The sun beat down on Garrett and warmed his shoulders as
he set off down the worn path toward Sarahโs cottage. He
flexed his arm and was happy to note that his shoulder was
limber and not stiff despite the long time heโd spent
traveling and cooped up in a way-too-small seat. Puddle
jumpers werenโt built for men his size, and they were damn
claustrophobic to boot.
Sand got between his toes and between the bottoms of his
feet and the flip-flops. Worthless shoes. He stopped
periodically to shake the sand from them and then
continued on down the beach.
He was careful not to show any undue curiosity as he
neared Sarahโs cottage, though he memorized every detail
of the place from his periphery. Like his accommodations,
it had seen its better days, although hers had underwent
fresh paint recently. Still, it would take nothing to get
inside. A good kick to the doorโor hell, even the wallsโ
and it would probably knock right down.
He continued past, wondering if she was unconcerned as she
appeared. Simply using a fake name to rent a beach house
didnโt guarantee anonymity. Her trail was sloppy all the
way from Boston. Sheโd done a better job of covering her
tracks once she reached Miami, but it still wasnโt clean.
Resnick had been able to find her. Garrett supposed he
couldnโt fault her, though. It wasnโt like people got
lessons in school on how to be a fugitive. Not that she
was classified as a fugitive, but she may as well be.
There were certainly enough people interested in her
whereabouts.
The closer he got to town, the higher the dunes on his
left stacked up. There were a few shoddily fashioned
walkways up over the dune to turnouts on the road. Public
access to the beach, but he hadnโt come across a single
beachgoer on his walk into town.
The sand ran smack into a rock outcropping, and cut into
the stones were steps leading up to a coffee shack. He
climbed but circled around the front to cross the
cobblestone street to where the market was located.
Outside the front were stands of fresh fruits and
vegetables. He bypassed those for now and went inside to
find the essentials. Red meat.
He soon learned that to the locals, โmeatโ meant fish or
other seafood. He grumbled through the selection of ground
meat and winced at only finding two steaks. He bought up
all the pork chops and put a healthy dent in the chicken
breasts. He wasnโt a fish person. Oh, heโd put a hook in
one, but eating them didnโt appeal. Not enough substance.
Which reminded him, he really needed to check out the
local bait shop, pick up a surf casting rod so he could
spend some time fishing. It would give him a good excuse
to be on the beach, where he could watch Sarahโs cottage
and get an idea of her routine.
At least the locals appreciated beer. There was a ton of
variety, and well, when it came to beer, he wasnโt picky.
He picked up several six-packs, tossed them in the cart
and headed down the aisles to see what else he needed to
feed himself for the next while.
Eggs, stuff for his protein shakes. Then he frowned. What
were the odds of his cottage having a blender? He was
lucky to have a few pots and pans to cook in. Cheese,
bread, mayo, mustard and ketchup. Definitely ketchup. What
meal was complete without it?
He smiled at the memory of his mother grumbling about his
need to pour ketchup on everything.
When he finally rolled the cart to the front of the store,
he was treated to several curious stares. It was then he
realized that most everyone else had a basket with maybe
one dayโs worth of food. It took a while to check out
since there was only one clerk, and the line piled up
behind him as everyone waited for all his groceries to be
tallied.
A young guy who looked to be in his teens approached
Garrett as he finished paying.
โYou want I deliver the groceries to where you stay? I can
get my friends to help. We work cheap.โ
Garrett eyed the eager kid. โHow cheap?โ
โTwenty euros apiece.โ
โI wasnโt born yesterday,โ Garrett said dryly. โIโll give
you twenty American and you split it with your friends.โ
The kid beamed at him. โDeal.โ
Garrett pulled out his wallet. โIโm the last cottage down
the beach from the coffee shack.โ
โYes, I know it. Iโll bring them down and leave them on
your porch. Donโt be long. You wouldnโt want your meat to
spoil.โ
No, he didnโt want his food to spoil. Who knew how long it
took the grocery to restock their non-fish meat items.
Since the kid was taking the groceries, Garrett ambled
down to one of the shops that boasted fishing supplies. He
walked in to see the shopkeeper sitting behind the
register with his feet propped up on the counter. He had a
floppy hat pulled low over his eyes, and it looked like he
was taking a nap. Garrett was nearly by him when the guy
tipped up the brim, gave him a cursory onceover and then
nodded.
