Chapter 3
Owen Harris had long ago learned how to deal with stress and worry—with an adrenaline rush. It was dawn, and today’s sunrise stress relief consisted of kitesurfing on five-to-six-foot swells on Tahoe beneath a turbulent sky, courtesy of an incoming summer storm.
Nothing better, in his opinion, and the icing on the cake: he was actually getting paid for this. The clients with him were pro surfers vacationing in the area and had hired him as their guide. Their only requirement had been a high level of difficulty so they’d be challenged.
Owen’s specialty.
With the high winds at his back, the sun on his face, the spray of his wake keeping him slightly chilled and on his toes, life didn’t get much better. Funny thing about adventuring: concentrating on keeping everyone around him safe usually cleared his head of everything else.
Usually.
But the news report he’d caught three days ago now, the one that showed an auburn-haired, brown-eyed beauty holding a small gold coin while speaking to a reporter, had shocked him.
Yesterday he’d walked into that woman’s office with one thing on his mind—getting justice for the only family member he had left, his great-aunt Ruby, who desperately needed a win. If he could just get back what was rightfully hers, maybe she’d smile her smile of old.
Hell, maybe he needed that even more than she did.
But instead of justice, the mystery of his aunt’s missing things had deepened, and he’d found an unexpected complication that went by the name Anna Moore. She hadn’t been inclined to help him until he’d forced her hand, something he hadn’t enjoyed.
But he meant business on this.
His great-aunt had saved his life on more than one level, and he intended to return the favor. A strong gust of wind hit his group just as they all touched down on the water again, followed by a massive swell coming right at them. “Point your board directly at the swell at ninety degrees,” he called out, holding back, making sure everyone got over it before he followed.
His clients whooped and hollered their delight, and he relaxed, knowing they could handle themselves. When they made their way back to shore thirty minutes later, he saw them off and turned to his welcome committee.
Turbo, either a seventy-five-pound cotton ball or his ridiculously fluffy Samoyed, stood waiting for him on shore, his tail going so fast it created its own weather system. He was leashed to a picnic table because the last time Owen had left him loose, he’d jumped into another surfer’s open vehicle and stolen a burger right out of the guy’s hands.
Owen unhooked him, and Turbo took a flying leap. Quickly spreading his feet, Owen bent his knees for what was incoming, catching the ecstatic wiggle-butt in midair. “Thought we agreed no more jumping.”
Unrepentant, his dog licked his face. With a laugh, Owen set him down and Turbo instantly began running in circles, turbocharged.
Hence his name.
“Okay, okay, you’re a good boy. Come on, we gotta get back to work.”
White all over except for his coal black eyes, nose, and lips, Turbo had a smile that went from ear to ear and could be seen for miles as he leaned against Owen’s legs and stared up at him with his entire doggy heart, which melted Owen’s. They’d rescued each other, and he never took that for granted. Pulling on his T-shirt, he patted his thigh. “Seriously. Let’s go.”
Turbo for sure heard him, but he still chose to bolt toward the water.
“Seriously?” Owen had taken him to doggy training school. Twice. So he knew he wasn’t supposed to reward bad behavior, but there was really only one way to Turbo’s heart—through his stomach. “If you come right now, I’ll give you a treat when we get there.”
Turbo stopped so fast he looked like a cartoon cat on a slippery surface as he attempted to turn around. But it was too late. His speed had all four paws coming out from beneath him and he skidded on his butt about ten feet. But in zero-point-five seconds, he’d corrected course and was racing right at Owen, taking him out with a flying tackle.
Owen lay flat on his back, laughing under Turbo’s weight. “Sit, you big oaf.”
So Turbo sat. Right on top of him.
Shaking his head, Owen pushed him off and stood. “Come on, let’s go.”
Turbo began trotting in the direction of the building that housed Tahoe Adventures, the business he ran with his best friend, Ky Ortega. At the long set of stairs leading from the beach up to street level, Turbo stopped short and sat abruptly—not out of a sense of obedience, but because he was terrorized by stairs, among other things. “Up you go.”
Turbo leapt into his arms, and Owen climbed the stairs for them both. Five minutes later, they walked into their warehouse.
Sami, Owen’s office manager, stood waiting for him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. The first thing she did was offer Turbo a dog biscuit, which the dog swallowed whole. Then he immediately sat, tail wagging, expecting another.
