“Distracted.” I march over to the container as I unravel my bandage and toss it aside, then fight to get the padlock undone, swinging open the door. And cough. “Jesus,” I breathe, holding my fist to my mouth. The smell is musky. Fucking putrid. Totally unbearable. And the sight of him isn’t much better. Kenny Spittle looks up, squinting with the bombardment of light attacking his eyes. I push the door closed.
“D-Boss!” Liam sings, appearing at the top of the steps to the cabin. His hair is longer. Wilder. And I’m quite sure his board shorts haven’t been washed since the last time I saw him some weeks ago. His eyes fall to my chest and nearly fall out of his head, and I look down, confused. Then not when I see the mess I’ve made of myself.Fuck me.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I snap, trudging toward him. “We had to get our own fucking jet skis ready because Jerry was dealing with clients and the girls in the café were busy serving.”
“I don’t think you had a long enough vacation,” he murmurs as I storm past.
“You’d be right.”
“Get our skis in,” James says, pulling his wetsuit down too. “Then come join us.”
“Sure, J-Boss.”
I laugh sardonically. “Your back, my front. It’s a fucking horror show around here.” I help myself to a water from the fridge and cast my eyes around the busy café as I swig. My stare lands on a man in the corner, who is watching us both standing by the fridge. My stomach turns and questions run amok through my mind. Has he found Pops? Beau’s mum?
“Come,” James says, encouraging me toward Higham. “And keep your fucking cool, okay?”
Keep my cool. I look around the café again, wishing everyone gone so I don’t have to bother keeping my cool. “Everyone’s looking at us.”
“My back, your front,” James says. “And since when do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“Then shut the fuck up.”
Higham’s eyes are nailed to my chest as I approach, and one look warns him not to ask. Pulling out a chair, I lower to the seat, setting my water on the table as James gets comfortable beside me, folding his arms over his impressive chest. I don’t fold mine. Can’t.For fuck’s sake.
Higham takes a sip of his coffee and pulls his jacket in, resting back in his seat. “I’m sorry about your father,” he says flatly. “And your girlfriend’s mother. Jaz Hayley was a respected agent.”
“I don’t want your condolences,” James says quietly, a lethal edge to his tone.
“What do you want from me then?”
“Nothing.” he replies. That’s not true. “Or maybe a pardon when I find out who it was and butcher the fucker.”
“Let us have this one,” Higham says, coming in closer.
“You don’t know whothis oneis,” James points out.
“No, but I know two pretty fucking determined men who can find out.” He looks between us, and I raise my eyebrows. “This is personal for us now too,” he goes on. “Like I said, Jaz was a respected agent.”
James laughs, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Higham,” he says lowly, getting closer. “If I go home and tell Beau that the bureau suddenly cares enough about her dead mother to find what was left of her after she was blown to smithereens, she will, and I am not joking you when I tell you this, tear every last FBI agent limb from limb.”
“Beau is a former cop.”
“Who knew her mother’s death was not an accident but wasn’t allowed to prove it, despite the evidence.” James sits back, and I take over. He’s going to blow. The simmering anger seems to be alternating between the two of us.
“There are so many bent cops on the force and bureau, Higham,” I say, taking more water. “I don’t even know if I want to be talking to you right now.”
“I’m not bent.”
“That’s what they all say. Any news on my father’s missing body?”
“We all know you and your friend The Enigma have more chance of finding your father’s body than the FBI.”
“So that’s why you’re here? For our help?”
“Would you rather me be here to arrest you?”