Love at High Tide

by Christi Barth

  “If we do it right, he won’t know he’s being investigated.”

  “He won’t know at all. He’s leaving.”

  Trina grabbed her bag and slid on her sandals. “Then so are we.”

  “What? Why?”

  “We’re going to follow him. That’s the second rule in investigation. When you don’t know where to start, follow the suspect. He could lead us to a clue.”

  It sounded logical. Of course, it also sounded like Trina quoting from every cop show she’d ever seen. Neither seemed like a good enough reason for Darcy to leave her towel. “You’re making these up as you go along.”

  “I’m not. I downloaded a course. Memorizing all the rules was the first step. Now come on.”

  “Huh uh.”

  “It’ll look less suspicious if there are two of us.”

  True. Darcy didn’t believe for a second the guy was dangerous, let alone running a prostitution ring. He would, however, probably be cranky if he noticed Trina dogging his every step. Plus, Trina was her real family, not the blood kind, but the kind of deep sisterhood that was earned. Once her parents decided they’d make more of a splash globetrotting than writing papers from behind a desk, they took off. Darcy dug in her heels at the tender age of thirteen, and refused to go. Probably thrilled not to have to waste time home-schooling her, they relented. Darcy lived with Trina and her family till they graduated from high school. How do you pay someone back for being your best friend and a stable home life? Evidently, by traipsing around after a stranger on the beach.

  “If you buy me an ice cream.” Darcy slipped into her navy, white and turquoise striped flip-flops.

  “Fine. I didn’t think our friendship depended upon bribery.”

  “I didn’t think it involved shopping for firearms and trailing suspects. You promised me a relaxing week at the beach. Instead, I feel like I’m training for the police academy. The least you can do is buy me an ice cream.”

  Trina dashed across the sand. “Fine,” she yelled over her shoulder. Ivan and the girl had walked right past them and were headed for the dune break. With a sigh, Darcy tugged on her hat and ran to catch up with Trina. Once they were only about fifty yards behind him, they slowed to a walk.

  “So, did you ever have a crush on an old guy?” Trina asked.

  “No. Well, yes. In the sixth grade I had a huge crush on our teacher, Mr. Duncan, remember? He had thick, dark hair and was really tall. I think he was fresh out of grad school, but back then, he seemed super old.” She made a mental note to do an Internet search for him later.

  Trina shook her head. “You’re missing the point. No normal hot girl would look twice at a guy like Ivan. She’d look once at him and run away. Old, fat, bald and creepy does not equal lust at first sight.”

  “True.” It also didn’t equal a foreign pimp. But Darcy didn’t want to burst her bubble. Trina’s shoulder had sopped up Darcy’s tears about her distant yet demanding parents innumerable times over the years. She emailed funny local news stories every day Darcy was in Africa, so she wouldn’t be too homesick. So Darcy would let her run with this crazy idea until it fizzled out of its own accord.

  “So the parade of bikini babes visiting this guy is suspicious. Highly suspicious. Hard to explain.”

  Crossing the dune, Darcy veered left to avoid a tween running at full steam carrying a boogie board like a jousting lance. “That does not automatically make them all prostitutes.”

  “Okay, give me another reason. A working hypothesis—there’s a ten-dollar word for my friend with the freshly minted PhD—as to why he’s feeling up girls young enough to be his granddaughters.”

  “I don’t have one.” And frankly, didn’t want to bother thinking about it. Hopefully this chase across the sand would shake this hare-brained idea out of Trina’s head. Then they could go back to gorging on chips and relaxing. “But I have no doubt there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

  “Or, he could be leading us to his brothel right now. From the outside, it might look like an ordinary beach condo, but on the inside, it’s eight rooms of rubber mattress-covered kinkiness.”

  “Ocean City has one of the top ten boardwalks in the country.” She’d checked out the town online, to be sure Trina wasn’t dragging her to a place for retirees. Over the years, Darcy’s parents had insisted she join them in far-flung countries every summer, so the Maryland vacation spot was wholly unknown to her. “It’s all about marlin fishing and family fun. From what I saw driving in, they have about a hundred mini-golf courses. I don’t think it is the sort of town that harbors a secret brothel.”

