Something More (A Well Paired Novel) Page 4

  Her white Converse sneakers had seen better days, but again, smelly fish places didn’t need fancy. Her wardrobe was limited on the fancy anyway. She’d dolled up in her dark skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder bright blue sweater for Jenna’s bachelorette. That was about as fancy as she got.

  As she needed to get. Her weekends were either spent alone in her apartment, hanging with her friends or out at the bars in Rockland. Not that Rockland was a hopping place. But it was a billion times bigger than Crystal Cove.

  She had friends in Rockland. Well, maybe not friends in the same way Hope, Lily, and the gang here were. Jo, Dilly, and Kandy were her barhopping girls. They worked as secretaries and receptionists a half-hour away and were always available on a Friday or Saturday night.

  “Again. Blow the pity party, Mia.” Scooping up her keys from the counter and tossing her messenger bag over her shoulder, she did a quick scan of her measly kitchen space making sure the burners were off—not that they’d been on in quite some time. She hadn’t cooked on the stove in over a week and hadn’t made breakfast for herself in twice as long.

  The stairs leading out of her apartment were a bitch to handle on crutches and when she had to wear her walking boot. They didn’t cause her any trouble now, but every now and then when a storm was brewing she could feel it in her bones.

  Deeming the sky must be cloudless, she hurried down the stairs and to her car. The drive along the coast was pretty, as always. Too often Mia took her hometown for granted. Sure, it was small, the shopping sparse; the only bar in town was The Happy Clam, even though it was really a family restaurant and not a bar.

  In her teens and twenties, she’d felt claustrophobic here. There weren’t any bad memories. No bullying in school. No terrible, emotional boyfriend breakups. Life had been easy, if not a tad boring.

  It was why she sought her fun and entertainment in other towns, but she knew better than to bring them back to the Cove. She respected her family and the people of her town enough to keep her wild party antics away.

  And it gave her a piece of solidarity when she needed it. Which seemed to be more often than not lately.

  Following the scenic ocean drive to the fishery, she listened to her eighties rock playlist and hoped the impromptu field trip would give her some inspiration for her next project.

  A month ago, she’d bitten the bullet and sent her children’s book to a handful of agents and publishers. She’d done her research and was on a ton of online forums. She knew to expect hundreds of rejections before—if—she got a contract.

  Pulling into a spot between a battered, rusty white Ford pick-up and a shiny black Chevy Silverado, she parked her little hybrid Honda.

  “Here we go, Parker. Get your head out of your ass and focus.” She’d been doing a lot of that lately. Talking to herself. Out loud. Good thing she was single and lived alone.

  Or maybe it was because she was single and lived alone. Looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she opened her door and stepped out into the cool ocean breeze. Mornings were chilly along the coast, but it would be warm and beautiful in a few hours. Wishing she’d brought a coat, she folded her arms across her chest and crossed the parking lot.

  The reception area was small and dingy, as she’d expected. A low counter partially shielded a woman sitting at a desk.

  “Good morning. I’m Mia Parker. I spoke with Stan earlier today about a tour.”

  The woman lifted a hand from her keyboard and held up a finger, signaling for Mia to wait while she finished typing.

  Mia stepped away and paced the entry area. A steel door to the right was closed, a keypad installed on it next to the handle, and the hall to the left was guarded by a windowed door.

  Apparently, whatever was behind door number one was more valuable than door number two.

  “Stan,” she heard the receptionist say. “A Mia Parker is here. Should I send her through? Uh huh. Okay.” She put the phone down and lifted her head to Mia. “Second door on the right.” She pointed to the windowed door.

  “Thank you.” As Mia reached for the handle, the door buzzed and clicked.

  Opening the door, she expected to be accosted by the familiar smell of fish. She’d grown used to it growing up so close to the sea. A good chunk of the population in her town were fishermen.

  Heading down the hall, she wasn’t surprised by the industrial look. Cement floor, white-ish walls. At the second door, she stopped and knocked.

