He’d already put the address into his GPS, and it took him out of town (but only a tantalizing seven minutes from his new place) to a small estate of condos off the coastal highway that led directly to Main Street. Dahlia was a fifteen-minute drive from the beach, and the apartment buildings seemed isolated. There were well maintained, and the area looked nice enough, surrounded by neat lawns and trees that offered some soundproofing from the highway.
However, Michael hadn’t liked how far out of town she was. He did like how close she was to his condo, though.
As he’d sat outside her building, Michael had realized his behavior was almost bordering on stalking. So he’d left and made peace with the idea of approaching Dahlia once he had a speech ready.
Of course, he mused now as he walked toward the sheriff’s department entrance, that had all been blown to hell. This town was smaller than he’d realized because it was clear someone had mentioned his arrival to Dahlia.
He’d parked his car at the station that morning and was heading to Main Street to grab a coffee before his shift when his cell rang. An unknown number. Then he’d heard Dahlia’s voice in his ear and as he walked, heart pounding, listening to her demand where he was, he saw her.
Standing outside Lanson’s in a blue wool coat with her back to him. He didn’t need to see her face to know it was her. Michael would recognize Dahlia from a mile away.
It would be hard to take it slow with her. Especially when she looked at him the way she had when she was telling him about her silversmithing tools. No woman had ever looked at Michael the way Dahlia did. Like he was the sun, moon, and every fuckin’ thing in between.
Something was holding her back. Something she wouldn’t admit to.
With a heavy exhale, Michael strode into the station, coffee-less and prepared to accept the mulch usually provided in a police station instead. The middle-aged receptionist he’d met briefly on Friday gave him a broad smile as he walked in.
“Morning, Detective,” she called brightly.
Bridget. Her name is Bridget, Michael remembered. “Morning, Bridget.”
She beamed at him, her plump cheeks creasing with a pretty smile. “Sheriff asked to see you first thing.”
He nodded and walked through the clean, open-plan station. There were a couple of officers who gave him the nod, which he returned before turning the corner down the hall toward Jeff’s office. He’d introduce himself to the deputies and patrol officers later. Michael was the only detective in the sheriff’s department. Considering it was a detective’s job to follow up on criminal investigations, this information perturbed Michael. However, Hartwell was a quiet city in a small county. There had been serious crimes sporadically through the years, but the sheriff’s department had usually joined forces with the FBI in many of those cases, as far as Michael could see from his research.
The last time Hartwell had detectives in its department was in the 1990s. Jeff had told him Jaclyn Rose, the mayor, and some of the wealthier businesspeople who made up Hartwell’s city council would be eager to meet “the mysterious Bostonian detective” he’d hired to lead the Criminal Investigations Division.
Michael looked forward to that. Not.
He knocked on Jeff’s door.
“Come in.”
He strode inside. Michael liked to think he had good instincts about people, and he had warmed to Jeff King. He’d asked Michael why he wanted to work in Hartwell, and he’d been honest that he was moving here for his woman. Jeff hadn’t grilled him about it or asked who she was, and Michael respected a man who respected another man’s privacy.
Jeff stood from behind his desk as Michael walked in. Michael had done his research on Jeff King. He knew he was from Wilmington, had met his wife in Hartwell, moved here in his early twenties when they married, and taken a job as a deputy. Only a few years into their marriage, however, Jeff’s wife was diagnosed with cancer, and she passed away. Michael knew he hadn’t remarried but other than that, he knew little about the man’s personal life.
Michael knew Jeff had first been elected to sheriff five years ago and had won another election since. He was up for reelection next year.
At six foot six, Jeff towered over Michael’s five eleven as he rounded the desk to shake his hand. While the deputies and patrol officers wore tan shirts with the embroidered Hartwell Sheriff’s Department insignia on either sleeve, along with khaki pants, Sheriff King’s uniform was different. He wore a black shirt and black pants with his sheriff’s badge clipped above the left shirt pocket on his chest.
Although Michael outweighed him in muscle, there was a lean, hard edge to Jeff’s rangy physique. He possessed an aura of strength that Michael assumed went a long way to assure the people of Hartwell of his capability.
And Michael was a guy, but he wasn’t a dumb guy.
Jeff King was a good-looking fucker, and Michael had no doubt that helped a little when it came to election time.
“Welcome to the first day on the job,” Jeff greeted him.
He didn’t comment on Michael’s lack of uniform. On Friday night Jeff had brought the subject up and, thankfully, decided Michael wouldn’t wear one.
“I don’t have to wear a uniform,” Jeff had said. “It’s a small city, small county, people know me. I could clip on my badge and be done with it. But most days I wear the uniform because we have a lot of tourists here and you already know the psychological impact of the police uniform.”
Michael had nodded, dreading the idea of putting on that hot, polyester crap after years of being a plainclothes officer.
“I don’t want you to put on the uniform.” Jeff had surprised him. “It’ll spread fast around here who you are, and I want the fact you’re plainclothes to make some people feel a little off-kilter. In your case, I’m hoping it elevates you. You’re not one of my deputies. You’re my detective. You get me?”
