by Lucy Quinn
“Thanks,” he replied, hands twitching like he was half-considering covering himself but had decided to brazen it out instead. “You too.” Then he paused. “You wouldn’t happen to know Peaches’ last name, would you?”
Cookie mentally kicked herself for not thinking of asking the question first. If anyone knew it was her mother. Rain was an incorrigible busybody, and while she might forget things like paying bills or returning library books or attending parent-teacher conferences, she never forgot a name or a face.
“Of course,” Rain answered. “It’s Blume, like the children’s book author. And her real first name is Martha, Martha Blume.” She nodded wisely. “I definitely think she made the right choice changing that to Peaches, don’t you?”
“Sure,” Cookie agreed absently, already opening the phonebook and flipping to the Bs. It didn’t take long. “Got it,” she told Hunter, snatching up the phone receiver and dialing the number for “Blume, M.” He crowded in close beside her as it rang, and she tilted the receiver away from her ear so he’d be able to hear as well.
“I’ll just leave you two to it,” Rain called out, seeing that they’d forgotten her. “I need to get breakfast going, anyway.”
“That sounds great, thanks,” Hunter said, but didn’t take his eyes from Cookie.
And just then the phone clicked as someone on the other end picked up.
“Hello?” The voice was definitely the beautician, though drowsy.
“Peaches?” Cookie said. “Hi, it’s Cookie James—we met the other day.” She paused, giving the blonde a chance to wake up a little more.
“Oh? Sure, hi.”
“Hi. Sorry about calling you so early, and on a Saturday, but this couldn’t wait.” Even as she said it Cookie realized that the salon probably was open later today, and that they could have just waited and gone to ask Peaches about it there. But she wasn’t sure if Peaches would be working, and she also didn’t really feel like having Mindy eavesdropping on them. “We just had a quick question for you. About Dickie.”
There was a brief pause, and when she replied again Peaches sounded fully alert. “Go ahead.”
“You said that the two of you went back to his place Tuesday night,” Cookie continued. “Did you mean his boat?”
That got a laugh from the other end. “No, not his boat,” Peaches clarified. “I know he loved that darn thing, but I’m actually not a big boat person. I like beaches more.”
Cookie glanced up and nodded at Hunter. “So you went to his apartment instead?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know the address, by any chance?” Beside her, Hunter had already grabbed the small pad and pen that sat beside the phone for messages, and held them ready.
“Sure. It’s 34 Main, number 4b. Did you want my key?”
Cookie considered that, looking to Hunter to get his thoughts. He shook his head, though, so she replied, “No, that’s okay. But thanks.”
“No problem.” Peaches’ words were a little slurred, and Cookie could tell that the beautician’s brief burst of wakefulness was already fading.
“I’ll let you go,” Cookie told her. “But thank you. This is a big help.”
“Okay. Bye.” The last word was barely audible, and as the line went dead Cookie knew the blonde would be back asleep in seconds. It was fifty-fifty whether she’d even remember this conversation later.
But Cookie would. And Hunter had the address written on the notepad to prove it.
“Nice,” he told her as he returned the receiver to its cradle. “So we’ve got an apartment that Dickie didn’t want most people to know about.”
“Not even his sister,” Cookie pointed out. “Or if she does know about it, she didn’t say anything.”
They exchanged a look, and Cookie knew they were thinking the same thing. Either Dickie had been holding out on Hayley—or Hayley had been holding out on them. Either way, they had the address now, and they were going to find out exactly what he’d been hiding. After a shower and a change of clothes, Cookie decided. One couldn’t run all morning and not end up smelling like the inside of a gym. Her stomach grumbled. And some breakfast, she added.
Fortunately, the apartment would be going anywhere.
12
“Explain to me again why we didn’t accept Peaches’ offer of a key?” Cookie asked as they walked back into town. She felt a lot more human now that she’d showered, changed and had a quick bite, even if they hadn’t eaten a full breakfast.
