Chapter Six
REID
EMERY WALKS INSIDE the cottage, the curve of her waist down to her perfect ass making my jeans tight. I can’t take my eyes off her.
“No.” I hit the top of my steering wheel. “Bad idea, Reid.”
Giving myself reminders about why I chose a life of solitude isn’t usually necessary. I know what I need—to mind my own business and get my head right. But then again, I haven’t been around a woman that looks like Emery in a long fucking time. Or one who unsettles me like this.
I let out a growl and back out of her drive. My original plan to go home is squashed by my need for a drink. I turn off the drive and head back toward town.
I pull into the parking lot just outside the marina, in between Tate’s truck and a Tidehaven Police Department Cruiser. Instantly I know I’ll find Tate and our buddy Deputy Chief Colt Riggs sitting at The Drift Net bar.
I walk down the weathered dock and duck my head inside the open-air restaurant. Sure enough, they’re sitting at the far corner of the bar, each with a frosty beer in front of them, talking in hushed tones. I stride over, pulling out the stool next to Tate.
“Gentleman,” I say, taking a seat.
“I thought you’d left for the day,” Tate frowns.
“Morgan.” Colt nods.
“Needed a cold one after dropping the new doctor off at her cottage.” I glance away, then back at him, my mouth twitching with dry amusement. I pick up the beer that Willie set on the bar as soon as he saw me coming. I’m nothing if not predictable.
“Let me get this straight. You were home after meeting her and you came back down here to…what?” Tate quirks a brow at me.
“I never locked up the research center. I saw her carrying bags of groceries, and I offered her a ride.” I shrug, taking another long gulp.
“Hold on.” Colt holds up his hands. “New doctor? Where is Doc Michaels?”
“Not a doctor doctor,” Tate mutters, swatting Colt’s arm. “The new director of the research center.”
“Yeah. She’s a PhD,” I clarify.
“She hot?” Colt asks.
“Christ,” I mutter, shaking my head.
Tate barks out a laugh. “Reid says she is. I haven’t seen her.”
I roll my eyes. “She’s hot, all right. And nosy. Tess already told her not to go poking around the marsh.”
“Tess isn’t wrong,” Colt growls, his eyes piercing mine, and I wonder if we’re both thinking about Penny. “The last thing we need is a newcomer in here thinking she sees something she doesn’t.”
“You seen anything shady lately?” I ask, looking back and forth between the two.
“The same shit we see every day. Nothing we can do about it but stay out of the way and stay accommodating.” Tate says, his voice so low I almost miss what he says.
“The people that run this town will see to it that that’s the case,” Colt agrees, taking a final swig of his beer and pushing out of his stool. “Got to get back to work.”
My gaze falls to the gun holstered at his hip. He’s in street clothes, not uniform.
“Thought you were off.” I frown.
“The deputy never sleeps.” He throws some cash on the bar and pats both of us on the back before leaving.
A moment later, Beau Rigsby marches angrily up to the two of us.
“I’ve got a bone to pick with you two,” he grumbles, pulling out the stool between us.
Tate’s mouth quirks up in amusement. “What’s going on, Beau?”
“Someone’s been on my boat.” He looks back and forth between us, and he’s so close to me I feel the need to shift my stool over.
I catch Tate’s gaze over Beau’s shoulder. “What makes you say that?”
“A man can just tell. Someone is using it when I’m away for work.” Beau narrows his eyes. He’s back and forth between Tidehaven and Alaska multiple times a month.
“That’s…ridiculous,” Tate says slowly. “The Miss Tidehaven has remained in her slip whenever you are gone. I assure you.”
“Then how come my bait knives were in the wrong spot?” Beau looks to me this time.
“Don’t look at me, Beau. I’m just the fuel guy.” I hold up my hands.
Tate shoots me a glare.
“That’s another thing—my tank was three quarters full when I left on my last trip. Now it’s over full. Who filled it?”
The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I sigh. “Okay. I’ll bite. You find anything else?”
“My engine hours are off by fourteen. Fourteen, Reid.” He holds up both hands, fingers spread wide. “I logged everything before I flew out. Came back to that.”
“What else?” I ask.
“Two of my crab pots were halfway up the inlet.” He looks between us. Tate first—long and deliberate—then me. “I never set pots there. Ever.”
My stomach tightens. That area is too close to the boatyard’s side channel for coincidence.
“What about the storage compartments?” I ask quietly.
Beau’s eyes lock onto mine. Bingo.
“Scuff marks,” he says. “Fresh. Someone opened the forward hatch so many times the paint’s worn.” His nostrils flare. “And—this one takes the cake—the ropes were coiled backward. Backward, Tate.”
