Chapter 2

C hapter T wo

And look he did. Not that he hadn't gotten a gander at the guy earlier. Thorsen had spent a few minutes watching him on the cliff, cursing under his breath because he had been hoping to be standing where the guy on the barstool next to him had been. But in the end, it probably hadn't mattered, because there was too much fog to see much of anything. Still, he had a job to do, and he wanted to get it done and then get the hell out of this area again. The road was calling, and he was itching to answer.

"So that's how it is," the hottie answered. He had done his homework and knew this had to be one of the Constantine boys. He had said that the land he'd been using as a lookout was owned by his family, and that meant this guy was a Constantine, and maybe he was on that cliff watching for the same thing Thor had been, but with a very different intent.

"A look for a look…," Thor countered as the bartender refilled the guy's whiskey. This time he sipped it, but Thor could already see the heat of pure primal desire in his eyes. And that was good, because a guy who wanted to see what he was packing was a hell of a lot more likely to loosen his lips… and one who was already on his second double whiskey even more so. "You from here?"

Constantine Junior nodded. "You?"

"Raised here, but haven't been back in quite a while." One thing he had learned a long time ago: keep close to the truth and minimize the lies you tell. It was a hell of a lot easier than trying to remember what you'd had to spin up. "Sometimes family is a real pain in the ass."

"Amen to that." He sighed, and Thor thought he was going to down the drink, but he sipped again. "Michael," he said with the slightest of smiles.

"Thorsen," he added a little formally. They didn't know each other well enough for nicknames. He pulled the bowl of bar nuts over and ate a few, then nudged the bowl toward Michael. "So, I gotta ask. You like standing on the edge of cliffs?"

Michael smiled and leaned closer. "Sometimes I like the solitude. I figure you must have been watching me on that cliff for a while, so did you enjoy the view?" Maybe the whiskey was taking effect already, or maybe Michael was really into Thorsen's charms. Either way, he could work with it.

"Didn't get much of one other than you falling back on your ass." And what an amazing one it had been too. That much he remembered in vivid detail. "Seriously, you like staring out at the fog?"

Michael hesitated, and maybe Thorsen had pushed too hard. He took a sip of beer and waited. Sometimes it was best to let folks come to things in their own time. "It's not just the fog, but all of it. Standing on the edge of the world, the waves beating the hell out of the rocks, the wind racing past your ears. It's all perspective. It gives me a chance to think and to try to figure shit out."

"And did you come to any conclusions?" Thorsen asked. "Did any earth-shattering enlightenments hit you?"

Michael smiled much more brightly. "You mean other than my ass hitting the dirt? No. I didn't manage to conjure up any life-changing epiphanies." He turned on the stool, Michael looking right at him. "Sometimes when you're watching and the fog is rolling in, it seems like everything is closing around you. But then, sometimes, the fog bank breaks just for a few seconds, and the sun shines through. I keep hoping for one of those metaphysical moments."

Thorsen couldn't help wondering if that was exactly what happened out on those cliffs. That description seemed oddly specific, and if that had actually happened, then had Michael seen something out on the water? Shit, he wanted to ask, but he knew if he did, all he was going to get was shut out.

"Then how about another drink, and maybe the epiphany you're looking for will come from the bottom of the glass?" Thor finished his beer and requested another.

"That's the one place these kind of things are never found. I'm trying to figure out what I really want to do with my life, not get plastered. Sometimes a little lubrication is needed, but not inebriation." Damn, the kid had quite a vocabulary. "I work for my father, and let's just say it isn't at all what I was expecting."

"Is your father a dick?" Thorsen asked. He sure as hell knew what one of those could do to you.

Michael shook his head. "More like a controlling, untrusting asshole. The last building my father put up, the architect made at least half a dozen mistakes. I caught them all, fixed them, and actually saved my father thousands in rework and an equal amount in wasted materials, but all I got was shit for trying to make them look bad." Maybe Michael was taking the opportunity to bitch about his father to a stranger. But it was also possible that Michael was the black sheep of the family, and maybe that was something Thorsen could use to his advantage.

"So, you're an architect?" Thorsen asked.

