5. Buzzing
FIVE
BUZZING
GIGI
There’s no dodging Jackson when his unmistakably masculine scent clings to me—from the blankets on the guest bed I slept on to the t-shirt he insisted I wear overnight. It surrounds me like a heady mixture of leather, cedarwood, and tobacco with a hint of salty ocean air, serving as proof that I spent the night at his place—even if we slept in separate beds.
I stretch, admitting that this bed is far more comfortable than my own; I slept like a baby, or perhaps it was the pain killer medicine. When I see the doctor again next week, I hope to be done with it. Cautiously, I run my fingers over my bandage, making sure it stayed on overnight, and they brush against my soft curls. I can’t help but wonder what kind of conditioner Jackson used when he washed my hair—applied with the ease of a man who’s done it for countless other women—but I decide not to dwell on it or it might make me crazy. Not that I have any right to be jealous.
I’m not accustomed to his kindness, and I should dismiss his silly declarations of wanting to win me over. What exactly does that mean? Especially after the way he steadied me, carried me like a hero claiming his prize, and then tenderly played with my hair in the sink. He volunteered to watch over me and made every effort to cheer me up, even reminiscing about our school days over the perfectly pan-seared scallops he cooked last night.
Who does he think he is, morphing into this different person? Then again, he has to be—he’s only following orders from his superior officer. He probably knows he’s far more tolerable shape-shifting into this decent guy, than he would have been in order to make our time together one where we weren’t ripping each other’s throats out. After all, I’m just a small part of his mission; I’m not going to pin my hopes on someone who’s been known to move on to the next assignment as soon as one is done.
The silence of the house, and the pale light filtering through the windows, indicate it’s still early morning. With a dull throb in my head, the quiet offers the perfect moment to shove aside thoughts of him and focus on the attack, the chaos in my life, my house, and my investigation. I feel violated—did I really stumble into a sphere of unknown danger when I stepped foot in the warehouse? When I picture fishermen, I think of Dad, an avid angler who loves his rods and reels, not hardened men clashing with criminals under gunfire.
By the time I catch the sound of Jackson moving about in the kitchen and the aroma of brewing coffee reaches me, I’m still no closer to any answers. All I know is that I desperately need to get out of his t-shirt before it drives me crazy. I change into yesterday’s clothes, aching for the comfort of my own belongings. Without my phone, I feel lost.
Regardless of what Jackson might say, I decide I’m swinging by my house today—the twenty-four-hour watch will be over soon. I’m feeling fine, and there are piles of work waiting for me at the office.
Once I step into the kitchen, it’s crystal clear I can’t spend another day here anyway, not with Jackson standing there in nothing but jeans and a smile while he cradles two mugs of coffee.
“Oh, you’re up. I was just about to bring you coffee in bed. How do you like it?” he asks.
“How do I—?” I begin, my eyes trailing down the front of him, taking in the sight of golden abs, and promising happy trail, especially noting the single undone top button of his jeans. I like it, very much.
“The coffee, G. Do you take it black or…?”
“Just cream,” I reply sharply, meeting his knowing grin as I take the mug and pour my own cream from the container on the counter.
“We’re leaving in a few minutes. I have to check in with Davis at the station, and your dad called. He wants us to swing by his diner for breakfast,” he says, taking up all the room in the middle of the kitchen with his manly frame, and sipping from a mug that says Hero, naturally. Cocky ass.
About my dad. I groan inwardly. That means someone talked, and word has spread around Love Beach—now he knows I was attacked last night. Figures. “I’d rather you drop me off at my house or the office instead.”
“Nope. I’m not having this argument again. Wherever you go, I’m coming along until it’s safe for you to be alone. Period.” He downs his coffee, rinses the cup, then buttons his jeans as he passes by me. I chew on my nail. “Why do you suddenly seem so worried?”
“I’m dreading Dad calling me out for going to the docks. After all, he struggled with handing the company over to me. Now this will make him rethink everything.”
“Maybe a good kick in the butt by Bill is exactly what you need,” he insists, leaning casually against the kitchen doorway with a thumb inserted into his belt loop—a sight too sexy for my current state to handle.
I snort. “I love him, and I get why he’d be upset, but you have no idea what it’s like living in that man’s shadow all my life. Ever since he retired, and I took over, everyone still sees me as his little girl following in his footsteps. No one—even you—believes I can take this company to the next level.”