Tate cuts in, holding up his hand. “Beau, listen—”
“No,” Beau snaps. “You listen. I know my boat. I know every inch of her. Someone used her while I was gone, and they knew what they were doing. But I know better.”
My pulse quickens. Tate’s shoulders are tight, his hands too still. Silence hangs in the air.
“You wanna tell me why you look like you swallowed a fishhook?” Beau growls.
Tate pushes his lips together, shaking his head. “Just thinking. Trying to figure it out.”
Beau leans in close, his voice a threatening whisper. “Tell me something, boy. Did your daddy let people run boats out of here without permission too?”
Tate rises, towering over Beau. “Leave my father out of this.”
I step between the two men. One of them doesn’t stand a chance against the other. “Beau, Tate and I will look into it. I promise.”
Beau fixes his eyes on me, his jaw tight. “You damn well better. Because I leave again tomorrow, and if I find out someone is using my boat to do God knows what, I will sink your whole damn operation myself.” He turns and storms out of the Net.
When he’s gone, Tate turns to me. “Griff’s been keeping an eye out. Making notes. For now, that’s all we can do.”
Griff Monroe is the retired harbormaster of Tidehaven. He and Mr. Maddox were best friends. Griff lives alone now, and Tate has stepped into the role of surrogate son. I suspect the two of them do a lot of speculating after hours.
I push my lips together. “Dale Langford been sniffing around at all?”
Tate nods. “He pops in and out. Making sure we see him. He never says much, but he’s around.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, draining the rest of my beer.
“I came here because it’s quiet, but you know it’s hard for me to turn it off.
Now Beau is raising questions.” What I don’t say is I don’t know how long I can force down my suspicions about the people who run this town. Penny’s image flashes in my mind again.
“Reid.” Tate’s voice has a warning tone. “I’ll handle Beau. You have to leave it alone.”
I cough, clearing my throat. “I’ll try.”
I GET HOME just as the sky is turning to dusk, but I don’t go inside.
Instead, I hike through the trail, past the clearing until I find myself in front of Emery’s cottage.
Why can’t I let the new girl be? I guess talking to Tate and Colt has spiked my awareness again.
I’d been content with the monotony of everyday life, tried to put what happened to Penny out of my mind.
But now with someone new here wanting to do some digging in the name of marine research, I’m back on alert.
I walk up the side of the cottage and before I can even open the door to the screened porch, I spot her. She’s sitting in the little skiff tied to the rotting wood dock that has seen better days, tinkering with the engine. She must hear me approach because she startles, letting out a gasp.
“Are you stalking me?” Her voice is breathy, sending a chill up my spine.
“Just out for a walk,” I say, holding my hands up in defense. I move toward her slowly, the way I’d want to be approached by a stranger. “Thought I’d see if you got settled. If you have everything you need.”
Emery looks up, wiping sweat from her brow. Her blond hair is piled into a messy knot on her head, and gone are those sexy little glasses she had on earlier. “You only dropped me off an hour and a half ago.”
Shit. She’s right.
I ignore her comment. “You trying to get that thing started? It’s probably been a while.”
At this, Emery softens. “I’ll get it.” She gives me a confident nod that further piques my interest in her. She’s determined not to be helped.
“I told you I’d take you on a tour tomorrow. Don’t go out there alone before then,” I warn.
“And just who do you think you are telling me what to do?” Emery scowls at me.
I walk further down the dock, the boards groaning. I should replace these for her. I don’t need her slipping through one and getting hurt. A briny breeze blows through, rustling the loose hairs from the bun on the top of her head.
I stand back and watch, half-expecting her to fumble.
She flips the throttle, primes the engine, and gives the cord a pull.
Nothing. She looks at me, her expression unreadable, and tries again.
This time the motor sputters before growling to life, smooth and steady. Emery offers me a satisfied smile.
“Not my first time in the marsh.” She meets my gaze, heat flickering, calling me out for doubting her.
My jaw ticks. “Didn’t say it was.”
“No,” Emery replies, hand gripping the throttle, “but you were thinking it.”
“Don’t go far until you know the lay of the land.” My voice is sharper than I intend it to be. “Watch the eel grass. Marsh gets shallow near the point. And bring some oars in case you get stuck. No one will know you’re out there.”
“Aye aye, captain.” Emery’s voice drips with sarcasm.
The skiff eases from the dock, the motor humming beneath her. She glances back once and our eyes meet, something passing between us. Challenge. Recognition. Something more I don’t want to name. Then she disappears into the reeds, the engine thrumming behind her like the beat of my heart.
Too confident. Too curious. Too damn much.
“This one’s gonna be trouble,” I murmur. And then I head for home.