Author: Jill Shalvis

“You have a vibrator,” Teddy repeated in disbelief. “Is that why we hadn’t had sex in two months?”

Once again Luke’s hand settled on Ali. Just as well since there were two—no three—cops watching. So she didn’t go for Teddy’s throat, a fact she considered a real feat of restraint.

But it wasn’t restraint at all. It was burning humiliation, anger, and something else.

Terror.

And that terror was tripled when the cops finished searching both the house and her truck. Though they didn’t find the money, they took her downtown anyway.

Chapter 6

Luke stood in the center of his living room, which looked like it’d been tossed by a couple of thieves.

Hurricane Ali.

He didn’t know what to make of the fact that she’d been caught with the bill wrapper. Nor did he know what to make of her being taken to the station for questioning.

But he did know one thing. Marshall—he refused to think of him as Teddy—had rubbed him the wrong way.

Still, this wasn’t his problem. He didn’t know Ali from Adam. What he did know was that he didn’t want to get involved. He was on break from getting involved. In spite of what his commander wanted, he had nineteen days left on his leave, and he planned on using every single one of them to do jack shit. He was looking forward to it.

But for reasons he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t dispel the image of Ali at the station, sitting in an interrogation room, in trouble.

He’d always believed in the system. He’d had to. It was what had made his job so important to him. Take down the bad guys and let the courts keep them down—that had been his life, his entire reason for being.

But then that very system had failed him. And he’d failed too. He’d failed the people who believed in the system. And now he was taking a break from people so he couldn’t fail again.

Which in no way explained why, instead of putting the house back together, or hell, going back to paddleboarding, he ended up in front of his laptop.

He’d already done that basic search on Ali, but he hadn’t gone far. He picked up where he’d left off. Her mother had a record: two arrests for assault and battery, one, apparently, for the baseball bat incident Ali had told him about. Both times the charges had been reduced, and Mimi Winters had been let out on time served. Ali’s sister, Harper, had a record as well, for indecent exposure.

Nothing for Ali. Though going back further, he caught a few additional times where she’d been questioned, one for an incident involving her science teacher, who’d allegedly been sexually inappropriate with his students. Christ, he hoped she hadn’t been one of them. Leaning back in his chair, Luke stared at his screen. He already knew that she was protective, loyal, and tough as hell. Now he also knew that she’d grown up knee-high in shit, and yet somehow she appeared to come out of it with a sweet kindness that was to-the-bone genuine.

And she was innocent in regard to the money. He felt it deep in his gut.

He researched Ted Marshall next. There’d been the basic search done when Marshall had applied for the lease, but Luke went deeper without remorse, because something wasn’t right.

The golden boy had certainly sailed through life so far. He’d been raised here in town, was captain of the football team, and had gone on to the University of Washington, graduating with a degree in political science. He’d not gotten into law school, so he’d come back to Lucky Harbor. He paid his bills on time, golfed, and had a fantasy football team that did pretty well. He’d been pulled over three years ago in Kent with a hooker in his car, but the story had later been amended to describe the woman as being an “exotic dancer.” Marshall sat on several charitable committees in Lucky Harbor, and as the town clerk, no one had a single negative thing to say about him. He was well known and well liked.

Luke was experiencing bad flashbacks from the whole senator nightmare. Not that Marshall was a secret stalker and murderer. No, Luke suspected he was exactly as he appeared—a guy for whom things either came easy or not at all, because he was just on the wrong side of lazy.

Which also told Luke something else. Marshall wasn’t the thief either. He didn’t have it in him.

So the question was, did Marshall really believe Ali had taken the money? This was a tough one because there’d been something in the man’s eyes, something in his tone, that hadn’t rung true to Luke.

He’d been lying.

But about what exactly?

Luke made a call to Sheriff Sawyer Thompson. Sawyer had run wild in his youth, only a few years ahead of Luke. Their paths had crossed professionally on several occasions, most notably when Luke had helped Sawyer track down one of his perps in San Francisco not too long ago.

They bullshitted back and forth for a few minutes, and then Luke asked about Ali.

She was still being questioned. Having the bill wrapper in her possession looked bad, real bad, Sawyer said, but it wasn’t enough evidence for an arrest. He said that a toe ring had been found in Marshall’s office couch, and it didn’t seem to belong to anyone who had business being in Marshall’s office.

