Page 26 of The Last Grift
Gabriel had wanted to decline. Surely, he could survive on a bag of corn chips for one more night, but something in Elton’s expression told him it wasn’t so much an invitation as a command. He’d chosen not to argue. It had been a long time since anyone had cooked for him.
Propping his shoulder against the bulkhead, Gabriel raised his wrist and glanced at the time. Squinting, he checked again. It couldn’t be midafternoon already.
“Holy cow.”
He’d been cleaning for hours and, with the exception of the complaints from his body, the time had passed quickly. Where was the helpful Gordon? Should Gabriel be worried? Maybe the guy was a flake. Or, a nicer thought, maybe he’d had something else better come up. Gabriel didn’t have Gordon’s number or access to a phone for the time being, so there was no way to contact him. But also, no one had rattled the gate.
The boat rocked gently back and forth as the tide rolled into Riddle Bay, pushing small waves against its hull. Gabriel was surprised at how quickly he’d become used to the almost constant rolling motion and the sound of the waves. Not that he thought he had sea legs, but at least he wasn’t prone to motion sickness.
A weak laugh escaped him. To clean up this tub only to discover his Achilles’ heel was seasickness would have been the ultimate irony. If that had been the case, he might as well have packed it in and headed back to Seattle to throw himself on the mercy of the Colavitos.
Gabriel had been doing his best not to think about them. Thinking about them wasn’t going to change anything. They wanted retribution, and Gabe preferred not.
A thudding sound reached his ears. Gabriel froze; fresh thoughts of the Colavitos had him on edge. Edging toward the slightly open window, he peeked out. Someone with a key had unlocked the gate. Gabriel could see murky legs tromping down the pier and a smaller dark wobble by their side, probably a dog. His heart pounded against his ribs as he tried to determine who it was. While he’d been cleaning, he had only needed airflow, so the panes were still caked with sea salt, grease, andgrime.
Images from Monday played on his internal screen. Most of them were close-ups of the dog’s dark muzzle and white teeth as it leaped for Gabriel’s ankles. Even now, Gabriel could swear he’d been able to feel its hot breath against his skin.
“Fuck me,” he said quietly.
“Who’s in there?” the stranger called out. They sounded gruff and out of sorts.
The voice didn’t remind Gabe of Gordon’s, not that Gabriel had the guy’s voice memorized after the single gas station encounter. It also wasn’t Bart or Paul Anderson; they likely wouldn’t have come themselves though.
Gabriel had never been one to carry a gun if he didn’t have to. That seemed like an invitation for trouble. But he was a decent shot and was starting to wish he had a weapon handy.
Note to self.
“Hello? Who’s there?” the voice demanded again.
He was tempted to reply with “Who wants to know?” but he managed not to, barely. “Just me,” was also on his list of greetings.
Instead, Gabriel lowered his voice and went with a gruff, “Who’s doing the asking?”
There was no reply.
Dammit, he might as well get this over with. Quickly, he ran his hands down his sweatshirt and jeans before deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. Then he walked up the steps that led to the deck, remembering to duck his head at the last minute as he stepped outside into the gray drizzle.
Even if the weather hadn’t been gloomy as fuck, the interior of theTicketwas dark compared to the outside. Gabriel blinked while his eyes adjusted to the slightly brighter daylight, his brain working overtime to make sense of the figure waiting for him.
“Sit, stay,” the man said.
Gabriel almost said something snarky but glanced down andrealized the commands were meant for the gray and black mutt staring at him with his head cocked and tongue hanging out.
“Can I help—” was out of his mouth when his tired brain informed him just who was standing in front of him. “What do you want?” he demanded, glaring at the intruder.
Ranger Man.
In the daylight, Gabriel saw that Ranger Lundin was either ten-ish years younger than he was or he lived a quieter, more peaceful life. He was tall, and built like a damn brick shithouse, but Gabe still had an inch or so on him. Solid might have been the word his mother would’ve used. A dark green knit cap was pulled down over his head but longer strands of dark blond or auburn hair stuck out from underneath it. Rugged.
Another box ticked.
“Ah, it seems you didn’t hope quite hard enough. We meet again, and so soon. Did you miss me?”
Ranger Man’s flat stare was meant to intimidate, but it wasn’t going to work on Gabriel. Besides, just like last night with his deep voice, Gabe found it sexy. Instead of backing down, Gabe ignored his aches and pains and mustered up a cheeky grin. This game was only just beginning, and it promised to be more fun than a quality con.
“I recognized your car in the lot. This your boat?” He pointed his chin in the direction of theTicket.
“What’s it to you anyway?” Gabriel responded.
