Shielding You (Baytown Boys Book 13)

by Maryann Jordan

  She nodded slowly, offering a little smile. “Sorry, I guess I got a little nervous.”

  “That’s the last thing I want you to be.”

  She let go of the beer and placed more food items on the blanket between them. Sitting side-by-side with their legs stretched out in front of them, they began to eat and drink. The conversation flowed, comfortable and easy.

  “I remember you saying your grandfather had been ill. Is he better?” she asked, munching on an apple slice.

  Shaking his head, he replied, “No, not really. He had a stroke about six months ago and was partially paralyzed. Along with dementia, he doesn’t really know where he is, but at least he’s not in pain anymore.”

  “I’m so sorry. I know that’s hard.”

  “It’s true the old man never cut me any slack, and until his last breath will always consider me to be the family traitor, but I never wished him any ill.”

  “I’m sure he’s probably much prouder of you than you can imagine.”

  Staring out over the water, he turned and looked toward her. “You think?”

  Shrugging, she said, “To be honest, I don’t know. I suppose I’d like for you to have that peace.”

  “Coming from the voice of experience?”

  Shaking her head, a rueful chuckle slipped out. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  “I kept thinking that one day my grandfather would look at me wearing my uniform with the chief insignia on my shirt and clap me on the back, saying, ‘By God, Dylan you did it. You made something of yourself.’” He shook his head quickly and turned toward her, amending, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a fisherman. It was his, my dad’s, and my brother’s calling. But it would have been nice for my grandfather to have seen that a calling into law enforcement was something to be proud of, also.”

  “I understand. I keep hoping that eventually my dad will realize that while law enforcement was our shared career goal, we simply had two different tracks to follow.”

  She was quiet for a moment, still sitting with her legs stretched out in front of her, a wineglass in one hand and her weight resting on her other arm as she leaned back with her palm on the blanket. He was sitting similarly, and their fingertips barely touched. Warmth moved over her. She stared out of the water for a moment before turning her head toward him. “Do you think that parents are destined to have grand plans for their children and then struggle when the children grow up and have different ideas?”

  “I don’t know. I know my dad would have loved for me to have gone into the family business with my brother, and while he’s never come out and said he was proud of me, he also never made me feel like I stabbed him in the back. My mom? She’s really cool. She always told me to be whatever I wanted to be.”

  Laughing, she said, “I don’t think I’d want one of my children to go into law enforcement. It’s a tough career, not easy for a woman, and I’d be fine if they wanted to write books or paint houses.” Snorting, she added, “Of course, they’d probably want to go into law enforcement, and then I’d have to deal with the fear for them.”

  “You’ll make a wonderful mom.”

  She opened her mouth, then looked at the sincerity staring back at her and snapped her mouth closed. Uncertain what to say, she offered a little smile and turned her attention toward the water. The sun sank lower in the sky, casting brilliant colors of orange and pink streaking through the blue.

  “I always loved sunsets,” Dylan said. “Even when I was a kid, but especially in the Navy. I could be busy as hell all during the day but would try to take a moment to watch part of the sunset no matter where I was, thinking about it sinking over the Chesapeake Bay.”

  She shoulder-bumped him and laughed. “Somehow I never thought of you as someone who’d enjoy the simple pleasure of the sunset, but now that I think about it, it fits you.”

  He twisted slightly, now facing her, and lifted his free hand slowly toward her face, not stopping until it rested against her soft skin. His thumb swept over the apple of her cheek.

  Time stood still as though the world had stopped turning. From far away, she heard the gulls cry, but it was as though her entire existence was focused on the feel of his hand cupping her face. His fingertips gripped the back of her head, drawing her ever so slightly toward him. Their gazes never wavered as they grew closer.

  When there was the barest distance between their lips, he said, “I want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time.”

  Staring into his eyes, she saw memories pass by… the first time they met, their first kiss, the break-up, the ensuing friendship and camaraderie, the longing and desire that was never truly pushed to the background. There were no words to speak, so she closed the distance and kissed him.

  The kiss began hesitantly but not uncertain. More like a slow, gentle exploration. Soft and strong. Silk and steel. The delicate mixing tastes of beer and wine, grapes and cheese. His scent filled her senses, a combination of the soap he’d used and his own masculine essence.

  The kiss was familiar and yet so new, almost as though every movement was both his asking for permission and celebrating her response. Gone was the cocky, sure-of-himself man. This Dylan, who angled his head to take the kiss deeper, was confident, and yet she felt as though the kiss was full of reverence.

  As his lips continued to move over hers and his tongue swept through her mouth, all thoughts left her mind other than the tingle that moved from her lips to her breasts to her core. She wanted this man. She had wanted this man for a long time.

  They shifted closer, and he eased her onto her back, careful to keep her body on top of the blanket and cradle her head with his arm, holding her tight. As her thoughts fled, she was left in a puddle of want and desire.

  After an unknown passage of time, he lifted his head from hers. The sound of him dragging a ragged breath deep into his lungs filled her ears, and her eyes opened to see agony crossing his face. She reached up, smoothing her hand over his face, but before she had a chance to ask him what was wrong, he gazed out toward the water and then looked back down at her.

