Page 12 of The Harborer
And maybe that was part of it. Shane was in his early thirties too, and besides the occasional hookup in another county, he didn’t have any intimate relationships. Lately, his apartment had transformed from a sanctuary after a hard day into a place where his four walls echoed with emptiness.
“Amy! People need coffee over here.”
Shane and Amy swiveled their heads toward the voice on the fringes of the milling crowd. It belonged to a slightly built thirty-something with shoulder-length dirty-blond hair, a mustache, and a pasty complexion.
Micky.
Not everyone grows up.
Shane glowered at the dickhead. “Then get your ass over here and pass them out yourself.”Dipshit.Micky frowned at him as if he couldn’t make out what Shane was saying.
“Um, no, it’s okay,” Amy said softly. “I need to refill the tray anyway.” The beautiful smile had slipped from her face, and a heartstring twanged deep inside Shane’s chest.
He wished he could say the astonishing change in her demeanor was surprising, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t witnessed before. Like the other day, when Micky had called her about being home late. Shane had only heard one side of the conversation, but he’d made out enough of the bullshit Micky had fed her, and it had pissed him the hell off. Just like Micky was pissing him off now.
An urge to protect bubbled up inside him, and he tapped her arm. “Is everything okay between you two?” None of his business at the personal level, but he told himself it wasdefinitelyhis business when it came to his profession. Micky had never crossed a physical line with Amy that Shane knew of, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t go there one day. And if one thing fired up Shane’s temper, it was a man abusing a woman—especially hisownwoman, whom he should be laying down his own life for. Under the law, Shane couldn’t do much about the verbal crap, but he sure as hell would if it turned physical.
When Amy looked up at him, the luster was missing from her dark velvet eyes, and her mouth had thinned into a firm line. The golden tint of her skin had taken on an ashen quality. Was she frightened? Angry? He couldn’t read her right now. “I need to get going.”
“I can help you refill your tray.”
“No, I’m good, but I appreciate the offer. I’ll just get some more and run these over to Micky.” She stared up at him. “You reallyaresweet, you know that?” Then her eyes shuttered, and she hurried away. He watched her melt into the crowd as she veered toward her tent before swinging his gaze back to Micky and fixing it there.
Chapter 5
Where Duty Meets Desire
They’d all grown upwith Micky—well, not Amy because she hadn’t been born in Fall River—but Micky was a local boy, born and raised, like Shane and the Hunnicutts and Neve—but that didn’t mean Shane had to like the guy. In fact, the older they got, the less he could tolerate Micky. Maybe because Micky had neveractuallygrown up. His maturity was stunted. Not that Shane wasthatmature—hell, he sometimes acted like a thirteen-year-old zipped into an adult male body—but where he had the emotional maturity of a teenager, Micky was a two-year-old tantrum-throwing toddler. And there was a sneaky side to Micky that had always made Shane wary, especially these last few years.
Micky had been like a brother to him at one time—the brother you wanted to throttle most days because he pulled so much dumb shit. But that should mean Amy was like a sister, right? Not so much. Shane had never thought of herthat way and probably never would. Not since that first time he’d seen her six years ago, when she’d just moved to Fall River and announced she was opening a coffee shop. From day one, he’d been dumbstruck by her features, from her smooth, bronze skin to the shape of her face to her soft, kissable mouth that so often curved into a smile. Shane had been so blown away that he’d never found the courage to ask her out, and Micky had slithered right in there and snagged her. Not that Amy would have agreed to go out with Shane if he’d asked. He was small-town and unsophisticated, and she was stunningly beautiful, worldly, with swanlike grace and warmth you could wrap around yourself like a heated blanket.
Micky is small-town too and less sophisticated than you, bro.Yeah. Micky was also bolder. Too bad Shane hadn’t made a move earlier because after sweeping her off her feet, Micky had stopped trying. Now he treated Amy like … Well,notthe way she deserved to be treated. Not the way Shane would have treated her. Why someone as smart and pretty and kind as Amy was with a douche like Micky befuddled Shane.Why is it nice girls go for assholes?
Shane’s gaze was still glued to Micky when a guy with a dark beanie appeared and planted himself beside Mick. Where had the dude come from? Their heads bent together, and Micky’s expression corkscrewed into a scowl. Their hushed conversation grew heated, each man talking over the other. Days of stubble sprouted on the guy’s face and neck, the growth haphazard and obviously not intended to impress the ladies, and his unkempt clothes hung on a lanky, underfed frame. Shane’s inner warning system went on high alert. Drug activity had been picking on the Western Slope, and this guy was a poster child for a user. From their body language, Beanie Guy and Micky definitely weren’t strangers. Whether that was Shane’s sixth sense at play or himwishinghe could bust Micky, he wasn’t sure.
He strode in their direction. The dude’s head whipped toward him, and red, glassy eyes flared wide. He pivoted and took off at a clip that bordered on a run.
Yeah,that’snot suspicious at all.
Micky had been in the middle of saying something to Beanie Boy but looked in Shane’s direction the instant the other guy took off. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he struck a casual air and watched Shane approach.
“Who’s the tweaker?” Shane asked him.
“What tweaker?”
Shane narrowed his eyes. “The one you were just talking to.”
“What makes you think I know him?”
“You two were pretty deep in conversation, and it didn’t look like you were exchanging recipes.”
Micky smirked. “He wanted to know where the head was.”
“You mean that row of bright pink port-o-lets not twenty feet behind you? Funny how he walked right past them.”
“Fucking Christ, O’Brien. Could you stop being a fucking deputy sheriff for once?”
“Not when I’m on duty.” Shane pointed at his badge. “Your tax dollars at work.”
