Page 7 of Doyle

She was lucky to have made it out without a cadre of security agents.

So she kept her mouth shut and pulled up to the gates guarding the harbor. A man emerged from the security booth.

“Tia Pepper, with Hope House. I’m here to see the harbormaster.”

He stepped back, called in clearance on his radio, and in a moment, the gate shuddered open.

She drove in, up to the three-story building-slash-warehouse. Got out. “I’ll go talk to the harbormaster”

“I’ll check on the shipment.”

She glanced at Doyle, a chill brushing through her.

No fear.She could handle Mr. Harbormaster.

“Please don’t get us in trouble,” she said to Doyle.

“Oh ye of little faith.” He held up his fist.

She looked at it. “What’s this?”

“A fist bump.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t... Doyle, we’re notbuddies. We’re workmates.” Or really, maybe rivals, but she wouldn’t go that far because in truth, he stayed out of the financial running of the orphanage. But he did have a different agenda for the week with the donors, so maybe.

“We’ll fix that.” He pointed at her, then headed around the building.

She didn’t need fixing, and she nearly shouted that, but the door opened, and a large man, clearly a descendant of the island inhabitants, smiled at her.

“Miss Pepper, right?” He stuck out a beefy hand.

Seemed nice enough. “That’s right. I’m here to pick up our shipment.”

“Mr. Nevo Baptiste. Come in, then. Let’s get the paperwork started.”

See?Nothing to fear. She’d overthought everything until she tied herself into a knot.

She walked inside, past an empty reception desk, into an office, all windows except for the back wall, which held shipping schedules and mapped routes. He motioned to a rolling chair, then leaned against the front of his desk, arms folded. “So, unfortunately, there are fees attached to the storage of your pallet.”

“It just got here yesterday.” She sank into the chair. A metal fan hummed from the top of a filing cabinet, stirring stale air, the lingering memory of a cigarette, lifting a couple of papers on the desk.

He sighed, his barrel body rising and falling. “Yes, but we had to unload it and store it in the warehouse, and... so much trouble.”

“Right. I thought those fees were covered in the shipping costs. And were prepaid.”

He made a tsking noise and got up, shut the door.

She didn’t know why the click sent ice through her.

He pressed a hand on her shoulder, leaned down behind her, spoke into her ear. “These are island fees, Miss Pepper.”

She stilled. “How much?”

He paused. “Twenty thousand dollars.”

Okay, breathe. “That wasn’t... I don’t?—”

“Then perhaps we could negotiate.” He put the other hand on her shoulder. His low voice into her other ear. “Let me bring in my negotiator.”

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