Wicked Secrets (Men of Discovery Island 3)

Not that Rutland was any kind of inner city ghetto with urban blight on display on every corner. Nope. The clapboard houses in his hometown were run-down some, but when the snow fell or the leaves changed, pretty enough. The problem had been the baggies of drugs flowing in from urban centers, marked up and selling fast. He’d had friends boast about fortunes made selling heroin they’d bought off the runners who made daily trips from New York City to Vermont.

More than one of his high school friends had kept hidden stashes of cash, guns and drugs, tooling around in an SUV and making deals. Just blue-collar folks sucked into a morass of drugs and all the accompanying bad shit. It was your neighbor breaking into your house and boosting your electronics because he was jonesing for a fix and flat broke. Tag had lost a girlfriend to drug addiction. He’d stuck it out for as long as possible, but then he’d finally had to let go. He had a feeling, though, Daeg was going to have the happy ending.

“You’ll be a dead man if Dani catches you eyeing the scenery.” A grin split Cal’s face.

“Right.” Daeg rocked back on his heels. “And Piper won’t mind at all if you’re looking at other women.”

Cal held up a hand. “Hey, you started it. I’m just finishing things here. Closing the loop. Making sure you all behave.”

Right. While Cal and Daeg bickered amicably, Sleeping Beauty woke up. Levering herself away from the tree and grabbing her towel, she wrapped the blue-and-white stripes around her like a cloak, bent over and threw up. Then she curled into a small ball, as if even the thought of moving was too much. He knew the feeling, but he also knew the skies were close to opening up and drenching the beach. She couldn’t stay where she was. She’d either be brained by errant coconuts or drowned.

Maybe she was drunk.

Or had some kind of virulent bird flu.

Whatever her issue, it wasn’t his problem. Still, when she heaved again, his own gut twinged in sympathy. Daeg frowned, and Tag didn’t have to look over at Cal to know the other man’s face reflected a similar concern. None of them could walk past a civilian in need of a rescue.

“She need an assist?” Cal fished his cell phone out of his pocket, clearly running possible rescue missions through his head.

“Ouch.” Daeg winced sympathetically as the subject of their attention hunched over, looking more miserable by the second.

Surely someone would show up and lead her off. She couldn’t be here by herself. One set of dry heaves later, however, and she was still alone. Damn it.

Daeg hummed a few bars of the Lone Ranger theme music. “He’s going to do it.”

Cal looked at him. “Yep.”

Tag didn’t even have to ask. “Someone has to rescue her. You two could volunteer.”

“Sure, but we don’t have to,” Cal admitted cheerfully. “We’ve got you to go in for us. Plus, you’re the only one who’s still single, just in case she’s like Mrs. Damiano and decides rescue service is a synonym for dating service.”

Daeg hesitated. The guy’s white-knight complex would get him into serious trouble someday. Pot meet kettle. “You’ll take care of her?”

“Yeah.” Joking aside, it went without saying none of them would leave a woman alone on a beach in distress. Since he was the only one who didn’t have someone waiting at home for him, he figured that made him tonight’s rescuer elect. “I’ve got her.”

“If you need help—” Again, some things didn’t have to be said.

He flipped Cal the bird. “I’m good. Go get on with your life. Kiss Piper for me. Have some fun.”

He strode down the boardwalk, hung a left and crunched his way out onto the sand. Yeah, he liked his combat boots because, sue him, the military gave good boot. Part of him thought rushing to the lady’s rescue was a stupid idea, but then she made a small sound of distress and finished unloading the contents of her stomach on the palm tree next to his bike. Okay, scratch that.

She needed help.

Five feet away and closing fast, he spotted a flash of pink. Which could have been a coincidence. Plenty of women had pink swimsuits, and the last female he’d seen in a pink swimsuit was supposed to be on a cruise ship at sea. Not here.

Two feet out, he scuffed the sand because he didn’t want to add a heart attack to the woman’s woes. She had the towel pulled up over her head like a cloak, one suntanned arm braced against the sand. This close, he could read the word bridesmaid on her arm where someone had written it in sunscreen. It was the kind of practical joke he’d play on Daeg—or that Mia’s bridesmaids might have thought up. Damn it.