Life in the Dead Lane (Secret Seal Isle Mysteries Book 2) Page 3

  4

  “So,” Jared declared, waving his hands dramatically over Dickie’s draped form, “we’ve got a dead guy on a fancy boat with a bag of coke shoved down his throat.” He beamed at Cookie from across the corpse. “Looks to me like we’ve got another murder on our hands.”

  “I’d have to agree,” someone else replied, and Cookie spun around. There, standing in the hallway just on the other side of the door, was Sheriff Watkins, who ran the Hancock station. She oversaw Swan, the deputy who manned the smaller station out on Secret Seal Isle.

  They’d met before, when Cookie had been helping to solve Chip Winslow’s murder, and Cookie had decided right away that she liked the older woman. The sheriff reminded her of a stereotypical grandmother, friendly but firm.

  Regardless, right now Cookie was here without permission, poking her nose into a case that had barely anything to do with her.

  “Sheriff,” she started, taking a step toward the shorter, stockier woman. “I’m sorry to show up here unannounced. I—”

  “—saved me the trouble of having to call you,” the sheriff interrupted. Her low heels clicked on the floor as she approached them.

  Cookie stared at her. “Really?”

  “Absolutely.” The sheriff laughed at her expression. She turned to Jared. “Can you give us a moment?”

  The ME glanced between them, then reluctantly nodded and disappeared into a connected office.

  “Ms. James,” the sheriff said, her gaze landing on Cookie, “you may have no official authority but you were invaluable in solving the Winslow case, and I appreciate that.” She sighed and rubbed at her forehead, swiping back a strand of graying brown hair that had escaped from her customary bun. “I’m also all too aware that I’m no detective, and neither are any of my deputies. So, to be honest, I can really use your help here.” Watkins smiled, and actually blushed a little as she added, “but you won’t have to do it all on your own.”

  She stepped fully into the morgue, still holding the door open behind her—and Hunter followed her in.

  Cookie’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Hunter?”

  Her ex-partner grinned at her. “Hey, Charlie. Surprised to see me?”

  “Uh, yeah,” was the best she could manage by way of a reply, since her brain was still trying to catch up to her eyes. When she and Rain had fled Philly she’d cut off all contact with her old life—except for her best friend Scarlett, of course. And that had included Hunter right up until the moment Chip’s body had landed on her doorstep, almost literally. Then she’d hauled her old cell phone out of storage and had called Hunter for help.

  He’d been on her doorstep the next day. Which had certainly earned him major points, especially since it wasn’t technically an FBI case and he’d been there in an unofficial capacity only, burning up vacation days to help her sort things out.

  He’d offered to help her in other ways, too—specifically, to relieve any… pent-up frustrations she might be having. Physically.

  And, in a move that had surprised both of them, Cookie had turned him down.

  Because, hot as Hunter was—and he was very hot, with his tall, broad-shouldered frame, handsome, chiseled features, rich chocolate skin, and smooth scalp—and as close as they’d been, Cookie knew he wouldn’t be sticking around. If they’d wound up in bed together it would’ve been a fling and nothing more. And as much fun as it might’ve been—and she had every reason to believe it would have been very fun indeed—she wasn’t interested in a meaningless romp. Not with anyone.

  But it had been hard saying no. Hunter had left shortly after they’d cracked the case, and Cookie had figured she wouldn’t see him again, or at least not for a good long while. And now here he was, only a few weeks later, walking up to her, that familiar smirk on his face, his chocolate-brown eyes taking in every inch of her. Damn.

  “I called Agent O’Neil and asked him if he could lend us his expertise,” Sheriff Watkins explained, looking admiringly up at Hunter. Cookie tried not to laugh. Watkins had been smitten by Hunter the first time she’d laid eyes on him, not that Cookie could blame her for it.

  “Since it was a formal request from local law enforcement, I got clearance from Spinner,” Hunter told Cookie, referring to Assistant Director Spinner, who oversaw the Philly field office. “I’ve officially been loaned out to the Hancock PD for the duration of this case.”

