8. Smoke and Mirrors
EIGHT
SMOKE AND MIRRORS
GIGI
This has to be what it’s like to act in a spy movie. At a glossy bar fashioned from exotic zebra wood, leisurely sipping our drinks, it’s all too easy to pretend. How is this my life right now when two days ago my only concern was getting through my inbox and voicemails and filling my father’s big shoes?
In the mirrors behind the bartenders, I catch my reflection, glad I opted not to wear the bandage around my head tonight. Just a little one, not noticeable, strategically hidden under my curls.
The mirrors also give us a perfect view for people-watching. Outsiders might assume that the way Jackson drapes his arm possessively over the back of my barstool and stays close enough to talk, signals we’re on a date. In truth, I’m pointing out new faces in town while he recalls old classmates, now grown into adults.
A few of them even come up to us for a brief hello and handshake, asking Jackson what he’s up to these days. He answers each with a simple label: government contracting.
I catch more than a few lingering glances from women around the room who appreciate his style. I do as well because he cleans up good. This side of Jackson in a dark blue suit with a white t-shirt tucked in, and his hair slicked back, a silver necklace at his neck, his dog tags hidden underneath, has me hoping I don’t wet my panties or bite my lip or do anything to give away how heated I am just being in his presence.
Jackson remains oblivious to the attention of others, his eyes fixed only on mine. A thrill runs down my spine, fueled by the allure of having such a charming military man by my side. A part of me remains skeptical, though—does he do all this for his mission, or is there genuine concern for me behind his actions?
I’m still a little taken aback by the memory of him declaring he wanted to marry me back in elementary school. But as an adult, I have no time for that kind of whimsical notion. I need to keep my feet firmly planted in practical thoughts. He’s in the military, and his missions take him all over; Love Beach is merely a random stopover for quick encounters, not a place for a serious relationship.
At an awkward pause, he studies me, a stray lock of his slicked-back hair falling into his eyes. He isn’t the type to settle down and embrace small-town life—and I have no plans of ever leaving. That’s the only thing holding me back from running my fingers through his long, gorgeous hair, wondering if there could be more between us.
I still remember when he turned eighteen and committed his life to the military. I’ll never forget seeing him with his buzz cut on his first leave home visiting his grandparents; though I much prefer his longer style now.
Departing from our talk about people, I ask, “What’s with the hair, anyway? Shouldn’t you be sporting the high and tight like most military men do?”
“One of the perks of being undercover here in Love Beach is that I can blend in by letting it grow out, skipping the usual weekly cuts.” With a sly, panty-melting grin, he dares, “Admit it. You want to touch it, don’t you?”
Oh, there’s so much I’d like to touch on his body, but I will myself away from that thought. And, finally, Mike comes into view.
“Negative, soldier. Our target has arrived. Three o’clock over your left shoulder,” I announce, taking another sip of my drink.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Careful, you have no idea how much it turns me on when you talk like that,” he growls. Then, catching something in his earpiece, a few seconds later he chuckles—a reminder that his team is listening. I roll my eyes.
“I feel like a third wheel on this date,” I complain.
“Date, huh?” He leans in, his lips nearly grazing my earlobe. “Trust me, darlin’, you’re the only woman at the center of my every thought right now.” I almost lose myself in his words until I sense someone else’s presence.
“Gigi, what a surprise to see you. It’s been a while.” Mike’s greeting pulls Jackson away from me, pitting me between the two men. He regards Jackson off-handedly.
The two couldn’t be more different. Jackson exudes the confidence of a hero who has won a hundred times and earned the right to the name, while Mike carries the entitlement of a man used to getting his way.
For a brief time, several years ago, he pursued me when he first moved to town. But then he met his now-wife, from a prominent family, and quickly lost interest in me. I wasn’t that into him anyway. I know little of his life since then, but it’s not a stretch for him to know people with money who could keep an illegal fishing ring afloat.
“Hello, Mike. I’ve been busy with the Buzz—my dad retired,” I explain.