Or to Melissa Mann.

Luke hung up and chewed on that for a few minutes. Not your problem, he told himself. But he was still mulling it all over when his cell rang.

“How’s the brooding going?” Sara asked.

He frowned at his sister through the phone. “I’m not brooding.”

“Of course you are. You’re a professional brooder.”

Luke pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you call for something in particular or just to piss me off?”

“Well, fun as it is to piss you off, I did call for a reason.” But then she hesitated.

Shit. “What?” he asked. Sara had come out of prison determined to fix her life. Luke had done whatever he could, paying for rehab—twice—sending her to school—also twice—and finally sitting in the crowd with pride and relief when she’d eventually graduated with her teaching credentials. She now worked with troubled kids in an alternative high school in the Bay Area, and he couldn’t be more proud of her.

But she was still a colossal pain in his ass. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yes. I just…”

“Whatever you need, Sara. You know that.”

She sighed, sounding exasperated. “Okay, stop expecting me to be in trouble every time I call.”

He felt a twinge of guilt, but there’d been years when that had been true. Not that he wanted to remind her. “I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do,” she said. “But this time, you’re the one in trouble.”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“Really? Is that why you took off for Lucky Harbor—Lucky Harbor, Luke, where you never go anymore? You ran away from the press. What was that?”

“I needed a vacation,” he said.

“Is that it? Really?”

“Yes,” he said, trying to assuage the worry he heard in her voice. “I told you, I had three weeks of leave that I was going to lose if I didn’t use.”

There was a beat of silence, as if she was trying to assess the truth from two hundred miles away. “Don’t make me come up there,” she finally said. “Because I totally will.”

“I’m fine,” he said, relieved she’d backed down. “I’m just…relaxing. Hanging out.”

“Good. Then you can also give grandpa a hug for me.”

“Sara—”

“He’s old, Luke. And getting older. Do it for me.”

The doorbell rang. Saved by the bell. “Gotta go.” Luke clicked off and walked through the house, looking out the window at the white Dial-A-Ride van in his driveway. Ah, Christ. He opened the front door and faced the entire gang of Lucky Harbor’s biggest troublemakers: Lyle Lyons, Cecil Elroy, Joseph Wykowski.

And their ringleader, Edward Gregory.

Edward and Luke’s grandma had divorced in the ’70s, when Fay had founded the local historical society to preserve the buildings that made up Commercial Row, and then insisted on running it herself. Back in the day, Edward hadn’t gotten the memo about women’s rights, not to mention exactly how strong willed and stubborn a Hanover could be. He’d stood firm, and Fay had dumped him.

Edward had moved out, eventually buying the house next door, saying he’d done so to spite Fay. But everyone knew it was because he hadn’t gotten over her.

Or her death.

Or Luke, seeing as he’d caused it…

Luke leaned against the doorjamb and waited, because whatever this was, it was going to be good.

Or really, really bad.

“Took you long enough to answer the door,” Mr. Lyons said, leaning heavily on his cane to peer inside, and then let out a low whistle at the mess. “Holy smokes, boy. You haven’t outgrown that party animal stage yet?”

“He didn’t do that, you idiot, the cops did,” Mr. Wykowski said. “They tossed the joint looking for the dough.”

Edward didn’t speak. They hadn’t been face to face in years, hadn’t seen each other since Fay’s funeral. “What’s up?” Luke asked.

“We called Edward to drive us over here to see you,” Mr. Wykowski said. “On account of I lost my license last year and these yahoos are blinder than bats.”

“Hey,” Mr. Elroy said, glaring at him. “You’re the one who tried to drive down the pier and ended up nose first inside the deli. You smelled like pickles for a month.”

“I turned at the wrong place. Big deal, we all make mistakes.” Mr. Wykowski waved this off as he turned to Luke. “Ali’s still at the police station.”

“I know.”

“Thing is, Ted Marshall’s sort of the golden boy around here. Hell, he had the senior center redone last year so we could open up more rooms, and he single-handedly raised the money for the Dial-A-Ride van. He makes sure there’s money in the budget for Edward’s pay. People love him and trust him. If he says Ali stole the money, everyone believes him. You know what I’m saying?”