  “I know it’s a lot to ask,” Sheriff Watkins told Cookie, “but the two of you worked so well together last time, I was hoping you’d be willing to team up with Agent O’Neil again. He said he’d need a partner and suggested you. Said you had some experience in the field prior to purchasing your inn.” The smoldering look she shot Hunter’s way said very clearly that the sheriff would be happy to team up with Hunter any time, in any way possible.

  Cookie was a bit more conflicted about the idea, but she couldn’t very well pass up such a request. Especially since she’d obviously started poking around anyway. At least this way she could be doing it with full approval from the local law. “I’d be happy to help,” she answered, offering Sheriff Watkins her hand.

  “Great, just great!” Watkins declared, squeezing Cookie’s fingers in a bony grip. “Tell you what, I’ll swear you in as a temporary deputy, that’ll give you something to tell the locals, while you’re assisting the agent here. Sound good?”

  “That sounds great,” Cookie agreed. She considered asking if the job came with a paycheck—she and Rain had used up most of their savings buying the inn and then fixing it up, and seeing as how they only had the one tenant right now they weren’t exactly turning a profit yet. She couldn’t figure out a polite way to ask, though.

  Fortunately, Hunter seemed to read her mind—a trick he’d demonstrated plenty of times when they’d worked together, and one of the reasons they’d always made such a good team. “Since this will be taking Ms. James away from her current occupation,” he pointed out softly, “perhaps you could authorize some sort of stipend while we work on the case?”

  Watkins didn’t even frown. “Oh, absolutely,” she agreed at once. Cookie had the feeling she’d have agreed to just about anything Hunter asked. “It won’t be much, I’m afraid. We’re a small department, with a budget to match, but hopefully it’ll make up for your time, at least.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be great, thank you,” Cookie assured the older woman, who nodded briskly.

  “Right, I’ll go get the paperwork started on that,” she announced, her knuckles rapping on the closed office door. When the ME opened it, she said, “Jared, why don’t you bring Agent O’Neil and Ms. James up to speed on what you’ve found so far?” She glanced back at the FBI duo. “I’ll have the file on the investigation waiting for you both upstairs once you’re done here.” Without waiting for an answer, she bustled out into the hall, the door swinging shut behind her.

  The conversation had allowed Cookie to regain her wits, and now she grinned at Hunter. “Just couldn’t stay away, could you?” she asked.

  “Not when you keep finding dead bodies, no,” he agreed, laughing that rich, liquid laugh of his. “Seriously, Charlie, what is it with you? There can’t be that many corpses around here, how is it you keep stumbling across them?”

  She shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.” It was odd, she agreed. But the first had been an accident of the tide, and the second just bad timing. She stepped up and gave Hunter a quick hug, and noticed his solid chest pressing against her softer one, even though she was careful not to wrinkle his sharp navy suit. “It is good to see you, though.”

  “You too,” he replied, squeezing her back for a thrilling second before releasing her. Then he turned to Jared, who had been watching the entire exchange with a frown. “Dr. Delgado, I’m looking forward to working with you again after your invaluable help on the Winslow case,” Hunter said.

  Cookie watched Jared’s jealous frown melt away, to be replaced by a bemused smile. Leave it to Hunter to turn on the charm.

  “
Perhaps you could show me the body and any preliminary findings you’ve made?” Hunter added.

  “Of course,” Jared responded, gesturing both of them toward the body. He winked at Cookie as she approached, and she gave him a grateful nod in return. No sense letting Hunter know that she’d already been talking to Jared about the case, not when she could just listen to Jared’s short summary again and act like she was hearing all of it for the first time. It was less complicated that way.

  And, considering that she hadn’t been sure she’d made the right decision sending Hunter away, and now here he was again, Cookie could use something—anything—a little less complicated right about now.

