by Lucy Quinn
“Do what you gotta do,” he replied. “Whatever they give me, it won’t be anything near what I deserve.”
They left him there, an old man alone with his guilt, and Cookie couldn’t help glancing back as they walked away. “Will he be okay, do you think?” she asked her two companions.
“He’ll live,” Dylan assured her. “Lester’s tough. It’ll hurt—deeply—but he’s got a lot of friends here, and a lot of people who respect him. That’ll get him through.”
She couldn’t tell if he really believed that, or if he was trying to convince himself, but for the moment she was happy to take Dylan at his word.
15
“This waiting is killing me,” Cookie declared, springing to her feet and pacing the front room of the inn. “I hate this!”
“Hey, settle down,” Hunter suggested. “We’ve got this. We’ve done this dozens of times.” He was sitting in one of the armchairs, hands curving over the edges of the armrests, legs extended, ankles crossed, looking for all the world like a businessman on holiday. Only his fingers tightening on the chair and the pulse in his jaw indicated that he wasn’t nearly as calm as he looked.
For her part, Cookie didn’t even bother to pretend. “That was different and you know it,” she snapped, rounding on him. “That was strictly business for us. This is personal.” She ran her hands through her hair, lifting it and then letting it fall back over her shoulders. “I never fully understood what those families were going through, the sheer anxiety they were never able to contain” she said. “But now that it’s happening to me, I totally get it. It’s a whole other thing when it’s your loved one on the line. I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin.”
“I hate to agree with Hunter about anything,” Dylan put in from the couch she’d just abandoned, “but this time he happens to be right. There’s nothing we can do right now. The ball’s in their court. And I know waiting is killing you, but it’s their play and we just have to be ready when it comes. Which means chilling out as much as possible so we don’t go off half… uh, baked.”
That at least got her to turn and smirk at him. “You were going to say half-cocked, weren’t you?” she accused, arching her brow. “And decided against it.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be very accurate,” he answered cheekily, “and I didn’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities.” His teasing grin widened.
“Oh, please,” Hunter muttered, rising to his feet and stomping toward the kitchen. “I don’t think I need to sit here for this.”
Cookie glared at his retreating back, tired of his jealous attitude.
Dylan rose and approached her. “You should talk to him,” he suggested softly.
“Why?” she asked. “If he can’t handle the fact that we’re together, that’s his problem.”
“It is,” Dylan agreed. “But he’s your former partner and your friend. Don’t let this destroy that.”
“I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I don’t,” he said with a shrug. “But I do respect him. And I know you care about him. I don’t want you to lose a friend over us, especially not if it’s something that can be worked out with a little communication.” He grinned. “Besides, I have to admire his taste.”
Cookie smiled back, then leaned in and kissed him quickly. “You’re a good man, Dylan Creed,” she whispered before turning to follow Hunter. She heard Dylan sigh behind her, and deliberately swayed her hips a bit extra to treat him to a better view as she disappeared into the kitchen.
She found Hunter perched on a stool by the island, staring out the back window. Rain was puttering at the opposite counter, dicing something for dinner, but with surprising tact she took one look at her approaching daughter and vacated the room without a word.
“Hey,” Cookie called out as she approached, giving Hunter fair warning.
“Hey,” he grunted back. He didn’t glance her way.
Okay, we’ll do this the hard way. After grabbing the other stool, she dragged it over and plunked it down right in front of him. Then she sat down, staring at him from less than two feet away, making it impossible for him to avoid her.
“We need to talk,” she told him abruptly.
“No, I really don’t think we do.” Hunter started to rise from his stool. “I think you’ve made everything abundantly clear already.”
“Sit down!” Her tone cracked like a whip, and she saw his eyes widen just a little, but he reversed his motion and dropped back down. “Good. Now, I said we need to talk, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
He clenched his jaw and lowered his brow, his dark eyes turning a thunderous black. “Fine, talk,” he grated out.
Cookie sighed, then leaned forward and took both his hands in hers. “I never meant to hurt you,” she said, pleading with her eyes for him to understand. “You know that I care about you. A lot. You’re my partner and my friend, and you’ve always had my back, just like I’ve always had yours.”
His jaw twitched, and although he didn’t say anything, he didn’t look away, either.
“Yes, I’m attracted to you,” she said, forging ahead. “I always have been. And flirting with each other, teasing each other, was always fun. It gave our working relationship a little spice.” She frowned, studying their joined hands. “When I called you that first time, and you dropped everything to come up here and help me, that meant a lot. And then you made it clear you wanted more than just flirting, and I—I was interested, too.”
“Until he came along.” His words reverberated with a deep rumble.
But Cookie shook her head. “No,” she insisted. “It wasn’t about Dylan. It never was. It was about me. And you. But mostly me.” She glanced up at him again, meeting his gaze. “I’ve changed, Hunter. Being here has changed me. It’s not really a question of better or worse, just different. I used to love the big city, the fast pace, the action.” She sighed. “I don’t anymore. Going back to Philly with you proved that. I couldn’t wait to come back here. Back home.”
