Deep Cover Detective

“Yep.”

“Stop right there,” she called out. “Eddie said the sign’s perfect.”

Danny gave them both a thumbs-up, and the sound of hammers soon shattered the early-morning quiet. Snowy egrets flushed from a nearby copse of trees and the razor-sharp palmetto bushes that separated her little piece of town from Bubba’s and the rest of the Main Street businesses. On the other side of her B and B, more trees and lush, perpetually wet undergrowth formed a thick barrier between the inn and Last Chance Church. Beyond that, there was only the new airboat dock and the swamp with its ribbons of lily-pad-clogged canals.

She loved the illusion of privacy and serenity that the greenery provided, along with the natural beauty that her artist’s soul craved. Being this close to nature, instead of seeing concrete and steel skyscrapers out her attic-bedroom window every day, was one of the reasons she’d returned to her hometown after being gone for so many years. But not the only reason.

“You’re right, Eddie. It’s perfect. You have a good eye.”

He flushed a light red and awkwardly cleared his throat. It practically broke Silver’s heart knowing how much her compliments meant to Eddie. He was like a stray cat. Once offered a meal or, in her case, friendship and encouragement, he’d made a regular habit of making excuses to visit her.

Unlike a stray, he wasn’t homeless. But since he’d turned eighteen a few weeks ago and was technically an adult, he would be homeless soon. His foster parents, Tony and Elisa Jones, were anxious for him to move out so they could put another foster kid in his bedroom and continue to receive their monthly stipend from the state. Eddie was supposed to be looking for a job every day in Naples, but Silver suspected he was up to something else entirely. Probably hanging out with the wrong crowd, like Ron Dukes or Charlie Tate, the two little hoodlums she blamed for half the trouble that Eddie got into.

In spite of their friendship, Silver didn’t know all that much about him except that, unlike her, he hadn’t grown up here. She knew he didn’t have any blood relatives. But whenever she’d tried to get him to open up about his past, he would shut down and disappear for days. So she’d stopped asking.

Town gossip, assuming it could be trusted, said that Eddie had spent over half his life in the foster system. And for some reason, even though there had been interest off and on, no one had ever adopted him.

It was a chicken-and-egg kind of thing. Did he continually get into trouble because he didn’t have a family, or did he not have a family because he kept getting into trouble? Either way, he was too young to be thrown away like a piece of garbage. He had potential, and she fervently hoped he would turn his life around one day, before it was too late.

Danny Thompson and his friend exchanged a wave with her as they folded their ladders and headed back to Callahan’s. Buddy was probably champing at the bit for Danny’s return. The morning airboat tours couldn’t start without him to pilot one of the three boats. But Danny had insisted there was plenty of time to help her hang the sign before the boats were due to push off. After all, the tourists were enjoying the “free” breakfast portion of the tour package right now at Callahan’s.

It was a point of contention between Fredericka “Freddie” Callahan and Labron Williams, the owner of Gators and Taters, the only official restaurant in town. Callahan’s was a bar, and had added the “grill” part of their service only after Buddy decided to add breakfast as a stop on his daily tours. Labron felt the tours should have breakfast at his place and was furious with Freddie for undercutting his bid. But, secretly, Silver believed that Labron—who’d always run a lunch-and-dinner-only place anyway—just wanted an excuse to see Freddie every day, thus the melodramatic feud going on between them.

“I brought something else that I think will look good in your inn,” Eddie said.

She noted the brown bag tucked under his left arm and had to fight to hold on to her smile. Please don’t let that be another expensive piece of art that I know you can’t afford.

He pulled a short, thick, cobalt-blue vase out of the bag.

Oh, Eddie. What have you done now?

Unable to resist the urge to touch the beautiful piece, she reverently took it and held it up to watch the sunlight sparkle through it. The color was exquisite, so deep and pure it almost hurt to look at it. She’d never seen anything like it and was quite sure she never would again. It was a one-of-a-kind creation. And probably worth more than she’d earn in a month. She carefully lowered it and handed it back to him.

“It’s gorgeous. Where do you manage to find such incredible pieces?”

“Here and there,” he answered with a vague wave of his free hand while he hefted the vase in the other, making her heart clutch in her chest at the thought of him dropping it. “Do you want it or not?”

Yes. Desperately. She absolutely adored all things blue. Opening her eyes every morning to the sun filtering through that thick glass and reflecting the color on the walls of her bedroom would be like waking up in heaven. But she could never afford it. Still, letting it go wasn’t an option, either. No telling where the vase might end up, and whether its new owner would realize how precious it was or be careful to keep it from harm.

Once again, she’d have to become the temporary caretaker of a priceless piece of art to keep it from falling into someone else’s hands, at least until she could figure out how to return it to its rightful owner—along with several other pieces Eddie had brought to her over the past few months. If he ever suspected what she knew about him, and her ulterior motives for coming back to Mystic Glades, he’d disappear faster than a sandbar in high tide. And then she’d have no way to protect him or help him out of the mess he was making of his life.

“How much?” she asked, careful not to let her disappointment in him show in her voice.

He chewed his bottom lip, clearly debating how much he thought he could get. “Fifty dollars?”

She blinked in genuine surprise. He had no clue what that vase was worth. Add a couple more zeroes to the end of his fifty-dollar price and it would be much closer to the true value.

“Forty-five?” he countered, probably thinking she was shocked because the price he’d asked was too high.