Michael had nodded, but he wasn’t too clear on why Jeff needed to make such a statement about having an experienced city detective in the department.
Michael wanted to find out why now. “What’s on the agenda?”
The sheriff pointed to the lamp on his desk. “I found a listening device in that lamp last year.”
Oh fuck. Michael tensed. “Any leads?”
Jeff nodded and turned to him, his blue eyes hard. “I need you to catch a crooked cop.”
Surprised, Michael rocked back on his heels.
And he thought his job would be the least dramatic part of his transition to Hartwell.
“Let’s get this straight.” Jessica peered at me over a mug of hot tea. “The new detective in town is an ex-boyfriend of yours. The ex-boyfriend you ran away from in this very shop last summer. He’s newly divorced, you reconnected in Boston, and now he quit his job, took one in Hartwell, and uprooted his entire life to be with you?”
Seeing the inquisitiveness in her expression, hearing the incredulity in her voice combined with Emery’s romantic puppy eyes, I groaned and turned to Bailey for help. “Tell them it’s more complicated than that.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
I pulled a face. “Helpful.”
She raised one eyebrow, which probably meant that if I wanted our friends to understand the situation completely, then I needed to stop being so secretive. However, I wasn’t ready to put my tragic history out there. It had been four days since Michael had appeared and the town was abuzz with his arrival. I hadn’t seen him since the day in my workshop, but I could not escape his name anywhere I went.
Instead, I shrugged at Jess. “Look, let’s just say there is a lot of bad blood and painful history between Michael and me. I left Boston under the assumption that we would let each other go.”
Emery cocked her head in thought. “But you don’t really want that.”
“Yes, I do.” Her perceptive comment disturbed me.
“No, you don’t.” Her smile was apologetic. “Every time you say his name, your tone softens, and you get this look in
your eyes, like how Bailey looks at Vaughn and Jess at Cooper.”
I realized in all her quiet shyness, Emery had become a proficient observer.
Bailey’s smug smile said, “I told you so.”
“You don’t have to tell us the details,” Jess said, reaching for a cookie. “You know that. But you can be honest with us about how you feel. Michael gave up everything to pursue a relationship with you. How does that make you feel?”
“You sound like a therapist,” I teased.
She was about to take a bite of her cookie but paused. “Do you see a therapist?”
“I used to. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that this is crazy. No one gives up their entire career as a detective in Boston to move to nowhere Hartwell for a woman they’ve spent less than forty-eight hours with in the last nine years.”
“Stop simplifying it.” Bailey rolled her eyes. “You’re absolutely simplifying it. If you don’t want to talk about it, then don’t. I love you, you know it. But I won’t participate in you lying to yourself. It’s not healthy.”
Irritation niggled me, and the girls fell into awkward silence as Bailey and I launched into a staring contest. Part of me was annoyed by her curtness, and the other part knew it was born from her concern that I was burying my head in the sand. How irksome, because she wasn’t wrong.
“I’m in a panic, okay?” I threw my hands up in defeat. “I have my reasons for not thinking Michael and I are a good idea. Leaving him in Boston, again, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. However, I was trying to move on! I would start dating again and this time give a relationship a real shot. Now he’s back. And I can’t deny that I want him. I want to climb him every time I see him. Extreme physical attraction versus what I know is best for me emotionally. That’s what I’m dealing with here. So, yeah, I’m in a panic because I don’t trust myself around him and he’s made it clear that he’s going to pursue me.”
Bailey looked satisfied. “Was that so hard to admit?”
I snarled at her, and she threw her head back in delighted laughter.
“What’s the plan?” Jess continued. “Do you need us to help keep you two apart?”
“No, I’m not dragging you guys into it. I’ll just avoid him.”
“Well, how are we supposed to act around him?” Emery asked. “Do we like Michael or do we not like Michael?”
I smiled at her loyalty. “Michael’s a good guy. You act any way you want around him.”
“So, blushing and stuttering, then?”
We chuckled at her self-deprecation.
“That reminds me about those man lessons.” Bailey’s eyes filled with excitement. “We need to start those.”
Last year Bailey announced she intended to give Emery lessons in how to talk with men more easily. Both Jess and I could see the idea embarrassed Emery, but when Bailey got something in her head, she was hard to dissuade. Seeing Emery’s panic, I cut in, “You have a wedding to plan. You have no time for man lessons.”
The light dimmed in her eyes. “This wedding is killing me. Everyone has an opinion about it and a request. Being a descendant of the founding family is usually pretty cool. Not so much if you’re planning your wedding.”
“My point exactly. Weddings are stressful in normal situations. Yours will be the biggest event to hit Hartwell in years, so you have no time for extra stuff.”
My friend nodded her head in reluctant agreement, and Emery shot me a grateful smile.
Jess began telling us a funny story about her and Cooper’s dog, Louis, who, despite being almost two years old, was still in the puppy stage. He’d figured out a way to open drawers and was currently fascinated with Cooper’s underwear.
As we were chatting, we heard the tinkle of the bell above the door, but before Emery could get up to check who had come into her bookstore, there was the sound of light footsteps hurtling up the stairs to where we were sitting.
