18. Grayson

Grayson

N ear the front of the boat, I'm surrounded by tourists. Even though I've worked for my cousins for weeks, this is my first time experiencing one of these tours. It's nice—the ocean breeze cools the air as it sweeps over the bow, and light, salty water sprays up occasionally. The rocking and swaying haven't made me sick yet, thank God. I can't say the same for an unlucky woman doubled over the railing, losing her lunch.

I quickly look away when something green comes up—yikes, looked like baby food. My gaze drifts around until I hear a familiar laugh. It's loud and melodic, just like her singing. I turn and spot her.

Maggie is near the captain's area, chatting with Roger. He's definitely laying on the charm, but I force myself not to interfere. Maggie might think we're good together, but I know the truth—I'd only drag her down. I turn back to the ocean, leaning against the railing. Watching someone puke is better than seeing Roger flirt with the woman of my dreams.

Before long, I feel arms encircle my waist and glance over my shoulder.

"Hi," Maggie says.

"Maggie," I reply, trying to convey my need for space in that one word. Every bone in my body is begging me to lean into her touch, to kiss her, to smile. But my brain is fighting back, telling me to push her away. I'm frozen with indecision, but at least she's touching me.

"Grayson," she mimics my dark tone, making me chuckle despite myself. She plants a wet kiss on my neck. "Roger says our ride is about here. You ready?"

"If Roger says," I reply, my tone sharper than I intended.

She squeezes me tighter. "Jealous, Mr. Cardenas?"

"Of that douche? No," I say, but there's still bitterness in my voice.

"He invited me for drinks later, said I could wear his captain's hat." A growl slips out of me—not my finest moment. "Stop. It was sweet."

"He's not even the captain, Maggie. That's Rex."

Her arms slip off me, and she tugs on my shoulder until I'm facing her. "Is that your issue with what he said?"

No. The real issue is that I don't want any man asking her out. For drinks, for dinner, for anything. But I can't say that, so I stay silent.

She sighs and brushes the hair whipping around her face out of the way. "Well, I told him we were together, so don't worry," she says. I decide not to argue. I certainly don't want her going out with Roger or anyone else, for that matter. But especially not Roger. The guy brags about his conquests like it's some great achievement.

The boat's engines slow, and Roger's voice booms through the speakers overhead. With all the charm of a cocky ass, he talks about when the Navy purchased the island, made it off-limits to everyone except Sealife, and tells people to look at the dolphins off the port side. He's good at his job, I'll give him that. Everyone laughs at his ridiculous jokes and looks where he directs them. This is a good tour and an excellent investment that Tilly has made. I make a mental note to compliment her the next time I see her—it might soften the lecture I'll get once Miranda spreads gossip about our little parking lot tryst.

As Roger continues with his spiel, one of the ship's hands approaches us.

"The skiff's here," he says, his tone clipped as the wind whips around us.

I nod, and we follow him. When we reach the side of the boat, I peer over the edge. A small military-style zodiac skiff is bobbing next to our fifty-foot tour yacht. Two Navy men in camo uniforms and guns are holding onto the ladder, keeping it steady.

Maggie is practically bouncing with excitement, but I have to swallow some of my unease.

She heads over the side first, her hair whipping around her face as she descends the metal ladder. When she hops down, I follow. The ladder is slick with seawater, but there's grip tape on it, and I manage. This is not how I imagined spending time with Maggie—or anyone else, for that matter. I'm not a thrill-seeker or adventurer. I'm a fucking accountant. My idea of excitement is solving a complex problem.

Still, I need to do this, so I jump onto the boat. One of the camo-clad men is helping Maggie to her seat, smiling a bit too much at her. Trying to claim a spot by her side, I teeter in that direction. But as shouts sound behind me, the men are already shoving off, and I fly forward, landing face-first in the camo man's lap.

Is that his…? I dare a glance up. The military man is scowling. He shoves me off with a gruff, "Get your sea legs, Cardenas!" I feel a hand clamp around the back of my neck and yank me up. Another Navy man keeps a firm grip and shoves me into a seat.

The engine roars louder, battling the wind. My fingers clench the wooden seat as I bounce with each jolt against the swells. I glance over my shoulder to see if Maggie is struggling like I am, but her face is pure ecstasy, lit up like she's watching fireworks. Sunlight sparkles in the mist created by the boat, and a literal rainbow surrounds her. Is she even real?

