Page 26

COULTER

T he twenty-four-hour fever dream with Faith felt almost like a distant memory after the heaviness of Kylie’s funeral.

But getting close to Faith had eased my grief.

Seeing her at the funeral comforted me, despite the guilt I felt at the irony that she was the good that had come from this horrific tragedy.

It was understandable that Faith was distant, and awkward, at the funeral.

I don’t know what I expected her to say, but I did find it strange she didn’t even say hello.

And I hadn't heard a peep from her since. I didn’t think much of it when she didn’t answer my text or my call last night.

But the day was half gone and she still hadn’t responded.

My mind reeled with possibilities, and it honed in on the worst.... Was I just a big regret that Faith wanted to pretend never happened? As crushing as the thought was, my indignant self preservation took over. I had no idea what was going on with her and that was not okay.

This had gone on long enough. I needed to hear her voice .

After I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed, the screen lit up with the picture of Faith I had snuck when we were fishing.

After wrestling the monster tarpon, her nose pink and hair tousled, and a look of pure bliss on her smiling face.

I grinned at her image while the phone rang on speaker.

Two days ago felt like a lifetime. Another dimension. I paced the dock while the line rang. And rang. While I debated on whether to hang up and text her, or leave her a voice message, Faith finally picked up.

“Detective Pierce,” she answered, sounding distracted.

“Hey beautiful,” I said as confidently as I could. “How’s it going?”

“Going well, thanks. And you?”

“Not bad,” I answered, trying to discern her shortness. Was she pissed off at me or just busy? Fuck if I knew. “I tried calling you last night after our family dinner, but it was kinda late,” I said, trying to let her off hook for ghosting me.

“Not a problem.” Faith’s voice was cold and distant. “What can I help you with?”

I stared at my phone, perplexed at her strange tone until it dawned on me that someone must be within earshot. Her asshole partner if I had to guess. “You can’t really talk right now, can you?”

“Not really,” she said shortly.

“Got it. I was just wondering if you were free tonight. Maybe we can grab a bite at the Dive Bar and catch up?”

I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head during the long pause. “Maybe later in the week. ”

“Okay… So you’ll call me later when it’s a better time?”

“Sure, sounds good,” she answered, her words feeling empty.

“Alright, beautiful, I’ll let you get back to it,” I said, wiping a sweaty palm on my board shorts.

“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

“You better,” I tried to joke. But the cold click of the call ending wiped the smile right off my face. When her photo disappeared from the screen, I felt like she was gone.

She was at work. I got that. But she’d told me herself that I was no longer a suspect.

She’d let her guard down and let me in. So why was she being so fucking weird all of a sudden?

I shoved my phone into my pocket and paced the dock.

Every time I tried to understand what was going on in a woman’s mind, I ended up feeling like this. Frustrated. Confused. Desperate.

I saw Spence down at the other end of the dock, working on one of the boats.

My oldest brother was the one who’d talked me through all my woman problems. His philosophy was that the right one will come along someday, and until then, don’t try to force anything.

He was still single, though, so I’m not sure it was the best advice.

I hadn’t told anyone about me and Faith. I hadn’t had a chance to, really, but I hadn’t really wanted to either. I didn’t want my brothers poking fun that I was trying to coerce the cop with sexual favors. But I could trust Spence, and I needed to talk to someone before I lost my goddamn mind.

As I passed by the open window of the bait shop office, I heard Dad’s voice sounding worried. I paused, then I heard Waylan weigh in. Were they talking about me? I stepped closer to the window, cocking my head to listen .

“This is too weird, Waylan,” my dad said, his tone hushed. “Tragedy like this striking twice in one year. Both drownings? Are we being targeted?”

“I don’t know, Slick,” Waylan sighed. “It sounds crazy, but it also feels like too much coincidence.”

“Do you think it’s related to what happened way back when?”

I tilted my ear closer to the screen. “Maybe,” Waylan finally said. “The way things ended up… George in prison. Mateo in Mexico. We got really lucky, Slick. But I always thought we got off too easy, and that eventually our chickens would come home to roost. Maybe they have.”

“You know I’ve never believed Ellie’s death was an accident either.”

I rolled my eyes. My father had been stuck in the denial stage of grief from day one. “My wife,” he continued. “Your niece. Like you said, it’s too much of a coincidence.” His voice strained. “But if they’re after us, why not just kill us ?”

A chill ran through me. I knew my father would have taken my mother’s place in a heartbeat if he had the chance, but what the fuck were they talking about?

“To deliver a message?” Waylan offered. “Until they get whatever it is they want from us.”

“The money? Is it George? Or his rivals?”

“Damned if I know,” Waylan sighed. “I just hope we don’t have another body turn up anytime soon.”

“Lord knows neither of us can handle any more loss. At least Coulter is in the clear now.” Dad let out a relieved sigh. “I was beginning to wonder if he was being framed. ”

“I don’t know about in the clear , Spencer.

Detective Ramirez isn’t letting it go. He’s been complaining that Detective Pierce is soft on your boy.

As far as I can tell, he’s still trying to build a case against him.

They’ve basically shut me out of the investigation–claiming I’m too close to it. So I only know what they tell me.”

“But Pierce told Coulter the DNA cleared him.” Anxiousness rose in my father’s voice.

“It’s not that simple,” Waylan cautioned him. It was my life they were talking about and I felt the gravity of it in my gut.

“If they’re shutting you out, you can’t protect Coulter,” my father shot back. “Maybe he needs a lawyer.”

“Probably a good idea,” Waylan admitted.

I backed away from the window, quietly, my mind racing.

If her partner was still treating me as a suspect, that would explain Faith’s weirdness.

But that wasn’t the only thing that worried me.

What kind of shit had dad and Waylan been involved in that would have gotten Mom and Kylie killed?

Who was Mateo? Or George? And why was he in prison?

What fucking money were they talking about?

I needed to talk to Spence. But by the time I reached the end of the dock, he was speeding away in the Contender.