Wendy Etherington - Her Private Treasure

She bared her teeth. “I could always show him the wrong side of a federal interrogation room.”

He leaned toward her, lowering his voice several pitches. “Subtlety often works better than force.”

Her gaze moved to his and held. Desire lingered in the depth of her eyes, clear as the tropical water they mimicked. Her beautiful lips parted, and for a moment, her gaze dropped to his mouth, and he thought she was going to give in to the need so obviously pulsing between them.

Tedium had vanished the moment she’d appeared, and the sensation was heady.

“Who’s Jimmy?” she asked, leaning back and breaking the spell.

“The bartender.” Carr inclined his head toward the young man pouring vodka in a glass for another customer. “Wave. I think he has a crush on you.”

She never looked in Jimmy’s direction but said, “He’s too young. What are you doing here anyway?”

“Drinking, as I said earlier. But also volunteering to be your assistant, guarding your virtue, so to speak, as well as helping break the ice with Al. I’m one of the few people he actually likes.”

“I thought I told you to stay out of this case.”

“It’s my bar.”

“Literally?”

“Yes, plus I live across the street.”

Admiration sparked in her eyes. “The house on the point.”

“How did you know?”

She drained the rest of her drink. “It’s you.”

“You’re hedging. You’ve certainly run a deep search on me by now. You know my address, my background, my professional history and financial status. I bet you even know what grade I received on my contract law midterm my junior year of college and whether I prefer boxers or briefs. Before you walked through the door, you knew I owned this place. Why the subterfuge? Why pretend surprise at finding me here?”

“I live for subterfuge,” she scoffed.

“Stop,” he said quietly but firmly. The sarcasm was a defense mechanism that she obviously used to keep people from probing too deeply. A way of maintaining distance. “It wouldn’t kill you to accept my help.”

“No, but it might compromise my case. Plus…”

When she stopped, he prompted, “Plus?”

“I don’t understand your motives. Why are you going to all this trouble? Why do you want to get involved in this investigation? What’s in it for you?”

She didn’t trust him. Not surprising, since he didn’t trust himself. The bribery attempt, a remnant of his old ways, had been a huge misstep. But he’d wanted to know what kind of agent he was dealing with, despite Sam’s assurances that Malina was fiercely ethical.

“It’s my duty,” he said finally.

“As what?”

“A citizen of the United States.”

She shook her head. “Nobody’s that committed and idealistic.”

“But they should be.” And he was fighting every day to be sure he could count himself among those who were. “This is my island.” When she raised her eyebrows, he added, “Not all of it, though I do own a fair collection of properties. I mean, this is my birthplace, my home. It’s lovely and peaceful, the place where I intend to raise my children and live until I’m ancient and dotty. I care what happens here, and I won’t let smuggling or drugs or anything else ruin my community.”

Saying nothing, she held his gaze. “You’re—”

“Agent Blair?” a gruff voice interrupted.

Malina rose and held out her hand to harbormaster Albert Duffy. “Mr. Duffy, thanks for agreeing to meet me.”

Though he shook her hand briefly, his thick gray brows drew together, and the wrinkles on his darkly tanned and lined face seemed to deepen. “I don’t like working with women.”

“I don’t like working with anybody. Why don’t we take that table in the back corner?” she suggested.

Al scowled briefly, but must have been somewhat satisfied with Malina’s direct answer, because he shrugged and wandered toward the booth.

Malina turned back to Carr and spoke in a low tone only he could hear. “That was a pretty impassioned speech earlier. I can see why you were a prize to juries. I still have to ask you to keep your distance from this case.” When he started to interrupt, she held up her hand to stall him. “I’d be interested in calling you for an occasional consultation, but that’s where your involvement ends. Understand?”

“Since you’re articulate, and I’m fairly intelligent, yes, I understand.”

She narrowed her eyes briefly, as if trying to figure out if there was a loophole. Which, of course, there was.

“Your offer to help is admirable,” she said after a moment. “In fact, it’s—” She stopped and shook her head ruefully. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard sentiment like that.” She brushed her hand across his arm. “Thanks.”

Now she thought he was being noble.

He almost wished he could call back his words. His nobility was tainted. He didn’t deserve her admiration. But he wanted her.

When she reached into her pocket and pulled out a clip of cash, he held up his hand. “I’ll pay for the drinks.”

“I appreciate the offer, but you can’t.” She took out a twenty-dollar bill and laid it on the bar. “Generous.”

She turned toward the booth Al had settled into. “My compensation to the cute bartender whose flirting I’d never consider returning.”

“Why not?”

She flicked him a glance. “I’m attracted to men, not boys.”

“WOULD YOU LIKE a drink, Mr. Duffy?” Malina asked as she scooted into the booth and faced the cranky harbormaster.

He pointed a knobby finger toward the bar area. “It’s comin’.”

Malina looked over to see Carr Hamilton headed toward them, a glass of whiskey in each hand.

He slid onto the seat beside Duffy, then lifted his drink in a toast and his lips in smirk. “I figured you’d want to abstain. On duty and all.”