  Trina threw her arm out, pushing Darcy into the bushes at the corner of a condo. She trampled through the bed of shin-high impatiens right behind her. “He turned around,” she whispered.

  Holy overreaction, Batman. Darcy pushed out of the leafy depths of the hydrangeas and glared at her friend. “Maybe he’s checking to see if he’s being followed.”

  Trina held up her fingers one at a time, silently counting to ten. Then she peeked around the corner. “He’s on the move again. Hurry up.”

  “I’m no professional investigator, but I think it’ll look suspicious if you dart behind a building every time he turns around.”

  “You’re right.” Trina looked her up and down. “Next time, I’ll knock your hat off. That’ll give me a chance to stand in one place and watch him while you pick it up.”

  The hydrangea branches scratching her thighs were one thing. Trina accidentally giving her a black eye by enthusiastically whapping at her hat? Very likely. Also, entirely out of the question. “No. No slapping at my head.”

  “Don’t you want me to succeed?”

  How to answer that? If she believed Trina would actually stick with this career once shorts and sandal season ended, then maybe. Although the thought of Trina doing anything that required carrying a firearm worried her tremendously. “Sure,” she said. “But remember, I won’t always be around. You’ve got to come up with a way to avoid being noticed that doesn’t involve a partner.”

  “Good point.”

  The sound of the waves, gone once they crossed the dune, was replaced by the constant drone of traffic rushing along the Coastal Highway. The heat also seemed to rise at least five degrees, sun bouncing off the asphalt. There weren’t many people on the sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon. Ivan’s white trunks made him easy to keep in sight.

  “There’s a mobile home park down just a few blocks. That would be a great place for a brothel. Also a skeezy little motel across the street. I bet he’s headed there. Maybe this is an audition. He’s taking that girl for a test run.”

  “Honestly Trina, if I believed that for a second, I’d call 911. Prostitution is no joking matter.”

  Trina pulled out her cell phone from the pocket of her swim shorts. “I came prepared. If they go into house, we’ll peek in the windows, and call the police.”

  “Great. Then we’ll get arrested as Peeping Toms.”

  The man didn’t cross the main drag. Instead, he turned into Billy’s Sub Shop. Trina’s face dropped. She tucked the phone back away without a word.

  “Looks like he’s just hungry,” Darcy said. “I’d make a joke about how maybe he’s showing her his salami, but you look too upset to appreciate it.”

  No longer worried about keeping a safe distance, Darcy followed him in the door. “Their sign says they do soft serve here. At least our adventure won’t be a total loss. I’ll take a chocolate and vanilla twist with sprinkles.”

  “We’re not done,” Trina warned. “Patience is important. We’ll do this again.”

  Crap. “Really?”

  “Unless you can come up with a better explanation for his weird success with the hotties.”

  As much as she hated to admit it—even to herself—Darcy didn’t have
an answer. The girl’s body language, the way she held herself when talking to Ivan, screamed of discomfort. Verging on fear? It was the sort of thing Darcy had trained for years to be able to notice and classify. Lounging on the beach would have to take a back seat to sticking like glue to Trina during whatever investigatory escapades ensued. To be fair, she was an anthropologist, not a crime fighter. But something about the situation didn’t add up.

  Chapter Four

  Coop tugged at the bottom of his blue polo shirt. Paired with cargo shorts and deck shoes, it was way more casual than what he usually wore on a first date. But here at the beach, the fact that he’d ironed his shirt set him up as downright fancy. He shifted from foot to foot, anxious for Darcy to arrive. She hadn’t been far from his thoughts all day. It was nice to have something good dominating the front of his mind. There’d been nothing but misery and despair parked there for the past few days.