  “I want you, Hannah. I’ve wanted you for so fuckin’ long. Ever since I first met you.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to give in to the yearnings even though they were lying where anyone could walk by. But he didn’t give her that chance.

  His smile warmed her deep inside, and he said, “I want to do this right. I never meant for things to get fucked up years ago and I know I hurt you. If I could, I’d shield you from any hurt… even from me.”

  “I want to do this right, too,” she replied, although at the moment she had no idea exactly what she meant by the word right.

  The sun finished dropping into the horizon over the water, casting shadows about them. He assisted her back to a seated position, kissing her again, only this time much lighter and shorter. Still holding her gaze, he said, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Pack up the basket, and I’ll take you back home. And I’ll kiss you goodnight on your porch, and then I’ll leave.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him to stay, but he placed his finger over her lips, stilling her words.

  “Not tonight. I don’t want to do anything to fuck this up.”

  “I need to let you know, though,” she said, her lips still mumbling against his fingertip. “I want you, too. Even though we called a halt for tonight, I still want you.” She watched as the corner of his mouth quirked upward in his familiar smile.

  “Okay, tomorrow night, dinner out. Put on the dress you were wearing earlier, and I promise to pick you up on time.”

  She nodded, and it hit her that she would have agreed to almost any suggestion he made. And that thought didn’t bother her at all.

  13

  Dylan parked in one of the few available parking spots near the Seaside Harbor. Trucks with empty boat trailers filled the area along with the cars and trucks of the commercial fishermen who were now out on their boats.

  He lifted his fa
ce toward the sky, the beautiful fall day just cool enough to keep the sun from burning. Shifting his gaze back toward the ocean, he hoped his brother’s boats were holding on to their repairs and the fishing was good.

  As he walked toward the small building nestled between the harbor and The Wharf Restaurant, his thoughts continually drifted off his job and onto Hannah. Their salvaged impromptu date of a picnic on the beach had turned out to be more than he could have imagined. A chance to reconnect on a personal level, much deeper than the relationship they’d fallen into over the past several years, more reminiscent of what he’d hoped they would become before everything fell apart.

  She was beautiful when he first met her, but now there was an added confidence that probably came from several years of being the Police Chief under her belt. No longer having anything to prove, especially to the townspeople that might’ve thought a woman couldn’t handle the job, she’d blossomed. And it was sexier than hell.

  Arriving at the door, he jerked his thoughts back to the business at hand. He rapped on the doorframe. “Owen… got a minute?”

  “Chief Hunt, good morning. Come on in.”

  He stepped into the small office and grinned at the man sitting behind the desk. Or at least the wooden table that served as a desk. Papers piled high in stacks that appeared to make no sense, walls covered with old calendars, post-it notes that had long since faded, and shelves that were loaded with more papers and notebooks, the wood having permanently bent under the weight. The man sitting behind the desk was an imposing figure, having been born and raised in Seaside, knowing both the fishing and the restaurant business. Owen Owens.

  The first time he’d heard the man’s name, he couldn’t believe that any parent had decided to give their child a first name that matched the last name. He could only imagine the teasing Owen had taken when he was younger. It probably helped that he was a big man, and perhaps that kept the childhood teasing to a minimum.

  Dressed in his usual attire of khaki shorts paired with heavy boots and a thick, cotton shirt, Owen kept a cap on his head to protect his bald pate, having only a little hair on the sides that grew long and stuck out at odd angles from the salty wind.

  Owen’s family, like Dylan’s, had been fishermen from way back, but Owen’s grandfather had been the harbormaster, building it up and making improvements. Owen’s father became the same but also started a small fish and crab restaurant right next to the harbor, making it easy to obtain fresh seafood. By the time Owen reached adulthood and took over, the restaurant had been enlarged and improved, named The Wharf, and had a reputation that brought in diners from all over the Eastern Shore.

  “Take a load off, Chief,” Owen insisted.

  Nodding his thanks, Dylan settled onto a small chair squeezed into the corner. “Know you’re busy, so I’ll keep this short.” Receiving Owen’s chin lift, he launched into his concerns. “With Seaside’s harbor reputation, you’re doing a great business with lots of boats coming in and out on a daily and weekly basis. I know it’s also brought in a lot of new traffic, from recreational fishing to recreational boaters. We’ve heard from other law enforcement that small harbors are being used by drug runners, and I’m just trying to get a handle on the situation, hopefully before it comes to Seaside or at least to stop it quickly.”

  Owen’s heavy brow lowered, and he leaned forward, placing his beefy forearms onto the top of his desk. “The hell you say.” He huffed loudly, turning his gaze toward the doorway and shook his head. “My grandpappy would roll over in his grave if he even thought something like that was happening.”

  Dylan remembered Owen’s grandfather as being a man even larger than Owen, if that was possible. His lips curved slightly, knowing full well that if the older man were still alive, he’d be cussing a blue streak. “I know. It’s hard to imagine something like that touching our little Nowheresville town. I just don’t want drug runners to get a strong toehold by using our harbor.”