“Home?” he echoed as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
She looked around the room, studying it as if for the first time—the room, and the view of the ocean beyond. “I don’t know when it happened, but this place is where I belong. It’s peaceful here. I like the slower pace, the quieter setting, the smaller town where everybody knows everybody else. I’m happy here.” She smiled at him. “And I know you never would be.”
“Maybe I could,” he said slowly, as if testing the words out. “Someday.” But then he laughed. “Naw, who am I kidding? I’d go nuts living out here.”
“I know you would.” Her smile broadened a little. “And I’d hate to be responsible for that. Just like I know you wouldn’t want me to be miserable pretending to love being back in Philly.”
“So this isn’t just about him, or about getting back at me for disappearing at Christmas?” he asked, his eyes starting to clear.
“It isn’t,” she promised. “I’d already made my decision before you left. I was going to tell you after the revue, but you were already gone.” He started to protest, and she extracted a hand to hold it up. “I get it. I remember what it’s like. When Spinner says jump, you jump. I’m just saying that my being with Dylan had nothing to do with you leaving like that, and everything to do with that fact that he’s the right guy for me; the me I’ve become, the me I am here.”
Hunter shook his head slowly. “He’s a good guy,” he admitted grudgingly. “Even if he is a serious pain. And I want you to be happy, Charlie, I really do.” He frowned, but his eyes glinted with teasing mischief. “Even though I doubt he can make you as happy as I could.”
She laughed at him. “Now there’s the Hunter I know and love.” She reached over and hugged him tight. “And I do love you,” she whispered in his ear. “You know that, right? You’ll always be my partner.”
“Same here,” he agreed, returning the hug. “I’ve still got your back.”
Just th
en her phone chimed. Pulling free—and wiping at the tears that had mysteriously blossomed from her eyes—she tugged out her phone and checked it. There was a new email waiting.
“You have what I want,” she read aloud. “And I have what you want.” She turned the phone to show Hunter the attached image of Scarlett. She was sitting in a metal chair, against a blank white wall, looking scared but clearly unharmed. “At three p.m., buy a lobster roll at the Salty Dog. Put the token in the bag and leave it on the red picnic table on the deck outside. Once we’ve confirmed that it’s legit, we’ll email you details on where to find your friend. Do anything stupid, and you’ll only find her lifeless body.” Cookie trembled with rage as she read it, but Hunter put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“This is good,” he reminded her. “They’re ready to deal. And the transaction is soon and local, which means we’ve got the advantage. Let’s go.”
Together they rose to their feet and headed back to the living room. Dylan was still seated, but jumped up as soon as his gaze locked with Cookie’s. “What’s going on?”
She explained the situation and showed him the email.
“Are we really going to give the security token to them?” he asked. “I mean, is that going to get Scarlett back safe?”
“We don’t have a choice,” Cookie said. “We’ve got to at least pretend to play by their rules.”
“Right up until we don’t,” Hunter finished grimly. He nodded at her, and Cookie was glad that they were truly on the same team again.
Dylan seemed to take that in and nodded. “All right.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s a quarter to three now. We’ve got just enough time to get down there if we leave right now.”
“Smart,” Cookie had to admit. “They’re not giving us any time to plan.” She grinned wickedly. “Good thing we’re so good at improvising.” She grabbed her coat as she headed for the front hall. “Let’s go get Scarlett back.”
“Amen to that.” Hunter followed right behind her, and Dylan added, “Hell, yeah.”
Despite the danger and uncertainty, and her worry for her best friend, a familiar thrill of adrenaline rushed through Cookie. Once again, she was living on the edge where she was at her best, and this time she had both her boyfriend and her partner behind her one hundred percent.
Brad wouldn’t know what hit him.
16
Cookie stepped out of the Salty Dog’s dining room onto the back deck—a private pier built right out onto the water—and stopped dead. “Oh, come on,” she groaned.
Despite the chilly temperature, most of the tables were occupied by men sitting by themselves, eating the restaurant’s famous lobster rolls. They all wore the same outfit of blue jeans, flannel shirts, and down jackets, but no hats covering their bright orange hair.
Every single one of them wore the same carrot-colored wig.
“Smart, all right,” Hunter murmured right behind her. And, much as she hated to, Cookie had to agree. Brad had either known or at least guessed that by now they’d have figured out who he was and what he looked like, so rather than try to disguise himself, he’d gone the opposite route—he’d arranged to make everyone else look like him. Cookie had seen him in person at the inn, but only a glimpse, and without the hair as a guideline she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pick him out of this crowd.
Dylan was not amused. Striding over to the nearest table, he reached out and grabbed the diner by the collar. “What the hell is going on here?” Dylan demanded, practically hoisting the man out of his chair.
“Hey!” his victim protested, holding his hands up in a surrender motion. “Ease up, dude! It’s a performance-art thing, that’s all! A guy put out a call this morning. Said he’d pay a hundred bucks if you showed up here dressed like this, ordered dinner, and sat out here to eat it. When we showed up, he handed out wigs and said they were the unifying element. Cool, right?” Up close, Cookie could see that this man had a long, narrow face, beady eyes, an unshaven chin, and a wide mouth. Definitely not Brad himself.
