“No,” Cassidy said, her voice firm. “Promise me you won’t let them throw that at her. She was acting under extreme circumstances. She believed that choice was her only option.”
Bruce shook his head again. They turned down Judah Street, the broad boulevard opening before them.
“You know…he was at the TV station yesterday,” she said, puzzling through the details. After the interview she had felt so wired, jittery almost, and then he surprised her.
“Preston Ford?” Bruce asked, looking confused.
“Well, he owns it,” she replied.
Bruce cruised down Quinn’s street. Through her open window, she tasted a puff of sea breeze, brisk and salty.
“He said he was in town for some big charity event, and that he noticed I was going to be on the air so…”
“Huh,” Bruce said.
Cassidy thought again about his reference to her father. How were they connected? If only you were here so I could ask you, she thought with a pang.
“You ever surf Fort Point?” Bruce asked her as the car pulled to a stop.
Cassidy shook her head. “Quinn’s not a good enough surfer, and I hear the locals are jerks.”
“The conditions look good for tomorrow if you want to go.”
“With you?” she asked, then realized how stupid that sounded.
He chuckled. “Yeah, with me. We had a lot of fun surfing in Costa Rica, remember?”
A sudden rush of memories filled her mind. She remembered surfing just the two of them in Nicaragua during her search for Reeve, followed by the image of the two of them on his wheelhouse roof drunker than skunks and laughing their heads off.
“Of course, I remember,” she said.
He watched her with that half-cocked grin.
“I’m game,” she replied as a tingle of excitement zipped through her. Fort Point was one of the most photographed surf spots on the West coast. Supposedly, the waves were little more than a steep drop followed by a mushy shoulder, but it was one of those surf spots she had always longed to try.
“It’ll be early, though. High tide is at eleven so we should be in the water by first light.”
Ouch, that’s early. But Cassidy knew she’d likely be awake well before then.
He turned off his engine and a breath of cool breeze filtered into the cab.
“I’m sorry I had to do what I did, at the warehouse.” She hadn’t meant to make such a mess of everything.
“Is that why you didn’t call me back all last week?” he asked. The rush of traffic on Judah whooshed softly in the background.
Cassidy scraped along the open windowsill with her thumbnail, the metal hot under her touch. “I guess I was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“That you were angry. That I’d sacrificed our friendship. That I was in trouble.” She hugged herself. “That it was all real.”
Bruce shifted in his seat to face her. “I know that was tough for you, going into that warehouse. As your friend, I commend your bravery.”
“But as a federal agent you want to arrest me?” she finished for him.
“When you hung up on me and I couldn’t be there to help you…” he said, his lips forming a hard line.
“So, is surfing with me tomorrow another way to keep tabs on me?”
He shook his head. “Nope.” He smoothed the leather grip of his steering wheel for a moment, then glanced at her. “But it is a way to spend time with you. Is that all right?”
Her navel gave a sudden tug inwards. “So, we’re good? You’re not still mad?”
“I’m maybe still a little bit mad,” he said, his eyes softening. “But it’s only because I care about you. What you did was extremely dangerous, Cass.”
Another gust of salty-gritty air whispered into the cab. I care about you too, she thought.
“But yeah, we’re good,” he added.
“At least until I drop in on you tomorrow,” she said with a grin.
He tossed his head back and laughed. “Do that and I will arrest you.”
Seven
“Come on, please?” Quinn groaned as they walked back from Ocean Beach after their afternoon surf session—the best antidote to her grueling day. “It’s Ladies’ Night. Two for one cocktails.”
“You’re going to make me pay for my drinks?” she teased, stepping carefully on the gritty sidewalk, her eyes roving for broken glass or other unwanted items waiting for her bare feet.
“Of course not. I’m just saying it’s a fun night.”
She thought of the six hundred unanswered emails, the two papers she was writing, and the follow up with her Hawaiian team. “Okay, fine,” she said.
“Yessss!” Quinn hissed. They turned onto his street, slipping into the cool shade. Cassidy shivered in her wetsuit.
“It might be the only way I’ll see you tonight anyways,” she said, giving his shoulder a jab.
“Can I help it if I’m irresistible?” he replied.
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Any thoughts about my car?” she asked as they filed up the stairs of his building, leaving a trail of salty drops on the concrete. In between waiting for waves, they had been too busy discussing the details of the interview to circle back on her car project.
He slipped his key from the hidden pocket inside the leg of his wetsuit and unlocked his door. “Are you ready to let it go?” he asked as they stepped inside his apartment.
Cassidy followed him to his balcony, where they zipped their surfboards into protective travel bags. Her mind turned back the clock to an image of Pete in the driver’s seat of her car, reading one of his works in progress aloud to her, a bag of bulk cashews sitting open on the console.
“No,” she said as a wave of emotion rose inside her. She coaxed a long breath into her lungs and rode the wave until it ebbed. Though she had learned to stop fighting these tides, she knew thinking of Pete would always hurt.
“Then you have your answer,” Quinn replied, unzipping his wetsuit and peeling it to his waist.
Cassidy nodded,
