Page 29 of Sighs By the Sea

I open my mouth to answer, but she keeps going. "Or you find out Grayson cut checks to a hitman named Phillip Waters ten years ago. It leads to new suspects in the death of a local businessman. Does Gray get dragged into that? Or someone accuses me of running drugs through my surf shop again; do you tape a wire to his briefcase to see if I'm skewing the books? Or when the—"

"No!" I yell out. I'm surprised at the answer, but I mean it. Sometimes the best response is the one you can't hold back. "Tilly, I don't have some sort of agenda. I don't care who killed who or what you're doing with your business right now. I care about keeping your family safe. Just like I did when I tackled that guy that wanted to hurt you!" My grip on my phone tightens as I say it. This makes me a terrible officer, and I don't like the feeling of guilt in my stomach. Mentioning how I saved her is probably a low blow, but I need those points in my corner right now.

I wait quietly for Tilly’s response. When it comes, I’m not exactly pleased. “If you call my place of business again, I will report you for harassment. Stay away from my family.”

The call ends. Well, shit. That didn’t go well. I slap the phone onto my desk and put my head in my hands. Damn. So not only did I risk my job by admitting I wouldn't turn on Grayson, but I didn't even get the help I needed.

Pulling out my phone, I stare at his contact info. Stay away from her family. Yeah, that's not going to happen. This is the part of the job that I excel at. She's not going to keep me from doing what I need to. I’m going to find out what’s going on and keep both sexy Grayson and his adorable son safe.

I close my eyes and sigh. Her anger feels so misplaced. Or worse still, maybe something else has happened in the last three days that I don’t know about. Is that it? She's mad at me because something awful happened? I’m suddenly worried that Grayson or George is hurt.

Me: Everything good?

The dots appear, disappear, and reappear several times, making my heart a jittery mess. But finally, they disappear for good. No response.

I toss the phone on my desk and put my forehead in my hands. It rings a second later, and I snatch it up. “Hello?”

Harry's voice comes over the line, washing away all my excitement in an instant. “Well, hello to you too. Got something for you."

"What?" I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Waters is dead."

"Is that code?" I ask before it hits me. "Wait, the hitman?"

"Yep. Year and a half ago. Bullet to the back of the head, point blank range." My eyes are darting around. That sounds like a mob hit.

"Fuck," I say. Deep down, I was hoping Lucas Peterson getting murdered had a simple answer; hitman cleaning up his past. Seems that someone else is doing the cleaning though. Leaving us up the creek without a paddle.

"Yep. But no time to celebrate a new mystery. We’re needed at a break-in at a warehouse. I’m out front.”

I’m already on my feet and grabbing my suit jacket. The air in the office is thick with the scent of coffee and printer ink, a familiar blend that usually sharpens my focus. Investigating a break-in sounds like a wonderful way to distract myself. I need it right now. Because from where I'm standing, I'm back at square one for Grayson's little problem.

“Okay, you got the stuff?” I ask, heading toward the front.

“Oh yeah, I got your donuts. Let’s go, sugar fiend.” I laugh as I hang up.

***

Ten hours later, I finally unlock my front door and step into my sanctuary. Everything is in its place, but I only want one thing.

I toss my jacket onto the couch and go straight to my bedroom. The corner desk with the computer is bathed in a muted purple hue. I power the colorful tower up, and as it loads, I slip into my comfiest pajamas. The rest of the day has been long and boring.

Grayson hasn’t texted back, and I’m more upset than I want to admit. But seeing the dots meant that at least he’s alive.

The man has a mysterious way about him. I want to unlock his secrets, and not just because I’m a detective. For some reason, I feel he’s hiding more of himself behind walls that I desperately want to bust down.

Such a calm and reassuring presence, but delightfully entertaining in the same way. It’s like watching the sunrise while listening to a comedian. I’m drawn to that energy, despite knowing he’s a criminal—scratch that—reformed felon.

Thankfully, within five minutes, I’m shooting aliens, my mouse clicking rapidly as I mumble curses at my teammates.

Grayson

Pulling up to the large house, I turn in my seat. George has fallen asleep during the drive, his face peaceful in the dim light filtering through the car windows.

“Wake up, bud,” I say softly.

Georgie’s eyes flutter open, and his excitement is immediate. “Are we here?”

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