by Lucy Quinn
It was Hunter who snorted this time. “Go meet with your little boyfriend, then,” he told her, the words emerging through his sudden scowl. “I’ll get Trina processed.”
Trina hung her head upon hearing that, her long purple hair falling over her face like a curtain, but to her credit she straightened and squared her shoulders as if facing the consequences head on. Cookie had to admire that.
“I’ll be up after I’ve talked to him,” she promised. “I’ll let you know what he says.”
“Yeah, you do that.” Hunter started moving again, guiding Trina before him. He didn’t look back to see if Cookie was following anymore, and even though they were going to the same building she found she couldn’t move. When had he gotten so controlling, Cookie wondered as she watched her ex-partner stomp away. So judgmental? Had he always been that way and she just hadn’t noticed? Or was this something new?
And was it a change in him? Or was it because they were teetering on the brink of something new between them?
Cookie sighed, shook her head, and squinted up at the late afternoon sun. Was it too early to get a drink? Even if it wasn’t, she still had work to do, but she definitely needed something. So, if alcohol was out, that meant caffeine and sugar. With that thought galvanizing her, she finally kicked into motion again, but instead of heading straight for the sheriff’s office Cookie detoured, making her way instead toward a Kitty’s Koffee she’d spotted the first time she’d passed through this town. A large cappuccino and a brownie the size of her head would do quite nicely.
“Cookie?”
She spun about, nearly spilling her coffee everywhere, and almost choked on the mouthful of brownie. “Dylan?” she said after she’d swallowed it down. “What’re you doing here?”
He grinned at her. “I could ask you the same thing.” Then he frowned, though she noticed that his eyes were still twinkling as he leaned in to ask, “Are you stalking me?”
“What? No!” It was difficult to act indignant while holding a half-eaten brownie, she discovered. “I’m here… to answer some questions about Dickie,” she finished, realizing that she couldn’t tell him the whole truth, not without also explaining why she was qualified to help on a murder case. Even though he already knew she had a law enforcement background, she wasn’t willing to open the door to more questioning. Not yet, anyway. Nobody here knew who she really was, what she’d done before moving out here, and she wanted to keep it that way—both because it was safer for her and Rain but also because it helped her separate the past from the present. Who she’d been from who she was now.
“Are you?” Dylan tilted his head to one side to regard her. “Funny, they haven’t asked me anything else about it.”
She shrugged, trying for innocent—not the best look on her, she knew. “Maybe it’s because I’d met him before,” she offered. “Or maybe they’ll talk to you next.”
He nodded at that. “Maybe. Or maybe they’ll just have somebody tail me. Like, to lunch and stuff.”
Cookie felt her face flush. “Look, about that,” she started. “I’m really sorry. I just…”
“What?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. Which made the muscles in his forearms stand out in really impressive ways. “You were spying on me and Hayley, admit it. Why? Are you jealous?”
Even though he was half-smiling as he said it, the accusation still irked her. “Are you?” she shot back. “You seemed awfully concerned about me and Hunter last night.”
“Should I be?” Dylan asked. “How do you guys know each other, anyway? And why is it every time you find a dead body, he shows up?”
“We’re… old friends,” Cookie replied, looking down at her coffee cup. But she glanced back up to meet Dylan’s intense steel-blue gaze. “That’s all. Just friends.”
He considered that. “Well, Hayley and I are just friends too,” he said after a minute.
“It sounds like you used to be something more,” Cookie blurted out, unable to stop herself.
She winced when he nodded. “We were, once,” he admitted softly. “But that was a long time ago.”
“Are you sure?” Cookie heard herself say. It was like someone else had taken control of her mouth, because she just couldn’t stop the words from pouring out as she continued, “Because you two have sure been spending a lot of time together.”
“She just lost her brother,” Dylan pointed out with just a hint of remonstrance to his voice. “The only family that’s ever mattered to her. So, yeah, I’ve been spending time with her. She’s having a tough time, and I’m here for her to lean on if she needs it. That’s what friends do.”
