My Killer Vacation

She gasps.

The sound of the ocean immediately cuts out.

“Great.” The guilt is back. Thicker than ever. “She hung up.”

With a gritted curse—and my nerves running loose in every direction—I pick up speed.

Chapter 7

Taylor

I don’t even look at Myles when he arrives.

Continuing to stare straight out at the ocean, I point wordlessly toward the hill where I spotted the gun earlier, chin raised. As soon as I hear the evidence bag open and I’m confident he has found the weapon, I sail in the direction of Coriander Lane and our rental house. I’ve already texted Jude to let him know I’m heading home, though he probably won’t see the text for an hour. When the conversation interests my brother, the way it was at tonight’s impromptu get-together, he becomes thoroughly absorbed and forgets to look at his phone. It’s another one of the things I love about him. His ability to give someone his undivided attention and make them feel like they are the only human being left on planet earth.

Speaking of very few beings being left on earth, if Myles and I were the last people in existence, that would spell a very tragic end to the human race.

Not only does he refuse to eliminate me from his list of suspects, but his lack of gratitude is unspeakable. The only reason I didn’t call the Barnstable PD is my concern over their apparent unwillingness to look at anyone but Judd Forrester. Well, next time I discover a murder weapon, I am going straight to them. I’ve already mentally deleted Myles Sumner’s number from my phone. Poof. What bounty hunter?

I can’t believe he called me Shaquille.

“Taylor,” says the bounty hunter from behind me. In his deep, dumb, sexy rasp. “You’re really going to ignore me?”

I don’t respond.

Take that, bucko.

“I act like an idiot when I’m worried,” he says, making me frown. “You’re right, I was worried about you. Can you slow down now?”

If anything, I walk faster, alarmed.

I’m not sure about this…swooping sensation inside of me. It starts at my chest and scoops down into my stomach, moving things around. Things I wasn’t expecting Myles to jostle. I’ve never been jostled before and I am very wary about this man—who just poked fun at my childhood trauma so cavalierly—having that power over me.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the sensitive type. That’s one of the reasons I’m divorced.”

Oh, damn. Now I’m curious.

He’s divorced. This little nugget of information is like an untied shoelace. My fingers are itching to make a bow. There is no use pretending I’m not dying to know more about this surly, antagonistic man, is there? A few questions won’t hurt, as long as I’m casual about them, right?

My steps slow down, ever so slightly.

“Well?” I cross my arms tightly over my boobs to offset my concession. “What are the other reasons you’re divorced?”

Behind me, he grunts. Silence stretches.

“Before I started bounty hunting, I was a detective. Boston PD. Like my father and brother. It’s the family business.” He clears his throat. “My brother and I….we were spitballing about retiring early. Opening a private investigation firm. I was getting ready to file the paperwork with HR, but I wanted to tie up the Christopher Bunton case. A kidnapping. I…don’t know. This kid, the one who’d been taken, reminded me of a childhood friend. My best friend, Bobby. He was sick when we were kids. And he didn’t make it.”

I slow down a whole lot more, my arms dropping to my sides.

“Paul, the guy who hired me to do this job? We both knew Bobby. The three of us were best friends as kids and that’s probably why I felt…I don’t know. Responsible. When he called and asked me for help following up on Oscar Stanley’s murder.”

“Oh.” I let out an exhale that does nothing to ease the mounting pressure in my breast. “I didn’t realize. I didn’t think about how you knew Lisa’s boyfriend.”

“It’s fine. Anyway, this kidnapped boy looked just like Bobby. I got too invested. I stopped going home. This case…I was obsessed with it and that’s the kiss of death for a detective. When you stop being objective and let your emotions start making decisions for you. And I fucked it up. The case and the marriage.” He laughs, but there is no humor involved. “When I got home one day, the place was empty, like I kind of suspected it would be. Got the divorce papers maybe a month later. I’d been so checked out, I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d spoken.”

There are a lot of blanks to be filled into the story, but his curt ending tells me he’s said all he’s willing to say. “I can’t imagine you proposing to someone.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Because it’s a vulnerable moment. Waiting for an answer.”