“Yeah, cool,” Dylan growled back, releasing his hold and letting the stranger fall back into his chair. “What now?” he asked Cookie and Hunter after returning to them. “Grab each one and shake him until the real one fesses up?”
Much as she liked that idea, Cookie wasn’t sure it was going to work. All Brad would have to do was play dumb like the rest of these guys and they wouldn’t be able to tell for sure.
At least this explained why he’d waited so long to contact her. He’d been setting this up and making sure he had all of his actors in place.
It just made Cookie want to find him—and throttle him—that much more.
“I don’t think we have much choice right now,” she told Dylan and Hunter. “I hate to do it, but I think we’ve got to follow through with Brad’s demands.” And, without waiting for a reply she headed back inside.
Approaching the bar and squinting to adjust her eyes after the bright winter sun outside, Cookie spied a familiar figure perched a few seats away. “Hello, Deputy Swan,” she called out as she stepped up and waved the bartender over. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Ms. James,” Swan replied with the over-exaggerated pronunciation of the well and truly drunk. “How lovely to see you again. And how is the investigation going? Did you find any evidence of foul play?”
“We did, actually,” she said, then paused to order one lobster roll, to go, from the bartender before continuing. “Turns out that Lester killed him. It was an accident, though—they were arguing and Lester stabbed him with an old arrow that had been poisoned. She quickly explained the details then addressed the bartender who’d returned with her food in a plain brown paper bag. “Thank you,” she said as she paid, then Cookie exited, leaving Swan staring after her, open-mouthed. “Take care,” she called back over her shoulder as she retraced her steps toward the back deck.
Some days, it paid to let her snark out.
Outside again, Cookie surveyed the scene. There were perhaps two dozen tables scattered the length of the short pier, most of them painted white but a few in different colors. And one, toward the left side about halfway down, had been painted a bright, fire-engine red.
“That’s the one,” she told her two companions before waving them off. “I’ve got this. You keep your eyes open.”
She walked the distance feeling like a thousand eyes were staring holes in her back. But in reality she knew there was likely on one carrottop man following her every move. Still, she caught the attention of enough of the wigged men that she couldn’t pick Brad out—exactly as he must have intended.
Reaching the red picnic table, she set the bag down at its center. Without even trying to hide what she was doing, she unfurled the folded-over top of the bag. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the security token and dropped it into the bag before rolling it back up again.
Then, using every ounce of her will, she turned and walked back toward the entrance, leaving the bag behind.
“Now what?” Dylan asked under his breath as she rejoined them.
“Now we wait,” Cookie replied, her eyes on the diners. “If Brad wants that token, he’s going to have to go get it.”
Just as she said that, however, a motion caught her eye. The man nearest them—the same one Dylan had accosted—had just pulled out his cell phone and was tapping its screen.
But so was the man behind him. And the man to the right of him. And the man to two tables over. In fact, all of the men now had their phones out.
“What the hell?” Hunter grumbled, but Cookie already knew. Which is why she wasn’t at all surprised when all the men rose to their feet and started to mill about between the tables, completely blocking their view of the red picnic table and anyone who might happen to retrieve the bag sitting atop it.
“Dammit!” Cookie charged into the crowd. Clearly Brad was smart and well prepared. He knew they’d be watching for him, which was why he’d arranged for all these lookalikes. But then he’d
gone a step farther and somehow set it up so that they’d all get up at the same time. Now he could sneak through the crowd, grab the bag, and disappear with it before they could even figure out which one was the real Brad.
Unless Cookie could get back to the red table first.
She was almost there, and had just caught sight of her target through the thinning crowd, when a head-sized white-and-gray blur dropped out of the sky. It landed on the red table with a loud squawk. Then it hopped, wings unfurling again to give it lift as its taloned feet grabbed the top of the takeout bag. And with a triumphant cry, the seagull took to the air again, clutching its prize.
“Get back here, you stupid bird!” Cookie screamed at it, but the bird ignored her, wheeling around and pointing its beak toward the ocean. If it made it out to the open water, it was gone—along with her only chance to rescue Scarlett.
Then a thunderclap sounded behind her, and the bird shrieked in surprise as a bullet sailed right by, barely missing the bird. The startled seagull dropped the bag, sending the sandwich and the security token straight into the icy water.
“Aw, hell,” Cookie heard Dylan curse. He charged past her toward the pier’s far end, stripping off his jacket as he went. When he’d almost reached the railing, he gathered himself and leaped up, arms sweeping up over his head, and in a clean, professional-looking arc, Dylan dove into the dark water, disappearing beneath its surface with barely any splash at all. Cookie glanced back at Hunter, who still had his smoking pistol in his hands but was staring at the spot where Dylan had just disappeared.
“Is he crazy?” Hunter asked. “That water’s gotta be freezing.”
“It is,” Cookie confirmed, shivering as she remembered her own dip into these waters a month or two back when she and Dylan had found Jared’s brother Brayson dead beneath the waves. “But he’ll be okay. Nice job, startling the bird.”