One of the Navy men sidles up to me, distracting me from my view. "Mr. Cardenas? We don't have a dock, so we're going to beach land. Hang on," he says. I nod and tighten my grip on the seat. Seeing the beach zooming toward us, I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't care if it's unmanly or makes me look like a coward—this is survival as far as I'm concerned.

We hit the sand with a jolt, and I fly forward, barely managing to keep my grip and land on my knees. The Navy men jump out and start pulling the boat further up the beach until it's completely out of the water.

"Welcome to San Clemente Island," the Navy man says, smiling under a thick brown mustache. He offers a hand to Maggie.

She smiles back and takes his hand, stepping around me to get out. When she's on the sand, she looks back at me, her smile widening. "Coming, Mr. Cardenas?" I'd follow her to the ends of the earth with a smile like that. Thank God she doesn't care that I'm completely out of my element right now. Lesser men have been sunk by smaller offenses.

"I have strict orders to take you straight to the barracks. Courtney is being held in his room there," the Navy man says. He doesn't wait for a response, just turns and starts jogging up the beach.

Maggie grins at me. "Excited?" she asks.

"Not even a little. I don't think I'm enjoying this as much as you."

"I didn't become a detective to sit around. Come on, Mr. Cardenas, or they might shoot us."

We both hurry to catch up with our escort. "This place is pretty locked down. How would a wanted gang member get here?" Maggie asks.

The mustached man purses his lips. "He wouldn't. This feels like a wild goose chase. We train elite teams here—Seals, Rangers, Delta Force. We have an entire city just for practicing urban warfare. We take security very seriously."

Maggie nods. "And it's an island," she adds.

That brings a small smile to the Navy man's face. "Yes, it is."

"Let us chat with Courtney, and we'll be out of your hair as quickly as possible."

"Of course, ma'am." We reach a dirt road where a Humvee is waiting. The Navy man opens the back door and helps Maggie inside. It's clear that wherever we go, men are drawn to Maggie's direct personality. It doesn't hurt that she's looking stunning in the green blouse Miranda lent her. The color makes Maggie's entire face pop. I'm no expert in makeup, but she's done something to her eyes that makes them look even more captivating. With so much excitement radiating from her, it's nearly impossible not to be drawn in. As evidenced by every single muscled, tough military man ogling her. Thank God I'm here. Not that she can't handle herself, but it's easier if I lay some sort of claim. Just to keep them off her, of course. There's no other reason. I take her hand when we're both seated inside the vehicle. Leaning closer, I say, "Have I mentioned how beautiful you look in green?"

As intended, her face flushes red. "Mr. Cardenas, not in front of the boys." The teasing goes straight to my core.

I nibble on her ear, and she turns, grabbing my face. Our lips meet in a quick but passionate kiss. It probably would have gone on longer and gotten much more inappropriate if it weren't for the mustached man's loud throat clearing.

Maggie giggles as she pulls back, only to bury her face in my chest, laughing into my shirt. I wrap my arm around her shoulders as the Humvee starts up and lurches forward. We're driving at a speed that makes me uneasy, but the bumps and rocks along the dirt road jostling us every which way are even worse.

Finally, we pull up to a drab, nondescript building that looks older than I am. The officer gets out, leaving his gun in the passenger seat.

Without a word, we get out too. Following behind the man, whose name tape reads ‘Hobbs,' I feel tension spike as soon as we're inside.

"Shipmate! Up or down," Hobbs barks at a sailor, pointing to his sleeves. The hall is full of service members, each in various states of undress, but they all part for Hobbs. He's clearly a leader, though I have no idea what the gold leaves on his camo collar mean.

When we reach one of the last doors, an MP is waiting. "He's inside, sir."

"Stand post until they're done," Hobbs orders. The MP nods and steps aside to let Maggie and me in.

A man sits on the bed in blue camo pants and a navy-blue shirt, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he scrolls through his phone. A large skull tattoo on his forearm is wrapped around a snake, with his name inked beneath it.

Hobbs stomps over and rips the cigarette from his mouth, dropping it to the floor and crushing it under his boot. "No smoking in the barracks."

Courtney immediately sits up, swinging his legs off the bed. "Sorry, sir. No excuse, sir." What would it be like to have people bend to your every command? I'd like it, that's for sure. Especially in the bedroom.

"Lars Courtney?" Maggie asks.

"Yeah, you the cop?" Hobbs kicks at Courtney's boots. "Shipmate, we address our superiors with ‘Yes, Ma'am' or ‘No, Ma'am.' Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Courtney says, bobbing his head before turning to Maggie. "Ma'am, are you the officer I'm supposed to speak with?" His tone is sharp but not enough to earn another reprimand, thank God. I don't know how much more I can take of seeing a grown man get berated for such minor infractions.

