Page 48 of Bait and Switch
“That’s the plan. I need to expand my repertoire if this Paradise Key thing pans out.”
Faith beamed. “It will. I appreciate you doing this when you’re so busy.”
“Of course. Anytime.” I handed her the neatly wrapped seascape. “Stay for a quick coffee?” I walked toward the French press on the counter. “It’s made.”
“Alright,” she smiled. “If you have time, I do.”
While I poured two cups, the aroma of strong brew filling the room, I asked as casually as I could, “Any leads on the latest smugglers?”
After a flash of confusion, she said, “Oh, the square grouper Kai found?”
“Yeah. Do they know whose it was?” I asked, handing her a mug.
“Doubtful,” she said, scrunching her face a little. “But I’m not sure. Those investigations get turned over to the Coast Guard and DEA immediately. They get all the fun,” she laughed, taking a careful sip.
I forced a dry chuckle. Being caught in the middle of it wasn’t one bit of fun.
Faith must’ve sensed my concern. “Don’t get freaked out by the bale. Sadly, they’re not uncommon. Nothing to worry about.”
Her tone was reassuring, but her eyes lingered on me a beat too long. I shifted in my seat, heat creeping into my cheeks. She wasn’t buying my casual act, not completely.
I smiled, though unease coiled low in my stomach. “Can I run something by you? Totally hypothetical.”
Faith tilted her head, gaze sharpening. “Sure.”
“Let’s say you knew someone who stumbled into… umm… a situation. Involving something that didn’t belong to them. Something valuable.” I hesitated a moment, Faith staring like she was concerned about my mental wellbeing by then. :The kind of thing the Coast Guard and the DEA might care about—and the kind that the people who lost it might care about even more.”
Her brows lifted a fraction, and she kept her gaze steady on me, like she was filing each part of the question away in separate mental folders. “Go on.”
“Would there be a discreet way to get assistance from authorities without tipping them off?”
“Thembeing the ones who lost the thing?”
I nodded, stirring my coffee even though I hadn’t added anything to it.
She eyed me cautiously. “If anyone were to find themselves in possession of such a thing, they’d better turn it in. Immediately.”
I hesitated, then blurted before I could stop myself. “What if they did turn it in, and the people who lost it show up saying that half of the thing was missing. And they think you have it." My voice cracked, nerves buzzing in my chest, and I rushed to tack on, "Hypothetically.”
Her professional composure faltered, concern slipping through. “They came looking for it because half of it’s missing?” she asked slowly.
I sipped my coffee, but it caught in my throat. “That’s the assertion—was supposed to be double what was reported.”
Faith’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Her tone stayed measured, but her eyes sharpened, weighing me like she suspected there was more beneath the surface. “Jasmine, if you need to report something, I can help.”
My heart raced. This was a mistake. “No, no. Not me. But thank you. I’ll keep that in mind in case I do.”
“Call me anytime. I mean it. Even if it’s hypothetical.”
The way she emphasized the last word made my skin prickle. She wasn’t fooled. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I kicked myself for opening my big mouth. “Thanks, but please, forget I even asked.”
Faith gave me a long, steady look before nodding. “Hypotheticals aside—you’re not alone, Jasmine. Just remember that.”
Her words lingered after she left, the bungalow too quiet once again. She told me I wasn’t alone, but the echo of the door clicking shut said otherwise. I felt more isolated than ever, the silence pressing in until it was hard to breathe.
The urge to paint wrestled with the urge to scream. Instead, I sat in the stillness, replaying Faith’s expression—calm on the outside, sharp underneath. Regret gnawed at me for opening my mouth at all. I had wanted reassurance, but what I got was suspicion and a reminder that every word could be a noose. Faith said I wasn’t alone, yet I’d never felt more abandoned, stranded with my secret and the echo of my own mistake.
I let my gaze drift to the canvases leaning against the wall, brushes waiting, but even they offered no refuge. No amount of paint could cover the regret thick in my chest.
