Chapter Twenty-Two
REID
MY PHONE’S ALREADY ringing when I slide behind the wheel. Tate’s name lights the screen. “Yeah?” I mutter, jabbing the speaker button and dropping it onto the console.
“I thought you were going to talk to her out of it?” Tate’s voice filters through, roughened by static and the clatter of other voices in the background. The Drift Net, maybe.
“What did you expect me to do?” I bark in frustration. “I don’t control her. You said so yourself.”
Tate lets out a low whistle. “I know, I know. It’s just…she caused quite a stir after you guys left.”
My chest tightens, anxiety creeping in the way it used to when I first became a SEAL. Fear of the unknown. Only this time, it’s not fear for myself—it’s fear for Emery.
“What do you mean she caused a stir?” It comes out harsher than I intend. Tate’s just the messenger.
“Just that half the town started talking about the cocaine thing. Barb Maynard was shouting that someone was dealing drugs. Griff laughed and said it was worse than that. They went back and forth till the mayor slammed the gavel and sent everyone home. I hung around a bit, talked to Griff. When the old boys came out, they looked…tense.” Tate pauses, waiting for some kind of reaction from me.
“Old boys?” I know damn well who he means, but I ask anyway.
“You know…the old boys. Beck, Judge Ware, Langford Senior. Dale, too. Mayor Wynn trailed behind like a lost dog. I don’t know, man. She better be careful.” Tate’s voice is edged with warning.
The leather seat creaks beneath my weight. “Yeah well, I think I knocked some sense into her just now. But she won’t give this up without a fight.” I lean my head back before starting my truck.
“These men… They won’t hesitate to make someone disappear, Reid,” Tate says, his voice low. “And they’ll get someone else to do it, so their hands stay clean.”
“Tate. Don’t,” I snap, my voice tight. “I know how it all works. Trust me, I’m paying attention.”
I take the turn onto my drive too fast, gravel spitting under the tires, and slam the brakes at the porch steps. The sudden silence afterward is loud enough to hurt.
“Okay, sorry. I just… If you’re seeing her, I thought you should know they’re paying attention too.” Tate pauses and I can picture him, perched at the corner of the bar, beer in hand, talking low so as not to call attention to himself. He’s just trying to be the friend he’s always been to me.
“I appreciate it,” I manage, my throat suddenly dry. “She just frustrates the hell out of me.”
Tate laughs low. “That just means you love her.”
“I don’t love her,” I bark, then let out a breath, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror. The porch light casting a spotlight on the exhaustion under my eyes, the days of worry carved into lines across my forehead. “I don’t even know her.”
“Sure you don’t,” Tate says, and I can picture his knowing smirk. “See you tomorrow, man. Take it easy tonight.”
“Yeah. Later.”
The call ends. I grab the phone, shove it in my pocket, and climb the steps. Each one feels heavier than the last. By the time I reach the door, I’m not sure if it’s fatigue or dread pressing down harder but either way, Friday can’t come soon enough.
I FIGHT THE urge to stay away from Emery, and I lose.
By the time I trudge through her yard the next morning, the sun is just burning through the fog, and the air smells like pine and sap.
Relief floods through me when I see her skiff tied up where it normally is.
Her car is still parked on the dirt drive, dew coating the windshield.
The dock creaks under my boots, boards soft from years of neglect. Once again, I make a mental note to fix it for her. The screen door bangs open behind me, and I turn just in time to see her stride out, squinting against the light.
“I didn’t expect to see you today,” she says, shielding her eyes. “Thought you were mad at me.”
“I am,” I growl, but I can’t fight the twitch of my lip. “I can’t leave you for dead though.”
She swats my chest. “Too soon, Reid.”
“Probably.” I huff a laugh. “Tate opened today so I have a little extra time. Thought I’d drive you, if you’re ready.”
Emery’s hands find her hips, and she narrows her eyes at me. “I thought I told you I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“If that were true,” I say, meeting her stare, “I’d listen.”
A quiet beat stretches between us, heavy and charged. Finally, she drops her arms. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
She hesitates, her eyes flicking to the creek. “Do you—do you think the man in the marsh was involved in the…” She trails off, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Cocaine?”
“Probably.” I shrug, though it’s not casual. “If they’re running product through those channels, they’ve got bodies tied to it—one way or another.”
“People, Reid. He was a person,” she says sharply. “I don’t know if I’ve been dissociating or what, but I pushed all thoughts of him aside until last night.”
