guy.”
J.B. laughed, feeling more relaxed. If anyone would understand how one of the West sisters could work her way under his skin, it’d be Bruce Young. J.B. started on his lobster roll, but stopped when he heard a commotion near the front door.
Christina West burst through the crowd at the bar and charged over to Kyle’s table. “Caught,” Bruce muttered, but he must have seen what J.B. did, because he got to his feet. “What the hell—”
J.B. stood next to him. Christina was white-faced, breathing rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “Someone broke into my café,” she told Kyle. “They smashed in the door and took cash out of the register—there wasn’t much—”
Kyle didn’t bother to get up. “What about my apartment?”
“It’s fine. They tried jimmying the door, but the police think something scared them away before they could get in. I just left there—” She inhaled sharply, brushed at her tears with the back of her wrist. She had on a black skirt and white top, black shoes that’d be easy on the feet. Despite her obvious distress, her boyfriend still hadn’t gone to her. “Zoe’s talking to the police.”
“What for?” Kyle asked. “It’s not her café.”
Christina didn’t seem to notice his annoyance. “We had dinner at Aunt Olivia’s house, and she was driving me back. She realized the café was broken into before I did. Can you believe it? Two days in a row. I feel like I’m a target!”
Bruce stepped forward. “You okay, Chris?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She managed a faltering smile. “You should have seen Zoe go into her cop mode. She’s still got it. The local police almost choked when they saw her, but, you know, she was so good—”
“She was the best,” Bruce said softly. He touched her arm. “You want a drink?”
“That’d be great.”
Using his foot, Kyle kicked a chair out from under the table for her. “Have a seat, Chris. Goose Harbor’s serial thief strikes again. You’d think with the FBI crawling around town, they wouldn’t dare.”
Bruce rolled his eyes and stepped back, firing his last dart, but too hard. It hit the board and bounced onto the floor. He glanced at J.B. “You want to go see Zoe? You need a ride?”
“I’ve got my Jeep.”
Bruce grinned at him. “You’d think a G-man would drive something snazzier—”
“Want to meet me there?”
He shook his head. “Nah. It’s not my problem.” He glanced sideways at Christina. “Kyle can help her fix her door this time.”
He threw a few bills on the table and grabbed the last of his lobster roll, finishing it on his way out. J.B. went over to Christina’s table. “Your café’s in a well-traveled location. Maybe someone saw something.”
“That’s what the police said—there could be a witness. I don’t know, though. It’s pretty quiet on the docks. It’s so dark and cold—” She sniffled, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t know why I’m this upset. It’s not as if anyone was hurt or there was any serious damage. There’s no reason to think there’s any connection—” she hesitated, then continued as if she wished she hadn’t started “—with anything.”
“I’m glad they didn’t get into my apartment,” Kyle said. “All my materials for my documentary are in the living room, right out in the open.”
Christina angled a look at him. “The police think whoever did it was after cash, not your documentary.” There was no sharpness in her tone. “Still, who knows. None of this makes sense. I suppose I could have caught the attention of some creep now that I’m running a business—oh, who knows.”
J.B. knew what she meant. Speculation only brought more speculation, but it was always a temptation to run various scenarios. He thought of Teddy Shelton and wondered if the police would be talking to him. “I’d like to run down there and see what’s what. Can I do anything for you?”
She shook her head, her smile stronger this time. “No, but thanks. Well, one thing—make sure my sister doesn’t push too hard? She’s bad enough when she has to play by the rules. Now she’s just a regular person.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
He left. He’d had only two bites of his lobster roll, but he wasn’t hungry—or all that fond of lobster, which he kept to himself.
When J.B. got to the town docks, the police had gone. Zoe was sitting on the hood of her VW Beetle staring out at the dark harbor. It was a clear night, starlit, a sliver of a moon sparkling on the quiet water. J.B. could hear the endless whoosh of the tide. It’d be just past high tide now. He was becoming accustomed to its rhythms. Western Montana and the isolated alpine meadow his father had loved seemed far away, a part of a life J.B. wasn’t even sure anymore had really been his. He’d left at eighteen and only went back for summers in college to work as a fishing and hiking guide. He landed in Washington, D.C., as a low-level state department worker, then decided on a career in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He did fieldwork out west, then ended up back in Washington.
His life wasn’t anything like Zoe West’s.
He parked a little way down from her and got out, but before he’d even shut his door, the old guy, the retired judge, was on him. “Agent McGrath? I’m Steven Monroe. My friends call me Stick. I’m a longtime friend of the West family.” He spoke clearly and precisely despite his clenched-jaw look. “You can count me among those who don’t appreciate your attitude or your presence here.”
J.B. shut his door. “Okay.”
Monroe didn’t react. “The break-in yesterday at Christina’s house and today at her café—I think they happened because of you. I checked you out. You should be in a treatment center, not in a town where good people are trying to put a terrible experience behind them.”
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