Page 10 of Nowhere to Hide

“Then let me help.”

“Why?”

Because my dead best friend told me to. Right. I was officially losing it. “Why not?” At his tight face, I shrugged. “Might as well take the help, I’m just going to follow you.”

“I could arrest you.”

“Yeah, you could. But I saw you get your ass chewed. Probably easier to just let me help.”

“I don’t need another fight with—I just don’t.”

I smelled history. I cracked my knuckles. “Then two of us are faster than one.”

His jaw tightened and I was pretty sure he was going to pop a seam on his uniform shirt with how wound up he was. Finally, he went over to his cruiser and popped the trunk before coming back with paper bags and latex black gloves. “If you find something don’t fucking touch it.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Just call me over.”

“Got it.”

I pulled out my mini flashlight and swept the area in a grid pattern. Five years in personal security had trained me to miss nothing, and I easily slipped back into old rhythms as we searched the pier toward the hotel then back. I tried to put myself in her shoes. Had she wandered off with alcohol swimming in her veins?

Had the guy picked her up at the hotel and lured her out here?

Or had it been more opportunistic?

We doubled back to where the boats were dry docked off the main walkways. I was about to give up on the red boat when something glinted near the back of a boat.

I called for Stone and sidestepped a pail of varnish as I stepped deeper into the darkness. My light flashed over a canister jammed tight between two planks. A small purse with a chain strap lay open a foot away.

“Where are you?”

“Behind the red boat,” I called out.

Stone flashed his light, and I held up my hand. “Really?”

“Sorry.” He pointed it down and rushed forward. “Don’t touch anything!”

I held my hands up and took a step back. Considering the other crime scene had been fucked, I wasn’t touching anything. While I was used to security jobs—leaning heavily into the personal security end—I was around law enforcement enough to know the rules and regulations were paramount to getting a case to trial.

And this guy needed to go down or to be put down, I wasn’t particular about which way it went.

Stone seemed intense and again the ill-fitting uniform left me wondering what the hell happened to get him demoted.

Stone used a pen to shuffle through the spilled contents of the bag. There didn’t look to be much left behind, but he used his flashlight to look inside the bag. “She’s from New York.”

“Maybe here on holiday.”

Stone glanced up at me, his dark eyes shiny and unreadable in the dim light. “Maybe.” He glanced around. “I’d say she was hiding over here.” He shuffled forward and dug a glove out of his pocket and snapped them on before he took photos, then tugged on the canister I’d spotted before. It took some working to get it free. “Maybe tripped over that pail of paint.”

“Varnish.”Stone gave me a hard look. I shrugged. “I can see it. Maybe she wandered too far away from the hotel and this piece of shit followed her.”

“Yeah.” Still crouched, Stone’s flash went off a few more times.

“Keys?”

He nodded. “With a small canister of Mace on it.”