Page 2 of Bait and Switch
“What?” Gabe had called out through the galley window.
All he’d been able to see through the glass was Lundin’s denim-covered legs. They were nice-looking legs.
“I’m taking Elton in for an emergency dental thing, a new cap or something. Can you keep an eye on Bowie? I don’t want to leave him in the truck for an extended period, it’s too cold out today.”
Gabe tried not to be offended that Elton hadn’t asked Gabe to drive him. He was an adult, his feelings weren’t hurt because Elton had called Ranger Man and not him. But he did have a new cell phone, Eltoncouldhave called him.
“Won’t be more than three or four hours with the drive,” Lundin continued, “maybe less. Elton seems to think the actual procedure won’t take that long.”
“Sure. Bowie and I are tight. He can hang out with me, I don’t have anything going on,” Gabe had agreed casually.
He didn’t have a life anymore. Not unless he counted worrying about the Colavitos, the Anderson brothers, and why Peter hadn’t returned yet. He’d headed topside to let the dog aboard.
The sight of Casey Lundin waiting on the pier, his arms crossed over his broad, flannel-encased chest, made Gabe’s stupid heart skip a beat and brought to mind the Brawny paper towel guy.
He’d covered his reaction with a cough. As he had ever since they’d met, Gabe refused to entertain all the physical ways Casey ticked his boxes because Ranger Man’s personality did nothing for him. He was a popsicle with an unpleasant coating of fuzz. Cold and gritty. Unyielding.
“At least one of you can be trusted not to do anything too stupid. Go on, Bowie, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
Case in point.
Lundin’s rescue dog had jumped onto theTicketlike he belonged there, his favorite orange tennis ball clutched in hisjaws. With a curt “Thank you,” Lundin had stalked off without a backward glance. Presumably headed to Elton’s to pick him up.
“Okay, doggo, I guess it’s just you and me. Nice to have some company.”
For the most part, Gabe had stayed aboardThe Golden Ticketover the past week. It seemed best to avoid the public eye and Lundin, especially with the excitement from the week prior. The last thing he needed was more unwanted attention. He’d been lucky to have been treated as a mere bystander after the shooting at the hospital.
It’s called hiding, Chance.
Okay, he had been hiding. Which clearly had been a pointless exercise since Peter had somehow found him. How the fuck?
Gabe had falsely believed the dock was defendable, a refuge. Safe from a land invasion due to the locked entry to the marina, protected from water attack because the weather was too cold for anyone but arctic fishermen and harbor seals. Invasion by air was too ridiculous to consider, even for Larry Colavito. And while there was always the possibility of a James Bond frogman-style attack from under the waves, that also seemed like a lot of effort to go to for a washed-up grifter.
Thus, Gabe had kept to himself. Read a couple of thrillers. Organized his few possessions. Ate premade meals from the store across the road. Slept.
Nothing weird had happened and Peter had never shown up again.
Just minutes after Lundin and Elton had departed, Gabe got a call from the marine supply place in Westfort on his new-to-him burner phone, saying his order had arrived. He and Bowie had driven into town, adding a quick stop for some groceries that weren’t corn chips and a blessed triple Americano.
And returned to a corpse.
A fucking corpse.
Ew, not fucking.
Hands jammed into his coat pockets, he stared down at what was left of the man he’d briefly been involved with. Peter’s head was at an unnatural angle, his body oddly stiff. Gabe didn’t know much about rigor mortis, but he hazarded a guess that rigor was why the body appeared uncomfortable as it lay on the decking. Maybe that’s why his arms seemed weird too.
“Seriously? Why me?”
What if the corpse hadn’t appeared just this morning? Maybe it had been dropped off at some other time during the week. Immediately, Gabe knew that idea was ridiculous. He would have heard someone walking on the pier. If nothing else, Bowie would have heard intruders and sounded the alarm.
Plus—bending down again, Gabe brushed the back of his hand against the blue nylon polyester fabric of Peter’s jacket—it wasn’t wet, not even damp. Rain had been coming down steadily for days until early that morning, when the deluge had abruptly stopped, like someone in the clouds closed the faucet. Gabe hadn’t gotten to bed until late since he’d been up rereading a tattered and worn Travis McGee novel borrowed from Elton, but the absence of the thrum of the rain had woken him.
“Goddammit.”
“Who are you talking to?” a deep voice asked from behind him.
Gabe spun around, heart pounding. He’d been so focused on The Corpse he hadn’t heard Ranger Man open the gate or start walking on the dock. He revised his opinion that he would’ve heard trespassers. But Bowie would’ve. Probably.
