by Lucy Quinn
Hunter gave Trina a tight smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m a little old fashioned. I like to be the one to do the asking.”
Trina’s face flushed and the scowl returned.
Cookie had the urge to laugh, but swallowed it. Instead she turned to Mindy and asked, “Did you spend time with Dickie?”
She narrowed her eyes at Cookie as if debating whether she should bother to answer her question. But then she let out a sigh and said, “No. But Trina’s right. He did hit on everyone. Just last week he asked if I wanted to ride—” she glanced toward the back room and then lowered her voice “—his freshly manscaped man-stick.”
“That bastard,” Trina spat from behind Cookie.
“And you said?” Hunter asked Mindy.
“No. Obviously. I don’t date my co-worker’s boyfriends. Besides, I’m still with Rand. He wouldn’t take kindly to me stepping out on him.” Mindy went back to flipping through a fashion magazine, thoroughly dismissing them.
“Okay. Thanks for your time,” Cookie said. “If you think of anything, give us a call at the inn.”
Neither Trina or Mindy acknowledged she’d spoken. Cookie shook her head, still wondering why the entire staff of the Clip, Dip, and Rip had been hit on and she hadn’t. It was just embarrassing.
“Let’s go,” Hunter said as he held the door for her, and then they were outside, breathing in the crisp spring air.
“Rough,” Hunter said, straightening and stretching.
“Yeah,” Cookie agreed. “It always gets me when they cry.”
Hunter smiled gently at her. “You were always a soft touch.”
“Shut up.” She socked him in the arm to cover the fact that she was a little misty-eyed herself. “So, what now?”
He frowned, thinking about it. “We need to see this boat of his, give it a thorough going-over. Is it here?”
Cookie shook her head. “No, I think they towed it over to Hancock, since that’s where the body was going anyway.”
“Right.” Hunter sighed and glanced in the direction of the mainland. “Well, shall we, then?” He offered her his arm and a crooked smile that sent a familiar tingle zinging through her body.
She laughed, trying to hide her reaction. “Sure, why not?” And looped her arm through his as they turned and headed toward the dock to wait for the ferry.
7
They lucked out—the ferry was in sight by the time they reached the dock, so they only had to wait a few minutes before they could board for the return trip to Hancock. And, thanks to the newly erected cell phone tower Hunter was able to call Sheriff Watkins while they were still on the ferry and find out where Dickie’s boat had been taken.
“Turns out there’s a dock set aside for the cops and the Coast Guard,” he told Cookie once he’d ended the call. They were standing by the railing, and it was hard under Cookie’s forearms as she leaned on it to watch the water slip past. “She said the boat’s sitting there, and nobody’s touched it except to tow it and then tie it up.”
“Great.” Cookie frowned, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest as she recalled the boat. “I didn’t really look around before,” she said. “Dickie was laying there on the deck when we went aboard, and we called it in right away, then waited for the Coast Guard to show up and take over. I never even went below deck.”
Hunter cut a sidelong glance at her, one eyebrow raised. “Listen to you,” he murmured. “Charlene Jamison, total city girl, talking like you were born on the water.”
“Hardly,” Cookie replied with a laugh. “But yeah, you pick up a thing or two. You know how it is.”
He nodded, gazing out over the choppy water. “I know how it is.”
They just stood there in companionable silence for a moment. Not surprisingly, Cookie was the one to break it first. Patience had never been her strong suit.
“So, what do we think about Peaches?” she asked, keeping her voice down so it wouldn’t carry past Hunter. There were a few other people on the ferry, and she didn’t want to add to the gossip mill. Fortunately, the sound of the ferry’s motor, and the constant rush of the wind and the sigh of the waves, provided plenty of privacy. The only person even remotely near them was singing an obnoxious song demanding that ‘his baby shake it ‘til she breaks it.’ She gritted her teeth, knowing that earworm was going to stick with her the rest of the day.