  5

  “Morning,” Cookie mumbled as she slouched into the dining room the next morning, only to find Hunter already sitting at the table sipping a cup of coffee. Alone. Miss Hayley Holloway was nowhere to be found… again. She’d been gone the night before, too. And Cookie wondered where the pop star had gotten off to? Dylan’s place? Just the thought made her nauseated. She took a deep breath and tried not to borrow trouble. It was entirely possible Hayley had come in late and left early. They didn’t exactly keep tabs on their guests. But they probably should’ve made an exception for Hayley. On the way back to the inn the night before, Cookie’d filled Hunter in on the starlet’s surprise arrival. Being that she was Dickie’s sister, she would be at the top of their list of people to interview—just as soon as they found her.

  The aroma of freshly brewed French roast propelled her forward. She had just staggered out of bed, but her ex-partner looked like he’d been up for hours—he was bright-eyed and alert, his beard neatly trimmed. He wore a sharply-pressed dark suit over a crisp white shirt, and a perfectly knotted tie. The man was flawless, despite the fact that Cookie knew he’d probably been for a run already. How the hell did he manage that?

  “Morning, partner,” he replied with a smile as he set his cup down and picked up a piece of bacon from the tray in front of him. “Or should I say ‘deputy’?”

  “Ha ha.” She dropped into the seat across from him and snagged some bacon herself. “Hey, at least it’s not ‘pesky civilian who has no business getting involved’ this time.”

  “True,” Hunter agreed after devouring his meat and reaching for another strip. “And it’ll be a lot easier to question the townsfolk this way.” He must have seen something in her expression, because his smile faded. “Don’t worry about it, Charlie,” he assured her. “Nobody knows why you’re really here. As far as they’re concerned, you’re just Cookie James, local innkeeper. And busybody,” he added with a smirk.

  She nodded but put the bacon down on her plate half-eaten, her appetite gone. “Thanks.” She wished she didn’t have to keep her FBI status hidden, or that she couldn’t tell her co-workers back at the Bureau where she was. But DeMasi had friends and stooges everywhere, including law enforcement. Who’s to say he didn’t have a Fed or two on his payroll? And if he knew where she’d gone, there was nothing to stop him from sending someone after her. That’s why she’d left in the first place. No, for now Hunter was the only one she could trust.

  She was glad, though, that he wouldn’t have to worry about explaining her involvement with this case. She had no idea how he’d justified working a homicide on his previous trip, when he hadn’t even been out here officially, but she knew their boss Spinner probably hadn’t been pleased. FBI agents weren’t in the habit of moonlighting. This time Hunter was here upon request, though, and was working with local law and only local law, so everything was a lot more aboveboard. At least on paper.

  The bitter flavor of coffee filled her mouth when she took a sip. It had felt really weird being sworn in by Sheriff Watkins yesterday. Not that the sheriff hadn’t been really nice about it, very friendly and welcoming, but still efficient. It was just that, holding up her right hand and repeating an oath to serve and protect had reminded Cookie all too strongly of doing the same when she’d joined the FBI, which had been her dream ever since she was a little girl. And then she’d finally done it—only to walk away from it, even if it was only temporary. But who knew what would happen to her career while she was hiding out on the remote island.

  “Okay, so walk me through it again,” Hunter said, no doubt seeing how Cookie had gotten wrapped up in her own thoughts again and wanting to drag her back to their conversation. “You were out on the water…”

  “I was out on the water,” Cookie repeated slowly, her mind racing. Just how much did Hunter know already? Specifically, did he know who she’d been out on the water with? But she knew that if he didn’t yet, he would soon, and hiding it from him would only make things worse. “With Dylan,” she added, bracing herself.

  Sure enough, a scowl washed across Hunter’s face, wiping away any sympathy or warmth and leaving chiseled stone in its place. His eyes shaded from brown to black to match his darkening mood. “Dylan Creed?” he repeated. “Why were you out with him?”

  Cookie felt a flush of anger overwhelm any embarrassment she’d felt before, and she raised her head, thrusting her chin out defiantly. “We were on a date,” she answered, daring him with her eyes to comment on that.

  Hunter’s jaw clenched, but he wisely chose to let that one pass.

  “Anyway,” Cookie continued when she was sure he wasn’t going to interrupt, “we were out on the water and we spotted a deserted speedboat, a really nice, fancy one. But it was just floating—it didn’t have its engines on, and it wasn’t anchored, either. We called out in case anybody needed help but nobody answered, so we went onboard.”

