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She glanced over at Jake, and he gave her that sympathetic smile again. She wasn't sure how she would ever be able to repay him for this. If Randy thought he had issues now, she could just imagine how his life would be if he had a DUI on his record. If that had happened, a few missed days of work would've been the least of his issues.
"If I can ever repay you for this, just let me know," Holly told Jake, knowing she was going to have to do something for him. Right then, she just wasn't sure what. But the smirk Jake gave made her shiver, and she wondered just what she might've gotten herself into.
"Oh, I'm sure I can think of something." For a brief moment, Holly swore his eyes roamed up and down her body. But considering she wore a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, she knew she'd imagined it. Then, he turned his gaze on her sleeping brother, and she knew it had to have been just her imagination going wild. "Did you get the tire replaced on your Jag?"
Holly nodded. She took a deep breath and then let it out as she turned her own attention back to her brother. She'd had Cara drive her over to the cabana the other day, and the body shop was kind enough to meet her there with her new tire. They hadn't charged her extra for having to come out there.
But then, that was Islamorada. In Miami, she would have paid a fortune for them to consider sending a guy out to get it. Instead, they'd have wanted her to hire a tow truck to tow it into them. Here in the Keys, though, life was different. It was slower, more intimate.
Here, they might have charged a tourist a surcharge for service like that, but even then, it wouldn't have been too much. For a local? They bent over backward to help out. Everyone did. It was the only way a place like this survived. If they didn't look out for each other, no one would be able to survive outside of the tourist season.
And even though Holly hadn't lived on the island in almost thirty years, that didn't matter to a lot of people. Once a local, always a local. At least that was their way of thinking. A lot of them thought the same way her cousin Jason did. No one ever left the islands for good. They always ended up back there, one way or another.
Holly had just taken her sweet time about it.
"I'll help you get him to the car," Jake offered. His gaze flickered between her and Randy, and Holly ran a hand through her hair as she nodded. If he was as drunk as Jake claimed, she doubted he would be able to walk on his own. She was the eldest sibling, but Randy had about seven inches on her with muscle to boot.
He may have been an alcoholic, but somehow he had managed to maintain the athletic physique he'd had in school. Either working at the marina was more physically strenuous than she thought, or he was still working out regularly.
Maybe that was what he needed, Holly thought suddenly. If he wasn't working out still, getting him back to the gym might lend him something to focus on other than drinking. He had started working out in middle school, so he could join the football team with Dean and Logan, his best friends.
When she had visited during her college years when Randy had been in high school, it had been the same thing. His free time had always been spent in the gym or on the football field. He had still gotten into his fair share of trouble, thanks to the influence of a dozen hormonal teenagers on his team, but football had helped keep him pretty well-grounded.
She made a mental note to get a hold of Dean. Since the two of them ran their business together, he was the one person who knew Randy best. That was going to be the best place for her to start if she really wanted to get him back on the straight and narrow.
For now, though, Holly stood in the entryway to the large cell they used as a drunk tank. They could have easily fit two dozen people in there if they'd needed to, but right then, Randy was the only resident. Come the weekend, though, and there would be at least a half dozen, if not more, tourists sleeping off their booze.
"He better not puke in my car," Holly muttered, making Jake laugh.
"Well, if he does, let me know. I've got a buddy who does detailing, and I'm sure he would love to get his hands on that Jag of yours, even if it did mean cleaning up puke."
Holly rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. She would keep that in mind, but she was hoping it wouldn't come to that. But then, with the way her life seemed to be going, it was better to be prepared for anything, just in case.
She wouldn't put it past the universe to add a ruined interior to her never-ending list of problems.
"First, we have to wake him up." Holly pursed her lips. He had to weigh at least two hundred pounds. Two hundred pounds of limp weight was not going to be easy to move, even for the two of them. If he was awake, even if he was drunk as a skunk, it would be easier to hold him up and guide him toward the car.
Holly strode forward and poked her brother in the side. He was so out of it; he didn't move. So Holly poked him again, harder. Still, no response. After a couple more jabs to his ribs still didn't rouse her drunken brother, her patience wore off.
She started swatting at him, venting out some of the frustration that had been building up inside her. At first, the lug head still didn't move, but as Holly continued to slap at her brother, he finally started to rouse.
"Wake up, you damn idiot!" Holly shouted at her brother. "I swear to God, if I have to call Amy because of this, I'm not going to save you from her wrath!"
Out of all his sisters, Amy was the one Randy was closest to--which made sense since they were twins. Even they didn't stay in contact anymore, as far as Holly knew, but she was pretty sure Randy still wouldn't want to be on her bad side. She was the one woman in the house Randy didn't want to disappoint.
"Holly?" he asked groggily. He blinked at her, but after a few moments of staring right at her, Holly could tell he could barely see her. God, he really was drunker than she had ever seen him. "What are you doing here? Where am I?"
His words were slow and slurred as he spoke. Christ, if he was like this after having slept a bit in the cell, Holly could only imagine what he'd been like on the road. It was no wonder Jake had pulled him over, and it was a good thing he had. Randy was very lucky he hadn't hurt anyone before getting stopped.
"You're drunk, you idiot. Apparently, you decided to get wasted and try to drive home! God, I can't believe you would do something so stupid!" Maybe she should have been a bit kinder, more understanding, but she was just too annoyed right then to be a doting motherly figure to the man. Besides, he probably wouldn't remember this come morning. "Now get your butt up, so we can get you in my car. And, I swear to God Randall Alvin Archer, if you puke in my car, they will never find your body!"
Jake chuckled from behind Holly. The sound must've caught Randy's attention since he tried, and failed, to look at its source. "You know, as a cop, I really should say something about those threats, but I think this time I'm just gonna pretend I didn't hear anything."
"Smart idea," Holly said dryly, though she couldn't quite hold back her smirk. "Now help me haul my lug head brother outside and stuff him into the passenger seat of the Jag."
