recognized her just by the way she walked.
“But then...” Her dry laugh had me glancing away. “You were flat on my floor, hugging my bunny slipper, and I saw the quarterback I remembered, with that swagger. The cocky grin as you took on the world alone. Always alone, and I told myself I could trust you because I… still knew you.”
I set my glass aside.
“Now I find out that isn’t true at all.” She stared hard at the horizon. “You weren’t honest with me, even after I told you why I was here, and I’m not sure what I feel right now, if I’m angry or just embarrassed. Sad, too. Because I turned to Luna for help, and I trusted Maxton. I just wanted to be safe, Garrett. That’s all. To be in control.”
“You can be safe,” I told her. “I can make that happen.”
“I’m sure you can. It seems your reputation somehow escaped me, but Wentz wasn’t pleased.”
“He didn’t like me poaching.”
Her lips twisted wryly. “Probably not. But I thank you for your help with him today. And I thank you for sharing the moment with Oz.”
She straightened from the railing. Warmth from the sun put color in her face, but all the pleasure in the day was gone, and I realized, from the change in her voice, that she was preparing to run. She’d probably leave the moment she got home, and I changed tactics.
“Let’s go inside.”
“That’s so overused, Garrett—the whole we-need-to-talk routine.”
I didn’t answer until the glasses were in the sink and she was curled on the padded settee, looking lost with her arms wrapped around the orange life vest.
“The man in L.A. isn’t the only one gathering data,” I said to get a rise from her. “I have someone in New York working on background.”
“Great.” Her voice turned husky as her arms tightened. “Get to the damn point instead of hinting.”
“You won’t like it.” I wanted her fighting, not lost, and anger flashed in her eyes.
“What I don’t like is trusting a man who owns a whiskey bar, then learning he’s this mogul like Connor with a security company even Wentz knows about.”
“And what bothers you the most? That you trusted me? Or because I don’t just own a whiskey bar?”
I’d been studying her flawless face, trying to provoke her, and provoking my own anger instead. When she noticed, her eyes glistened. The power of Soleil St. Clair, I acknowledged. Why the fans loved her. But part of me realized she wasn’t acting. I was seeing genuine emotion, unvarnished, and I should pay attention.
“I trusted you because you owned a bar,” she said tightly. “Because, if you were still that high school quarterback, then I’d still be that shallow cheerleader. Graffiti on my house would be a prank. The man in the parking lot was homeless, and I could believe everything was fine.”
Her argument made no sense. But then it hit me hard. “How did things change for you because of who I am?”
Trouble pushed at her hair, then dropped both hands to her lap. “The power between us has altered.”
“How?”
The frown she gave me was defensive. “We’re not equals anymore. And I’m tired of being pulled into the meat grinder of powerful men.”
“No one’s doing that.”
“You can’t see it, but I do.” Her breathing wavered, and she tried to swallow. “Relationships need to be equal if they’re going to work. I know that sounds naive.”
“I would never tell you your feelings were naive.”
“But you tell me I need your protection, only now I’ll be at a disadvantage when we argue.”
“You won’t.”
“Really? When, for the past several days, all I’ve heard is Luna telling me—trust him. And I thought I could when I thought I knew you. But you lied about it, Garrett. Kept your little secrets, made me think that man on the floor ruining my bunny slipper was who you were.”
Energy flared between us, electric and hot, but beneath it was something deeper than what she revealed. Equality was important to her. Honesty. I opted for clarity.
“I haven’t handled the day-to-day with Ibiza for over a year. I turned everything over to Con and walked away. But he was worried. Your sister was worried. They asked me to take a look.”
Trouble rose to her feet, graceful and balanced. “Let Wentz do it.”
I was beside her before she got two steps away. “Ibiza operates on a level Wentz’s department can’t afford and with resources he’ll never have.”
“Illegal, you mean.”
“Gray areas. We find people, talk to witnesses who won’t go to the police. Apply pressure when necessary. Devise effective plans for defense—and that man waiting for you in the shadows? You knew he wasn’t some homeless man, and you ran. Trust that gut feeling, cupcake.�
�
“Please stop calling me cupcake.”
My smile grew crooked. “What if I call you trouble?”
Her laugh stabbed with vulnerability. “So… I’m trouble, now?”
“That’s what I call you in my head.”
She pressed both palms to her face, then pushed back her hair. “Garrett… I can’t handle drowning in someone else. With no choices of my own.”
“I’d never force a choice on you.” Beneath my feet, I sensed the strength in the waves and glanced at the salon’s helm monitor. “Tide’s turning.”
I climbed to the bridge deck, relieved when she followed. Using the automated controls, I retracted the anchor, then brought the twin engines up to a low throttle to keep the bow pointing into the waves. “I have people I’d like you to talk to. They should be at the bar when we get there.”
“Who are they?”
“Friends,” I said as she sat stiffly beside me. “They’ll offer perspective that doesn’t come from me. But whatever you decide, you shouldn’t be alone. Wade identified two conflicting patterns. One person, hiding his actions beneath those of someone else. Wentz hasn’t made the connections yet because he’s still looking for motives.”
I hated the way she flinched. “Is Brand involved?”
“He’s on my list for destroying your career. But the unknown wants to hurt you. We’re working the profiles, looking at both male and female. It might be someone you know, or someone who feels like he knows you, and there’s only one way to find him, stop him. You stay here, out in the open, but with hidden security. Where we can control the situation.”
I looked at her. “That’s all I ask, Soleil. Listen. Then make your decision.”
CHAPTER TEN
Soleil
I stared at Garrett. “What evidence points to Brand?”
“Wade found a stuntman who looks good for the vandalism. He has proximity, the ability to act, and a personal history with Brandon Slate. He’s an either-or for the fire. Hands down, it’s arson, but we can’t tie him in yet.”
“What about the second person?”
“Unknown, but with a distinct pattern.”
Garrett throttled up the engines, and the power surge rocked me back in the captain’s chair. “What kind of pattern?”