“So I’ve heard,” he replies, glancing at Jackson as I introduce them.
“This is Jackson Alexander, Beau’s brother. He’s in government contracting,” I say, choosing my words carefully since everyone knows Beau, the star defenseman for the Charleston Renegades hockey team, one of our town’s few celebrities. “And this is Mike, the manager.”
“Chief Executive Officer,” Mike snidely corrects, extending his hand. The two men shake and size each other up. “Welcome. I hope you two have a pleasant visit tonight.” He attempts to move on, as if all we’re worth to him is this minute of his time compared to other couples he’d rather schmooze.
Jackson holds Mike’s handshake for a beat longer. “Actually, we’d like a word with you.”
Here we go again, Jackson jumping in. They teach bedside manner to doctors. Don’t they teach the art of subtle communication to military undercover agents?
“About?” Mike asks, frowning as he retracts his hand and turns his attention to me.
“We’re following up on a tip about a ring of fisherman catching things they shouldn’t.” I speak low and gauge his reaction.
His eyes go wide, at first, then he balks. “This conversation would be better suited during office hours than during our busy dinner service. You have my number, Gigi. Make an appointment.”
Jackson stiffens next to me from the unmistakable disdain in Mike’s voice. “I think you’ll make the time right now. Should we follow you to your office or make a scene right here?”
His eyes dart around us. “Make it fast, and keep your voices down.”
“Have you come into contact recently with anyone willing to pay for the catch of illegal species?” I ask, assuming he’ll deny it.
“No. And if I did, I’d certainly turn them in to the proper authorities,” he stammers, tugging at his tie as if nervous.
I press on with another question. “Has anyone approached you to hire a boat for big game fishing?”
“People charter boats all the time. That’s a service we provide, matching boat owners with clients. But never for anything illegal, especially not at my yacht club,” he insists.
“If we took a look at the docks for a boat called The Jailbird, what would we find?” Jackson interjects. Mike shifts, rattled, opening and shutting his mouth. I feel certain he knows more.
He focuses back on me. “Personally, I find these questions offensive, Gigi. I’ve been here for years serving this community, and never once has my integrity been called into question. This is an insult. But what do I expect from a small town reporter?—”
“Hey,” Jackson cuts in, grabbing Mike by the tie and yanking him. “Watch how you address Ms. Baymont, or you’ll have me to deal with. You have two choices: cooperate and tell us everything you know, or I’ll have a search warrant for your office—and for every boat docked here—in the next hour.”
His protective intensity takes my breath away as I watch Mike crumble under Jackson’s threat. When he finally releases him, Mike recovers, straightening the silk around his neck, and sticks his nose in the air.
“Then I’ll be waiting for the warrant. Now, leave my club before I have the guards throw you both out.” He stonewalls us and shoves past, clipping Jackson hard in the shoulder. Before he can pummel the CEO flat on the bar floor, I yank him back by the arm.
“Take it down a notch or five, soldier,” I order.
“He knows something, I feel it,” he hisses.
“Me, too. But I suppose I have no choice but to talk to Davis and see if he’ll bring Mike in for questioning and get a warrant to search.”
Jackson leans on the bar with a sigh to calm himself. I know he didn’t want to become a part of my story, but then what was that show of defending me all about? If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s invested now.
When he finally finishes his drink and abandons the glass at the bar, he offers me his elbow. “Would you like to go for a stroll down the docks with me since we’re here? We can scope the boats out and see if The Jailbird reveals itself.”
“Gee, that almost sounds like a romantic date,” I remark with a bit of sarcasm.
“Yeah? Should I turn on all my charm then to impress you?” His smoldering gaze flutters the butterflies in my stomach to life.
I’d say I already am impressed by him, more than I ever expected to be, but I don’t want him to get any cockier. I chuckle and take his arm, letting him lead the way. If I dare admit it, I have a thing for the cocky guy. But I still can’t see getting involved with him when I remind myself his mission will eventually be over. His appearance in Love Beach has an expiration date.