“Dissociating is normal in these circumstances,” I say, watching her carefully. “It’s just important that you make calculated moves now. Be smart. Watch your back.”
Her throat works as she swallows, and for the first time in days, she looks genuinely rattled. “Do you think I’m safe?”
“For now,” I say, gruffly. “Just lay low.”
Emery sucks in a shaky breath. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Come on, let me buy you a coffee.” I turn toward my truck, gravel crunching underfoot. When she doesn’t follow, I glance back.
“Do you think it’s smart for me to go into town?” she asks, worry edging her voice.
“I think it’s smart for people to see you,” I say. “Let them think you’ve moved on to something else.”
“Okay. Let me just get my things.”
Before I can reply, she’s jogging back toward the house.
I climb into my truck, start the air conditioning, and wait.
The air is still thick from last night’s rain, cicadas droning somewhere in the trees.
My stomach knots itself tighter the longer she’s gone.
My feelings for this woman are so complicated.
It could be because I haven’t wanted to pursue anything with anyone for a long time.
And deep down, I don’t think I’m deserving of the privilege to love and protect someone.
It could also be that while I find her irresistible, I also find her tenacity irritating. Dangerous.
She pulls open her door and climbs in, startling me from my thoughts. “Hey,” she says, as if we weren’t just talking moments ago.
“Hi.” I look in her direction, her cheeks flushed, blond hair piled on top of her head.
My chest squeezes tight. All I want is to pull her into my chest and reassure her that I’m here and I won’t let anything happen to her.
That suddenly feels ridiculous though and I push away the urge.
“I’ll take you to Poppy’s,” I say, shifting into drive. “You been yet?”
In my peripheral, I see her shake her head. “I have just been making Nespresso.”
“Probably tastes better.” I chuckle, trying to cut the tension.
“Maybe I’ll hang around the docks today. Do some non-confrontational public research at the marina.”
When I glance over at Emery, she’s chewing on her lip again. A nervous tic maybe.
“What kind of research?”
“I don’t know. Oysters. Water quality. Seagrass surveys. Something that looks nonthreatening.” Emery shrugs, looking at me, hopefulness etched across her features.
“Sounds perfect. I’ll be around today too.”
We climb out of the truck and head toward Poppy’s, sunlight glinting off the bay windows. Inside, the place smells like cinnamon rolls. We order, exchange polite smiles with Poppy himself, then drift apart—me toward the marina, her toward the research center.
She hesitates at the corner.
“Hey, Em,” I call after her.
She turns, blond hair catching the light.
“You’re okay,” I assure her. “Call me if you need something.”
She gives me a small smile. “Thanks. I’ll be fine.”
And then she’s walking again—away from me.
BY FOUR O’CLOCK, I haven’t heard from Emery at all. I head for the research center and spot Kayla just as she’s leaving.
“Kayla, is Emery in there?” I call, hoping to catch her.
“She left about an hour ago,” Kayla says, intercepting my path.
“What? Did she say where she was going?” I bark, running a hand through my beard.
“Calm down, Hulk.” Kayla laughs. “I think she just went home. She seemed pretty tired. Said she didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Thanks.” I say, my tone clipped. I move for my truck.
“Okay, bye,” Kayla calls. “Nice talking to you, you grouchy giant.”
I give her a wave before throwing the truck in reverse and flying toward Blackbird Cottage. I don’t know why, but Emery leaving without a word when things seemed okay between us this morning doesn’t sit well with me.
I gun it up the narrow strip of Main, sand and grit kicking up dust beneath my tires.
The town blurs past—weathered storefronts, the bay flashing silver between them—and I take the turn onto Emery’s drive too hard.
The truck fishtails once before catching, throwing up a cloud of dust. She’s at the end of the dock, feet dangling over the water.
The sound must startle her, because she jerks around, hand flying to her chest. When she realizes it’s me, she shakes her head and turns back toward the bay.
That’s when everything comes into focus. The yard doesn’t look right. There are deep tire tracks gouged into grass, looping like someone spun out on purpose. Big donuts like we used to make for fun when we were teens. Except these ones look angry, like someone marking their territory.
I kill the engine and jump out, my boots crunching over disturbed ground. I crouch, running my hand along one of the ruts. Deep tread, wide spacing. Jeep, maybe. Something heavy.
I look up and my stomach drops. Across the white siding of her cottage, scrawled in brown spray paint, one word: LEAVE. My heart slams against my ribs. I move closer, dragging my fingers through the tacky paint. Whoever did this wanted to send a message, loud and clear.