"Yeah." Lucy sighed. "I should get back to the station anyway."
Kaz glanced around the room, schooling her expression so that she didn't show the worry that was gnawing at her gut. None of the fishermen would make eye contact with her. And now that she thought about it, they'd been unusually silent out on the water earlier that afternoon. The typical radio chatter had been missing—along with the camaraderie. "Hmmm?" She realized Lucy had been talking to her.
"I said, you just don't want to get trounced again at eight-ball and owe me double or nothing on last night's bet."
"Like hell." Kaz kept her tone light as she found a few crumpled bills to drop onto the table for her beer.
Lucy snagged her wrist as she walked past, her expression uneasy. "Just watch your back, okay?"
#
Michael Chapman leaned back in his booth and watched the Jorgensen woman leave. Thick, waist-length, blond hair, a slim, athletic body, and soft, chocolate brown eyes. And attitude—tons of it.
He grimaced. He hadn't paid much attention to women the last couple of years—a sad fact his friends in the Boston Fire Department had pointed out repeatedly—but Kaz Jorgensen had caught his attention and held it. And after talking to her, he could sympathize with the reactions he'd seen on the faces of the other men when she'd arrived. A few had watched her with wistful expressions, a few with barely concealed irritation. But the rest had looked relieved, perhaps even exasperated—probably fishing buddies who'd been worried about her. He'd bet she drove them crazy on a good day, taking chances they privately labeled foolish. She'd certainly caused him a qualm or two when she'd waded into the middle of a brewing bar fight—one that looked as if it might get real ugly, real fast.
Most of the patrons were typical of any waterfront tavern—hard-working, decent people. He'd been looking for just that kind of place when he'd come through the door, and he hadn't been disappointed. He'd looked forward to relaxing, getting a handle on the locals.
The atmosphere in this place, though, was beyond tense. He'd already been sizing up a few hard-looking locals and monitoring the brewing fight when the blonde had jumped in. She was damn lucky, even if one of them was her brother—she easily could've gotten roughed up.
He grimaced, reaching down to rub Zeke's stomach. The dog moaned appreciatively in his sleep. Christ. He'd learned his lesson, hadn't he? He had no business wondering what secrets these people were hiding.
He'd moved out west to find some measure of peace in his life, not to take on someone else's troubles. All he had planned for the next few days was to move his belongings, which had finally shown up several days late, into the Victorian fixer-upper he'd purchased for Zeke and himself on the east side of town. To renew his acquaintance with a few carpentry tools.
Shoving aside his half-eaten burger, he pulled out his wallet, adding an extra five for tip. As he did, he glanced around the bar, noting the closed expressions. Felt the undercurrents. And, in spite of himself, was intrigued.
Those guys hadn't been fighting about anything as minor as Kaz Jorgensen had wanted him to believe. This town had secrets.
Too many secrets.
~~~~
Chapter 2
Kaz arrived at the family's vintage 1900's bungalow above town to find the house dark, the driveway empty. After a moment's thought, she reversed onto the street and headed back in the direction she'd come. When Gary needed space, he sometimes slept on the Anna Marie.
She drove down steep hills, skirting the historic downtown district, then turned east on Marine Drive, passing shadowed, abandoned warehouses that were remnants of a more prosperous era. Even though the rain had let up, the clouds were moving low and fast, and she had to hold the wheel firmly against the gusting wind. Gary was nuts to be sleeping on board—even moored, the boat would be pitching hard.
But then lately, Gary had been acting nuts.
When Lucy had called sounding worried last month, Kaz had assumed she'd spend her annual two-week vacation the way she always did—hanging around the waterfront and working on the never-ending list of boat repairs. And while home, she might try to feel out what was bothering Gary. But immediately upon her arrival, she discovered a family business on the verge of bankruptcy, and a stranger inside the skin of her brother.
If anything since she'd been back, Gary had become even more reclusive, more prickly. Admittedly, since she'd had to spend so much of her time out on the Kasmira B, she hadn't had that many opportunities to sit him down for a real talk. But he hadn't made himself available, either. She'd even begun to wonder if he was actually avoiding her.
Gary had a tendency to hole up like a wounded animal when he was hurting—he'd taken "time-outs", as he called them, more than once since he'd returned from Iraq. His recent behavior was out of character—he typically wouldn't avoid her, and he wouldn't pick fights in bars. He'd withdraw instead—heading for the hills where he could be by himself.
And she was certain the fight six months ago had been an aberration. But if Jim Sykes used the fights tonight to revoke Gary's parole, she would be concerned about his state of mind. He'd never be able to handle more jail time, not after what he'd been through in the war.
Spying his truck on the wharf of the East Mooring Basin, she heaved a sigh of relief and turned in, pulling in behind it. It was locked up tight, so she headed toward the docks. Using the palm of her hand, she slapped the chain-link gate that opened onto the docks, running into it when it refused to budge.
She took a step back, perplexed. Someone had chained it from the inside. What idiot would do that?
Then she heard an odd, percussive, whooshing sound, and the wheelhouse of the Anna Marie exploded into flames.
#
Lucy drove to the new police headquarters located on the east side of Astoria, having second, third, and even twentieth thoughts about having encouraged Kaz to come home. She'd hoped Kaz would be able to ferret out what was going on with Gary. Instead, the persistent prickling on the back of her neck was telling her she'd put Kaz in danger.
Astoria had changed—it wasn't the same town they'd all known from their time growing up here. In recent years, they'd experienced an influx of rich vacationers who had bought up many of the old Victorian homes, using them as weekend getaways. The newcomers brought with them too much disposable income, as well as a thirst for parties where the flow of controlled substances went unchecked. In reaction, "We Ain't Quaint" bumper stickers had quietly shown up on many of the locals' trucks, and not-so-quiet clashes between the old and the new had become more commonplace.
From the looks of it, Gary had landed right in the thick of those culture wars. Lately, his behavior had given Lucy some really bad moments late at night. And though she'd be the first to admit he'd been giving her bad moments ever since high school, this was different. Whatever he'd gotten himself into, she now realized she didn't want him involving Kaz. Which was why she dearly wished she'd minded her own business and never placed that call.
Gary was a big boy, and he could take care of himself. In fact, it was about damn time he handled his problems on his own. He needed to be shaken out of the rut he'd been in ever since the war—needed to acknowledge that the aftereffects of being a POW hadn't made him unfit company, for the fishermen or for the right woman. Lucy snorted and pulled into the left-turn lane, hitting her blinker. Yeah, right. He'd admit to that the day pigs flew over the Columbia.