do.”
“He knew my name.” She stared at the picture. “I’m beginning to think he knew my identity before I dropped my purse. Who is he?”
“His name is Harry Gruber. He owns a trucking company.”
Angela cocked her head. “You know him?”
“Sure do. Gruber is a respected guy in this town. Actually, his donations fund the clinic where I volunteer.”
“Is he a friend?”
“Acquaintance,” Dan said. “We’ve done some charity events together, fun kid days at the clinic and such.”
“So why would a man like that have any interest in killing Tank Guzman?”
“Could be Tank is completely wrong. His integrity is still in doubt.” He shook his head. “What is Lieutenant Torrey going to have to say about this development?”
She sighed. “I’ll call the office. They’re better at this than I am.” The dim light shadowed her face, adding to the fatigue.
“It can wait until tomorrow.” He flipped on the rest of the lights and made sure the sliding glass door was secure, the curtains drawn.
As he turned to go there was a wondrous smile on her face. It stopped him in his progress to the door.
She caught his surprise. “I was just thinking that my gut told me Harry Gruber was up to something. Maybe my instincts do work, at least a little.” She sighed. “Something works, even if it’s just a small thing.”
She looked so delicate standing there, her slender silhouette framed by the lamplight, arms wrapped around her waist as if offering herself a hug. He wanted to do the same.
“It’s not a small thing. That’s a little window into yourself,” he found himself saying. “God’s telling you you’re still in there—you aren’t lost. I had those little windows, too, after I came back. We can talk about it, if you want to.”
She looked away, cheeks flushed, and he knew he’d overstepped. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
It was a dismissal, and there was nothing he could do to erase the distance between them. Pushy, Blackwater, as usual. “Okay. Call me if you need anything. Good night, Angela.”
“Thank you,” she said, “for your help.”
Had he helped? He considered as he returned to the truck, ruefully plucking the ticket he’d received off the windshield for parking in a red zone. In his haste to get to Angela after Tank’s call, he had parked in the first spot he’d found. The ticket had been issued by Lieutenant Torrey.
Tank’s accusation of Harry Gruber wasn’t going to sit well with Torrey. Angela’s guilt would make her take Tank’s side even if the kid was flat-out lying. She’d made enemies on both sides.
Why did it prey on his mind as he drove home?
Because you’re nosy and you always want to manage people’s lives whether they want you to or not.
All true.
Yet he felt something other than nosiness as he stood out on the deck, watching the ocean crawl by, waiting for a sleepiness that would not come.
Six o’clock could not arrive quickly enough. Angela had slept no more than a few hours, finally getting up before sunrise to shower and make a pot of instant coffee, most of which was already gone. At the stroke of six, she dialed, knowing that Marco would be in the office after his early morning workout at the local gym. Marco’s routine was as predictable as the sunrise.
She also knew he would not answer the phone unless there was a very good reason. The man despised technology.
“Marco,” she said into the machine after the beep. “It’s Angela. There’s been some trouble.”
“What trouble?” he said as he picked up the phone. She heard noise in the background.
“Is Candace there this early? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Candace called from the background. “I was picking Donna and Brent up from the airport.”
Angela smiled. “How was their honeymoon?”
“Just a minute,” Marco muttered. “Gonna try and put this thing on speakerphone.” There was the sound of Marco pressing buttons, and then they were disconnected. She smiled, picturing him there, big fingers stabbing away at a phone that was beyond his comprehension, brilliant though he was. She was about to redial when there was a knock at the door.
Her breath caught. Too early for housekeeping. Skin prickled on the back of her neck, the way it had when she’d realized Tank was watching her in her hotel room. Enemy or friend? Unsure, she crept to the door. There was no peephole. She placed a hand on the door as if she could somehow feel who it was through the panel.
“Who is it?” she called.
“Dan Blackwater.”
Relief and tension rippled together through her insides. She thought their connection was over; she was hoping, anyway. He was the past for her, the cruel, savage past that would not seem to get out of her present. The seconds ticked on as she tried to think of a polite way to get him to leave.
“Hey, not to be pushy, Angela, but this coffee is burning my hand. I forgot to get those cardboard sleeve thingys.”
She yanked open the door. He held two to-go cups, a white paper bag tucked under his arm. “What are you doing here?”
“I will excuse that ungracious tone if you’ll please take this coffee.” He thrust the cup at her, and she took it. “I figured you could use some breakfast. I’m on my way to the hospital. Thought we might as well go together, since we both have some questions for Lila.”
Her computer beeped, saving her from trying to rally a polite refusal. “Hold on—that’s Marco. He’s trying to Skype this time. Candace must be helping him.”
She opened up Skype, and Marco’s shaved head filled up the screen, Candace peering over his shoulder.
“What trouble?” Marco demanded.
She filled him in and introduced Dan. “He’s, um, I knew him in Afghanistan.”
Marco was silent for a moment. A retired navy man, he understood the significance of that statement. “Okay. I’m leaving now for Cobalt Cove. I’ll see which one of your sisters is available to come with me. Don’t meet with Tank or Gruber until I get there.”
Candace blew out a breath. “I’d come, too, but Tracy is in a school play, and they’ve got practice every day.”
Angela smiled, thinking of her sweet six-year-old niece. Tragic that the child had lost her father in Iraq when she was barely old enough to know him. Then to lose her grandfather a month