“Better not to get her involved any further,” Hunter replied over his shoulder. “I called the landlord and he said he’ll meet us there with the keys.”
Cookie nodded. “Plus, it’ll be a lot easier to shoo him away than her,” she reasoned out loud.
“Exactly.” He grinned at her. “So, good run this morning?” The way his eyes darkened and his voice dropped, she knew he wasn’t thinking about the actual running part.
Neither was she. All she could remember, really, was the sensation of him standing so close to her, studying her with that intense gaze of his, like he planned to devour her with his eyes. For starters.
But now they were on the trail again, and she knew they couldn’t let themselves get distracted. So she just smiled coyly at him, tugging a strand of hair forward and wrapping it around her finger. “I enjoyed it,” she admitted playfully. “Though I seem to recall you making some disparaging remarks about my figure.”
As expected, that drew his eyes to her body, now clad in comfortably form-fitting jeans, a button-down rolled up at the sleeves and tied halter-style just below her bust. “Believe me,” he assured her with great sincerity, “I would never, could never, disparage your figure.”
“No? What would you call it, then?”
“My remarks, or your figure?” he shot back, his grin going wolfish, all sharp and predatory.
“Either.” She hoped she wasn’t showing just how much the back-and-forth was affecting her, as heat once more suffused her every fiber.
“Well, as to my remarks,” Hunter started carefully, acting like he was pondering the question. “I’d say that they were more…”
But Cookie abruptly stopped listening. Because they were approaching the heart of town, and up ahead was the ramshackle-looking structure that was the Tipsy Seagull, the local bar. And out front of it, at one of the handful of tables, a tall lovely blond woman and a taller, rangy dangerously handsome man sat under a broad dotted umbrella.
Hayley and Dylan.
Out together. Again. Alone.
What was it with this woman? Cookie couldn’t help but wonder. Lately, everywhere she spotted Hayley… she was with Dylan. And as much as Cookie hated to admit it, no matter what was or wasn’t going on between her and Hunter, it pained her to see Dylan with Hayley.
The universe was definitely laughing at her. Well, she could laugh, too.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing Hunter’s hand and tugging him forward. “Let’s get something to eat.”
“What?” Even as he protested, Hunter let himself be led toward the bar. “We just ate like twenty minutes ago.”
“A bite of toast and a slice of bacon does not count as proper breakfast,” Cookie replied. “Besides, it’s almost noon. That makes it lunch time.” Stepping up onto the porch, she angled to the right, claiming the back seat at the table closest to the far edge.
Which put them as far away from Hayley and Dylan as it was possible to be out here. But set her facing them.
They were both turned away from her, which was even better. This way she could keep an eye on Dylan and his former client, but they’d have no idea she was watching them.
“What are you up to, Charlie?” Hunter asked, flopping into the seat across from her. “Why’re we stopping here? I thought you were in hurry to check out Dickie’s apartment?”
“I am,” she replied, which was true. It’s just that this took precedence. “But I don’t want to go search a place on an empty stomach,” she lied. “If I
do that I’ll be all grumbly and growly and I’ll probably miss a whole lot of clues. Better to pause for a few, have something to eat, and then head over there clearheaded and ready to work. Right?”
Hunter didn’t reply, which should have been her first warning. The second was that he had turned around and was now scanning the area, looking for potential threats and other items of interest. She knew when he’d spotted Hayley and Dylan because she saw Hunter’s jaw tighten and his brow plunge into a deep furrow.
“Is that why we stopped?” he asked, jerking one thumb behind him toward the other couple, who fortunately continued to chat and laugh, completely oblivious. “Because you wanted to spy on them?”
“I’m not spying,” Cookie replied, leaning forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “Keep it down.”
“Why?” He demanded, not bothering to quiet the edge of his words. “You afraid they’ll see us and realize you’re stalking them?” His eyes flashed like pieces of obsidian, dark and dangerous. “Or is it just him you’re following?”