  “I’ve got a feeling you’re going to ask me if I’ve seen anything suspicious. ‘Course, if I had, I’d have already come to you. But then, I haven’t been looking for anything suspicious. You’re right, we got a lot of new people coming and going from here. Visitors from all over, some out of state, coming here to launch their boats. Take a look at the parking lot and you’ll see Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey, North Carolina, Maryland tags are all prevalent, but there’s also a helluva lot more. Can you give me a hint at what I ought to be looking for?”

  “It would be nice to think that it would just be people traveling under the cover of darkness that would stand out, but from what I’ve been told, it can be as simple as someone coming in on a boat during the light of day, meeting up with somebody in the parking lot—”

  “Well, damn, Chief, that can be just about anyone.”

  Dylan dragged his hand through his hair, pushing it off to the side. “I know, and it sucks. What I wanted to ask is what kind of security cameras do you have around here? I know you’ve got some on the restaurant, what about the harbor?”

  “Well, you know we had some trouble a couple of years back, so I did have a couple of security cameras put in. I’ve got one that’s directed onto the back area of the restaurant, wanting to make sure no one’s trying to slip in at night. I’ve also got one that’s up on the corner of the restaurant, but it aims down toward the boating gas pumps to make sure no one’s messing with those either.”

  Nodding, Dylan pondered the angles of the cameras, wondering how best they could capture more of the harbor. “I know those are your private cameras, Owen, and we both know there’s no damn money in the town’s budget for more. If I can take a look at them and figure out a way that with just an angle change we could make sure that the back of the restaurant and the gas pumps are still in view but also maybe some more of the harbor, would you be amenable to that?”

  “Got no problem with that, Chief. Hell, if you can figure out a way to capture more of the harbor with what I’ve got, that works for both of us. I'll have a better chance of seeing what’s going on and you have a chance of catching anybody coming in doing something they shouldn’t.”

  The two men stood, and he reached out to take the large hand extended toward him, shaking it firmly. “I’m obliged, Owen.”

  “We’re in this together, Chief.” Owen walked around his desk and clapped Dylan on the back as they stepped back out into the sunshine. They walked to the back of the restaurant and into the cool interior. “Don’t know if you’ve met Manuel Valesquez. He’s the restaurant manager and the security equipment is in his office. He’s out checking on the deliveries right now, but I’ll send him a message that you’ll be taking a look at the cameras. He’s a good man and will help you out.”

  Once again expressing gratitude, Dylan watched as Owen turned to walk away and then stopped. Looking over his shoulder, Owen said, “You've been doing this job for several years now, and I don’t think I’ve ever said this to your face, although I’ve said it plenty of times behind your back. You’re doing a damn good job.”

  It might not have come from his grandfather, but hearing the words come from a man he respected caused his lips to curve upward even more.

  It only took a couple of minutes for Manuel to arrive in the office wearing a Wharf Restaurant polo and khaki pants. His wide smile was bright against his tanned face, and his handshake was firm.

  “Chief Hunt, good to meet you. I got a message from Owen telling me what you’d like to do.” He moved to a computer screen and began clicking through the security program, showing Dylan where to find the digital feeds, even going so far as to give him the password. “During business hours, my office isn’t locked, so if you or any of your officers need to check things, you certainly can. If it’s after hours, I live close by. I’ll give you my cell phone number, and I can come by just about any time to let you in. In fact, if Owen wants, he can give you a key to this office as well.”

  “I appreciate this, Manuel. If you don’t mind, I’m
gonna call one of my other officers, and we’re gonna work on changing the angle of the cameras just slightly to see if we can get more of the harbor.”

  “Not a problem, Chief Hunt. I’ll be in and out of the office while I’m taking care of things for the restaurant, so make yourself at home.”

  Calling Barbara, he asked if she could check to see if either of the on-duty officers were available to come to the back of the restaurant to assist.

  “Looks like Joe’s available,” she said. “I’ll send him right over.”

  It only took five minutes for Joe to arrive, and they looked over the security feeds in more detail, noting that the two cameras were directed exactly as Owen had said.

  “This one has such a wide angle that if we turn it more toward the harbor, we can get the pump area on one side and still be able to see quite a bit of the comings and goings at the harbor. The one at the back of the restaurant could easily be angled to still watch the delivery door while going over to where the pumps are.”

  Joe nodded and said, “I’ll ask Manuel for a ladder for me to use. I’ll get up and move the cameras, and you can radio to let me know if I get them into the right place.”

  For the next couple of hours, he and Joe continued to study the angles of the cameras and then tweaked them to offer a better view of the whole harbor. They were unable to get the entire view on security feed but satisfied they were better off than they’d been before, they called it quits. While Joe replaced the ladder, he shook Manuel’s hand, thanking him for his cooperation.

  Walking back to the harbor, Dylan and Joe stopped, their gazes cast over the area, before Joe asked, “Do you think it’ll help?”

  “I don’t know, but we don’t have enough eyes to be able to keep track of everything coming and going here, especially since some of the drug handoffs are purported to be done in the middle of the day, practically under everyone’s nose.”

  “Could we get some of our regular fishermen to help keep an eye out?”