5. Tucker
“What’s he doing here?” I hissed to Colton as we followed our target and the wild card to the police station.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it. And look,” Colt said, holding out his phone. “He saw us see him.”
I read the text from our client, snorting when I met his gaze again. “Is he serious? Since when does a client fly halfway around the world just to check in?”
Especially considering we’d been on countless zoom calls with Anthony Barto in the last few weeks while we were gathering info for this case. Not once had he mentioned flying out to the States. In fact, we’d been looking forward to flying to his villa in Italy when this was all over so we could hand-deliver his treasure.
“Not sure I like the idea of him hanging over our shoulders while we get this done. It’s as supposed to be an in-and-out job,” Colt mused.
“Until I got shot,” I muttered. “Definitely didn’t see that one coming. Did you tell Barto?”
“No, you?”
“No.”
“Hey, when you called the nurse the wild card, does that mean you think she’s somehow involved in all this?”
I frowned, glancing at Dakota as she and Hope walked ahead, chatting Austin’s ear off.
It was odd how nosey she’d been since I’d gotten shot, and it was a well-known fact that suspects tended to insert themselves into investigations of their crimes.
“No,” I said, “I didn’t mean she was that wild card, but look at her. She screams complication we don’t need. Right?”
Colt shrugged. “Uh, not really. To me, she just seems like a concerned friend.”
“And you don’t think that’s a complication?”
“It’s not like it’s the first time. What’s the big deal?”
We’d reached the steps that led to the ivy-covered brick building that housed the police force of this strange little town, so this conversation would have to wait. I had no idea how to answer Colt’s question anyway, and when Austin held the door for the women and Dakota thanked him with a smile so wide I was pretty sure the kid was blushing, my earlier assessment seemed even more dire.
Austin was the epitome of the sullen teen with most strangers, like he had an internal checklist for how to be stereotypical. But the number of times I’d seen him smile or laugh at something Dakota Cole had said to him on the walk over here told me she had the power to distract him from that. Distractions were complications we didn’t need. I sure couldn’t afford to be distracted.
Hope led us to the break room, and we stepped inside as she shot off to find Adam. The room was simple, the kind of place you’d expect in a small-town station—laminate table in the middle, mismatched chairs, and a fridge covered in magnets and old takeout menus. Not much to look at, but at least it was quiet. The air smelled faintly of coffee that’d been sitting on the burner too long, and the faint hum of the vending machines filled the space.
Austin and Colt took up a spot at the table, and before I could blink, they’d found a deck of cards that looked like it had seen better days. Colt shuffled them lazily while Austin watched with a rare hint of interest. A sliver of normalcy, maybe. I couldn’t tell. The kid barely glanced at the room around him, but I took it in. Small, cramped, and definitely lacking the spit-shine feel of the big-city departments I’d been inside. This place had a well-worn charm that reminded me of the office I shared with Colt a few thousand miles away.
Dakota stood at the vending machine against the far wall, and as much as I tried to will myself to stand by the window to wait for Officer Wilson to show up, my legs had other plans. They carried me to her side, and I watched as she scanned the contents behind the glass front of the machine, her head tilted to the side and her arms crossed over her chest.
She’d ditched her jacket the second we’d entered the warm police station and had slung it over a chair when we’d walked in. If I’d thought I loved the way her deep red sweater had looked the first time I’d seen her or the dark blue of her scrubs the second time, the royal purple of today’s outfit took the cake.
Shaking my head, I cleared away the thoughts of how much the regal shade complimented her skin tone and hair, reminding myself for the hundredth time how dangerous distractions could be.
“You know,” I said, my voice coming out more gruffly than I expected, even for me, “you’ll have more luck with that thing if you put a dollar in and push some buttons.”
“Well, that’s the problem,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the snacks. “I don’t know which buttons to push.”
I chuckled dryly. “Oh, I seriously doubt that, Miss Cole.”
She slid me a wry smile. “You know what I mean.”
“Mmhmm.”
“There’s too many choices,” she complained, facing the machine again.
“Yeah, that’s a thing. They did a study about it,” I said, then promptly bit my tongue so hard I nearly drew blood.
Why did I say that?
I wasn’t here to chitchat with this woman. I didn’t chitchat with anyone, as a general rule, but especially not when I was supposed to be focusing on a job. I was here to work. Who cared about a vending machine study when I, on a case, had a shooter on the loose, and now my rich client was lurking around town without giving me a heads up he was coming?
Without giving Dakota a chance to respond, I spun around and made a beeline for the worn leather couch near the windows. But in my attempt to make a hasty escape from the conversation I had no business indulging in—no matter how good she looked in that purple sweater—I momentarily forgot about the reason I hadn’t done much sitting today.
