Gull Harbor (8 page)

Max’s grip on the phone tightened. “No, Claire…I mean, are you in Mike’s office?”

“Oh. Yes.”

“Good. Don’t move. Do you understand? Stay in there.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, mocking him with a stern voice.

He pictured her giving him a wobbly salute. Clearly she thought this whole thing was funny. It wasn’t. “I’ll be right there. Just stay put.”

Fifteen minutes later he burst into Mike’s office. Claire lay curled up on a ratty couch, her tight skirt riding up to reveal a heartbreaking amount of leg. He tugged at the hem of her skirt ineffectively before he shook her awake.

One green eye opened. “What?” she asked.

“I’m here. Let’s go.”

“That was fast.” She sat up and stretched, combing her fingers through her hair.

Max caught a flash of a crystal belly ring twinkling against her skin. “What the hell are you wearing, Claire?” he asked, ignoring the heat building in his groin as he hauled her up to standing.

She shrugged, bending over to snag her shoes and bag. They dangled from her hands as she swayed toward the door.

“Put your shoes on,” he ordered. “You’re not walking around this place barefoot.”

With a dramatic sigh, she slipped her feet into her stacked wedge heels, leaning against the door frame for support. Max hooked his arm around her waist and hustled her through the seedy bar. “Thanks, Mike,” he called on their way out, nodding at The Scrimshaw’s owner.

“Oh, you brought the bike!” she said excitedly when she spotted it in the dark parking lot.

“Forget it. You can’t ride in the condition you’re in. Give me your keys.”

“You’re no fun,” she commented as she pushed her purse into his chest.

He unzipped the bag, rifling through it in the darkness. His hand closed around a rigid plastic circle, and his eyes identified it a second later as birth control pills. He dropped it immediately back into the depths of her bag, his glance flicking in her direction.

She was leaning against the passenger door of her car, ignoring him in favor of gazing at the stars. He opened his mouth to question her about the pills, then pressed his lips together firmly. It was none of his business. Still, an emotion that felt a lot like jealousy was turning his blood hot, and he told himself the pills were probably just for cramps as his fingers finally located her key ring.

He helped her into the car and then folded himself into the driver’s seat, sliding it back to accommodate his height. The car had definitely seen better days. He allowed the engine to idle for a moment as he studied her. “You have no business being in a place like that, Claire.”

She made a dismissive sound. “I’ve been hanging out here all week, talking to people. Gathering info,” she added in a secretive whisper.

His hands clenched the steering wheel. This was news to him. He’d driven by her house every night after closing to check on her, and her car had always been there. Never for one second would he have guessed she was spending the earlier part of her evening at The Scrimshaw.

“I realize you’re trying to find out what happened in that house. But showing up at The Scrimshaw in tight clothing, asking questions—that was incredibly foolish of you. Those men are dangerous.”

“I’m fine. They were nice to me.”

He raked his gaze over her. “I bet they were.”

“Nicer than you,” she said haughtily.

Shaking his head, he turned down his street. “I’m trying to keep you safe, Claire. And you’re making it really difficult for me.”

“It’s not your job.” She paused, suddenly noticing their surroundings. “Wait, where are we?”

“We’re staying at my house,” he announced. “I’ll crash on the couch. You need to sleep this off, and I can’t be worrying about a ghost harassing you. Not to mention a bunch of thugs who know you live alone in the woods.”

“Whatever,” she said as he half-carried her to the front door. He led her into his room, and she kicked off her shoes and sprawled on his bed before he had a chance to turn on the light.

“Comfy,” she declared with a contented sigh.

Max watched her as she stretched languidly across his dark sheets. Moonlight filtered in through the window, shining on her bronzed skin. This was pure torture. A sexy siren lay on his bed, half-naked and tipsy, and he couldn’t have her.

“You looked fairly comfortable on Mike’s moldy couch as well, but I’m glad you approve,” he said, gripping the edge of the top sheet. “Let’s get you under the covers.” He tugged and she wiggled, driving him crazy. He pulled the sheet over her quickly, resisting the urge to rip it back off and cover her with his body instead.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, his voice rough with restraint.