Hunter frowned. “I don’t think she did it,” he answered after a second, his hands gripping the railing. “She looked genuinely upset. Really upset. And even though she and Trina got in each other’s faces, her body didn’t display any other forms of aggression, not even a tightening of her fists, so I don’t think she’s the type to resort to violence.”
Cookie nodded, forcing herself to stop swaying to pop song now imbedded in her brain. “I’m with you. I do think they were dating, like she said. And I totally buy that she’s the one who manscaped him. I have no doubt she was telling the truth when she said she last saw him Tuesday night.” She replayed the conversation—and its interruption. “If Trina was right, and Dickie was cheating on Peaches—”
“Then he could’ve been out on his boat with the other woman Wednesday morning,” Hunter finished for her. “That would explain the giftwrapping.”
“But there wasn’t anybody else on the boat when we found it,” Cookie pointed out. “So where’d this secret lover go?”
“I don’t know,” Hunter admitted. “Maybe something on the boat can help answer that question.”
There wasn’t anything else to say, so Cookie leaned forward until the ocean spray tickled her cheeks, then closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the sun and the sea and the motion—and the reassuring presence of the man beside her.
They found the dock easily enough—it was only a few rows over from the ferry terminal. In fact as soon as they’d exited the building, Cookie spotted Dickie’s boat. “There it is, the one on the end,” she told Hunter, pointing.
He paused long enough to take in the sight, and whistled. “You’re right, that’s a mighty fine boat.”
“It really is,” Cookie agreed as they approached it. Long, sleek, powerful, with graceful curves and gleaming surfaces, Cookie noted its name, Musical Fancy, emblazoned along the side in elegant gold script. It looked like the perfect rich man’s toy. Which she supposed it had been.
“Ready?” Hunter said, holding out a hand to her.
Cookie gave him a side-eye glance, rolled her eyes, and moved to climb aboard without his help. But before she could step off the dock, a head popped up from below deck.
A head of long, wavy, golden-blond hair.
“Hayley?” Cookie blurted out, and the head swiveled in her direction. Sure enough, it was the singer. And she didn’t look particularly pleased at being discovered there.
“Wait, what?” Hunter had just moved to follow Cookie when she had called out, and now he stopped, staring at the singer who was now standing near the driver’s seat. “Hayley Holloway?”
Those famous green eyes fixed on Hunter. The scowl she’d been wearing melted away, to be replaced by a warm, slightly sultry smile. “That’s right,” she replied, her voice rich and welcoming and, as always, sounding like it was just about to burst into song. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Uh, Hunter, Hunter O’Neil. Special Agent Hunter O’Neil,” Hunter practically babbled, vaulting onto the boat with a thud to offer the singer his hand. “I’m a big fan, Ms. Holloway.”
“Please, call me Hayley,” she insisted, glancing up at him over her shoulder and—really and truly—batting her eyelashes. It was the second time Cookie had seen Hayley pull that trick, and it worked just as well now as it had on Dylan the other day. Hunter practically tripped over his own two feet, he was so busy basking in her glow. He was like a giant puppy dog, desperate to please its new owner.
It was pathetic.
“What’re you doing here?” Cookie asked, clambering onto the boat herself. “We missed you back at the inn. Di
d you get in late last night?”
“I did,” Hayley answered, “and I had to leave early—I had to come to the police station here to identify Dickie’s body.” She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and their redness did suggest she’d been crying. “The sheriff told me his boat was here, so I came to see it for myself.” She hugged herself tightly. “I just—I keep expecting him to come out of his cabin and say something to me, make a joke about making me walk the plank or something.” She choked back what sounded like a suspiciously like practiced sob, and Cookie wondered if it was real or just a well-done performance.
“You can’t be on here, ma’am,” Hunter said, though his downcast eyes and shuffling his feet, made it clear he was embarrassed to have to deny her anything. “This is a crime scene, and it’s authorized personnel only. I’m really sorry.”
“Oh, of course!” Hayley straightened like she’d just been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Which she basically had. “I’m so sorry,” she continued. “I’ll get out of your way so you can do your work.”
