Love at High Tide

by Christi Barth

  Exactly as Trina described, London handed something to the girl with waist-length hair in the tiny pink bikini. Darcy swung the binoculars toward the ocean. Ivan still seemed to be bobbing in the waves, uncaring or oblivious. “What’s with the coupon?”

  “I made it. Last night, while you and Coop were swapping spit in the moonlight. Hope you don’t mind I borrowed your computer.”

  “Not at all.” Good thing she’d brought her mini-printer to spit out the Africa contracts. Not that she’d bothered to print out any of the four iterations they’d emailed her yet. “But what on earth will a coupon for dinner do toward helping us solve the Ivan mystery?”

  “People that age never turn down free food. It’s only good for an hour, from five to six tonight. The plan is for us to be there. We’ll get to question her, away from Ivan. Find out once and for all why he’s got this parade of nineteen-year-old foreigners to his umbrella, and why they give him cash.”

  “Wow. That’s brilliant.” Once the girl tucked the paper into her wallet, Darcy stopped watching. She squeezed Trina’s hand. Maybe the investigation biz was the perfect spot for Trina, and her off-kilter way of thinking, to land. “I mean it, sweetie. It keeps us far away from Ivan, but gives us the chance to learn all about him. I’m so proud of you.”

  “I’m pretty darn proud of me, too.”

  “I think we’ll have to celebrate with some ice cream tonight.”

  “What are we celebrating? Wait, it doesn’t even matter. As long as there’s ice cream, I’m in.” Coop cast a long shadow across their towel. At his elbow, Brad pulled off his tee to reveal abs almost as nice as his cousin’s.

  “I don’t think you deserve ice cream, Detective Hudson.” In an ironic twist, the ice cream truck pulled up at the dune crossing, blaring its endless repetition of “The Entertainer.” Kids and adults alike scrambled across the sand at top speed toward it. Darcy tried to ignore the automatic craving for a Drumstick. “We’re both mad at both of you.”

  Coop dropped to his knees. His tan knees were covered with a light mat of golden hair that she craved to touch even more than she craved the Drumstick. Above them, muscled thighs peeked out of his black board shorts. “Honeymoon’s over that fast, huh?”

  Darcy jerked her gaze up to his easy smile. No more knee ogling until she put him in his place. Of course, his smile pretty much melted her insides to liquid lust even faster. He made it oh so hard to pay attention to her righteous indignation. “You stuffed a note under our front door this morning, telling us to use a different dune crossing—”

  “—as if we hadn’t already figured that out ourselves,” Trina added hotly.

  “And that you’d check back later.”

  Another lazy grin, this time with hands spread wide to shore up his innocence. “Aren’t women always harping on the need for communication? Since when is leaving a note a bad thing?”

  Smart ass. She wanted to lick that grin right off his face. “Since you left out the most important part. I can read between the lines. You two went investigating, didn’t you? Without us?” Truth be told, Darcy was more than fine with the guys doing the leg work. But she and Trina deserved to be kept in the loop. Not just sent out to sun themselves like brainless females who weren’t perfectly capable of contributing. At least to the planning parts. Brad and Coop were more than welcome to keep the scary, dangerous parts to themselves.

  Brad flopped bonelessly onto the sand. He pulled the brim of his cap down over his face. “I told you I had to do a run on all Russian suspects at large. It took a while to wade through the results.”

  Nice evasion of the question. “And?”

  He waved an arm in the air, as if batting at a fly. “Nothing leapt out at us. Doesn’t mean we’re done, though. I can re-run it now that we’ve got another clue to plug into the search.”

  “Aha!” Trina drilled her fingers into his ribs. When he jackknifed up on a guttural oath, she said, “You don’t find clues without investigating.”

  “Okay, you got us.” Coop swiveled his head back and forth between the two women. “We went back to the motel. Wanted to take a look around ourselves. Given the potential level of danger, we didn’t want to involve civilians.”

  “But it’s my case! Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do a sweep?”