"I am. This is my associate, Grayson Cardenas. We just have a few questions about your brother."

"What about him?" He eyes us warily until Hobbs clears his throat. "Ma'am?" he adds quickly.

"My associate got word that he was staying with you here."

Courtney's head jerks back like he's shocked, but his eyes dart around the room. "How the hell would he get here?"

"Shipmate!" Hobbs yells, but Maggie steps in. "Maybe it would be best if you waited in the hall?" she suggests with a slight wince. Hobbs eyes Courtney warily but spins out of the room as only a military man can.

Once he's gone, Maggie turns back to Courtney. "I'm sure the Navy would love to know as well."

Courtney scoffs, leaning back against the wall. The room is bare and gray, with nothing but a green seabag lying on the floor. The twin bed barely fits Courtney's large frame. "What's your MOS?" Maggie asks, narrowing her eyes.

"Supply," Courtney answers quickly, then realizes he probably shouldn't have said anything. I have no idea why that matters, but Maggie seems to know what she's doing.

"When was the last time you saw your brother?"

"Bailed him out of jail back in San Diego. That's my home port. I'm just here on TAD."

She nods, though the acronym is lost on me. "Was that on March 3rd for the B&E?"

He silently agrees, but his throat bobs nervously. I like to think I'm good at reading people—not trusting your own family makes that second nature—and Courtney is definitely holding something back.

"The reason we're here is that Axe didn't show for his court appearance and is wanted by the police. He's also wanted for information related to his gang affiliation."

"That's his business, not mine."

"Right," Maggie says in a tone I recognize—she's lost in thought. She pulls a business card from her back pocket, something she did when we first met. "If you hear from Axe, give me a call. This won't fall back on you."

"Uh, sure thing. Sorry I couldn't help." But Courtney's smug smile tells me he's giving away more with his expression than his words.

As we leave the room, Maggie asks Hobbs, "Is it okay if we take a look around?"

"I'll need to escort you." Maggie nods and starts down the hall, peeking into each room but not searching thoroughly.

"What are you thinking, Maggie?" I ask, sensing she has an agenda. All I know is she's damn good at her job—the confidence she exudes is intoxicating.

"Rooms are too exposed. He wouldn't hide here. But with so many guys around, what's one more in uniform? He could be hiding in plain sight."

I nod, relieved she's on the same page. Courtney's brother is definitely here. "You know what he looks like?"

"Like his brother, but with a skull-and-snake tattoo on his neck."

I feel eyes on me and turn around. Lars Courtney is out of his room, leaning against the wall, glaring at Maggie.

Fuck that. I wrap an arm around Maggie's shoulders, making sure my own glare is clear. "We have an audience," I say. Maggie doesn't turn.

"I figured he'd be unhappy. Fifty bucks says he's going to warn Axe now. Idiot."

She hurries down the hall and out the front door. "He still there?"

I glance back. "No."

"There's a back exit I saw. If we hurry, we might catch him." She slinks around the building's side, Hobbs still trailing us.

At the back corner, Maggie slows and peeks around. "He's headed toward that other building." She turns to Hobbs. "What's in there?"

"Industrial laundry."

Maggie looks at me. "We'll wait until he comes back out, and then we'll go in." I nod, not thrilled about confronting a gang member. Not that I'm helpless—I can hold my own—but I want Maggie nowhere near someone with such loose morals. Ironic, considering my former job, I know.

She rises on her tiptoes. "Babe, maybe you should stay back. Let me and Hobbs handle it?"

She's worried about me? The corner of my mouth twitches up. "How about you stay behind me, and I'll call it a deal?"

"No, thanks. I'm the one with the gun and the training. You'll listen to me." Her tone is final, but I open my mouth to argue. "You'll do as I say or regret it, Mr. Cardenas."

Hobbs chuckles, and I shoot him a glare—not easy, considering his biceps are the size of Volkswagens. "Fine, Parker. But if you get hurt, you're telling Georgie."

That softens her expression, but she raises her chin a moment later. "No problem, because it won't happen."

A few minutes later, Courtney emerges from the laundry room, hands in his pockets as he jogs back toward the barracks. Maggie takes a deep breath and strides toward the building he just left, her steps as determined as my heartbeat is frantic. Wherever she's going, I'll follow, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.