“No,” she said softly. “Thank you, Max.”

“Sure, honey,” he said, settling a blanket on top of the sheet. He tucked it under her chin and turned to leave.

“Max? I need to tell you something.”

He paused, halfway across the room. “Okay.”

“I never slept with Keith. There was no one else but you.”

She was drunk. It wasn’t fair to question her right now. But he had to know. “What do you mean, there was no one else but me? In college?”

“At all. You broke my heart. I never want to go through that again.”

Pain tore through him. What had he done to this girl?
Not my fault,
he reminded himself as his hands curled into fists.
Judge Linden set this in motion. All I ever did was fall in love with her.

He took a step back toward the bed, his resolve weakening. But her even breathing told him she was asleep now. He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

****

She slept and slept. And slept some more. Max was home between the lunch and dinner crowds when he finally heard movement from his bedroom. Water churned through the pipes overhead, and he had to push the image of Claire in his shower out of his mind repeatedly. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he attempted to distract himself by brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

She emerged from his bedroom wrapped in a thick white towel. “Oh,” she said, clearly startled by his presence. Her cheeks, already pink from the shower, turned a deeper shade of rose. Clutching at the towel, she backed away from him. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, that towel covers more than last night’s outfit. Come have some coffee.”

Following him to the kitchen, she lowered herself carefully into the chair he pulled out for her. “Thanks,” she said. “And thanks for picking me up last night, if I forgot to say it then.”

“You said it,” he replied.
And a whole lot more
. “Are you going to tell me how you ended up hanging out at The Scrimshaw all week?” He set a mug of coffee on the table in front of her, then poured his own and sat down across from her.

She sipped her coffee, making appreciative noises. “I researched drug busts and arrests in the area, and that place kept coming up. So I figured I might find out something about Gary Williams from the people there. I pretended I was an old friend of his, back in town.”

“Jesus, Claire,” he said, shaking his head.

“I was subtle. But I was making so much progress last night, I guess I ended up having one drink too many,” she said with a shrug.

“More than one, I would say.”

“Well, it paid off! Listen to this—Gary was a heroin dealer. Can you believe that? Apparently there’s a huge market for it on the Cape.”

“I know. And once users are hooked, there’s not much they won’t do to get their next fix. You need to remember that.”

She nodded, her eyes growing wide with excitement despite his warning. “Here’s the best part…I found out where he was getting it. A boat would come into the harbor, and he would take a smaller boat out to meet it and pick up his supply. The heroin boat is called the mother ship. That has to be what I saw in my vision—the
Barracuda
is the mother ship!”

“That makes sense. But it still doesn’t tell us how your ghost fits into this scenario.”

A frown clouded her pretty features. “I know. And I won’t figure it out staying over here. But I have to admit, it was great having uninterrupted sleep. Thanks again,” she said, glancing down at the table as a blush returned to her cheeks.

“Anytime,” he said firmly, rising from his chair. “I have to get going now. Will you be okay?”

“Wait—don’t we need to go get your bike? I can get dressed quickly and drop you off at The Scrimshaw.”

“Already done.” He pulled his keys from the pocket of his jeans and dangled them in front of her. “You were asleep for a long time.”

“Right. Sorry about that.”

“I’m glad you got some rest. You’re welcome to hang out here as long as you like.” He paused on his way out of the kitchen. “You won’t—”

She interrupted him, smiling weakly. “I won’t go back to The Scrimshaw. I promise.”

His eyes narrowed as he watched her for signs she was lying, but she meet his gaze without flinching. “Good,” he said, heading for the front door. “Then you can come by the tavern later. I’ll see you tonight.”

Chapter 11

“Yeah?”

“Gary, it’s Jake. From Gull Harbor.”

Gary Williams sneered into the phone. “I know who it is. I can read the caller ID. Why are you calling? I’m trying to keep my distance from that place.”

“I know,” said Jake. “But it’s important, I think.”