โFeel free to look around. If you need any help, just
holler.โ
Garrett was surprised to hear an American drawl. Not just
American, but clearly southern. โGot a recommendation for
something to do a little surf fishing with?โ
The shop owner slid his feet off the counter and they
landed with a clunk on the floor. He pushed back the hat
and sized up Garrett more fully. Then he
grunted. โMilitary, though probably not for a few years.
Injury to your shoulder. Recent. Looking for some R and R
and donโt much like other people. Am I right?โ
Garrett raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious.
โRelax. I read people. Nothing much else to do around here
when what little tourist season we have is over.โ He stuck
out his hand to Garrett. โRob Garner. Retired army. Opened
up shop here five years ago. Doesnโt take much to live
here and the sceneryโs good. I got in at a good time. In a
few years, the rest of the world will catch on to what we
have here and the property values will soar. Then I can
sell and live high on the hog.โ
Garrett returned his hand shake. โGarrett Kelly. Marine
Corps. And yeah, here for some R and R and no, I donโt
like people much.โ
Rob laughed and clapped his hands together. โI donโt have
much use for them myself. Now, if you want to do some surf
fishing, Iโd suggest a casting rod that you can get out
there a ways with. Then you can slip it into the holder,
kick back with a beer and wait for the fish to bite. All
the casting and reeling those bass fishermen do is for
idiots. Fishingโs supposed to be relaxing.โ
Garrett cracked a smile. โFuckinโ A.โ
โCome on, Iโll get you what you need. For bait you can use
shad or shrimp. Cut bait is good too.โ
Garrett watched as Rob pulled down about a twelve-foot
rod, handed it to Garrett and then went down another aisle
to get hooks, surf weights and liters. A few moments
later, he piled everything onto the counter. โYouโre all
set. Iโll ring you up and you can be fishing this
afternoon if you want.โ
โThanks. I might do that. Got the beer already. Maybe Iโll
grill some steak and have dinner on the beach.โ
Rob nodded. โYep, that sounds like a pretty good damn day
to me. Enjoy it. If thereโs anything else you need, donโt
hesitate to come back in.โ
Garrett broke down the rod to make it more manageable to
carry, then collected the bag with all the other supplies.
With a nod, he headed back outside.
Hopefully the kid had delivered the groceries while
Garrett was in the bait shop. Breakfast had consisted of a
dry bagel on the plane, and his stomach was doing some
serious protesting. A steak and a little fishing sounded
next to heaven.
He glanced over to the market to see a woman step out, bag
clutched close to her chest. She glanced furtively left
and right and then strode toward the coffee shack. His
pulse picked up. If he wasnโt mistaken, heโd just gotten
his first real-life glimpse of Sarah Daniels.
On impulse, he crossed the street toward the coffee shack.
Heโd intended to take the main road back, but carrying the
fishing pole and supplies, he had a ready excuse to take
the beach path.
When he rounded the corner of the shack, he saw her head
bob down the stone steps leading to the beach. He waited a
moment to give her a bigger head start and then took out
after her.
At first she didnโt realize he was following her. Which
further cemented his opinion that she was hopelessly
naรฏve. When she did look over her shoulder, her eyes
flared in alarm. Then she made a concerted effort to
shield her reaction. She even offered a semblance of a
smile as she took in the fishing gear he carried before
turning around and increasing her pace.
Twice more she turned just enough that she could see him
and each time she sped up. By the time she reached her
cottage, he could tell she was alarmed by the fact he
still trailed her. She hurried up her steps, and in her
haste to open the door, she dropped one of the bags she
carried.
She yanked the door open then turned so she could see him
while she picked up her things. Her gaze never left him as
she shoved the items back into her bag. Garrett found
himself strangely transfixed and unable to look away. The
pictures hadnโt done her justice, nor had they captured
the haunted, frightened eyes rimmed with shadows. She
looked infinitely fragile, scared out of her mind, but he
also saw something else. Maybe it was the way she tried
not to look scared or maybe it was subtle stiffening of
her shoulders and the rebellious twist to her lips. She
was a fighter, not the timid mouse heโd imagined.
Awareness prickled over his skin and tightened the hairs
at his nape. He rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt
to dispel the momentary discomfort. His reaction irritated
and intrigued him all at the same time.
He offered a friendly wave and continued on his way,
though he found it hard to drag his gaze away from her. He
didnโt want her to feel threatened by him, because he
planned to see a lot more of her.
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