Murder In The Shallows

“Take this with you.” Lulu nodded at a covered plastic bowl filled with leftovers.

“You don’t have to—”

“Take it.”

“Still got enough for Holt if he drops by later?”

“Maybe. He was due to finish his latest tour yesterday. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him today though.”

Holt Rucker, Lulu’s special friend, worked as an expedition guide through the swamp and other wilderness areas. His schedule was erratic, but it seemed to suit his needs and unencumbered lifestyle. “Surprised he isn’t already over,” she said.

Lulu raised a brow but didn’t comment. Bailey couldn’t figure out the exact nature of their relationship. Holt often slept over, but Lulu refused to categorize him as a boyfriend and never complained about their casual arrangement. Evidently, the older generation had their own version of “friends with benefits.”

“I made plenty of food.”

Bailey knew when she was beaten. “Yes, ma’am. Guess I’ll head on back and tell my stalker to hit the road.”

Outside, the scent of gardenias and honeysuckle wafted through the air, soothing her jitters at the coming confrontation. She’d barely made it to the dirt road when his engine turned over and the headlights cut through the darkening sky. What was he doing out here? She hadn’t asked for protection. Unless there was some break in the case already?

The truck skidded to a stop by her side, and the passenger door flung open.

“Hop in, Bailey. I’ll give you a lift.”

“Why are you here?” she asked bluntly. “Any news on the missing women?”

“I wish.”

She stood unmoving. “Then why?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Just keeping an eye out for you. Saw you head over here so I parked halfway, trying to keep an eye on both cabins. Don’t get all huffy.”

“There’s no need.” She didn’t want to be beholden to any man, especially this one.

“Come on, Bailey. You know better. You were seen today.”

“From afar. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and my hat kept my face shaded.”

“Still, there can’t be that many female forest rangers in the park. Correct?”

“Just me,” she begrudgingly admitted.

“Shouldn’t be too hard to get your name from the park website, and then...” He let his voice trail, allowing her to follow the silence to its logical conclusion.

She had to admit that Dylan was right. With the internet, nothing seemed safe or private these days.

“I have a shotgun. I’m good.”

“Okay. Just humor me, then. Get in the truck, and I’ll save you a few steps.”

Sighing, Bailey climbed in. If she didn’t, she’d be arguing with him all night. At least that yipping dog wasn’t on board. True, the beagle had sported a friendly, eager face, nothing like her foster father’s trained attack Dobermans, but she respected that the animal still had a mouth full of sharp teeth. Once bitten, forever shy.

Dylan whipped the truck around, and she balanced the plastic dish in her lap as they rumbled toward her cabin, which was almost as rustic as Lulu’s—with the exception that Bailey’s had an air-conditioning unit. After a long day of patrolling the wildlife refuge, the last thing she wanted was to return to a hot, stuffy cabin in the evening.

He parked in front of her house and stared into the gathering darkness.

“Now what?” she asked.

“You invite me in?”

She let out a laugh. “Are you seriously inviting yourself to spend the night?”

“Not the way it sounds.” Even in the dark, she detected a flush on his neck and face.

“Go home, Dylan. We might be working together, but I don’t know you well enough for sleepovers, and your truck’s going to get mighty uncomfortable.”

“Wouldn’t be my first stakeout. I’ll survive.”

Stubborn, stubborn man. She opened the door and slid out. Guilt pricked her for an instant, but she hardened her heart. If he wanted to act like a fool, that was on him. “Have you even eaten supper?”

Immediately she wanted to kick herself for asking. This wasn’t her problem.

He picked up a bag of trail mix from the dashboard and rattled its contents. “A complete meal of protein, carbs and fats.”

Impulsively, she thrust the plastic container at him. “Here’s real food. If you don’t have any plastic utensils in your truck, I can bring you out some.”

“I’m all set.” Dylan flipped open the glove box, revealing a stash of napkins, salt and pepper packets, a bottle of hot sauce and plastic forks. “Never know when these might come in handy.”

Her conscience clear, Bailey shut the door. “Still say you should head on home.”

She felt his eyes on her as she walked across the yard and opened the cabin door.

“Might want to start locking up your place,” Dylan called out.

Bailey didn’t bother responding. He was right, but she’d managed to figure that out on her own without his advice.

Was she really at risk? The unknown man had viewed her from a distance, after all. He’d seen her general body shape and long hair pulled into a ponytail. In the bedroom, Bailey let down her hair in front of the dresser, letting the brown locks flutter a good six inches past her shoulders. She was past due for a haircut, anyway. Bailey retrieved a pair of scissors and commenced cutting.

