Lani recalled one interview she’d viewed on YouTube last night. The cool toughness Donovan Quinn had projected when announcing how a joint FBI/Portland Police Bureau task force had cracked a Pacific Coast ring raking in billions in illegal profits by selling arms and aircraft to enemy governments had certainly dispelled any idea that organized crime was untouchable.
“You may have a point,” she said softly, watching the red sails of a small boat flutter in the wind. “And I totally get why the FBI wants you. I also realize that it would be a definite feather in your cap, and I’ve not a single doubt that you’d be terrific at keeping the world safe from terrorism. But is the FBI what you really want?”
“Of course it is,” he insisted. “I’ve worked hard for this, Lani. I deserve it. And I want it.”
If he seemed to be protesting a bit too much, Lani decided not to remark on it. “I don’t know what’s come over me lately,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I’m not usually so judgmental. It must be the full moon.”
“The full moon was last week.”
“Blame it on the waning moon, then. Or the tides. Did you know that seventy percent of the human body is water and that the very same percentage of water makes up the earth’s surface? How can we not be affected by things like tides?”
Her eyes were too bright, her tone too brittle. Donovan had made the false assumption that she was one of those blissful souls who drifted through life, like those fish they’d swum among earlier, without a care in the world. He’d assumed wrong. Again.
“How indeed?” he responded, deciding a public restaurant wasn’t the best place to discuss what was obviously a personal topic.
Something was affecting both of them. And Donovan knew damned well that the tension that arose between them without warning and with increasing frequency could not be attributed to moons or tides or any other such fanciful notion.
Even as she kept checking her phone for calls or texts, as if by mutual consent, they turned the conversation to lighter, less controversial topics—the weather, recent films, whether Portland or Orchid Island could boast the best seafood restaurants.
They were lingering over coffee when a tall, stunning blonde, clad in a pair of red shorts and a red-and-white candy-cane-striped top came rushing up to their table and sat down in one of the empty chairs. “I’m so glad I found you!” she said breathlessly.
“I’ve been trying to reach you since last night,” Lani said. “I want you to meet Donovan Quinn, Nate’s best friend from the mainland. Donovan, this is Taylor Young.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Taylor,” Donovan said, extending his hand.
“Hi.” The woman’s eyes barely skimmed over Donovan as she ignored his outstretched hand. “Lani, I have to talk to you. Now .”
Despite the fact that Taylor was head over heels in love with Ford, Lani had never seen her friend so upset that she’d so pointedly ignore any male, especially one as good-looking as Donovan was, even with his weight loss, which she was determined to reverse.
“Sure. Why don’t you join us for coffee?”
As Taylor’s distressed eyes returned to Donovan, he got the message. Loud and clear. “I think I’ll walk off some of that lunch on the beach,” he said, tossing some bills onto the table. “Why don’t you catch up with me later, Lani?”
Lani’s grateful eyes thanked him silently as she nodded her agreement. Taylor appeared to have forgotten his existence.
He’d seen that look before, Donovan mused as he walked along the edge of the wet sand. More times than he cared to count. Taylor Young was a stunning woman—when she wasn’t scared out of her wits.
Hell. He’d been a cop too long. It was probably just some female thing like a problem deciding on which wedding dress to buy. Or the fiancé wanting a chocolate cake while she wanted white.
Even as Donovan told himself that, he couldn’t quite make himself believe it. And Lani’s solemn expression, as she walked toward him twenty minutes later, only corroborated his gut instinct that there was a great deal more to her friend’s problem than mere wedding plans.
“Ford’s gone,” She said as they returned up the beach to where she’d parked the Jeep. The mist that wasn’t quite rain had stopped, and the fresh air was softened with the scent of flowers.
“He bailed on the wedding?”
She shook her head. “No, I mean he’s disappeared. Ford and Taylor both own their own businesses. Taylor’s candy store is the Sugar Shack and Ford runs a scuba shop, Pacific Paradise Adventures next door. When he didn’t come back two days ago from a charter to Maui, Taylor thought he must’ve picked up another job.”
“Sounds reasonable, given that you’ve already pointed out things like clocks and schedules aren’t as rigid down here. And it would make sense, if he had a chance to pick up some extra bucks to put away for a honeymoon, he’d jump at it.”