It was Kell Summers. He was small, cute, blond, and a town councilman. He grinned when he saw us. “I heard you ladies had congregated in here. Where was my invite? You know I like a good gossip.”
Bailey grinned up at him. “What brings you to our lady gathering?”
“Winter Carnival.” He clapped his hands together with way too much enthusiasm for a Thursday afternoon.
Not only was Kell a councilman, but he was also the town’s official event planner. That meant as much as we loved him, he drove us (and I had it on good authority, his partner Jake) nuts several times a year. I worked on costumes for the Winter Carnival parade depending on what theme had been chosen for the year. This year it was an homage to Disney for some reason only Kell understood.
While most people rented costumes, Kell liked the participants who rode on the two parade floats to wear original designs. Two locals handy with a sewing machine, Annie and Bryn, had started working on the costumes with me a few months ago. With only two weeks to go until the carnival, however, we got help from a few other people in town, including Kell’s partner, Jake.
Jess’s smile was questioning. “I thought we were all organized for that.”
“Well, we were.” Kell threw me a wide, sheepish grin.
I groaned. “Oh no, what now?”
“You know how hard it was to convince the sheriff to let a few of his deputies take part?”
“Uh-huh.” I did know. Four of his deputies had told me Jeff had almost barred them from volunteering to be on one of the floats representing Hartwell’s civil services. They’d done it anyway and were all now different Disney characters.
“Well, Deputy Rawlins is threatening to pull out unless we let her dress like her fellow deputies.”
Annoyance itched under my skin at Wendy’s demand. “Kell, her fellow deputies are all in different costumes. And I’ve spent weeks working on her Fairy Godmother costume.”
“I know, I know.” He winced. “But all the other deputies are male characters from Disney, like Wreck-It Ralph and Black Panther. Wendy is frustrated that we gave her, and this is a direct quote, ‘a wimpy girly costume.’”
“And she couldn’t have brought this up sooner?”
He rolled his eyes. “Do you not think I asked the same question?”
“Well, who does she want to be?”
“Katniss from The Hunger Games.”
“That’s not a Disney movie, Kell,” Bailey cut in.
“I’m aware it’s not Disney, Bailey, but if it will stop the good deputy from cornering me every chance she gets, then I’m happy to let that one go.”
I thought about it a second and heaved a sigh. “I can put together that costume from clothes we already have, and I’m pretty sure the props department at the Atlantic Theatre will have a bow and arrow we can borrow.”
“Great! I knew you’d pull it off. Also”—Kell shot a look at Emery—“my Elsa from Frozen has come down with the flu. If she’s not better by the day of the carnival, we’ll need a replacement.”
Emery seemed to sink further into her armchair, as if she could somehow disappear into it.
Feeling bad for her, I fibbed a little. “Emery is five ten and willowy. Janey is a five-foot-five, solidly built gymnast. I don’t know if I can alter the costume.”
Kell scoffed, “You can do it. Emery is the perfect Elsa.”
She winced. “But don’t you have Janey on the lead float this year?”
“Well, yes, but can you imagine how much more perfect it would be if it were you?” His eyes brightened at the idea. “Our ethereal bookstore owner gracefully leading the parade.”
“And then upchucking on tourists as she passes them by,” Bailey threw in. She shook her head at Kell. “Not happening.”
He gave Emery a regretful look and seemed to decide to remain silent on the subject.
I smiled as the color returned to Emery’s cheeks but then stopped smiling when Kell’s eyes returned to me. I knew that expression. That was his “I have another favor to ask” expression.
“
What?”
“I’m sure you’ve all heard about the delicious detective who has joined our sheriff’s department. I’ve asked the sheriff to forward on my invitation to the good detective to take part in the parade.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Detective Sullivan?”
“Yes!” Kell sat on the arm of Bailey’s chair. “My God, have you seen him yet? Keeping my professionalism around him is hard. He’s very masculine. Very, very, very …” He sighed dreamily. “Of course, with that body of his, he’ll make the perfect Mr. Incredible, and you know we’ve been struggling to find someone to take that part on. Fingers crossed he says yes, so be prepared to make the costume. Jake, Annie, and Bryn will take over the finishing of the rest of the costumes so you can work on Wendy’s new costume and, obviously, if Detective Sullivan says yes, his costume.”
Panicked at the thought of having to spend time with and touch Michael, I shook my head. “No. Two weeks is not enough time.”
He frowned. “I’ve never known you to shy from a challenge before.”
“A challenge? Kell, this isn’t a challenge, this is impossible.”
“You know that word is not in my vocabulary, Dahlia,” he tutted with a shake of his finger.
Jess snorted beside me and I cut her a filthy look. She took a sip of her tea, but I heard her muffled bark of laughter.
“Kell,” I said, trying to keep my impatience out of my voice, “Wendy is one thing. She’s small, there’s less fabric to work with. But Michael is five eleven and built like a brick shithouse. That’s a lot of Lycra.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wondered what the hell I was panicking about. Michael would never agree to be in a parade as a cartoon character, let alone one who wore Lycra! I relaxed.
Things We Never Said: A Hart's Boardwalk Novel Page 21
