Hooking Him (How to Catch an Alpha #3)(32)

“Good idea,” he murmurs, making me laugh, and he smiles, then holds out his hand.

“You want me to stand up?”

“I’m going to teach you to cast. It’s easier if you’re standing.”

I stand up and watch him go through the steps of casting out the line, then take the pole and try myself.

“I did it!” I fight the urge to jump around when I get it right on the first try.

“Good job, baby.”

“Now what?” I watch the bobber a few feet from the boat, floating on top of the water.

“Now, you wait.” He kisses the side of my head, then grabs his pole and casts out his line.

“Why don’t you have one of the bobber things on yours?”

“I don’t need it.” He takes a seat next to me. “After I bring you out here a few times, you won’t need one either.”

I look around at the beauty surrounding us, feeling his leg and arm pressed against mine, and even though I’m enjoying this moment, I’m looking forward to more days spent just like this with the man sitting next to me.





Suggestion 8

DON’T BELIEVE WHAT YOU HEAR

CALVIN

I look over the crime scene photos on my desk, trying to figure out what I’m missing. The place where I grew up has had its fair share of crime, and there have been more than a few murders in the area over the years. But none of them have gone cold as quickly as the two cases that have recently hit my desk.

I pick up the photo of Chris Davis, a student from Ohio who was here with his girlfriend and a few of their college friends on vacation. His body was found near the beach, with lacerations around his wrists and neck, but no rope was found in the area, meaning whoever committed the crime had taken it with them when they left. His girlfriend and friends said they had been out the night before, partying at the clubs in the area, and around two in the morning, he told his girlfriend he was going outside to smoke but never returned. No other physical evidence was left at the crime scene due to the rain that had fallen the morning his body was found by a woman walking her dog. The surveillance cameras in the area never caught a clear picture of him, and no one witnessed him coming or going from the club.

I drop Chris’s photo and pick up the one of Mike Hurl, a bartender whose body was found last night by a runner in one of the local parks. Where Chris died of strangulation, Mike died from blunt-force trauma to the back of his skull, and the weapon—a hammer—was left at the scene. I drop Mike’s photo and look at both men side by side. Both of them were around the same age, attractive, and fit, and both were murdered in the last month. The two cases have nothing else in common, but still my gut is telling me they’re linked. I just don’t know how.

With a groan of frustration, I sit back in my chair and scrub my hands down my face. There’s nothing worse than having an open case, especially when loved ones are looking to you for answers you can’t give.

“Cal, you good, man?”

I look at Herb, sitting a desk away. A man who took me under his wing when I was a rookie and taught me everything he knew about being a detective.

“Yeah, I just need coffee and some air.” I stand, pick up my badge, and clip it to my belt before holstering my gun on my hip.

“Maybe you should go home to shower,” he suggests, informing me without actually saying the words that I look like shit.

Last evening, two seconds after I’d pulled up to Anna’s place, Herb called to tell me that I was needed. So instead of spending the night with Anna, like I hoped I’d be doing, I spent the night at a crime scene and then the morning talking to Mike’s friends and neighbors, looking for leads.

“I might stop by my house to shower, but I’ll be back. The medical examiner should be calling this afternoon, and I want to be around to meet with him.”

“Right,” he mutters. “I’ll see you back here in a few hours then. And you should know my kids are refusing to let me bring your dog back to you, so you’re gonna have to live without him for another few days.”

“Understood.” I smile as I pick up my cell and shove it in my pocket. “You know you could just get them a dog of their own.”

“No, thanks. I’ll just borrow yours. That way I can give him back,” he says.

I laugh. “I’ll be back.”

“See ya.” He gives me a salute, and I lift my chin.

After I get to my truck, I head across town to the Sweet Spot, figuring I’ll kill two birds with one stone by getting some coffee and my fix of Anna. I park down the block from the bakery, and noticing a crowd gathered at the door, I bypass everyone, ignoring the comments and grumbles, and head inside. The place is packed: every table is taken up with customers, and there’s a line of people waiting for their turn. I spot Chrissie at the register and can tell by her expression that she’s annoyed by whatever the woman in front of her is saying.

“Please tell me that you’re here to help.”

I look to my right and find Gaston clearing off a table. “What the hell is going on?”

“Your woman is popular, and everyone and their mother is here trying to get a glimpse of the millionaire girl who works at the local bakery.”

“Jesus.” I look around, noting then that most of the customers have the same look on their faces people get when they’re passing by the scene of an accident, like they’re trying to get a peek at the carnage that’s been left behind.