I bit back a curse as I dropped onto the couch, pain shooting through me in all directions.
“Oh, wow, that had to hurt. You want some ice?” Dakota asked as she came closer, her nose adorably wrinkled.
Wait, adorably?
It was the pain talking. Surely, I hadn’t really had that thought.
“No, I’m good,” I bit out, lying through my teeth. I wasn’t good. I was in an absurd amount of pain and probably also losing my mind.
“Okay, tough guy. Suit yourself.” She jumped onto the couch then, legs tucked up, her body angled to face mine. She propped her arm on the back of the sofa and put her chin in her hand. “Now, what was that about some vendin’ machine study? You kinda left me hangin’ back there.”
“Nothin’. Go get your snack.”
“Oh, no, ya don’t. I’m too curious now. Tell me.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “And if I don’t?”
“I’ll be sad.”
“And if I say I don’t care if you’re sad?”
She grinned. “Then you’d be lyin’.”
“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Nope. Let’s hear it.”
I sighed. “It was mostly aimed at neurodivergent people. Austin has ADHD, so I get this newsletter about—” I stopped dead in my tracks, once again shocked by the words coming out of my mouth.
But Dakota wasn’t having it. “About what?”
“Um, stuff to help. Anyway, the study talked about choice paralysis. It’s a thing with ADHD, but everyone kinda deals with it. Vending machines trigger it because there’s too much to choose from, and you’d probably be halfway done with your snack by now if there was just a basket on the counter with three options in it.”
She gaped at me. “That can’t be true. What if they were three of my favorite things? I’d still have a hard time choosin’.”
“Maybe, but right now, your three favorite things are hard to see with all the rest of that junk in the vending machine, so your brain’s too cluttered to focus on what you really want.”
She glanced at the vending machine, then back at me. “Well, come on then, help me declutter my brain.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but then she was off the couch, lifting my hand from where it rested on my thigh, tugging on it with all of her might. It wasn’t enough for me to even lean forward, let alone get up, and I stared blankly at her until she dropped my hand.
“Does your butt hurt too much to stand?” She asked with a hint of challenge in her eyes.
Unwilling to let her challenge my manhood, I stood, masterfully hiding any trace of pain. At least, I hoped I had, but her expression told me I hadn’t exactly succeeded.
“Now, come on. What do I do about this?” She danced over to the vending machine, expecting me to follow. “I could really use some chocolate right about now.”
I crossed to her side. “Narrow it down to three choices.”
“Hmm… Snickers, M&Ms, or Rolos. But I don’t wanna unwrap the Rolos, and if I get the Snickers, Adam is just gonna tease me when he walks in and sees me eatin’ it. M&Ms it is!”
Dakota punched the buttons on the vending machine with a kind of enthusiasm that made me think she was solving a real problem, like those M&Ms were the key to world peace. When the bag tumbled down, she grabbed it with a grin, like she’d just won the lottery instead of a snack. I had to look away before I got pulled into the infectious energy she seemed to carry everywhere with her.
“Thanks for that.”
“Why would he tease you for eating a Snickers?”
Why did I even ask that? It wasn’t like I actually cared why Adam would tease her. It had nothing to do with the case, and it sure as hell wasn’t helping me keep my head in the game. But here I was, standing by a vending machine, getting roped into conversations that had no place in a job like this. Distracted. That’s what I was. I didn’t need to be worried about her candy choices or whether she got teased for eating a Snickers. I needed to focus. Period.
“Moody? Eat a Snickers. Please tell me you’ve seen those commercials.”
“I don’t watch much TV.”
“Ah, yes, when you’re not gettin’ shot at while trespassin’, you’re busy learnin’ about ADHD to help your brother. All kiddin’ aside, that’s really sweet.”
Grunting, I crossed my arms. “It’s not sweet. It’s practical.”
“Practically the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Stop that.”
“Why are you so determined to be grumpy with me? You know I can see right through you, right?”
I scowled.
“Yep, looks like you do,” she said. “We’re on the same team here, so you might as well be nice to me.”
“I just solved your chocolate problem. That was nice. But I have no idea why you think we’re on a team.”
“Hello? We both wanna know who shot you outside my friend’s house. Wait, I take it back. You still haven’t told me why you were snoopin’ around her house in the first place, so we can’t be on a team until you do. Full transparency is key between teammates.”
“We’re not teammates. You’re a nosy friend, and I’m here to do a job. I’m not telling you anything because it’s none of your business, friend or not.”
