Page 85 of Dining for Love

“I’m counting on it.”

In the office, I close the door and take a deep breath. I need to be calm when I tell Chief Muñoz what happened yesterday. After a moment, I punch his number.

“MacKinnon.”

“They shot my uncle.” My voice shakes, all pretense of calm wiped away as soon as I open my mouth. “They fucking shot my uncle, Chief.”

“Chief MacKinnon?”

“The very same.”

Muñoz swears. “The DA is back on track. We grabbed another one of their grunts and he’s rolling on them for a deal.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That’s good, but how’s that helping me find who did this?”

He sighs. “You know the routine, MacKinnon. Work the case. Follow the evidence. And for fuck’s sake, lay low.”

“That ship has sailed, Chief.” I relay the rabbit feet and my security cameras giving me nothing.

He swears again. “What the hell have you been doing up there? What part of ‘lie low’ did you not understand? It was a mistake allowing you to patrol.”

“Probably,” I admit, recalling Willa’s question yesterday. “Definitely, in fact. But what’s done is done.” I don’t bother mentioning that my picture is probably all over at least twenty different tourists’ social media pages.

Besides, I’m certain—well, fairly certain—that it wasn’t those pages that outed me. It was JJ. “I still don’t know how they picked up that I was up here, Chief. To be honest, it’s all a little fishy.”

He snorts. “You think? Just do what I said: Work the case.”

“Yes, sir.”

We finish the call, and shame twists in my gut. If I’d been more careful—hell, if I hadn’t come to this town at all—my uncle wouldn’t be lying in a hospital room recovering from a gunshot wound absolutely intended to kill him. But then I wouldn’t have met Willa. I groan, frustrated. This whole thing is shit. I can’t play thewhat-ifgame, or I’ll drive myself crazy. Yanking the door so hard it slams against the wall, I stalk to Betty’s desk. She looks up from her romance novel, an eyebrow raised.

“Was that really necessary?”

“You look way too much like your mother when you do that,” I retort.

She blanches. “A helpful hint, Reid: Don’t ever tell a woman she’s just like her mother.”

I chuckle. “Fair enough. I need your help—but quietly. Can you get me the logs of every single call that’s come into the station over the past two months?”

“That’s a decent number of calls, Officer MacKinnon,” she says, her mouth tipped up in a satisfied smile. “You got an idea brewing?”

“I might.”

A few hours later, I have a headache from reviewing all the data. But I also have a hunch.

Chapter 27

Willa

REID DIDN’T STAY over last night. Except for our conversation on the beach and a few glorious hours yesterday morning, Reid’s spent all his available time in the two days since Chief Mac got shot looking for who did it.

I don’t blame him, but I miss him all the same.

I finish my shift at the diner on Tuesday and head for my usual shower, then go to Agatha’s for tea. I saw Reid’s truck outside, but he wasn’t in the backyard, and when I looked at his house, he wasn’t in there waving at me like he’s been before.

Admittedly, it stings. Is this what happens after I tell someone I love them?

Agatha meets me at her screen door, gesturing to the porch and telling me to have a seat. I settle into the porch swing and wait, knowing she won’t let me help her because she never does.

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