  Darcy bit back a smile. She wasn’t sure if Trina learned the term from her P.I. self-study, or from her addiction to every iteration of CSI.

  “Trina, a man attacked you last night. For something as potentially innocent as listening at his window.” Coop rested a hand on her forearm. “If he saw you again it could easily escalate. You don’t know what kinds of weapons he carries. We didn’t know if there’d be a crew of guys in that room, ready to pounce. We couldn’t have gotten this far without your expert observations. But there are some things you just don’t have the training to do.”

  Okay, so maybe Darcy agreed with the logic of everything he said. She was very grateful not to be a witness to yet another situation that could’ve flashed over into dangerous in the blink of an eye. And she very much appreciated the care he took to compliment Trina, make her feel like a part of the team. Still, he’d made one glaring mistake. One that he’d better not make again.

  “All you had to do was tell us, Coop. We’re not the bad guys, remember. You don’t have to keep secrets. It would simply be nice to be in the know. Even if we are just civilians.” Would Trina have taken a shot at arguing her way into going with them? No question. But surely they could’ve put on their serious cop faces and talked her out of it.

  A heavy silence fell. Brad and Coop exchanged untranslatable looks. For a few long moments, Darcy heard everything except the response she waited for. Overexcited screams of children, overtired cries of toddlers and above it all, the constant rolling ebb and flow of waves. The creak of umbrellas straining against the wind. The shrill squawk of gulls as they foraged in the sand. Finally, a double blast of the life guard whistle at a swimmer out too far jolted Coop into speech.

  “Here’s the thing. No, wait, I should start by saying that we’re sorry.” Coop laid his hands over Darcy’s, the heat searing straight into her blood. Almost as scorching as the keen blue stare he leveled at her. “You’re right. We should’ve been upfront about our plans for this morning. But we’re trying to fly under the radar, and skirting a lot of rules to do it.”

  “Oh,” said Trina in a small voice. “We keep forgetting that part.”

  Guilt pinged Darcy with the sharpness of an ice cream headache. They’d conveniently dumped all of this in Coop’s and Brad’s laps. Taken advantage of their knowledge—and taken it for granted. “I’m sorry, too. We’ve sucked you into something you’ve got no earthly reason to be a part of, and yet you’re sticking your necks out for us. In a big way. We really do appreciate it.”

  Brad looped his arms around his knees. “This is a tough situation for us. We don’t have enough evidence to do anything but be laughed at by the local cops. What we do have is our guts telling us that there’s something hinky about Ivan. That he’s dangerous. That he needs to be stopped.”

  “The good news is that we’re one step closer.” Coop squeezed his hands tighter around hers. Her heart squeezed double time in response. “If we tell you what we found in his hotel room, will you forgive us?”

  Wow. A sincere apology, after very little prodding on her part. Darcy’s heart bobbled on its axis. Cooper Hudson was one heck of a guy.

  The Scopes girl ran by, giving them a big thumbs up. Oops. She’d better use their current and very handy contriteness to wrangle amnesty for what Trina had just done...without telling the guys beforehand. Using only the very lame excuse that they hadn’t been around to tell. Okay, maybe one more round of apologies from she and Trina to even the score. Then they could all have a fresh start. And if Darcy could figure out a way to get Coop out of his trunks
as a part of that fresh start, even better.

  Chapter Ten

  Darcy tried, really tried, not to skip along the beach in sheer joy. Strolling hand in hand with Coop erased all her fears and stresses. While they walked, ankle deep in wet sand and ebbing tide, the only thing she let herself think about was the handsome man running his thumb across the back of her hand.

  “Thanks for taking me back to your house. I was getting a massive headache from trying to do research on my phone. Looking for any mention of crimes between New York and D.C. with a possible Russian connection pulls up more news stories than I expected.” One hundred percent true. Squinting at the tiny print clamped a vise grip right behind her eyes after just half an hour. The fact that it was a convenient excuse to get away from Brad and Trina? Equally true.