Cookie hung her head. “You’re right,” she agreed quietly. “I’m sorry. You are a good friend, and she definitely needs that right now. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.” She flashed back to Hunter’s thoughts on that subject: It’s an imp with green eyes. Her ex-partner had always been a perceptive one.
Dylan was still watching her. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “I get it. I think.” His smile was like the sun breaking through clouds on the heels of a storm. “And I have to admit, I kind of like the attention.”
That made her smile. “Only kind of?” she asked, shifting her weight to tilt her hips saucily.
His smile grew wider. “Maybe more than kind of.” He grew serious again for a second. “So you and Hunter, there really isn’t anything there?”
Despite the questions she’d been asking herself about Hunter for the past few days, Cookie shook her head. Because right now, with Dylan smiling at her, she didn’t have any doubts.
“Good.” He edged closer, closing the gap between them. “Because Hayley and I are old news. There’s only one woman I’m interested in right now, and she’s got a sexy smudge of chocolate… right… about… here.” His hand rose, and with a callused thumb he touched her upper lip gently, so gently. His eyes were like steel magnets, drawing her in. His mouth parted slightly, her own falling open in response, and then she was leaning toward him, hands rising toward his chest—
He leaped back, yelping at the scalding hot coffee she had just poured onto him.
Directly onto his crotch.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she cried, waving her arms in dismay before realizing that just scattered the coffee about them even more. She grabbed a bunch of napkins, transferred the brownie to the top of her coffee cup, hopefully helping to keep her from spilling that further, and started trying to blot the coffee from his pants.
Which meant, she suddenly realized, that she was wiping vigorously at his crotch. Could she be any more awkward?
“Oh, crap.” This time Cookie was the one who jumped back, averting her eyes from the stain—and the bulge beneath it. “Um, here.” She thrust the napkins in his general direction, unable to look him in the face, her own flaming from embarrassment.
“Got it.” His own voice sounded a bit strangled as he accepted the napkins. “Thanks.”
“I’m… really sorry,” she managed again. Her throat felt tight, and she gulped down some of her remaining hot drink. “I should really go. They’re waiting for me.” She rushed out of the coffeehouse, not daring to look back.
Way to go, Cookie, she told herself as she fast-walked toward the police station. Find a hot guy, flirt with him, discover a dead body with him, then stalk him, wave your old partner in front of him, and finish it all off by pouring scalding liquid on him. If anyone ever wrote a book on “How to Scare a Guy Off for Good,” she’d get a whole chapter all to herself.
Discovering that the brownie was still clutched in one hand, she took a huge, ferocious bite out of it and savored the sweet flavor.
Chocolate was about all she had left.
17
By the time she got to the morgue, Cookie was in one hell of a mood.
“Hey, glad you—” Jared stopped mid-sentence, a frown blossoming across his angular face. “Okay, who peed in your Cheerios?”
Despite herself, Cookie cracked a smile at tha
t. “Seriously?” she asked. “You couldn’t start with ‘rained on your parade’ and work your way up? You had to go all big guns right from the get-go?”
The lanky medical examiner shrugged. “Why waste time escalating, when you can go nuclear in round one?” he argued with a small smirk. “Besides, it got a laugh out of you, so it worked.”
That did get a laugh out of her. “Fair enough,” she conceded. “Now, what’s so urgent you just had to see me right away? And without my escort?”
Jared blushed a little. “Do you need an escort around me?” he asked, looking down. “Am I that dangerous?”
“Totally,” Cookie replied, knowing it was what he wanted to hear. And judging by his shy smile, she’d been right. Which only meant that his crush on her was still going full-force. He was a nice guy, she reminded herself. As long as your idea of fun was comparing notes on the latest CSI episode, or playing Sudoku together.
Which probably wasn’t fair of her. Maybe when he left work Jared Delgado traded his scrubs and lab coat for biker leathers, hopped on his Harley, and headed to the nearest drag race circuit. Or a biker bar. Or a snake pit, with real snakes. She honestly had no idea.