She stepped past them, clutching a backpack that hung over one shoulder. “Is that yours?” Cookie asked, studying the bag. It was old and stained, and the straps were fraying at their ends. She definitely hadn’t seen Hayley with it when the singer had checked in, and it didn’t exactly go with the expensive but understated clothes she was wearing.
But Hayley clutched the bag tighter in response. “Yes, it’s mine,” she replied sharply, her eyes flashing. “I know it’s not fancy or anything, but Dickie gave it to me years ago, when we both kids, and I’ve had it ever since. It’s like my lucky charm.” She hugged it close. “And right now I could really use some good luck for a change.”
Hunter glared at Cookie like she’d just insulted his mother. “We understand,” he assured Hayley, who batted her eyelashes a little more in response. “And we’re very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Hayley leaned in and hugged Hunter quickly, then let him go, wiping at her eyes again. “Please let me know if you find anything.”
Then the famous singer hopped gracefully down to the dock and walked away without a backward glance.
“Wow,” Hunter said in almost a whisper, watching her go. “Hayley Holloway. Unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable is right,” Cookie agreed, glaring at him. “What’s wrong with you? We find her at the crime scene, actually on the boat, and you tell her she can go? And don’t argue when she takes that backpack with her? Can you really see Hayley Holloway even owning a bag that battered and old and ugly, much less using it? Lucky charm my ass.”
“So, what, you think she killed her own brother?” Hunter shot back. “Why would she? And how would she, when you said she didn’t even show up on the island until yesterday?”
“I don’t know!” Cookie shouted. “I don’t know if she did it, or hired someone to do it, or is involved at all. I don’t know if there was anything to that bag or not.” She sighed, forcing herself to calm down. “But what I do know is that she was interfering with a police investigation, stepping onto property seized by the police, possibly damaging or even destroying crucial evidence. And we let her get away with it.”
The starstruck look was slowly sliding off Hunter’s face, leaving a stern, focused scowl behind. “You’re right,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I can guess,” Cookie retorted, batting her own eyelashes at him. “Oh, Agent O’Neil,” she began, putting on a thick Southern drawl, “I’m just so lucky to have a big ol’ man like you here to protect little ol’ me!”
Hunter’s lips curved into a hint of a smile. “All right. I get your point. I was an idiot,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s go see if there’s anything useful here, all right?”
Cookie nodded, and together they began carefully combing over every inch of the Musical Fancy.
“I’ve got nothing,” Hunter reported half an hour later, when they met back up at the front deck area. “You?”
Cookie shook her head. “I found the clothes he was probably wearing,” she offered, “they’re in a little pile over there.” She gestured toward the back of the boat, and the other seating area there. “No marks on them, though—at a guess, he took them off himself and just set them there, meaning to put the back on at some point.”
“Well, his wallet, watch, phone, and keys are all in the main cabin,” Hunter replied. “Cash and credit cards still there, so we know it wasn’t a robbery. Which wouldn’t have made sense anyway, since the most valuable thing here is the boat itself, and obviously whoever did this didn’t even try to take it.” He sighed and ran a hand over the smooth skin of his scalp, which he often did when he was frustrated. “We can get a bluelight over here, check the bed and the seats, but even if they do show he was having sex, we won’t know when or with whom unless they got sloppy.”
Cookie nodded, scanning the boat’s upper area one more time. There weren’t any clues as to what had killed Dickie, or who had been here with him, or anything else that she could see. “Looks like a dead end,” she said finally.
“Yeah.” Hunter waved a hand back toward the dock. “After you.”
“So,” he said as they were hopping back down. “Hayley Holloway, huh? You said you’d met Dickie. Did you know she was his sister?”
“Only since yesterday when she showed up out of the blue,” Cookie replied.
“Wow.” Hunter stared past her as if he was bringing the vision of Hayley to mind. “You always hear that cameras and makeup are responsible for most of the magic,” he said, returning his too-interested gaze back to Cookie, “but she’s just as hot in real life as she is on the screen. Unreal.”
