“Why?” he asked as his eyes narrowed. When his uncle wouldn’t meet his eyes, KC’s suspicions ticked up.
“Well, you see... Jinx kind of ate something that didn’t agree with him last week and got sick all over the couch. It stunk to high heaven, and I couldn’t get the stains out, so I had to get rid of it. I haven’t had time to pick out a new one yet.”
Frowning, he glared at the sleeping dog. “I told you he was a useless mutt. Now, I have to find another place to crash for four weeks or until you replace your damn couch. Guess I’ll call Brian.”
“Uh, that won’t work either.”
Sigh.“Why the hell not?”
“One of his buddies from the police department got kicked out by his wife, so the guy has been bunking on Brian’s couch until he finds an apartment.”
“Wonderful. Great. What am I supposed to do now?” KC planted his hands on his hips. He wasn’t driving back to Little Creek to spend his leave on base, and Sean was all the way in Florida. He hadfriends in Whisper, but none he wanted to impose on for a month.
“There’s a perfectly good bed back at the house.”
Dan dipped his chin and pretended to read a few invoices to hide his smile, but KC still noticed it anyway.
What the hell is the old man up to?
“Your renter has made it perfectly clear she doesn’t want a housemate.”
“She has, has she? Well then, why don’t I talk to Maura, explain the problem, and see if she wouldn’t mind putting up with your surly butt for a few days?” He shrugged. “Until I get a new couch, that is.”
A grunt came from deep in his chest. “I’m not surly.” He ignored his uncle’s snort of disagreement. “And I don’t need you to solve my problems for me. I’ll talk to her.”
His uncle chuckled. “Well, the least you could do is turn on some of the famous Malone charm you allegedly inherited instead of looking like an ogre.”
He laughed even harder when KC rolled his eyes, pasted on an unnatural smile, and flashed the older man his middle finger.
Moriah scanned the deserted beach in both directions before stepping down from the elevated deck to the patio. Early May kept the shoreline quiet—too cool for sunbathers and swimmers. Kids were still in school, and tourist season was another week or two away. Over the weekend, a few body surfers had braved the water, and scattered walkers and joggers had passed by, but today was a workday. The beach lay empty.
She checked the driveway and the street. Nothing. No cars, no movement, no one watching.
Only then did she return to the patio.
Like most beach houses in the area, this one sat on stilts, high enough—along with the dunes—to avoid flooding during the worst storms over the past sixty years. Ducking beneath it, she crab-crawled across the packed sand to one of the center supports and knelt. The surface looked untouched since yesterday.
She dug until her fingers hit nylon, uncovering the black gym bag and dragging it partway free. The zipper rasped loudly in the quiet as she opened it, the sound seeming too sharp, too loud for the stillness around her. Inside, bundles of cash were stacked tight—almost a hundred thousand dollars. Even now, she couldn’t wrap her head around thatkind of money. Money her family had been killed for. The reason she was on the run.
Her throat tightened. She blinked hard and reached in, pulling several hundred-dollar bills from one of the bundles. Enough for now.
After zipping the bag closed, she shoved it back into the hole and smoothed the sand until it looked undisturbed. No signs or reasons for anyone to look twice.
Stuffing the money into her back pocket, she crawled out from beneath the house and rose on the patio. Another sweep of the yard. Still nothing. Good.
She brushed the sand from her jeans and hands, then headed inside.
After lunch, she’d walk the seven blocks to Main Street and the general store. Just a few essentials—nothing that would slow her down when it was time to leave Whisper.
The cash wasn’t marked. It had to be clean. No way would drug dealers tag their own money.
It was the only thing keeping her alive. And she planned to keep it that way.
Back in the kitchen, as she spread peanut butter across a slice of bread, a car pulled into the driveway. The engine cut, and her hand stilled.
She knew who it probably was, but that didn’t mean she relaxed. Moving quietly to the window, she peeked out and watched KC climb from a shiny black Dodge Charger. The car fit him—sleek, dark, and a little dangerous.
A few moments later, she was pouring a glass of milk when the back door opened without warning. She jumped, her heart kicking hard, as he stepped inside.