  An electric blue Mini Cooper stopped at the front of the resort. Darcy got out and handed her keys to the valet. She looked—well, not better in clothes than on the beach, but damn good. As she walked around the car, he got an eyeful of long legs strapped on top of wedges that showed off her polished toes. Super sexy. Having grown up with five sisters, he knew enough to identify her outfit as a peasant dress, with a full skirt that swished around her knees. The orange top slid off one shoulder. Coop would give just about anything to take a nibble of that exposed skin. Probably smarter to wait until they’d shared a drink to try to sneak in a kiss, though.

  “You look beautiful.”

  “You clean up pretty well, yourself.” Darcy tugged self-consciously at her skirt. “It feels odd to have met you half-naked.”

  “I’ll take you any way I can get you.” Coop put his hand in the small of her back and ushered her through the cool lobby, and right back outside to the deck. People packed every inch of it. A DJ spun tunes from a raised platform in the corner. It was loud, festive chaos. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Will you think less of me if I order something completely frou frou, like a piña colada?”

  “A girly drink for a gorgeous girl. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Uh huh. I see that smirk. Remember, I’m on vacation. I get to indulge in as many slushy drinks and salty chips as my heart desires.”

  “Good to know you’ve set up some rules for your vacation.”

  She shuddered. “Don’t talk to me about rules. I had a weird afternoon.”

  “I can’t wait to hear. Weird afternoons make for interesting cocktail conversation. Wait here for a minute.” Coop parked her at the white, carved railing, then pushed his way through the crowd at the bar. Everyone in town came to Fager’s at least once during their vacation to watch the sunset. This being a Saturday, the line was seven deep, and the floor around the square bar shimmered with a sticky layer of spilled drinks. He ordered her drink, and a local beer for himself. And while he waited, he just watched Darcy.

  Instead of staring at the view of the bay, she had her back to the railing. What captured her attention seemed to be the raucous, laughing crowd. Girls with crocheted tops that barely covered their bikinis squealing in tight circles. Guys with peeling noses and sand-spiked hair chugging shots. Older couples looking bemused and halfway to sloshed in matching Ocean City tees. He pegged them as escapees from a family reunion. The anthropologist in her was showing. Avid interest brightened her eyes and tilted the edges of her mouth up into a pre-smile. He couldn’t wait to sidle up to her and say something, anything that would morph it into a full-fledged beam directed at him.

  “Let’s put a little distance between us and this crowd.” He pointed with his beer at the long pier leading to an oversized gazebo floating in the bay. They wandered slowly down the weathered boards, past ornate, Victorian-style lamp posts. The raucous din faded until all they could hear was the driving bass from the speakers. “Want to tell me about your weird afternoon?”

  “Hmm.” Darcy turned in a slow circle, making her skirt flare out. “In a nutshell, I participated in a sting to take down a prostitution ring.”

  “Really?” If she’d said her afternoon was spent harvesting corn on Mars, Coop wouldn’t have been more surprised. Instinct almost froze him in his tracks, demanded he lose the drinks and insist on a full run-down. But interrogation sucked the sexy out of a date. He had to force himself to keep walking. “Were you successful?”

  “Not in the least. The sting was a flop. Even worse, I failed to convince my friend there’s no possible way that a secret, underground brothel is operating right down the street.”

  Coop unbunched the muscles that adrenaline had locked up tight. “Can I assume you’re not actually an undercover agent, recklessly spilling secrets?”

  “No. Well, if I was, I probably couldn’t tell you. But the brain trust behind this particular idea is my friend. Trina wants to become a private investigator. She dragged me with her to buy a gun, and then we trailed after some poor guy who probably has no darker secret than a perverted fixation on women half his age.”

  Okay—so nothing official going down tonight. No cops or agents about to break up his date with walkie-talkies and hours of questions. Coop slugged back a significant portion of his beer in relief. “You weren’t overstating the weirdness of your afternoon.”

  “I definitely earned this drink. And some conversation that doesn’t revolve around criminals.” She sat on the red bench that encircled the edge of the gazebo and crossed her legs. “Tell me, Coop, what are you escaping from on your vacation?”

