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“Still digging into the port. That image of the manifest you sent will help that along. I’ll let you know as soon as I have something.”
“Watch your back,” she said. Micky was a seasoned and savvy reporter, who could take care of himself, but Sophie owed it to Helen to try to make sure that he’d stay safe.
“You, too. Glad you’ve got protection,” he said. “See you.” He clicked off ending the chat.
Sophie was still staring at the screen, debating about what direction to go next when the cabin door opened. Owen had been keeping his distance, giving her space. Just like she’d asked him to, which sucked. What was wrong with her that she’d shoved him away? But as much as she wanted to turn to him for comfort, she needed to stay strong, focused. And that meant putting personal feelings aside.
“Hey,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.
“Just got a call from Luke, the bartender at the country club.”
“Yeah?” she turned around. “Anything interesting?”
“He overheard a conversation about a drug drop-off to one of the members this afternoon at one,” Owen said.
“Did he get a location?” She felt a surge of excitement.
“The green. That has to mean on the golf course.”
Golf courses were large, though, acres of property. “Which hole?”
Owen seemed to think about that for a moment. “I’d say either the first or the eighteenth since those are the closest ones to the club house and parking lot. A drug dealer isn’t going to trek out to a far hole.”
“Probably.” That made sense, but it also seemed a little too obvious. “Can anywhere else be called the green? Maybe a lounge area at the club or something?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s gotta be the golf course.”
“Okay, we’ll go stake it out, but we’ll need to look like we belong. I mean, you do belong, but…” She came to a stop, feeling embarrassed. She hadn’t intended to insult him.
“It’s cool, Sophie,” he said. “Do you have golf clothes?”
“I’ve got something sporty that will do.” She had white capris pants and a hot pink polo shirt she wore to play tennis sometimes. They weren’t from designer brands, but from a distance, she’d look passable.
“Get changed,” he said, going to the dresser and pulling out a blue athletic shirt. He yanked the T-shirt he wore over his head, giving her a tantalizing view of his shoulders and back. She had to turn away, fighting the desire to wrap her arms around him and press her face into his warm skin.
An hour later at the club, they were pretending to work on their putting on the practice green—a spot that gave them a view of both the first and last holes of the course. Sophie noted that Owen sunk every putt no matter the distance from the cup.
“You’ve played some golf,” she commented after five failed attempts to get her ball to the hole.
“Sunday morning tradition as soon as my brothers and I were old enough to be trusted on the course. Time with dad, you know.” His tone was sarcastic, but then he chuckled. “I stopped getting invited along after I got bored once and just kept driving balls. One hit the club’s president.”
“You got in trouble for that? I thought that sort of thing happened all the time on golf courses. Isn’t that why you yell fore?”
“The club president was sitting in his office in the club house.” He was grinning.
“Oops.” She laughed along with him.
He told her more stories about his time at the club as they both kept scanning the area, looking for the drug deal, and putting. An hour passed. Then, another.
“I think this is a bust. It’s past three,” Sophie said. Near them she could see three older men finishing up on the eighteenth hole. She caught the one man staring at her as he drove past on his cart a few minutes later. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. When he turned his cart and headed straight for her, she mentally scrambled trying to remember where she’d seen him before.
“You’re Sophie Carter. The reporter.” He’d stopped just feet from her and was out of his cart the second it rolled to a stop. Up close she finally realized who he was. The small of alcohol on his breath helped trigger her memory. They’d met at a fundraiser for the museum. He’d been a little drunk and got handsy during the cocktail hour. She’d had to set him straight.
“I am.” There was no point in denying it since he knew who she was.
“You’re the one causing trouble for Wilson. Asking lots of questions about him.”
She had started the investigation by openly questioning those associated with the museum. That was before she had realized just how involved Wilson was in the criminal activity. She had taken her questioning underground at that point.