  “C’mon in.”

  Mia opened it and stepped into a cluttered office. A man close to her father’s age sat behind a desk littered with papers, files, two walkie talkies, a desktop, a laptop, and a dozen donuts.

  “Help yerself.” He pointed at the box of calories waiting to attach itself to her butt.

  “I’m all set, thank you.” She hefted her bag up on her shoulder and waited for Stan to indicate he was ready to give her the tour.

  “You’ll have to ‘xcuse this mess. Government’s been breathing down our necks with paperwork.”

  Oh! There was a story here. Some scandal she could retell with starfish and lobsters.

  “Why does the government care about the fishery?”

  “Don’t even get me started. Used to be about regulating the catches. Controlling the prices. Making sure no one’s pollutin’ our oceans. Nowadays it’s like they’re looking for a trouble.”

  She’d ask why but wasn’t much interested in the paperwork and political side of the job. She wanted to learn about the sea creatures. How they populated. How they interacted with each other.

  Maybe visiting a fishery was a bad idea.

  “I’m not sure how much I can tell you about it. Gov’ment’s pretty tight lipped about things like this. What kinda book did you say you were writing?”

  So maybe he hadn’t paid as much attention on the phone as she’d thought. Curling her hand around the strap of her bag, she gave him a polite smile.

  “I’m writing a children’s book. Hopefully a series if it all goes well.”

  “About a fishery?” He took a jelly donut from the box and held it out to her.

  Mia lifted her palm, declining the temptation. “Not exactly.” She rifled through her bag and pulled out her notebook. “My characters are sea creatures. I’d like to write about some of the lesser known ones. Educate children but also tell a fun story.”

  “Hmm.” Stan scratched his white mustache. He bit into the donut, and a squirt of jelly plopped on his belly. By the look of his stained yellow shirt, it wasn’t the first food to ever fall on his protruding stomach. “I was thinking you were a thriller writer.”

  She’d never implied that on the phone, but if he was as unorganized as his desk made him appear, she figured he’d half-listened while he stared at his mess.

  “Maybe I could take a look around? Learn about the different breed of fish you work with?”

  “Breed?” Stan laughed, the jelly on his stomach sliding down to his jeans. “You mean species.”

  “See? This is why I need an expert.”

  Stan was starting to irritate her, but if she rolled her eyes at him he wouldn’t be as willing to help her. The phone on his desk rang, and he let out a curse before picking it up.

  “Yeah?” He stuffed the rest of the donut in his mouth while he listened to the caller. “Well isn’t that grand,” he said around the mouthful of fat and cholesterol.

  A few more grunts, groans, and snorts and he hung up.

  “I’m sorry to impose when it looks like you’re buried deep in work.” It had been a mistake coming here. The aquarium down in Boston would be her better bet. No patronizing fishermen to deal with.

  “The paperwork never ends. I got a guy I can lend you, though. He can bring you for a walk-through of the facility. He’s doing an internship and is always pestering me with questions and things to do around here.”

  “It’s okay, really.” Mia stuffed her notebook back in her bag. “I’ve taken up too much of your time already.”

/>   If she’d been a thriller writer, or a male, she would have been worth his time, she figured.

  “Wait right here, darling.” He picked up his walkie talkie. “James. Come on down to my office. I gotta job for ya.”

  Stan opened the donut box again, this time reaching for a chocolate cruller. He lifted it to her.

  “No thanks. I’m good.” She’d skipped breakfast, but the combination of fish, cleaning product, and sugar did not settle right with her.

  There was a light tap on the door, and Stan yelled out a gruff, “C’mon in.”

  “James, this is...” He pushed around some papers and came up with a yellow Post-it. “Mia Parker. She’s a, er, writer looking for info on fish.”

  Mia turned to introduce herself to the intern she’d been passed off to and nearly choked.

  “You.”

