Page 10 of Colton's Secret Weapon
Mitchell heard the very real determination but also the load of bravado in Dove’s assertion that she’d handle her father. As right as she was about Whaler’s dire straits, she had to know that part of the reason for the current situation was the man’s refusal to admit he needed help.
With anything.
Including his drinking.
Which meant that the only one who could help the old fishing captain at the moment was Bob St. James himself. And Whaler just didn’t seem to have what it took to face the truth.
Or to have enough internal strength left to do the work required to fix things.
Two officers were entering the building as Mitchell and Dove hit the bottom of the stairs. They took down Dove’s brief statement. Asked a couple of questions. And reminded her that with Shelby’s low crime rate and no need for CCTV or alarms, they didn’t have a lot to go on. They’d secure the scene. Dust for fingerprints. But without a witness, there was no telling who’d vandalized the property.
When the officers went upstairs, Mitchell stayed close to Dove as she called clients to cancel the day’s sessions, determined to give her the assistance he could before getting on with his weekend plans.
It appeared that the biggest challenge facing St. James Boats—and currently the most critical one—was Brad Fletcher. Who was not in Mitchell’s lawyerly wheelhouse. Investigative efforts had to run their course first and foremost. Something which Mitchell had just set in motion.
So…he’d helped. Fulfilled whatever prophecy Dove thought she’d envisioned pertaining to him. He just had to make sure that she was safe until the police had eyes on Brad Fletcher, andthen he’d be off on a boat. Or hiking some remote neck of the woods that would be treacherous enough to discourage anyone else from seeking him out.
Just until Monday. Then he’d be back in the office and willingly at the beck and call of anyone and everyone who could benefit from the talents and skills he had to offer.
They’d reached their cars—he’d deliberately parked next to hers—in silence. Her proclamation to leave her father to her, still lingered between them.
“I’m going to follow you home,” he told her unequivocally. Until she heard back from those processing her studio, she had no way of knowing what kind of danger, if any, she might be in.
Still, he hadn’t needed to tell her his plans. The streets were public property. Anyone could use them. He just hadn’t wanted her to freak out if she saw him right behind her as she turned into the drive of the small house she rented by the marina. Or saw him parked out front until she got inside.
Stopping as she reached for the handle on the door, she turned to him. “I’m not going home. I’m going to the marina to see my father, and I’d rather you didn’t follow me. It’ll go better if I have a chance to talk to him without him seeing you hanging around.”
“He’ll have heard by now that I was there this morning.” They were in Shelby, not Anchorage. There were few secrets in their small town. And word traveled fast.
“Yes, but no one knew why,” Dove said, seemingly unfazed by his point. Her confidence impressed him. As did her, “No need to make him feel as though we’re ganging up on him before the conversation even begins.”
She really believed she had a chance to get Whaler’s approval of her plan.
The realization gave Mitchell pause for the second it took him to remember that Dove also thought that sitting on the floor withher eyes closed and taking deep breaths made the bad things that happened in life go away.
Or that cleansing auras could change someone’s life. When, clearly, it was actions taken every day from choices made—either deliberately or not—that determined one’s course.
He was facing just such a choice. And knew that his course would take a downward spiral if he watched her drive off and then heard that something happened to her on the way to the marina. “I’ll follow you long enough to see you make it back safely and then keep driving,” he told her. “But only if you allow me to call and make arrangements for someone to check your house and then see that you get home safely tonight.” The words came without forethought.
Not a usual occurrence for him. Or one of which he was fond.
Dove’s eyes narrowed on him. The way she studied him, as though she could see things others couldn’t, made him feel like he did when a fly was buzzing around him. He needed to swat the intrusion away. Keep his space to himself.
And was about to tell her so when her gaze cleared, and she nodded. “I would appreciate you making that call,” she told him. Surprising him yet again. “And if you could have someone let me know when I can get back into the studio to start cleanup, I’d be thankful for that, too.”
Cocking his head, he watched her, looking for something more ethereal attached to the words, but discerned nothing more than a practical request. And so he nodded and said, “I’m happy to do so.” He wasn’t just being polite. He felt good about helping the woman.
Brushing the thought aside, Mitchell took a few quick steps to his own vehicle and had the engine started before he pulled the door closed. Not trusting Dove to actually give him a chance to position himself behind her.
She did, though. Waiting to pull out into traffic until she’d had a nod from him, and then stopped at a yellow light when she saw that he wouldn’t be able to make it through the intersection without stopping.
The woman might be flighty, what he’d call woo-woo, even, but she appeared to put value in keeping her word. As did he.
A nice note with which to seal the ending of their short acquaintance.
Chapter 4
There was nothing nice, or particularly noteworthy, about the situation in which Dove found herself. Within minutes of watching Mitchell Colton drive away, she was once again in her father’s office. Pacing. Which she hated. On the floor in the lotus position would be the better choice.
