She’d asked him to come here, after all. True, she hadn’t asked him to hack into the police station’s database and pull all the records related to one “Spruce Grouse,” aka S.G. But old skills never went away, and with an antiquated system like Lost Harbor’s, he could hardly be expected to ignore such a tempting opportunity to get a head start on this case.
He settled onto the bench that lined the back of the cell and stretched out his legs. His right leg was aching vaguely, with a kind of desultory whine, like a kid asking “are we there yet?” He rubbed it automatically, out of habit, even though what he really needed was a hot bath and a bed.
“You’ll have to wait, buddy,” he murmured to his leg. “Behave or I’ll switch you out for a pirate peg leg.” He’d gotten into the habit of talking to his troublesome limb when he was a kid, and had never quite shaken it.
“Eh?” shouted Sergeant Santa.
“Nothing,” he called back. “Can you keep it down? Gonna try to get some Z’s. Any chance you got some of those eye masks, like on a plane? It’s so damn light in here.”
“Teach you not to commit crimes in Alaska in the summer.”
Ethan grumbled to himself and settled his back against the wall. Was “crime” really the right word? Maya Badger, the police chief, had hired him for this case, after all. On the phone, she hadn’t set down any “rules” about “computer access.” At worst, he was just an overeager new colleague.
The light from the little window above his head cast a shadowy blue glow into the cell. From where he sat, the other window, with its aluminum bars, gave him a view of the police station’s acoustic tile ceiling. A sepia stain shaped like Florida spread across two of the tiles.
If only he could drag the bench to the front of the cell, so he could enjoy the view of the woods behind the station. Then his first night back in Lost Harbor would at least include some sightseeing. He loved this little town clinging to the edge of the Alaskan wilderness. With its magnificent setting on Misty Bay, right across from the snowcapped mountains and deeply forested slopes of Lost Souls Wilderness, it had a special mystique that had stayed with him even back in the James Agency office in humdrum West Covina, Los Angeles.
This was his third trip to Lost Harbor. He’d met Maya on his first trip, when he’d worked with her to protect Padric Jeffers, the rock star, from death threats. He respected her, but they certainly weren’t close friends.
This last time, the Alaska phone number had flashed on his phone in the middle of an argument with Charley.
His new fiancée.
Who wanted him to quit being a private investigator.
“You don’t have a real schedule.” She’d been ticking off her complaints on her fingers. “Your life is so unpredictable it’s impossible to make plans. And what about all the people who apparently want to kill you?”
“But they keep missing the mark,” he pointed out.
“You’re not taking this seriously. Are you forgetting that I’m a life coach? This is exactly the kind of thing I advise people about.”
“I’m not your client. And I enjoy my work.”
“Oh, so you enjoy nearly drowning?”
“No, that was a low point. Gotta admit.”
“Okay, what do you enjoy about it? How does it serve you?”
Ohh, that life-coach talk really got under his skin. How could he explain that it made him feel more alive than the computer work he used to do? He liked throwing his body into things. It was his body. Not the surgeon’s or the oncologist’s. His, to risk as he wanted.
She tried another approach. “You don’t want me to worry, do you? Some things have to change when you get married. You have to accept that.”
Just then, Maya’s call had come in. He’d listened to her outline the situation. Spruce Grouse, known as S.G., was a mysterious runaway girl who’d been raised in Lost Souls Wilderness by a trapper who had found her as a baby. She’d recently become eager to find out her true origins, and had asked Maya to help her. With Maya’s recent promotion to police chief, she didn’t have enough spare time to investigate the mystery of a teenage runaway’s origins.
He said ‘yes’ before they so much as discussed terms.
Before Charley could scold him, he took her hand. Cool to the touch, neutral nail polish. His future bride. Was this how her hand had felt in his vision? He couldn’t remember.
“One last job,” he told her softly. “It’s in Lost Harbor, Alaska, and it won’t involve any vengeful husbands or crazed Lexus drivers. It’s a cold case, really. We’ll be trying to figure out the true identity of a fifteen-year-old kid. I’ve been to Lost Harbor before, and it’s a tiny little fishing town with a low crime rate. I’ll be facing no danger. Should be back in a week.”
“Just one week?”
“One week.”
“Do you promise that it’ll be your last job?”
He nodded, though it took everything in him to do so. If he was going to marry her, he should try to make her happy. “Last one. You can even come with me. It’s a magical place.”
“My schedule is beyond booked, you know that. Besides, Alaska…” She shivered. “No thanks.”
One last job.
He’d never imagined that it would land him in jail on his very first night back in Lost Harbor. But whatever. It was just a few hours. As soon as Maya Badger came into the station, she’d spring him out of here.
Another thing he’d learned long ago was how to sleep in uncomfortable places and positions. He managed to doze off despite the sporadic sounds of phones ringing and voices and metal chairs screeching against the floor.
What woke him up was a smell.
Not just any smell. A divine fragrance wafting through the bars of his cell door like Tinkerbell riding an air current—if Tinkerbell was bringing him spiced coffee cake. Ever since his near-drowning, he’d been acutely sensitive to smells. It was weird, and it hadn’t faded in the months since the incident.
Light footfalls sounded on the floor outside the holding cell.
“Hello?” a female voice called. “Is anyone here? Maya?”
Ethan stiffly pushed himself off the bench to stand up. He wobbled there for a moment, gaining his balance. Come on, buddy. Don’t let me down. “Hello? I’m here. Hungry as a horse.”
The footfalls paused. “Who said that?”
“Over here. In the corner. Behind the bars. Don’t worry, I’m not dangerous, though a little breakfast might help with that. ‘Hangry’ is a real thing, you know.”
“Oh, I know, believe me. I see it firsthand every morning, as soon as the bakery doors open.” Her voice came closer, and a few seconds later she was peering through the bars at him. Rich auburn hair backlit by the office fluorescents. Curious amber eyes, a merry smile. “Who the heck are you? I don’t believe I know you.”
“Ethan S. James. Nice to meet you.” He gave her a little salute, like a military officer. “And you are?”
“Not about to introduce myself to a prisoner.”
“Good policy in general. But I’m not supposed to be in jail. It’s a mistake, and as soon as Maya realizes it she’s going to be furious and full of apologies.”