  They passed a dead ringer for Ernest Hemingway, digging his walking stick into the sucking sand with every other step. Then an older couple, content to sit in silence, facing the ocean all day baking to toasty brown. She loved the societal microcosm aspect of the beach.

  “With the new spot you’re planted in today, our house is closer. You’ll find my laptop much easier to work with.”

  Uh huh. Darcy didn’t so much care about her headache anymore. Not now that the prospect of being all alone with Coop in a six-bedroom house loomed in half a block. “I’m glad Brad stayed with Trina. She’ll feel safer.” And you’ll be more likely to jump my bones, she thought.

  “I’m not wild about you guys being near Ivan at all. Just because you’ve got to use binoculars to see him now doesn’t guarantee a safe zone for the rest of the day. What if he decides to go for a sandwich? He might walk right by.”

  Aww, Coop was so cute when he donned his metaphorical police officer hat. Darcy hadn’t had anyone worry about her in a long time. They rounded a railroad tie hemming in a huge scarlet hibiscus bush. Evidently you couldn’t walk ten steps without hitting either crepe myrtle trees or a hibiscus in OC. It all certainly made the town colorful. Festive, even. She bet it was a pretty bleak place in winter with everything hibernating. Just sand and sky...which made her think of Africa again. The ticking time-bomb of her job offer threatened to dull the sparkle of their stroll.

  “Which is why Brad’s there. For protection,” she said. And nothing more. She’d filled Trina in on Brad’s broken heart status. Trina had promised to keep the flirting to a bare minimum. So that was one worry put to rest. But Coop’s concern, while sweet, also threatened to de-sparkle the day. “Can’t we stop worrying about your possible drug-running-money-laundering whatever it might be development? Just be two people spending an afternoon together, talking about non-criminal activities?”

  “Sure.” Coop dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “What’s on your mind?”

  Sucking all the sunscreen off his skin with the strength of her French kisses. Begging him to bury his face between her breasts again. Pulling off his trunks, pushing him into the sand and riding him into passionate oblivion. The sexual buzz from their time in the lifeguard chair still hadn’t faded. Darcy had spent the morning walking around in a heightened state of arousal. It made her feel illicit, like a porn actor must feel between takes.

  “I don’t know. I feel like we skipped over all the normal date talk. Getting to know you stories. Like, what’s your favorite food, or sports team?”

  Coop flapped his arms and cawed. Loudly. He did an impressive bird call impression. “I bleed Ravens purple. You’ll know autumn’s here because my butt’s planted in front of the television whenever there’s a football game.”

  “With grilled brats and chips ’n dip?”

  “Of course.”

  It was the kind of normal Sunday she’d longed for her whole life. Her parents had spent so long outside the United States at this point, they thought football meant soccer. Darcy wanted to be part of a tight-knit clan that all cheered for the same team and gathered routinely. “Sounds perfect.”

  “It doesn’t suck.” In typical guy fashion, he downplayed it. But Darcy could easily picture him sprawled on the couch in flannel—because his broad chest would look amazing stretching out the plaid on a flannel shirt—screaming his throat raw in support of his team.

  “Favorite food?” After silence reigned for several beats, Darcy had to prod him. “This isn’t a trick question. The food police won’t hook you up to a lie detector or anything.”

  “I don’t know—we’ve got a lot of secret agencies in our government,” he joked. At least, she thought he was mostly joking. Who knew how much top-secret dirt he’d picked up during his aborted stint with the Secret Service? “I don’t think I can tell you yet.”

  “Why? Is it classified?”

  “Worse. It’s kind of embarrassing. Can’t let that cat out of the bag until I know you’ve already fallen for me.”

  “Interesting.” Oh, she’d fallen all right. However, it might prove embarrassing to Darcy if she admitted just how fast and how far. Better to keep it light as long as she could. That is, as long as she could resist licking her way up his leg like a vine. They climbed the steps of his house. “What threshold do I have to reach to prove I’ve gained this level of trust?”