“I’m waiting,” said Gary, looking out the window of his shabby apartment. Summer in the city was miserable. And this part of Connecticut was a dump. But all the kids in the ritzy surrounding suburbs knew where to find him now, and they popped pills like nobody’s business. He could barely keep up with the demand.

“There’s this girl—she’s been hanging around The Scrimshaw, asking questions about you. Says she’s an old friend of yours.”

“Oh yeah?”

Jake hurried on. “Yeah, but she didn’t look like a friend of yours, no offense. I did a little checking, and it turns out she’s living in your old house.”

Gary’s eyes narrowed. “Some old couple lives in my house. They bought it at auction when I left town.”

“Not right now, dude. The old couple hired her to—get this—cleanse the house of evil spirits or something.”

A sickening fear washed over him. “What the fuck are you talking about, Jake?”

“I’m just telling it like it is. Apparently, weird shit was happening in the house, and they hired this woman to make it stop or something.”

Sweat pooled under his arms, and he dropped his wiry frame onto the couch. Shaking out a cigarette, he lit it and sucked the smoke deep into his lungs. “Anything else?” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm.

Jake laughed self-consciously. “Well, people seem to think the house is haunted, and that this girl’s been talking to the ghosts. Crazy, right? But I thought you’d want to know that she’s been prying into your past, um, business endeavors.”

Gary’s stomach heaved, and he eyed the cabinet where his stash was hidden. He’d never played around with the heroin himself; it was too easy to get hooked. But the OxyContin was proving more difficult to avoid.

“Yeah, man, I appreciate the call,” he said, stubbing out the cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. “I should get going now.” He stood up and made a beeline for the kitchen cabinet. “Oh, does this chick have a name?”

“Claire,” said Jake. “Claire Linden.”

****

Max finished up his last song and Claire joined in the enthusiastic applause. Somehow listening to him sing tonight wasn’t as painful as the last time. He’d been extremely protective of her lately; she could almost believe that he regretted his past behavior. Perhaps he even still cared for her, in some small way.

Or, he’s a horny twenty-seven-year-old male who sees an opportunity to use you again,
a nasty inner voice suggested.
And this time, he doesn’t even have to bother leaving you—he knows your time here is up in two short months.

She took a sip of her beer and studied the Saturday night crowd. The eyes of every female in the room were trained on Max; their longing expressions made it clear that most of them would gladly hop into bed with him right now if he gave them the signal. He didn’t need to pursue Claire if sex was all he was looking for.

“Please welcome Anna Fredericks,” said Max, standing up and nodding to the dark-haired woman approaching him. “She’s vacationing here this week, and she’s offered to do a few songs for us.”

Anna Fredericks smiled at Max, touching his shoulder as she accepted the guitar from him. Her body language said she was willing to offer more than a song. Jealousy clawed at Claire as she watched their whispered exchange.

After a smattering of applause, Anna smiled and spoke into the microphone. “Thank you. I’m so glad I saw the signs for open mic night, this is great. ‘Need You Now’ by Lady Antebellum is one of my favorite songs, so I’ll start with that. I hope you enjoy it.”

Not bloody likely,
Claire thought as she settled back to listen. She worked on removing the grimace from her face as the opening notes played. It was actually a great song, but she doubted she’d enjoy anything sung by this woman. Besides, the lyrics were a little too reminiscent of last night’s drunken call to Max.

“Dance with me.”

She whirled in her chair as Max’s low voice murmured in her ear. With a roguish grin, he reached for her hand, pulling her up to standing.

“No one’s dancing,” she pointed out, but she allowed him to maneuver her away from the table.

“They will if we start it off,” he assured her. He twined their fingers together, curling his other hand around the small of her back.

He was right. Other couples immediately began joining them on the makeshift dance floor. Claire relaxed in his embrace, swaying to the music. “I think she likes you,” Claire whispered.

“Who?” he asked.

“The girl playing the guitar.”

Max laughed softly. “She’s not my type.” He pulled her closer, pressing their hips together. “Stay at my place tonight.”

She knew what he meant, but his words still unleashed a jumble of butterflies in her belly. “I can’t. I have to stay at the house.”