“Not yet. You have to earn another.”
Turbo sighed and plopped down for a nap.
Sami turned to Owen. “Glad to see you’re not dead. Are you going to pretend you didn’t see the wind warning I sent you?”
“Storm swells,” he said. “You expect me to pass that up?”
“I expect you to live. I like my paychecks.” She shook her head. “You know, for someone so afraid of being helpless or beholden to anyone, dying doesn’t seem to bother you.”
That she nailed his personal fears with perfection only had him shrugging. He’d exorcized his demons a long time ago. Mostly, anyway. “Don’t worry, no plans on dying any time soon.”
“Uh-huh. This.” Sami waggled a finger between them. “This is why we’re no longer together. You pretend you’re just a simple thrill seeker with no depth, playing life fast and loose. You never let anyone have your important pieces, never promising anything more than the bare minimum. You, Owen Harris, gave me my first gray hair.”
“Good thing we’re not together anymore then,” he said easily. “And it’s been four years, you can’t possibly still be mad at me. Besides, you work here now, and you get to boss me around. You like that. Much better than dating someone who is—what did you call me back then?—emotionally unavailable.”
Sami snorted. “I think I called you a commitment-phobe, but sure, let’s go with stupid.”
He laughed, and she rolled her eyes before handing him an iPad with a list of his messages. He thumbed through them, stopping at the one from his aunt’s caregiver, which read: We made it to bingo today and she loved it!
Owen nearly sagged in relief. Back in the day, Ruby had been known as the first lady of Sunrise Cove. She’d been eighteen when she’d become the town’s first annual Summer Parade Queen. And then the second. And the third. She’d been known for being vibrant and charismatic.
She’d been those things all her life, until dementia had begun to dull her senses, playing havoc with her memories. It’d been weeks since she’d felt up to her beloved bingo.
Sami smiled. “I thought you’d like that one.” She gestured to their conference room. “Staff meeting. The guys are waiting on you.”
He headed in. Ky had just entered as well. Braden and Antonio, their employees, were already seated. Owen started their weekly meeting but stopped halfway through going over the upcoming schedule. Braden was totally engrossed in creating a paper airplane. He’d been making them and launching them at Antonio.
Antonio had a small pile of rubber bands in front of him, which he’d been using to steadily shoot down the airplanes.
Ky was the only one paying attention to Owen’s spiel, looking relaxed, his hands crossed over his chest in a thoughtful position, his eyes covered with dark shades. Owen was pretty sure his partner was actually sleeping.
By now, Braden had given up on the airplanes and was in a full-out rubber band war with Antonio. No planes or rubber bands had come Owen’s way.
Ky still hadn’t moved.
Owen sighed. “Gentlemen, if we get through this, breakfast is on me.”
A truce was hastily declared and Ky’s head swiveled as he pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. Okay, not asleep. Sometimes it was hard to tell. The rest of the meeting went fast after that, and he sent Braden and Antonio out to pick up breakfast on his dime.
When they were alone, Ky looked at Owen. They considered themselves brothers, if not by blood then by spirit. They were each other’s ride-or-dies, so when Ky looked serious, as he did now, Owen knew something was on his mind.
“You see the paper?” Ky asked.
“I didn’t know people still read the newspaper, Grandpa.”
Ky flipped him the bird, then tossed him the local paper.
Owen looked down at the beautiful Anna Moore staring mutinously into the camera lens. “Is this your version of Tinder? Because I tend to like them sweet and affable.”
Ky snorted. “As if.”
“I already read this and went to see her.”
“And?”
“And she insists her father didn’t steal anything. I’m paying her to look into the matter and come up with proof.”
“What if she comes up with proof her father is guilty as hell?” Ky asked. “You really think she’s going to admit it?”
Owen could still remember Anna’s certainty about Louis Moore’s innocence. She’d stood toe to toe with him, clearly believing it with her entire being, and he had to give her credit. She clearly didn’t scare easily.
I give every case 110 percent. But I’m telling you right now, my dad was no thief.
Something in her tough-girl, prideful stance and in her sharp but honest eyes had made him want to believe her. Want to, but he couldn’t. Not when she had his great-aunt’s coin in her possession with no explanation.