Page 13 of Austen

“Just for a few hours.Came to pick up some friends.I should have called ahead.”

“Always glad to see you.”Henry grinned.

“Sorry I’m not staying.However, I’m going to pick up my scooter.”

Henry gestured to a porter, put a hand on his shoulder, and sent him to fetch it.

“I read your last report—sounds like you’ve recovered since Covid.”

“Doing better.We probably need a facelift, though.”Henry gestured to the island-themed decor.“Everyone wants the modern rustic style.”

“You stick with your plan, Henry.People like to get away, feel like they’re in a tropical setting.”

The porter arrived with the scooter, a Piaggio Beverly, white with a brown leather seat, freshly washed.“Thanks for taking care of her.”

Declan pulled out, headed down Front Street, then worked his way over to Greene and finally onto Lazy Way, which of course felt just right, the wind in his hair, the sun on his skin.He’d grab a table at the Half Shell, facing the wharf, and hopefully Austen would be back by sundown.

He passed a fifty-foot catamaran at the dock, then Schooner Wharf Bar, and headed out to William, through a side street, and over to Margaret Street.

Music lifted from the Half Shell Raw Bar as he pulled into the lot, found a space, and got out.

The scents of raw fish and the wharf settled as he walked inside, past nets, buoys, and ropes hanging on the walls, fresh fish in ice on display, probably caught that morning.The raw bar ran across one wall, facing the harbor, metal-mesh-gloved shuckers behind the bar, busy with their knives.

He found a picnic table on the terrace, the walls covered by license plates from the fifty states.A wooden fishing trawler hung between two pylons.His stomach growled.Nothing like fresh-shucked oysters, a bucket of steamed clams, and deep-fried shrimp to bring a guy back to his roots.

Those days when he was stationed in San Diego, his rare getaways to Seaport Village.He could almost hear his mom’s laughter, see the pride in her eyes when he’d treated her to her first surf and turf.Oh, he’d had dreams.

The memory pinched a little, and he exhaled, smiling up at a waitress who handed him a menu, water.He ordered a plate of oysters.

His gaze hung on the harbor, the afternoon sun sending shadows into the water.Dive boats and other vessels motored in from their afternoon excursions.

“Declan!”

Elise Hunter.He got up, gave her a kiss on either cheek, and then held out his hand to Hunter.

“Thank you so much for picking us up,” Elise said and sat on the opposite bench.“With all the storms that came through the last few days, we thought you might be delayed.”

“I have an excellent captain,” he said, leaning back as the waitress brought the oysters.“But I think we’ll wait until tomorrow to leave, just so we don’t get caught in anything in the dark.”

Hunter ordered for himself and Elise.

“Oh, the sea at night is terrifying,” Elise said.“I keep wondering if I should have just braved the float plane.”She took a sip of water.

“I think we’ll be just fine on Dec’s yacht, honey,” Hunter said and pointed out to theInvictusat the end of the dock.

Declan followed his gesture and stilled.Set down his oyster uneaten.

Steinbeck Kingston stood on the dock, talking and gesturing with another man, still aboard a dive boat, docking at one of the piers.

Declan stared at him a moment longer to confirm—yes.Definitely his former bodyguard, now dressed in shorts and flip-flops, a T-shirt, his glasses perched backward on the top of his head, that pensive look on his face.

Whatever he was saying, it seemed to have galvanized the other man, who was nodding.

They started to walk down the dock?—

“I’ll be right back.”

Declan blamed the sense of unfinished business, the crazy impulse that something had gone down between himself and Steinbeck and...

---