“I’m not following anyone,” she insisted. “Come on, Hunter, please.”
“Please what?” his chair scraped on the floor as he started to rise from his seat. “Please go over and say hi and invite them to join us, just like they let us join them last night? Okay, sure.”
“No!” Reaching out, she latched onto his wrist and tugged as hard as she could, dragging him back into his seat before he could stand completely and let his head rise past the protective cover of their umbrella. “Just sit down,” she urged. “Please.”
He did, but his glare didn’t soften any. “This is ridiculous, Charlie,” he told her instead, each word punching forward like a bullet. “What the hell are you doing? We have work to do.”
“I know.” She released him and sat back with a sigh, her hair flopping forward and half covering her face. “I know.” When she shook her head, her hair flared out all around her. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Hunter,” she admitted finally, appealing to him with her eyes. “I really don’t. I’m sorry. You know I’m not like this.” Except apparently now she was. At least when it concerned Dylan.
Her obvious distress and contrition finally thawed some of Hunter’s icy anger. “I don’t know what you are,” he told her after a second, but there was more regret than rage in his voice. “I feel like you’ve changed out here. You’re not the same person I knew.” There was something wary in his eyes. “I’m not sure what you’re capable of, anymore.”
“That’s bullshit,” she snapped, irritation pushing her previous burst of jealous curiosity to the side for a moment. “I am exactly the same person you partnered with back in Philly. The same person who covered for you when you were late because you met some chickie the night before, the same one who answered the phone when she called the next day wanting more. The same person who drew down on fugitives right beside you, or kept you covered while you went for the door. The same person who caught the clues you missed, found the connections you overlooked, just like you did with me. The same person who tagteamed suspects with you, good cop to your bad, digging out the truth on case after case. The same person who brought down DeMasi’s little brother with no fear and ended up here on this island trying to keep you and everyone else I love safe.”
Her voice rose slightly, but she was too upset to care. “If you don’t believe that, if you really don’t trust me to have your back, maybe you need to talk to Watkins, get me taken back off this case. I’m sure you can handle it on your own. It’d be a lot safer for you, seeing as how you’re paired with somebody you don’t even know anymore.”
“You love me?” he asked, his voice full of shock and awe.
Oh crap. Had she really just blurted out that she loved him? Putting the hitman Vinny DeMasi away for two consecutive life sentences had just cost her one more thing. Her dignity. Of course she loved Hunter. He’d been her partner, and besides Scarlett, her best friend. And maybe there was more there. Maybe there wasn’t. Sure they were attracted to each other, but the potential for a real relationship was slim at best. She wouldn’t be going back to Philly. Not with DeMasi gunning for her and anyone she was connected with. The DeMasis never forgot. If they got wind of where she was, they’d take her out just to prove a point.
“I didn’t… you know what I mean,” she said, her tone defeated. “They will go after anyone they think they can use against me just for sport. And if they think you’re more to me than just an ex-partner, they’ll be after you next.”
Now it was Hunter’s turn to sit back, running a hand over his scalp. “Look, calm down,” he urged, his other hand rising toward her, palm out. “The DeMasis don’t know anything. They have more important things to worry about right now. Ever since the conviction, they’ve been dealing with more Fed inquiries. They have bigger fish to fry.”
“And when that’s over?” She shook her head, no longer wanting to talk about it. “Never mind. I’m good here. I don’t need to go back down that road. But don’t tell me I’m not the same person I was or that you don’t trust me. It’s insulting.”
“I’m sorry I said that, okay? Of course I still trust you, Charlie. With my life. No question.” He sighed. “I just—I’ve never seen you like this.” Again he gestured behind him, toward the other couple there. “You dated a few times, sure, and let’s not forget that I covered for you in the morning once or twice, too.”
