as many people as she’d arrested as a cop. Sure, I still killed people, but usually only to protect my friends, family, or myself. I didn’t slice and dice for money anymore. No, these days, the only jobs I occasionally took on were for good, decent folks who had problems that no one else could solve. With Mab’s death, I thought that Bria and I had finally moved beyond my bloody past.
Apparently not.
“Actually, I run a restaurant just like you do,” I said, finally answering Callie’s question. “The Pork Pit, serving up the best barbecue in Ashland.”
The other woman grinned at me. “Well, it’s not barbecue, but I hope that you’ll find the food here to your liking.”
My smile was as cold and brittle as hers was warm and friendly. “Oh, I always like to see what the competition’s up to.”
Callie knew a half-assed insult when she heard one, and the grin slowly faded from her face. I had to stop myself from wincing. I didn’t often let my emotions get the best of me, but I sounded like a petty, jealous bitch, and I was acting like one too.
“Well, I hope you enjoy your meal,” Callie said in a fainter voice. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen. You know how it is. Bria, I’ll be back just as soon as I get a break. Don’t even think about leaving until we catch up on everything that you’ve been up to in Ashland—and I do mean
Callie stared at me once more before turning, pushing through the swinging doors, and disappearing into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, Bria glared at me.
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed. “That was my friend, my very best friend, and you were rude to her, Gin. Extremely rude. You know how much Callie means to me, how she’s like a sister to me.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
Bria glared at me another second before picking up her fork. Her hands tightened around the silverware as if she wanted to use it to stab me instead of her shrimp scampi. It took her a moment to unclench her fingers enough to start eating.
I just sighed, wondering if everyone had as much fun on vacation as we were having.
All around us, the other diners laughed and talked and joked over their meals, but Bria and I ate in silence, with only the scrape of our forks and knives on the plates to break the ugly, icy quiet between us.
At least the food was excellent, just like my sister had claimed it would be. The perfectly grilled Jamaican chicken had a wonderful jerk seasoning that was just the right blend of spicy and savory and was topped with a kiwi-mango salsa sweetened with honey. The poppyseed bun was homemade and still warm from the oven, while the sweet potato fries were crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. It was one of the best meals I’d ever had that I hadn’t cooked myself.
Callie dropped by our end of the bar as often as she could, as well as moving through the whole restaurant, serving food, stopping at the tables to see if folks needed anything, and asking after the friends and families of her regulars. Not only was she beautiful and a great cook, but Callie Reyes knew how to work a crowd too. I could see why the Sea Breeze was such a success. Hidden treasure, indeed.
Not only was I jealous of Callie’s relationship with Bria, but I also envied the easy camaraderie Callie had with her customers. If I tried to do the same thing at the Pork Pit, I’d wind up fighting for my life against whatever hoodlum had come by determined to take me out—after he’d eaten my barbecue, of course. No use dying on an empty stomach.
Eventually, the dinner crowd came and went, and the picnic tables outside were deserted for another evening. Only a few folks remained inside the restaurant, lingering over their food. Bria had ordered a slice of key lime pie for dessert, while I had a pineapple pudding that was just as good as everything else had been. I took another bite of the pudding, relishing the sweet tang of the pineapple in my mouth mixed with the creamy filling and graham cracker crust. Yep, I was definitely jealous now.
“Whew!” Callie said, plopping down on the stool on the other side of Bria. “I always forget how crazy things get in the spring. Won’t be long now before the tourists start showing up, and we’ll be slammed with customers all day long. It’s a lot of work, but I would miss it.”
She stared out at the restaurant, her eyes tracing over the furnishings like she was memorizing them, like they wouldn’t be around for much longer.
“Why?” Bria asked, picking up on her friend’s sad, wistful mood. “I know how much you love running the restaurant. You’re not thinking about selling out, are you?”
Callie’s eyes darkened. “Something like that, I guess you could say.”
Bria started to ask her friend another question, but she never got the chance. The screen door banged open, and two men stepped into the restaurant. For a moment, it was like being back at the Pork Pit—everybody froze. The few diners, the two waitresses still on duty, the bartender, even Callie. They all stopped what they were doing to stare at the two men, and the mood immediately changed from one of easygoing dining to tight, nervous tension.
One of the men was a giant, topping out at seven feet tall. His skin, hair, and eyes were all the color of straight black coffee, and the loose white linen shirt and pants that he wore made him look even larger than he really was. The other guy was a much shorter human who was wearing a red shirt covered with green parrots over khaki cargo pants and plastic red flip-flops. His sandy blond hair, his sun-roasted complexion, and the small gold hoop glinting in his ear made him look like a wannabe pirate.
I might not be in Ashland anymore, but I recognized their type—low-level muscle that someone had dispatched to deal with a certain kind of problem. From the way Callie’s face hardened at the sight of the two men, I was willing to bet she was that problem—and that things were about to get ugly.
4
Callie slid off her stool, squared her shoulders, and marched over to the two men. The shorter guy, the pirate, opened his mouth, but Callie snapped up her hand, cutting him off.
“I’ve told you before that you’re not welcome here, Pete—and that I have absolutely no interest in selling out to your boss like everyone else on the island has already.” Her voice was as cold and hard as mine had been earlier tonight. “Some of us happen to like Blue Marsh just the way it is.”
Pete the pirate smiled at her, and I noticed that one of his teeth had a small diamond set into the middle of it. “Ah, now, I really hate to hear that, Ms. Reyes. Especially since you’ve been offered a very generous sum for your restaurant. Hasn’t she, Trent?”
The giant, Trent, nodded back. His massive arms hung loose at his sides, and he was slowly flexing his long fingers like he was limbering up for a fight.
“You should sell now, while the offer is still on the table,” Pete continued in a deceptively friendly voice. “Before your property is devalued. Hurricane season is about to start up again. Not to mention all the other accidents that could happen in the meantime. A grease fire in the kitchen, an electrical short, vandalism. It wouldn’t take much to wipe this place completely off the map, if you know what I mean.”
Wow. I think anyone who’d ever watched a bad mob movie knew exactly what he meant. Those were some cliched and not-so-veiled threats if ever I’d heard them. It didn’t look like the bad guys in Blue Marsh were any more creative than the ones in Ashland.
Bria slid off her stool. Her danger radar was pinging just as mine was, and she walked over to stand beside Callie. I got up as well, but I stayed at my spot by the bar. I’d come to Blue Marsh to get away from these kinds of confrontations for the weekend—not make a whole new bunch of enemies down here. Besides, this was Bria’s city, not mine. She knew the lay of the land and the players better than I did. I’d let her take the lead—for now.
Pete leered at Bria and me behind her, before turning his attention back to Callie. “Who are your friends? The rest of Charlie’s Angels?” he snickered.
“Only if I get to be Farrah Fawcett,” Bria said in a sweet, syrupy tone. “Pete Procter. Long time, no see. Last