Five minutes later, she critically surveyed her handiwork. It would do. The bobbed length lay halfway between her chin and ears. A practical summer cut that would be cooler and also fit her wash-and-let-it-be style.

Like most evenings, Bailey plopped into bed and read, although tonight getting into the book proved difficult. Every so often, she swept aside the curtain and spotted Dylan still parked outside in the truck. At last, she turned out the light, determined to fall asleep. The morning work would start at dawn.

Familiar night noises of cicadas, frogs and owls lulled her unease. She touched the leather cord around her neck and ran her fingers over the charms Lulu had strung on it for blessing and protection—a crow feather for strength, power and wisdom, two turquoise beads representing friendship and an obsidian arrowhead for a hunter’s alertness. Four items total, four being a powerful number symbolizing the four moon phases. As she sank into the gray oblivion of sleep, she hoped they’d keep her safe.

EXCITED BARKING.

The pungent scent of wet fur, an ominous growl and then nearby panting. Hot kibble-breath.

The dogs were almost upon her.

Bailey sprang to wakefulness, cotton bedsheets clutched in her hands. Blood pulsed in her ears as she searched the darkness for her location. She was home. Safe in her own room. Quickly she rose and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As the tap filled her cup, she stared out the window over the sink. Moonglow tinged the trees and grass with a silver hue. With a start, she remembered Dylan and padded over to the den to look out the front window.

His truck was in the same spot, but she couldn’t see him. Perhaps he’d lain down in the seat to sleep? Some protector. Come morning, she’d be sure to give him a hard time. Her hand found the smooth barrel of the shotgun she kept lodged near the front door. Its hard, cool surface reassured her that she could take care of herself if need be.

Instead of returning to bed, Bailey threw on a T-shirt and shorts and headed to Dylan’s truck, determined to send him home. If he drove off now, he could still catch a few hours’ sleep in a comfortable bed before they began another search. She rapped sharply on the driver’s side window. “Dylan?” she called, not wanting to scare him—not too bad, anyway.

No answer. Man slept like the dead. What kind of cop did that on a protection detail? She peered into the back seat.

Empty.

Chills skittered down the back of her neck and spine. She slowly turned to face the cabin. A man was crouched near the swamp hibiscus by the east wall. Dylan? Impossible to make out from the inky shadows. An urge to angrily confront him warred with the fear that this might be someone else entirely. Although, did it matter who lurked there? What did she really know about this Dylan Armstrong? Precious little. Except for the fact that his father had been a no-good, heartless liar who’d turned his back on a terrified teenager who’d sought his help.

She cursed herself for not taking her shotgun. A weapon was no good if she forgot to carry it in the middle of night. Especially after she’d been warned she might be in danger.

The figure straightened and approached. He stepped away from the shrubs and into the wide expanse of the lawn, and the moonlight glinted on his sandy hair.

“What are you doing outside, Bailey?”

As if he had the right to question her movements. Resentment coupled with a healthy dose of cynicism kept her on guard. “What are you doing creeping around my cabin?” she countered.

He was close enough now that she saw the flicker of annoyance in his eyes. Well, he was no more irritated than she. Dylan had no business—

“Someone was out here,” he said, cutting into her indignant thoughts. “I saw movement and heard noise in the shrubs. Which, by the way, are way too tall and need trimming. A giant could hide in that jungle.”

She ignored his bossy commentary and cut to the chase. “What noise?”

“A rustling not caused by the wind. I climbed out of my truck, and whoever it was took off for the woods out back. You didn’t hear me yell for him to halt?”

No, there’d only been the nightmare.

“So, he got away,” she breathed, uselessly fixing her gaze on the dark tree line.

“At least I noticed him before he torched your cabin.”

Her heart skipped and squeezed at that bit of news. “How do you know his intention?”

Instead of answering, Dylan motioned for her and walked back toward the cabin. Through the damp grass, she followed, arms hugged about her waist. Within ten yards of the shrubs, she halted abruptly. A gasoline odor permeated the night air, overpowering the sweet smell of honeysuckle and gardenia. Under one of the shrubs was a discarded gas container.

She rubbed her arms against the wave of cold that swept her from head to toe. If Dylan hadn’t been here...

Unless he’d been the one who doused her cabin with gasoline.

She tried to think rationally, warring between what was either paranoia or a healthy suspicion. But why would Dylan have done such a thing? Yeah, she had no use for his father, but it didn’t mean that the son was a killer trying to deflect suspicion from his murderous secrets by playing a hero.

“I guess thanks are in order,” she said reluctantly.

A rueful smile played on his lips. “Must have killed you to say that.”

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