  His baseball cap wasn’t as low as it was the day she ran into him on the beach, and his sunglasses were propped up on the bill of his hat instead of perched on his nose, but he wore the same pressed khakis and light blue button-down.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew—or hoped—she’d run into him here. It was this stranger who inadvertently planted the idea to check out the local fishing areas for inspiration.

  Not that he’d said it in so many words. His weird hydrologist title had her brainstorming all the possible places she could call and visit for some sea creature inspiration.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Parker.” He lifted a brow and held out a hand for her as if they’d never crossed paths before.

  Eyeing him with skepticism, she held out her hand to shake his.

  “You’ll show her around? She’s a—” The ringing telephone cut him off, and Stan stopped to answer it.

  “Come on.” James turned and headed down the hall.

  “Yeah. Don’t wait up or anything,” Mia muttered under her breath, hurrying her short legs to catch up with his long stride while still taking the time to check out the way his butt filled out the plain khakis.

  He stopped at the end of the hall, sliding his ID badge through a scanner, and even held the door open for her.

  “Thanks for not closing it on my face.” They walked side-by-side. His shoulders were eye-level so she had to crane her neck to look up at him.

  Not that he was super tall, but she was super short.

  They hurried down a maze of hallways until he scanned his card again, and they entered a private office. She stepped in and he closed the door behind him.

  It wasn’t much larger than Stan’s, but where his had been a mess, this one was tiny and sparse.

  “Sit,” James ordered.

  “Is stay your next command?”

  He pulled at the ends of the blond hair that poked through the bottom of his hat.

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “Um, okay.” She curled her lip at James’ lack of manners and made herself comfortable in a black plastic chair. “I know there are different species of fish. I know you guys monitor them here and—”

  “What do you know about me?” James folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door in what was supposed to be an intimidating stance, but Mia wasn’t buying it.

  The man played with fish and ocean water and lectured innocent beach goers. What kind of macho tough guy did he think he was? Yeah, his biceps might have rounded and bulged slightly, and his sleeves might have stretched a little from the strain of the muscle, but it wasn’t like he was The Rock or anything.

  “You’re the intern.” She wouldn’t have been so demeaning if he hadn’t been such a rude jerk to her.

  “And.” He pushed himself off the door and loomed over her.

  Standing wouldn’t give her much of a height advantage, but it would help her feel less like a child being reprimanded by a teacher.

  “And you have an obsession with seaweed, you don’t work with hydrants, and you’re supposed to answer my questions about the kinds of fish and crap that you guys work with. And if you even remotely suggest that I’m stalking you or knew you worked here I’ll throat punch you and chop you into a million pieces then feed you to the sharks.”

  James narrowed his eyes at her, and a sudden awareness tickled in her belly. Must have been from his aftershave, which was a nice distraction from the industrial cleaner smell she’d been inhaling for the past thirty minutes.

  Zeroing in on his eyes, she noticed something else, though. Something familiar. It was the intensity of his stare that had her. As if afraid she’d read his thoughts, James backed away and moved the bill of his cap back and forth, lowering it to shield more of his face.

  “Let’s go.” He yanked the door open and didn’t wait for her to follow.

  “Jerk.” This time she didn’t care how loud she said it.

  The slight waver in James’ stride told her he heard it. Once again, she followed his lead until they entered what looked like a warehouse, but with gigantic pools of fish.

  “Questions?” He crossed his arms again, but this time he didn’t give her a stare down. His gaze flickered from worker to worker, station to station, and he continually checked his watch.

  “Sure.” Knowing this was all a waste of time, she pulled her notebook from her bag and asked the question she’d left off with in Stan’s office. “What species of fish do you typically monitor here?”

  For the first time this morning, his shoulders relaxed. “Basically, there are three main groups. The cartilaginous, the jawless, and the bony fish.”