  “Criminals.” It slipped out before his brain caught up with his mouth. Damn. He really was off his game.

  Darcy halted with her glass right at her lips. “Oh. I guess I should ask if you’re on the lam?”

  Funny. And more than a little ballsy. He liked a healthy dose of spunk in a woman. Someone who could keep pace with him. “Come on. If you won’t cop to being an undercover agent, do you really think I’m going to admit to being an escaped prisoner?”

  “Touché.” She finished her sip, staring at him as though expecting to read something in his face. Good luck with that. “However, if you don’t want me to dump this drink over your head and run away screaming, you should probably explain yourself.”

  “I’m not a fan of drinks that taste like melted ice cream, but I certainly don’t want you to waste yours.”

  “Thoughtful. It is pretty yummy.” She popped the cherry in her mouth and twirled the stem. The sight of those red lips pursed around the stem sent a double pulse of blood racing south of his waistband.

  Coop didn’t know why he was stalling. A perfectly ordinary question deserved a truthful response. “I’m a cop.”

  “Really?” She looked him up and down. Coop wondered if Darcy was trying to picture him in his rookie uniform. Luckily, those days were long past. “A cop who gets to spend the day hanging out on the beach? Do you issue citations to people who don’t reapply their sunscreen every two hours?”

  “Well, I was a cop,” he clarified. One semester of Spanish in high school had tanked his GPA, mostly due to trouble keeping future pluperfect and other tenses straight. But right now, he wished he could remember whatever fancy verb tense covered sort-of-not-really-maybe. “I’m on a break right now.”

  “I thought only tenured professors at stuffy colleges got to take sabbaticals. Were you injured in the line of duty?” She ran a quick hand up and down his arm. “Are you recovering?”

  “Not injured.” Stop being such a pansy, Hudson. Spit it out. Not wanting to talk about the total U-turn his life just took didn’t make it any less real. Like genital warts. Ignoring wouldn’t make them go away. “But you could say I’m recovering. My family certainly treats me like an invalid. An emotional one, anyway.”

  “You’ve piqued my curiosity. Don’t leave me teetering on the edge.”

  Ag
ain, his mind slid straight to sex. How he’d like to see how long he could keep her on the edge of orgasm. But that was leaping about ten steps ahead. They hadn’t even kissed yet. And after he told her his pathetic story, Darcy might not even be interested in swapping spit with him.

  He took a bracing gulp of beer. “I was a detective in the Criminal Investigation Division of the Maryland State Police. Stationed up just north of Baltimore. We’re a tight unit, and it was a good job. My partner, Doug, taught me the ropes of being a detective. It’s a whole different ball of wax than being attached to a police barracks. You’ve always got to think one step ahead of the criminals.”

  “A mental shell game, almost.” Darcy set her drink down on the bench and crossed her legs. One side of the skirt fell away, exposing almost as much thigh as he’d seen on the beach earlier. Looked somehow sexier slipping between the folds of that skirt, though.

  Coop ripped his eyes away. If he kept getting distracted by Darcy’s wowza factor, he’d never finish the story. “Yeah. But with guns, running and a whole lot of paperwork. We were in the Homicide Unit, but got pulled over to help out Gang Enforcement for a week. Bunch of the guys did a bachelor party cookout. Ended up with food poisoning. Seasoned criminals can’t touch us, but a batch of salmonella-tainted lettuce wiped out half the squadron.”

  “Do you have a cast iron stomach?” She patted his abs in a move that turned into a brief caress. Coop took it as a promising sign. Too bad he couldn’t rip off his shirt for some skin on skin action. Despite the cotton barrier, her touch set off a sizzle straight through to his spine.

  “Nope—had a shift. Someone’s gotta keep the mean streets safe. We joked about how lucky we were at the time.” Coop walked to the opposite edge of the gazebo and gripped the railing, relishing the bite of rough wood into his palms. The sun-dappled water was too beautiful a backdrop for this memory. He closed his eyes. “We were wrong.”