"Yeah. Graduated top of my class, came back here to work for my father. After all, he paid for most of the cost." He pushed his glass back. "I figured I could really make a difference to the business and to my family, but all I get is a whole bunch of shit for my trouble. I'm thinking I should just leave and figure things out in San Francisco or Los Angeles. I have experience, and I've done some pretty amazing designs. Maybe what I need is to put this place and my family in the rear-view mirror."

"I've been saying that for years," a man said as he plopped himself on the recently vacated stool on the other side of Michael. "Got caught up with crap at work." He waved and smiled down the bar, and within seconds, he had a martini set in front of him. He sipped it and raised the glass. "I really needed that."

"You're a plumber," Michael said with a hint of mischief in his eyes that Thorsen felt all the way to his balls. He had been on his own for way too fucking long. "When isn't there crap at work?"

"Look who thinks he's funny all of a sudden." The guy leaned forward, all blue eyes, blond hair, and surfer tan. "I'm Roddy."

"Thorsen."

"Ooooh, do you have a magic hammer?" Roddy laughed at his own joke.

Thorsen had definitely heard that before and knew exactly the right answer. "Yes. Yes, I do." And damned if Michael didn't swallow hard, his eyes darkening. Now, that was a reaction he could get behind. Thorsen finished about half his beer and then got up from his stool. He paid his tab and said goodbye to Michael and Roddy before leaving the bar.

He had just stopped in for a beer, but in the end, he had gotten himself some information as well, so it was a good night. There was no need to hang around any longer, though, because he wasn't going to get anything more. But he had found out that things within the Constantine family weren't as perfect as their image led him to believe. He'd also learned that it was possible that there had been something to see out on the water, and that Thorsen had missed it. Still, that indicated that his information might just be correct, and if so, then in a few days, there could be yet more to see.

Thorsen climbed into his truck and pulled the door closed with a creak. He really needed to get a new vehicle, but Bessy had treated him well for a decade, and he wasn't in a hurry to give her up. Also, it was a lot easier to go undetected in an old beater truck that most people looked past than it was in a brand-new one that cost fifty grand. He pulled out of the parking lot and climbed the hill out of the harbor.

As he reached the top, his phone rang. Okay, so maybe a truck with Bluetooth would be nice. He pulled off to the side and answered.

"You coming home?" His father never really asked a question; he just demanded.

"Not there, no." That place had stopped being his home a long time ago.

"You return to town and then stay away from the family. Are you doing something that you're ashamed of?" His father always thought the worst of him. "You stay away for years, come back and don't visit, but you're still here. I don't understand you. Why did you come back in the first place?"

"For work." He ended the call and tossed the phone on the seat next to him, but didn't put the truck in gear. He figured it would take exactly two minutes before his sister called. It was what she did. His father would call her to gripe, and then she called him. And sure enough, but this time it was after three minutes.

"Hey, Angie," he answered as though nothing was wrong. "Don't even say it. I have nothing to say to him, and I'm not going to go back there. He's still living in some dream world where he thinks he's the head of the family, and the rest of us have to do what he wants. I don't, and neither do you."

"Thor…," she started, using that tone she had.

"Don't. Do you want your kid around that crap we grew up with?" Angie had married three years ago to an amazing man. Brian was an accountant, as reliable and gentle as the day was long, and he adored Angie with everything he had. The exact opposite of what they grew up with.

She sighed. "You two never got along, and while you're here in town, you won't even see him for five minutes. It hurts him." Thor closed his eyes. "But I know why, and it's not my right to push." She groaned. "The baby is kicking. I swear this kid is going to be an MMA fighter or a kickboxing champion." Another groan. "You have to do what's right for you. But promise me you'll come for dinner."

"Eventually." He was working—this wasn't a pleasure trip. If he wanted a vacation, this end of the world would be the last place he'd choose to take it. His vacations usually involved sun, a resort, plenty of hot guys, and as little clothing as possible. Now that was a vacation. This was anything but. Hell, he had chased serial killers across three states and tracked down some of the most wanted people in the country, and yet coming back to where he grew up was giving him a stress headache the likes of which he had never known before in his life. "Now I need to get back to work. But I will call you, and we can have some of those amazing shrimp you always loved."