  “And that’s when you found the body.”

  “That’s when we found the body.” Cookie could still see it in her head—her and Dylan on the deck, having just crossed over from Dylan’s much smaller boat, and stopping short at the sight of Dickie sitting there, his junk staring at them. “He was on the deck, face up, just laying there. Could have fallen, could have stretched out to get some sun, hard to tell but he wasn’t contorted so I don’t think it was the result of a blow. No major bruises, no obvious wounds or broken bones, no blood.”

  “And no clothes either?” Hunter asked, but there wasn’t anything mocking in his tone or on his face. He was just double-checking the facts.

  She nodded. “That’s right. He was completely naked. Except for the bow. And there was another thing—” She paused only a second before continuing. “He’d been… groomed.”

  “Who’d been groomed?” Rain asked. She’d just come in from the kitchen with an omelet. Gliding up to Hunter, she slid it onto his plate, but paused eyeing him from head to toe before she added, “Looking a little stiff in that suit, Hunter. You know what I find helpful?” Without waiting for his answer, she plowed on, “Skinny dipping and a little alone-time in the shed with a willing partner to take the edge off, if you know what I mean.”

  “Mother!” Cookie’s face flushed with embarrassment as the memory of finding her mother and a local lobsterman half-naked in the shed right outside flashed through her mind.

  “What? You know how they say orgasms are good for your health,” Rain said and winked at Hunter.

  He coughed, stifling a laugh, than gave her a big smile as he nodded his thanks for the omelet.

  Rain gave him a simpering one in return.

  Cookie tried not to roll her eyes, the impulse always a constant battle when her mother was around. Rain was an incorrigible flirt, and she’d made it very clear the first time she’d met Hunter that she thought he was pretty much sex on toast. She’d been horrified when Cookie hadn’t taken advantage of Hunter’s obvious interest in order to jump his bones, and had all but offered to take her daughter’s place if Cookie really wasn’t going to act on his invitation.

  Rain had been thrilled to see Hunter again when he and Cookie had returned from Hancock together yesterday, and even more excited when she’d found out that Hunter would be staying with them again. She’d even put him back in the same room as before, up on the third floor—directly
opposite Cookie’s own.

  Subtle, Mom, Cookie had thought.

  “Now, who was groomed?” Rain asked again.

  Cookie sighed. There wasn’t much point in not telling Rain, both because she’d find out anyway and because it was just easier not to keep secrets when living under the same roof. “The dead man, Mom. Dickie Dungworth.”

  “Oh, right, right.” A chair creaked as Rain settled into it at the end of the table, resting the empty frying pan on one of the trivets on the surface. “I heard about that, the poor man. So horrible.”

  “It is, yes. We were just going over the details,” Hunter explained. His tone made it clear that this was a private, professional conversation, and that Rain should excuse herself so they could work, but clearly he didn’t know Cookie’s mother very well. Suggesting that something wasn’t meant for her ears was a surefire way to convince her to stay. She was incredibly good at not hearing hints and cues when they didn’t interest her.

  Like now, when Rain reached over to grab the carafe, and steaming liquid splashed into her mug as she poured fresh coffee for herself. “Don’t let me stop you,” she declared cheerfully.

  Hunter glanced over at Cookie, one eyebrow raised. She just shrugged, and finally he nodded as well. It really was easier to just ignore Rain and keep going.

  “What exactly do you mean by ‘groomed’?” Hunter asked. “I know it said that in the report, but that was it. Did he have a haircut? A fresh shave?”

  Cookie glanced down at her own coffee, feeling the blush on her cheeks and powerless to prevent it. “No, it wasn’t that. He’d been… shaved. Bare. Everywhere. Except for a little area… uh, right down there.” Cookie pointed to her lap and then stared pointedly at him, one eyebrow raised.

  Hunter stared at her for a second. Then his eyes widened, and Cookie thought she saw him blush a little as well, even beneath his naturally dark complexion. “Oh. I see.”