  Coop opened the door and ushered her straight through to the living room, with its wide couches and seashore prints on the wall. “There might be a corresponding level of nudity expected.”

  “I see.” That boded well for her low-grade lust fever.

  “Here, take a seat and I’ll get the iPad for you.”

  Wait. He really expected her to sit and do research? Without any necking? Darcy had been sure his offer to swing by his house was a thinly veiled excuse to give them the chance to get naked. Her fingers twitched with the urge to strip off his trunks and go exploring. Well, she wouldn’t give up without dropping at least one more big hint. “On this couch? No way. I’m covered in sand. I’ll make a huge mess.”

  “Good point. Why don’t we take the iPad out on the deck? You can check to be sure it’s readable in the sunlight.”

  Coop pointed at the wide deck that ran the width of the house. Great. Outside and broad daylight rarely correlated to mutual stripping. By the sliding glass doors, she stubbed her toe on a waist-high stack of magazines with bright yellow spines.

  “Sorry about that.” He steadied her by wrapping his hand under her elbow. “First my grandpa collected them, then my mom. They’re old, and a fire hazard, but Mom would know in an instant if we removed a single issue from the stack.”

  “They’re all National Geographics?” The combination of incipient failure and familial pressure that dogged her like a shadow recently doused her lust embers. That magazine symbolized everything she wanted to avoid. Far-off tribes. Unending deserts. Her parents.

  “Yup.” Coop patted the stack the way he’d pet the head of an old, slow but treasured pet. “When we were about ten, Brad and I felt all manly, paging through them to find pictures of topless women. Not our finest moments, but you did say you wanted to hear getting-to-know-you stories.”

  “Well, now you can get to know me through them.” Darcy ran her finger down the perfectly chronological stack, and pulled out three near the top. She fanned them out on the coffee table. “See these? My parents are featured in all of them. Quite a few more, actually, but I don’t want to disturb the integrity of the pile. If these topple over, I think they’d break my toe.”

  “Really? Magazine stars, huh?” Coop bent over to peer at the covers. “What for?”

  For making a splash. For putting their careers ahead of their responsibilities as parents. But that would sound petty and childish. No matter how true. Darcy walked out on the deck, deliberately distancing herself from the magazines and all that they represented. She took a moment to steady herself before answering, finding peace in the flight of pelicans swooping low over the water, with high-cruising gulls above. And then a mix
of calm and excitement jumbled through her as Coop settled his hands on her shoulders.

  “Dad’s an archeologist. He’s got a knack for being on every big dig that breaks news. Mom’s an ancient worlds specialist, so whenever someone wants a fresh comment on a long-dead civilization, they turn to her.”

  “Impressive.”

  Darcy couldn’t tell which was warmer: the sun beating down on her front, or Coop’s body radiating heat across her shoulder blades, down her back, and the edges of her thighs he bracketed with his own. “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “Okay, I get the feeling I said the wrong thing. What do those magazines say to you?”

  “That I’m not good enough, not worthwhile as a scholar, until I’m in there, too.” Just talking about it set her teeth on edge. “Imagine if you had to balance that stack of magazines on your head. That weight, crushing you every hour of every day. That’s what I see when I look at them.”

  His hands slid off her shoulders down to criss-cross her chest in a loose hug. They fisted in a warm knot, low on her stomach. “Honey, you haven’t even taken this job yet, and you already sound burned out. You’ve got to turn it down. Leave Africa to someone else.”

  God, how she wanted to do just that. Living the life she chose, not the one they’d chosen for her. Standing up to her parents, aka disappointing them, wouldn’t be a walk in the park, but Darcy figured having them an ocean away would make the telling easier. Walking away from a job offer that would let her pay off all her student loans and still afford to expand her food horizons beyond ramen noodles? Could she really be so intentionally stupid? “But I don’t know what else to do.”

  “You’ll figure it out.” His voice was a low, soothing rumble in her ear. “If you let me, I’d like to help.”

  Sweet. An empty offer, but still sweet. “How much do you know about cultural anthropology?”