He smirked for just a second, and she flushed, remembering hurrying into the office those times straight from some guy’s bed, still wearing yesterday’s suit, hair tangled, makeup either washed away or smudged but eyes bright with conquest. He was absolutely right; she’d been no stranger to the one-night stand. “But I’ve never seen you this wrapped up in a guy,” her ex-partner continued. “Especially one you’re not even sleeping with, far as I can tell.” His eyes were fixed on her as he said that last bit, which was half-question and half-accusation, and Cookie felt her face burn under the weight of his sudden interrogation.
“I—I need to pee,” she announced, shoving the chair back and bouncing to her feet, desperate to escape this conversation. “I’ll be right back.” She turned and plunged through the door into the bar proper, not even glancing around to see whether her sudden movement had attracted Dylan’s attention. All she could think about was gaining some space from Hunter’s stare, and the judgment she could feel lurking behind it.
The Tipsy Seagull’s interior was just as dark and uncrowded as Cookie remembered, the long, dark wooden bar still taking up the entire side wall and tables scattered across the rest of the floor. But she came to a sudden stop, realizing she had no idea where the restrooms actually were. Sloppy. She’d been inside more than once. Maybe Hunter was right and she was changing? Back in Philly, she’d know where the restrooms and all the exits were after the first time she’d frequented an establishment. Damn., she’d have to work on that.
It was then she noticed was the singing. Some dude was humming the prelude to the Sound of Music…. badly. At least it was better than the Shake It song, but what was with everyone this week? Was it national singing week or something?
Once her eyes had adapted to the dim lighting, she spotted a telltale pair of doors to the right. Marching in that direction, she pushed open the door rather optimistically labeled “ladies” and stepped through. It wasn’t a large room, but big enough to accommodate two stalls on one side and two sinks in front of a long mirror on the other. Though she didn’t actually need the facilities, Cookie let herself into one of the battered wooden stalls anyway, closing the door behind her and sinking down onto the toilet seat there. She just wanted a few minutes to compose herself before she had to face Hunter again.
Compose herself—and figure out what she was doing. Because Hunter was right, she was acting crazy. Over Dylan. A guy she’d only known a few weeks, and not even managed to finish an entire date with. That wasn’t like her. She’d never let a guy get under her skin before. She’d lived for the job. Relationships
had always been secondary.
Scarlett used to rib her about that, calling her CJ McKay after the old TV character, who’d been a trucker and had never stuck around to form relationships. She’d been a lot more comfortable staying in control, keeping herself aloof, preferring casual dating, and then walking away rather than letting them get close enough to possibly hurt her.
She’d been closer to Hunter than any guy she’d ever dated. A lot closer. But they’d had the job to provide a safe boundary, and she’d always eyed that border but never dared cross it. Now here she was, that barrier gone, and she was still hesitating—while at the same time she was acting jealous and possessive and nuts over some other guy she barely knew, who was out on a date with another woman. She scrubbed at her face with one hand. Maybe Hunter was right. Maybe she had changed.
The sound of the door opening made her tense and glance up. Then she heard someone enter the other stall, followed by the sound of fabric rustling and then the creak of someone sitting on the toilet seat. Oh, god. Cookie tried not to listen as the other occupant peed, embarrassed at being caught hiding out in here. It was like junior high all over again.
Despite that, her gaze wandered to the floor, and to what was visible in the other stall beside her. She could see the other woman’s shoes, which were a lovely little pair of jeweled flats that looked far too nice for any of the clientele she’d expect to see here. Odd.
A second later, after enduring the noises of toilet paper being torn free and then applied, there was a shift from the other stall, the sound of the toilet flushing, and then the slight flutter of clothing being adjusted—and then there was the muted thunk of something hitting the floor. Something small and hard.
Glancing over, Cookie spotted a black, glossy rectangle on the age-weathered wooden planks. It was a cell phone. Her glimpse of it suggested it was fairly standard, most of the front taken up by the screen with a simple power button below and a camera and speaker up above.