“We’ll circle back to the job thing in a sec, but one thing you should know about this town is that everyone’s business is everyone’s business.”
“Great.”
“Did you tell Adam what you were doin’ at Hope’s last night?”
“He did,” Officer Wilson said as he walked in, leveling Dakota with a stern look. “And he’s right, Dakota Jolene. None of this is any of your business, and it’s no one else’s business either.”
The man hadn’t even spared a glance at the teen boy and his former Marine buddy seated at the table in the corner. He only had eyes for Dakota, and that had my teeth grinding so hard I thought I might crack one.
Just as Dakota opened her mouth to reply to the man she was clearly in some kind of relationship with, Colt pushed back from the table, snagging the officer’s attention.
Wilson’s stern expression softened the second Colt pushed back from the table. His sharp eyes flicked over, and for a moment, I saw surprise flash across his face. But then it was like the guy switched gears. His shoulders relaxed, and that rigid cop stance he’d held in front of Dakota melted away.
“Hey, man. Long time.”
My friend’s easygoing tone broke through the tension, and Wilson responded in kind, his grin wide and genuine. “Wow. How’ve you been?”
Colton gave a half-smile, shrugging casually. “Great, man, thanks. Living the dream. You?”
“Couldn’t be better. Just got engaged,” Wilson replied, his face lighting up like he’d been waiting for an excuse to share the news with someone who’d appreciate it.
My eyes flashed down to Dakota’s left hand automatically, and I hated the twinge of relief I felt at the sight of her bare ring finger. My gaze lingered a second too long, and I cursed myself for even caring.
What did it matter if she was single or not? I had no business thinking about her like that. Not when there was a job to do, and certainly not when every second spent getting wrapped up in her smile or her laugh was a second I wasn’t focused on keeping us all safe.
“Congrats,” Colt said. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
“Paisley Stevens,” Wilson said, beaming. “She’s a dispatcher here, and we’ve been together for about half a year now. Figured it was time to make it official.”
“Oh, that long?” I muttered.
Wilson cocked a brow. “Known each other a long longer than that, not that it’s any of your business.”
Colt gave an approving nod, his easy smile never wavering despite that bit of tension I caused. “Good for you, man.”
“Thanks,” Wilson replied with a chuckle. “She keeps me on my toes.” Then, his gaze shifted back to me before turning to my friend again. “So, you’re here with our gunshot vic, huh?”
Colt shrugged. “We work together. He’s alright.”
I glared at him.
“You,” Wilson said, turning back to Dakota. “Get on out of here so we can talk.”
Dakota lifted her chin. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll call your momma.”
Dakota’s nostrils flared, and for a moment, I thought she might argue. Her chin lifted a little higher, defiance flashing in her eyes. But then she gave a sharp, frustrated exhale. "Fine," she muttered, throwing her hands up as she spun on her heel. Her boots echoed on the tile as she stormed out, tossing a final glare over her shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.
Wilson’s gaze landed on Austin next. “You want the kid here for this?”
I hated that he knew I didn’t, but I shook my head to let him know.
Colt looked toward the door. “Maybe he could hang with Hope? A ride-along in dispatch or something?”
Wilson nodded. “Yeah, let’s set him up with that.”
With a quick nod from me, Austin stood and followed Adam out the door.
We waited in silence for Wilson to return a moment later, and when he did, Colt and Wilson took their seats at the table. Not me, though. Injury aside, standing gave me a sense of control over the situation. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staying in the game.
“I can’t say I love bein’ kept in the dark about the details,” Wilson said, his tone notably less gruff with Colt here than it had been when I’d refused to give him details at the hospital.
“Well, as I told you last night,” I said, “our client tried to go through official channels. He was shut down. What choice did he have?”
“If I knew what the case was, I could shed some light on that,” Wilson replied.
“We don’t need you to. At this point, it’s our gig.”
“This might be nothin’ but a money grab to you, but when someone gets shot in my town—on the property of someone I care about—I’m gonna get to the bottom of it one way or the other. You might as well bring me in on it.”
“You sound like Dakota,” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my jaw.
“Yeah, well, she’s loyal to a fault, and her heart’s in the right place even if she has no business gettin’ mixed up in whatever this is. I’m just tryin’ to do my job—keepin’ this town safe.”
I looked to Colt, feeling him out. He’d said Wilson was good people… but we rarely let law enforcement get involved in our cases beyond giving them a heads up that we were working on in case they got any calls about us snooping around or staking out houses.
Colt gave me a subtle nod, and I sighed. Now, I wished I could sit at the table with them, but if the leather couch hurt, those plastic chairs would be torture.