But the last thing she needed right now was to further complicate her already messed up love life by finding out.
Instead, she focused on the business at hand. “What’d you find out?” she asked him again, all business, making it clear that playtime was over.
Jared got the message, his stool squeaking as he straightened on it and cleared his throat. He reached for a file perched atop his desk. “I finished my autopsy on Mr. Dungworth,” he explained as if he were declaiming before a jury. “In my professional opinion, cause of death was aneurysm.” He paused to peer at her over his glasses. “That’s when there’s a weak spot in an artery, and the blood causes it to bulge outward,” he added as if she didn’t already know. “If it’s not treated it can rupture, leaking blood into the surrounding area. In this case, the brain.” He sighed. “This one was bad, too—almost an inch wide, which is huge, and right at the base of the brain. Caused a massive stroke. He died pretty much instantly.”
The ME shuddered a little. “It’s one of my worst fears,” he admitted quietly. “There’s no way to predict if you’ll get an aneurysm, lots of people have them but as long as they don’t rupture it’s not a problem, but if it does and you don’t get immediate surgery you’re probably a goner.”
Cookie processed that. “So he died from a pre-existing condition?”
Jared nodded. “There’ve been lots of studies trying to determine who’s at risk for them,” he answered, “but we still don’t know enough. Genetics can play a part, but so can lifestyle and a lot of other things.”
“Could a sudden blow have caused it?” Cookie asked, thinking about Trina and her Krav Maga-style takedown.
“It could’ve caused the rupture, maybe,” Jared replied after thinking about it a minute. “But he’d have to have been close to that point already, so really it was just a matter of time for him. Of course, this didn’t help any,” he added, pulling a pen from his lab coat pocket and using it to poke a bag sitting in a tray beside him. The same bag he’d shown Cookie once before.
“Cocaine gives you aneurysms?” she asked. She thought she’d actually heard something about that once, probably at one of the FBI’s regular anti-drug seminars.
“Yeah, it damages the blood vessels,” Jared confirmed. “Weakens the artery walls, so aneurysms become a lot more likely. And can hit a lot faster and a lot harder.”
“So it wasn’t murder,” Cookie summed up, feeling both relieved and a little disappointed.
“Nope,” he agreed. “Cause of death was pure medical misfortune, aided and abetted by frequent and persistent drug use.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She turned and made her way out of the morgue, lost in thought. If Jared tried chatting her up any further, she completely missed it. She had bigger fish to fry right then.
Upstairs, she ran into Hunter and Sheriff Watkins together. “There’s been a development in the case,” she told them, figuring there wasn’t any point in waiting. “Jared—I mean, Dr. Delgado—just gave me the autopsy report.” She recounted what he’d said. “So at most, Trina’s blow triggered the rupture a little early. We could charge her with assault, maybe get her for some kind of accidental death, but that’s about it.”
Sheriff Watkins shook her head, sending a few loose gray strands flying about her. “Not really worth the effort,” she declared. “Full-on murder, sure, but this? A decent lawyer would knock it down to a misdemeanor, she’d get a small fine and a few days in jail or some community service, and that’d be it. Besides, doesn’t sound like she meant to kill him, so why punish her for his bad luck?”
Hunter nodded. “We could get her on drug charges, maybe,” he pointed out, “but you’re right, there isn’t much point. And honestly, I’ve never been a fan of putting away people whose only real crime was making a mistake.” Which was true. Cookie was the same way. Give her a hardened criminal any day, because those she could enjoy taking down. People like Trina, that girl would be beating herself up about Dickie’s death for a long time to come. Why add to that?
“We’ll cut her loose,” the sheriff stated firmly. “Tell her it’s not her fault but to watch her temper with that training of hers.” She smiled up at Hunter. “Guess I dragged you all the way out here for nothing, eh?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” His lazy smile was directed straight at Cookie, making her slightly uncomfortable after her run-in with Dylan. “I was happy to help out.”