“I didn’t think you liked girls who don’t eat,” Cookie snapped, tired of seeing Hunter so starstruck. Or maybe it was just that it wasn’t her he was acting all googly-eyed over.
Her sharp comment made him sober, his eyes focused on her, boring into her. Then he smiled, a slow, sexy smile as warm as his gaze, and Cookie felt like both were enveloping her. In a good way. A really good way.
“I don’t,” he agreed slowly. “You’re right. I prefer a woman with a healthy… appetite.” The way he lingered on that last word set her pulse racing, and the way his smile widened set her every nerve ending on fire. “That’s why I’m taking you to dinner tonight,” he finished, his eyes raking over her again and leaving trails of heat in their wake.
“Oh, are you?” Cookie asked, though she had trouble forming the words. Her brain was in a fog of heat and desire. It was like all the thoughts she’d ever entertained about Hunter, all the fantasies and notions, had come boiling back up at once.
“I am,” he repeated, his hand rising to rest against the small of her back.
Cookie gasped from the contact, and the electricity radiating out from it. Every inch of her tingled, and he wasn’t even touching her bare skin. Her mind raced with possibilities, ones she’d ignored the last time he was here.
Was she prepared to cast those possibilities aside a second time? She wasn’t so sure.
8
As they approached the inn, Cookie was surprised to see a figure pacing back and forth on the front porch. It was a man, she could tell that much from the silhouette, and not a slender fellow, either. But then her eyes picked out the brown pants, tan shirt, and the gun belt, along with his round clean-shaven face and thick patch of dark hair. She gritted her teeth, the desire to turn around and pretend she never saw him nearly making her retreat.
She’d never been much for running, though, except for her and Rain’s escape to the island.
“Deputy Swan,” she called out as she mounted the steps. “What a pleasant surprise.”
The deputy turned to face them at the sound of her voice. “Ms. James,” he replied, in a lower register than she’d heard from him before. Was he trying to sound intimidating? “I want a word with you, if you don’t mind.” He glanced behind her, to Hunter, and some of his bold
ness faded. “In private, please.”
Cookie nodded to Hunter, who brushed past her and headed inside. “All right, Deputy,” she said once they were alone. “What can I do for you?”
“What you can do for me,” he snapped, “is to knock it off!” His face was red, his voice thick, his eyes narrowed—he looked to be genuinely pissed.
Cookie, on the other hand, was merely confused. “I’m sorry? Knock what off, exactly?”
He stomped over until he was standing right in front of her, then shook a hand in her face. “Don’t play games with me, missy!” he insisted. “I know what you’re up to. But it’s not going to work, you hear? You can’t just sail in here and take over.”
“Take over?” But the deputy wasn’t listening.
“I’ve lived in these parts my whole life,” he continued, turning away from her in order to pace again, his voice rising to be heard over his heavy footsteps. “I know these people. I know this town. I get that when you look at me, you just see some lazy slob who sits back on his butt all day and does Sudoku and watches YouTube videos, and you know what? Maybe I am. But I’m still the one who knows that Angus down at the Tipsy Seagull waters down his drinks, and that Barry and Ray have been competing for best catch for years, and that Ray’s daughter Shirelle teaches second grade at the local school, and that old Mr. Cheng who owns the coffee shop still has a brother and sister in China. I know everything about this place. I know when strangers show up, like that guy Rand complained about yesterday who kept whistling show tunes. I know when people leave, like the time Mindy decided to go off and be a star in New York but was back two weeks later and didn’t want to talk about it. And if you think you’re just gonna waltz in here with your smile and your curves and steal it all away from me—”
“Swan!” Cookie had to plant herself in his path and raise her own voice to a bitingly sharp shout to get his attention. “I am not trying to steal anything or take over anywhere!”
That got him to stop. “What?” he asked, staring at her, eyes a bit wide and frantic. “You’re not?”
She shook her head.