"Nope. Baby hates shrimp," she said as his phone beeped with another call.

After checking the display, he said, "I have to go. But we'll talk soon." He ended the call and took the new one. "What?"

"Is that how you answer the phone now?" the growly voice—and not in a good way—asked.

"It is when I'm busy, and you don't have a clue who I'm with or where I am at the moment." When he was on a job, he hated getting these kinds of calls. "And no, I don't have much of an update. You know I will call you when I have something." That was their deal. "So, Miller, what is it you want?" Miller was his boss, friend of a sort, and an all-around pain in the ass. And to his question, he got silence. "You called, so you might as well ask."

"Okay. Is there anything going on? Is the intel good or a bunch of shit?"

He turned off the engine. "Not sure, but I think it might be good. Something is going on, and it's possible a rendezvous happened a few hours ago, just like the intel you got said it would. Don't ask for details—it's just a hunch—but there may have been a witness. I don't know if the guy doesn't know what he saw or if he's actually involved. That's to be determined."

"Nothing is ever simple with you, is it?" Miller asked.

"If shit were simple, the local cops would have already found out what was happening and put a stop to it. No. Something is most definitely happening, and I just need to push the right buttons at the right time. But with how fogged in we were last night, I'd say it would be a great night for a handoff, especially if the craft were big enough and the parties involved were desperate enough." He pulled out some notes. "Look, I need some information. All you can get on everyone in the Constantine family. They're locals."

"You think they're involved?" Miller asked, and Thorsen heard the clicking of keys in the background.

"I don't know. That's why I need the information. My father had some run-ins with them a number of years ago. They worked it out, but as I recall, they run a legitimate business, even if they might skirt the line if they think they can get away with it." And he wanted to know more about a certain son with the bluest eyes he had ever seen, and this was an easy way to do that. "Concentrate on the sons—there are two of them."

"Why these people? And don't tell me because your gut says so." Miller was still typing.

"In order to do what I think they're doing, it would take some real money to get a boat like that, and no one is just going to let you borrow one. The seas are rough right now, and there's plenty of wind. A small boat would not be any good at all. Just get me the information. I might have grown up here, but I am no longer part of this community. I have to start somewhere, so I need to follow the money, and these people most definitely have it."

"Give me some time to see what I can come up with. You keep your eyes open and watch for anything unusual. There has been a flow of illicit drugs into this part of the state for months now, and we need to stop that flow."

"I understand."

"No, I don't think you do. Whatever they are bringing in is dangerous. Users think they're buying one thing, but what they are getting is something else entirely, and the death count is starting to mount."

"Are these guys amateurs?" Hell, in most places, dealers actually branded their stuff so their customers would know what they were getting.

"We aren't sure. Just do your damned best to get to the bottom of this, and do it fast. Okay?" Miller sighed softly. "I'll find out what I can, and you message me with anything." Miller ended the call, and Thorsen started the engine and continued on out to the small motel on the edge of Fort Bragg. Here, where there were more people, he could be anonymous… and he didn't have to deal with his father.

As usual, he entered his room carefully, checking the bathroom before relaxing and finally letting down his guard. Then and only then did he lock the door, take off his shoes, and turn on the television. This had not been the way he'd intended to come back here. Though if the truth be told, he had hoped that he'd never have to set foot in this area again, but that was probably an unrealistic expectation. After all, his sister was here, and he was going to be an uncle soon, which meant he'd have come back at some point anyway, but at least that would have been on his time frame and on his terms.

He found something inane to watch, stretched out on the bed, and did his best to relax. Not that he was very good at that sort of thing. Thorsen had always been much better at kicking ass and taking names than he was at relaxing and patiently waiting for shit to happen. Part of him was regretting having left the bar. He probably could have flirted more, and he might even have been able to get some more out of the man next to him. But then again, maybe not. And Lord knows, getting mixed up with someone who might or might not be involved in the case he was working on was a bad idea, no matter what. Still, it was difficult to put that wicked smile, those blue eyes, and the sight of the guy falling back on that tight ass out of his mind. But he had to figure out how to do it, that was for damned sure.