  Ah! Now he was sounding like the marine biologist dork she’d met down at the beach. It seemed Mr. James Marine Hydrologist couldn’t carry a conversation about normal stuff, but talking about the little fishies of the sea got him to open up.

  For the next hour she fired question after question at him about what they did at the plant, why they did it, and if there were any crazy stories to tell, which he had none.

  “What made you interested in learning about marine life?” he asked.

  They stopped by the break room, and he offered her a water bottle. She unscrewed the cap and sipped before answering. “Honestly? It was sixth grade science. We all had to research a sea creature of some sort. We drew out of a hat, and I pulled the sea cucumber. I made this huge poster and even brought in a real cucumber, dressing it up as its marine cousin.”

  They walked as they talked, now outside, touring the oceanfront. “Sixth grade was some time ago. Why are you pursuing it now?”

  With a heavy sigh, Mia dropped to a bench. “I was given the gift of time a while ago after an accident I was in. It gave me some time to reflect. I’ve always loved to draw, and I learned children’s stories kind of amuse me. Living so close to the ocean, it seemed fitting to combine the three.”

  “I think that’s great. Following your passion.”

  “Wow. An hour ago you were James the Jerk Face. Now look at us, having a nice conversation like two regular people.”

  He chuckled next to her, and again that stirring thing happened. Had to have been the lack of breakfast and the concoction of smells.

  “James the Jerk Face,” he repeated.

  “Sorry. But you were pretty jerky to me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Whatevs. I tend to say what I want when I want, so I get that some people don’t jive well with my rashness.”

  “Noted.”

  His cell rang, and he shifted to his side to reach for it in his pocket. Before answering, he gave Mia a sideways glance and then tilted the phone away from her.

  “Excuse me.” He got up from the bench and walked a good twenty feet from her, turning to face her as he talked.

  She could see his lips move, barely, but couldn’t make out a word. His entire demeanor changed when he took the call. Weird. In the few encounters she’d had with James, he’d shown her about forty-two different personalities.

  Best to keep him at arm’s distance. Checking to make sure her notebook was in her bag, she looped her finger thro
ugh her key chain and swirled it around.

  “I gotta go,” she mouthed to him. Waving her finger at him, she made her way back into the building and to her car.

  “That was so weird.” She drove home confused at her reaction to the man.

  There was something off about him, that was for sure. It was like they’d met before. Other than on the beach. He was hiding something from her, and she shouldn’t really care.

  The fishery didn’t help her writer’s block at all, and chances were good she’d never see James again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ryan rested his elbows on the counter and rubbed his temples, willing his headache away. Taking on New England—more specifically, Maine—cases was supposed to alleviate the pressure behind his eyes, and ease the ulcer in his stomach, not make them worse.

  Even though both cases weren’t high profile, he still treated them as if they were. Funny that his most high-profile one wasn’t the one that caused the flare up in his stomach and head.

  The higher ups wanted to close the case on Veronica Stewart-Gervais, aka Lily Novak, now Lily Parker. And for all intents and purposes it was closed. Ryan liked being the only one who knew her identity. The only link that knew Damian Gervais’ wife was still alive.

  As long as he was locked up in prison, and the one hundred thirty-year sentence should ensure that, Lily was safe. Still, he’d keep the murdering jewel thief on his radar, and make sure Lily and her friends and family were safe.

  Well, her new family. The Stewarts were dead and buried, but now she had the Parkers. A husband, a mother and father-in-law, and a sister-in-law.

  A petite sister-in-law swimming in an ocean of snark. The woman had a mouth on her that wouldn’t stop.

  Ryan lifted his head and went to the sink for a glass of water. He’d appreciated her catlike attention on him at the casino a few weeks ago when she thought he was interested in Lily.

  It made him feel better knowing his witness had watchful eyes looking out for her, even if he had tried to convince Lily not to confide in those closest to her.

  Just because his confidences had failed him didn’t mean hers would. He hoped. Not that he had a renowned faith in humankind, just in Lily’s circle.