Knowing that he’d expect her to bargain with him, she shook her head and played the game. “I can’t afford that, not with all the expenses of opening the inn. I just spent a small fortune at the Take or Trade to get a shipment of fresh fruit and vegetables for my guests tomorrow.” She eyed the blue vase in his hand again. “Will you take...thirty?”

The rumble of an engine had them both looking up the street to see a black muscle car of some kind heading toward them. Silver didn’t recognize it, so she assumed it was probably a tourist. But even that seemed odd, since most tourists didn’t drive here—they came by airboat, courtesy of Buddy’s new tour company. Almost no one but the residents of Mystic Glades could even find the access road off Alligator Alley.

“Thirty’s fine.” Eddie’s gaze darted between Silver and the approaching car. He tended to be shy and nervous, even around people he knew. So she could understand his trepidation around a stranger. But was there something more to it this time? He seemed more nervous than usual.

“You can pay me later. I’ll put the vase inside.” He jogged to the steps and rushed into the B and B, letting one of the stained-glass double doors slam closed behind him.

Silver winced, half-expecting the glass inset to shatter. When it didn’t, she let out a breath of relief. It had taken her weeks to design and painstakingly put together the glass in those doors. And she didn’t have the money to fix anything until her first paying customers arrived tomorrow.

Or until payment for her other job was deposited into her banking account.

She turned around as the black car pulled into one of the new parking spots she’d had paved just last week—with real asphalt instead of the dirt and gravel that dominated the rest of the town. Just one more thing to set her inn apart, a diamond in a sea of charcoal. Not that she minded charcoal. She’d made many a sketch with paper and charcoal pencil, some of which were hanging on the walls inside. But she wanted her place to sparkle, to be different, special. She’d paid, and was still paying, a hefty price for the inn. She needed everything to be perfect.

As she watched the sporty car, the driver’s door popped open and a cool-drink-of-water of a man stepped out. Silver’s concerns about Eddie faded as she appraised the driver, studying every line, every angle, appreciating every nuance the same way she would any fine piece of art. Because he was definitely a work of art.

Graphite. If she sketched him, that was what she’d use—a graphite pencil across a dazzlingly white sheet of paper. The waves in his shoulder-length, midnight-black hair would look amazing against a bright background. And that stubble that stretched up his deeply tanned jaw? She could capture that with a pointillism technique, then shade it ever so carefully to emphasize his strong bone structure.

Her fingers itched with the desire to slide over his sculpted biceps not covered by his ebony, chest-hugging T-shirt. The curves of those muscles were perfect, gorgeous, the way God meant them to be. And his lips...they were sensual, yet strong, and far too serious. She would want to draw them smiling. Otherwise, the black-and-white sketch would be too severe, intimidating. Yes, definitely smiling.

She tapped her chin and studied the narrowing of his waist where his dark T-shirt hung over his jeans. Did he have one of those sexy V’s where the abdominal muscles tapered past his hips? She’d bet he did. And his thick, muscular thighs filled out his faded jeans as if they’d been tailored—which maybe they had. A man like him, so tall and perfectly proportioned, probably couldn’t buy off-the-rack.

Scuffed brown boots peeked out from the ragged hem of his pants, making her smile. A cowboy in the Glades. That might be a fun way to draw him, maybe with a lasso thrown around that big stuffed gator Buddy had recently put in his store, Swamp Buggy Outfitters, to draw in tourists. She’d have to add a hat, of course. Or she could change those boots to snakeskin and draw him—

“Ma’am? Hello?”

She blinked and focused on his face. He must have been talking to her for a moment, but she hadn’t heard him. No surprise there. Happened all the time. He stood a few feet away, his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets, watching her with a curious expression.

As she fully met his gaze for the first time, something inside her shifted beneath an avalanche of shock and pleasure. His eyes...they were the exact shade of cobalt blue as the vase. They were, quite simply, amazing. Beautiful. Incredibly intriguing. Her fingers twitched against her palms as if she were already grasping a pencil. Or maybe a paintbrush.

His eyes widened, and she realized she still hadn’t said anything. “Sorry, hello,” she said. “I tend to stare at people or things and zone out.”

The almost-grin that curved his sensual lips seemed to be a mix of amusement and confusion—an unfortunate combination of emotions that she was quite used to people feeling around her. When she was a child, it had hurt her feelings. As an adult, she felt like telling people to just grow up and deal with it. So she was different. So what? Everyone was different in one way or another. That was what made the world interesting.

He motioned toward the inn. “Yours?”

“Yep. You looking for a place to stay?”

“What makes you think I’m not a local?”

She laughed. “Not only are you not a local, you’ve never been here before or you’d know that was a silly question. There are only a few hundred residents in Mystic Glades. And there’s not a stranger in the bunch. We all know each other.”

“What about that young man I saw go inside a minute ago? You know him, too?”

Her smile faded. Was this one of the men Eddie was mixed up with? This man, as ruggedly gorgeous as he was—looked like the wrong crowd, dangerous even. She crossed her arms. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “Just testing your theory—that you know everyone. Maybe he’s a tourist like me. Doesn’t matter.” He held out his hand. “I’m Colton Graham. And if you’ve got a room available tonight, I’d appreciate a place to stay.”

She reluctantly shook his hand, not quite ready to trust his claim of being a tourist. “Silver Westbrook.”