“Well, we appreciate that,” Watkins assured him, still a little moon-eyed. She shook off the crush long enough to smile over at Cookie. “You too, Ms. James. Thanks for all your help.” Then she snapped her fingers. “Oh, that reminds me! I had something for you.” And she looked around a bit before scooping up what looked like an oversized notecard off a nearby desk.
A notecard with empty boxes down below, in a pattern Cookie knew all too well.
“I need you to fill this out,” the sheriff explained, handing Cookie the fingerprint card. “Just routine and all, can’t put you in the system without it. Which means you can’t get paid.” She winked at Cookie, then slapped her amiably on the shoulder. “Just get it to me when you’re done, all right?” And the sheriff ambled off.
Leaving Cookie standing there in a complete panic.
“What am I going to do?” she asked Hunter, turning to him. She imagined her eyes were wide as searchlights, and that her face had gone ghost-pale. “I can’t fill this out!”
He knew exactly what she was talking about. FBI agents were required to be fingerprinted from their first day of training. If she put her prints on this card, the clerk who entered it into the system would immediately get a hit.
For one Charlene Jamieson, FBI agent. Current whereabouts classified.
Hancock was a small town. And small towns thrived on good gossip. A newcomer who claimed to be a simple innkeeper and was really an FBI agent? That was gold. Even if Watkins wanted to keep it quiet—and Cookie didn’t know the woman well enough to be sure that was the case—someone else in the office would see the results. They’d tell their co-workers. Who would tell their friends. And significant others.
It would be all over town inside of a week. And the news would spread like wildfire through Secret Seal Isle.
Did that mean it would get back to DeMasi and his goons? Maybe, maybe not. They were a long way from Philly. Though all it would take was one person blogging about it or Tweeting about it, and one of his crew keeping tabs in case her name popped up anywhere…
But just as importantly, her life here would basically be over. Because everyone would know she’d lied to them; lied about who she was, where she was from, and why she was here. Nobody would ever trust her again.
Dylan would never trust her again. She’d lied to him one too many times… even if she did have a good reason for it.
She and Rain would have to leave, to run away all over again, to start new someplace else. And she was just starting to settle in here.
“Hey.” A hand closed over hers, big and masculine and warm and gentle. She startled, looking up and falling into Hunter’s chocolatey gaze. “It’ll be okay.”
“How?” Cookie demanded, shaking her head vigorously but not pulling free of his grip. “How will it be okay? You know what’ll happen once she processes this?” Her voice was rising, she realized, approaching full-on shriek level, but she couldn’t seem to control it.
Hunter’s however, stayed soft and calm. “I know,” he told her, still holding her, his thumbs massaging the backs of her hands. “I know. But I’ll fix it, okay? I’ll straighten it out.”
The panic was still ripping through her, making her heart race and her thoughts shatter into tiny, incoherent fragments. “You can’t fix it,” she insisted. “You heard her, she needs me to fill it out. I can’t just refuse. And it’s not like I can fake my prints. Wait, can I fake my prints? Maybe Jared can. Maybe he’s got a corpse down there who could pass for me, and all we’d need to do is—”
“Charlie.” Her name pulled her back to herself, and to Hunter, who was watching her intently. “Trust me,” he said. “I’ll fix it. Okay?”
Every inch of her screamed to run, to flee, to get out of here before the sheriff found out or DeMasi sent goons to finish her off. But Hunter’s voice was soothing her, and his eyes were a lifeline she desperately needed, so she clung to that, and nodded. And stood, statue-still, as he released her hands and turned to go after the sheriff.
Cookie just hoped he knew what he was doing. And that the sheriff would be receptive to whatever it was. Because she found that she really didn’t want to leave.
18
An hour later, they were waiting for the ferry back to Secret Seal Isle. And Cookie still couldn’t quite believe what Hunter was telling her.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she protested for at least the third time. “She told me she needed that card filled out. You were there. It’s required, she said. And now you’re saying she just agreed to not have it?” She banged on the railing hard enough to send a jolt up her arm all the way to the shoulder. “How does that even work? How is it even legal?”