“Very considerate, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, certain the sharp attorney caught her sarcasm. “However, I don’t need your assistance.”

“I’m sure you don’t. However, I’m Mr. Duffy’s lawyer.”

“He called you?”

“No, but isn’t it fortunate I was here? I’ll stay on his behalf.”

“I don’t want to be here at all,” Duffy said, glaring at her.

“Me either,” she muttered. The man she had the reluctant hots for was currently sitting across from her, meddling in her case, distracting her from nearly everything. “But I have a job to do.”

Duffy sipped his drink. “You should be home, cookin’ for your man.”

Though her muscles tensed like a coiled snake, she managed to let the anger roll off. “I’m better with a pistol than a spatula.”

“Not natural,” Duffy insisted.

Malina drilled her gaze into his. “Frankly, Mr. Duffy, I’d rather be anywhere else, talking to anyone else than you. And yet…” She lifted her hands and leaned back. “Here I am, striving to protect the law-abiding citizens of Palmer’s Island from the criminal element. If I can make the sacrifice, so can you.”

Duffy continued to glare silently at her, as if sure he’d never seen a self-possessed woman in his life.

“Al,” Hamilton said quietly, “let her do this.”

Duffy sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’d like to record the interview, if that’s okay with you.” She cast Hamilton a glance. “And your attorney, of course.” With their verbal agreements secured, she asked Duffy, “Do you know Jack Rafton?”

Duffy looked wary. “Yeah. Slip number nine.”

“Owner of a twenty-six-foot cabin cruiser called American Dream?”

“Yeah.”

“How would you characterize your relationship?”

“We ain’t got a relationship, lady. We’re men.”

And not homophobic at all. Malina resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She liked her job, she really did. Or, rather, she used to. “Are you friends?” she asked.

Duffy shrugged. “We have a drink together sometimes.”

“Have you ever been to his house?”

“No.”

“Do you have his cell phone number?”

“No.”

“What do you talk about when you’re together?”

“Fishing. What does that have to do with anything?”

“She’s trying to determine if you’re close friends with Jack,” Hamilton put in.

“Are you?” Malina pressed the harbormaster.

“I guess not.”

The man could give clams pointers. “But you see Mr. Rafton frequently.”

“He has a boat. I run the harbor.”

“Does Mr. Rafton seem under an unusual amount of stress lately?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“Have you seen him at the docks at unusual times over the last few weeks?”

Duffy’s gaze darted to Hamilton. “What does she mean unusual?”

Hamilton’s lips twitched. “Out of the ordinary.”

“I know that. I don’t know what that has to do with—”

“You run the harbor,” Malina interrupted. “You know when people come and go. When does Rafton usually come and go?”

“Early morning, sometimes after dinner.”

“When has he been taking his boat out lately?”

Duffy sipped his whiskey before answering. “Later.”

“How much later?”

“Eleven, maybe twelve at night.”

“So would you characterize that as unusual?”

Annoyance lined Duffy’s face. “I guess so.”

His statement fell in line with what others had said with less reluctance and certainly more grace. Was Albert Duffy simply ornery, or did he have some connection with Rafton that he didn’t want known? With this man, directness seemed to be the only course. “Are you engaging in or helping to cover up illegal activity perpetrated by Jack Rafton?”

Duffy sputtered so heavily he couldn’t speak.

“Agent Blair,” Hamilton said, his gaze locking on hers, “that’s inappropriate.”

But it confirmed her instincts—Duffy was an insulting curmudgeon and likely not a would-be felon.

“I thought we might get to our goal more quickly with more specific questions,” she said to the men across from her. “And I’m sure Mr. Duffy doesn’t think the FBI engages in random questioning. I wanted to let him know that he’s being watched and any attempt by him to warn Mr. Rafton of the questions I’ve asked would be perceived by me as the act of an accomplice.” She smiled. “Everybody clear now?”

“What a man does on his own time isn’t any of my bother,” Duffy mumbled.

Her smile broadened. “Exactly. That’s my job. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Duffy,” she added, rising and turning off the microrecorder. “I’ll forward copies of the interview transcript to your office, Mr. Hamilton. Good night to you both.”

“You’d do better to learn to cook, honey,” Duffy said as she turned away.

Facing him, her fingers twitched as she skimmed her hand across the butt of her gun. “Would I?”

“Yeah.” His gaze defiant, Duffy leaned back in the booth. “Carr here needs a girlfriend. He’s rich, so he could probably even get you lessons.”

“If only I’d known those options were open to me, I’d have skipped training in Quantico and raced right over to the Julia Child Institute.” Her temper finally breaking, she braced her palm on the table and leaned toward Duffy, meeting his startled gaze with her own furious, narrowed one. “As it happens, I’m a pretty good ass-kicker, so I think I’ll stick with what I know.” She paused briefly, renewing her smile, even though it was significantly cooler. “As long as that’s okay with you.”

Stalking away, she didn’t dare look at Hamilton, who’d no doubt find a way to warm her icy demeanor.