Page 66 of The Harborer
Dropping to one knee, he gathered the scattered papers and the tray where they belonged.Huh. Wonder what order they were in?
He placed the tray in its spot on Amy’s desk, stacking the documents beside it. Cupping his nape, he stared at them and debated. The sound of women’s voices—and one in particular that sent a shiver of dread through him—made up his mind for him. He’d check the paperwork and arrange it by date. The task would help him stall for time, and with any luck, he’d be able to hide out in here until Estelle was gone.
He plopped into Amy’s office chair and began shuffling through the documents. There were shipping manifests, invoices, and various bits of correspondence—all the usual benign stuff one would expect to find in a business office. As he sifted through the paperwork, he discovered an undated packing slip tucked between two invoices. Besides not having a date he could use to slot it into its proper order, it was different than the shipping manifests and other packing slips. Across the top was a company name that didn’t match any of the others; there was no address, no phone number, no email address. Neat columns of numbers lined up but didn’t spell out any product. In the margin, someone had drawn a circle around a numbered dot in black Sharpie and scrawled “mm38—2330—D” beside it. His stomach dropped. The crude sketch matched the ones he’d seen on the map he’d tried to forget.
He should have ignored this too, should have kept going, but the doubts he’d buried shot to the surface. Dropping the papers onto her desk, he stood up and moved toward the bookshelf. He wedged his fingers behind the shelf but came up empty. Then he shook the shelf and heard the telltale slide of paper. One corner of the map peeked out, and he eased it from its hiding spot. Unfolded it. It had more markings than the last time he’d seen it. He turned it one way, then another, and the thing that had been niggling at him blazed on like the beam of a flashlight. What he held was a smaller version of a map that hung on the wall in the Sheriff’s Department. A map of Fall River and the surroundingareas, including a huge swath of wilderness. An areahepatrolled.
What the hell does Amy need a map like this for? Why is it hidden? What are these markings about?
He peered a little closer at one of the red triangles. Was that …? A stab of shock jolted him.
Feminine laughter rose from the store, giving him another start, followed by someone thanking someone else. Joy and Estelle were leaving.
Shit!
Shane’s fingers shook as he pulled out his phone and took pictures of the map and the packing slip. The entire time, an argument raged inside him. He was sworn to uphold the law, he reminded himself, and these documents might be vital clues in the investigation into the narcotics drops.
But how did he square that with the fact he was in love with a woman who had possession of those vital clues? Why were they inheroffice?
Questions tumbled over themselves. How should he play this? Did she evenknowthese were there? She had to know about the packing slip, didn’t she? It was right there in her inbox. Would she balk when she discovered he’d shuffled through her papers? He’d have to observe her reaction, look for a tell. And he hated himself for even going there.
Where did his loyalty lie?
The questions rocketed through his brain while he hurriedly gathered up the rest of the documents and loaded them in the tray.
The faint tinkling of a bell alerted him Joy and Estelle were leaving the store, and he pushed a cleansing breath through his lungs. The bell tinkled again, followed by a different voice. Shane’s blood turned to ice.
Micky.
Chapter 23
Pain Points
Amy swallowed hard. Itwas inevitable that Micky would show up in her store, but that didn’t mean she was ready for it. Her heart flung itself against her rib cage—not for the same reason it had been pounding minutes before when she had hovered on the edge of another orgasm.
She clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking. “Hi,” she squeaked.
He stopped and studied her for a tick, then lifted his chin. “Hey.” His voice was rough but calm, and he made no move to come closer. Smudges the color of an eggplant lined his under-eyes, and his lids were thick and deep pink, the way hers looked any time she’d been on a rare crying jag. His blue eyes were shot through with red lines that resembled spider webs. Either he was drunk, drugged out of his mind, or he hadn’t slept. Or all three.
“Are you here for coffee?” she asked stupidly.
He shook his head. “No.” His clothes were rumpled, and when he pulled off his ball cap, his long hair was oily and lank. She’d expected a menacing scowl at the very least, but she only saw dejection on his lined face.
Concern for him overtook her, and she blurted out, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sick?”
“Would it make a difference if I was?” Oh, there was that flash of sarcasm she’d expected.
“What does that mean?”
He clutched the rim of his ball cap and spun it in his hands repeatedly. His eyes narrowed. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re doing this to me. I’m trying to figure out if I matter to you at all. Which leads me to wonder, if you knew I was sick, would you move back in?”
“I’m not coming back, Micky. I’m moving on, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. Are you sick?” She drew out the three words.
The air behind her shifted, and Micky’s eyes popped wide. His posture went from stooped to confrontational in a heartbeat. “O’Brien! I should have known.” He sneered and slid his gaze to her. “Ididknow. You’ve been fucking him this whole time, haven’t you, you little slut?”
