With a curse, Jude herds me back into the house and slams the door. But not before the reporter can fire off a second question. “Our sources tell us someone threw a buoy through your window last night. Is it true you’re being targeted?”
Jude turns the lock.
We slowly back away from the door.
“Targeted,” I snort. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?”
“So extreme,” Jude confirms. Then, “Right, T?”
I haven’t really taken the time to process the repercussions of the buoy being chucked through the window, but having it laid out in such stark terms has my stomach bubbling.
“Let’s fail to mention this to the bounty hunter. Just in case he’s not thrilled about us appearing on a camera that was definitely rolling,” I suggest, setting the knife down on the closest surface. “It’s probably not a big deal. It’s not like we answered her.”
My brother’s laugh turns into a gulp. “Right.”
“Maybe we should go before he comes back.”
“You read my mind.”
Chapter 10
Myles
* * *
Needless to say, I’m not in a great mood when I pull into the parking lot of Something is Fishy Snorkel ‘n’ Fun. Taylor’s car is here, along with two other ones I don’t recognize. I already hate whoever is driving them.
They left without me.
I returned from downtown and her car was gone. It took me under ten seconds to jimmy the lock on the back door and it was a real delight to find a random butcher knife just sitting out in the open, nobody around to ask for an explanation. My heartburn is acting up like a son of a bitch. I’m convinced my antacids have been replaced with placebo. I should be investigating Oscar Stanley’s murder and instead, I’m chasing a second grade teacher all over Cape fucking Cod. Because the possibility of her in potential danger has me in a headlock.
And because she’s a suspect, too, I’m forced to remind myself.
I’m definitely not stomping across the beach in steel-toed boots because the idea of her in a bathing suit in front of other men gives me a splitting headache.
That has nothing to do with it.
I prove myself a liar almost immediately. Taylor comes into view down in the cove—in bikini bottoms and a rash guard—smiling and nodding at the instructor like an A-plus student. Beside the instructor there are four other men present. Jude is here, thankfully. I don’t mind her brother. He seems decent. But there is some dude, I’m guessing it’s MBA Ryan, who looks a lot more interested in Taylor’s body than he is in the body of water behind him, and the burn shoots into my throat like a geyser.
How many men show interest in her per day? Ten? Twenty? It’s getting ridiculous.
I’m shoveling a handful of antacids into my mouth when Taylor catches sight of me.
“Oh,” she says weakly. “You found us.”
I look dead at Ryan while crushing the white tablets between my teeth.
“H-how exactly did you find us?” Taylor asks.
“I looked for the snorkeling place with the stupidest name,” I inform her. “You would pick a place called Something is Fishy.”
Gasping, she shoots a look at the instructor. “He’s only joking.”
“It’s fine. My daughter named it when she was eleven.” There is a mesh bag full of equipment resting in the sand at the man’s feet and he gestures to it now. “Will you be…uh…joining us? I’m not sure I have large enough flippers…”
I kick off my boots. Leave my socks in the sand. “I’ll manage.”
The instructor starts to pass out the equipment. Goggle-snorkel combos and flippers. Life jackets. I take everything he hands me, but I can already tell nothing is going to fit, so I don’t put any of it on. Taylor frowns at me the whole time. Good. Fine.
“All right, we’re going to split up in groups of two,” says the instructor.
“Taylor…” Ryan begins.
She turns in his direction.
Over the top of Taylor’s head, I promise him a slow death with my eyes.
“Fuck off,” I mouth, very precisely.
“I’m going to pair up with Quinton,” he blurts, feigning interest in one of his life jacket buckles. “B-but I’ll catch you on a flippity flop, yeah?”
The others waddle off down the beach in their gear, listening to the older man explain how to keep their goggles from fogging up. Instead of following them, Taylor crosses her arms and cocks a bikini-clad hip, making my fingers itch to tug on the strings.