“Whoa. Hold on. I never said that,” he protests, lifting away from the doorway.
“You did. You told me to keep things simple and safe,” I accuse, my voice rising, stepping forward.
“Because I never want to see you lifeless on the ground again, G. Do you have any idea what that did to me?” His tone escalates and we’re back to clashing, inches apart, heated stares between us. His fresh breath washes over me like the best cinnamon flavored toothpaste, sending my heart pounding and my tongue desiring a taste. But he takes a beat and steps back, shaking his head, then he saunters down the hall, and barks, “We pull out in ten. Be ready.”
I scoff. “You can’t order me around like one of your soldiers.”
His bedroom door slams. Though my cheeks warm with his concern, I remain determined. I’ll show him—and everyone—that I’m an outstanding journalist ready to take the Buzz to new heights.
Over steak and eggs at Dad’s favorite diner—a place he’s frequented daily for ten years ever since Mom passed away—I endure his criticisms and concerns for my safety. I know he means well.
“Stay away from the docks, Gigi. Nothing good happens down there. Besides, being in charge now comes with a great amount of responsibility. If you don’t think you can handle it—” He grumbles and I cut him off.
“I’m fine, Dad. No docks. I get it. And I’m handling the job just fine.”
“I have to agree with you there. The docks, especially at night, are not always safe.” Of course, Jackson sees eye to eye with Dad, which irks me; no other guy I brought to meet him has ever treated my father with the same level of respect as Jackson does, and earned it back, as well.
It’s a shame, we’ll never be anything more than “sorta friends.” After all, this is Jackson, the guy with a woman in every port, and I refuse to be his temporary attachment here just because he’s in town again.
I barely keep up with their conversation—ranging from sports to spring breakers overrunning Love Beach—silently thankful Jackson is there to keep Dad entertained and off my case. Until I overhear Dad mention his new fishing buddy.
“Guy Zephyr is his name—a rough-around-the-edges type who’s recently started a new fishing operation here,” Dad says, describing the Zephyr vessel in intricate detail. I lean forward, capturing every word. “Top of the line beauty. Must have cost him plenty.”
Then I notice his new blue hat emblazoned with a Zephyr Cruises logo. “He’s been trying to convince me to join him on some night fishing. Could be fun. After all, I have nothing but time on my hands now. I must say, retirement is treating me well, honey.”
“If he’s new, then I should swing by and tell him about our advertising program,” I suggest, which would get me access to him. Would Guy have seen people doing illegal stuff out on the ocean… or could he be a suspect?
Jackson and I exchange a look. Is he thinking what I’m thinking?
Once we leave Dad—amid my half-hearted promises to stay out of trouble—Jackson checks his phone. “We need to check in at the station, and I have to confer with my team.”
“Fine, you do that. I’ll head to my office on foot,” I reply. He yanks me back by the arm and walks me to his truck.
“If you think I’m buying that, G, you’re mistaken. I saw that look in your eyes—you plan to speak with Zephyr.”
I shrug. “Only because he has a new business here, and I have an advertising quota to meet. We have an incredible new business package at the Buzz.”
“Stop it. You need to step back and let me handle this. My team will run checks to ensure he’s legit, has filed all the proper licenses, and?—”
“Are you finally admitting illegal fishing is your mission now?” I tease with an arched brow.
He scoffs. “You know better than to think that. I’m on a more important assignment. But to ease your mind, I’ll have Davis send an officer over to scope him out.”
“Right, and you think Zephyr would be more forthcoming with a police officer than with me, approaching him innocently with an advertising opportunity? Which would get him to open up with any useful info, do you think?”
After running a hand through his hair, he mutters, “Fuck. I hate admitting you’re right sometimes.”
I cock my head and grin. “I know you do.”
“I’ll take you. There’s no way you’re going to see him alone.”
“It’s just a chat with a town newcomer. What’s the worst that could happen?” But upon Jackson’s glare, I backtrack. “Okay. Fine. Now let’s move out, soldier. Time’s wasting.” I jump into his truck ahead of him, already planning my pitch for Zephyr. If only I had my notebook and pen with me to write out some questions on the way to the docks; there’s something about the old school method of carrying a notebook with me into interviews that makes me feel like people see me as a serious journalist.