The temperature was a lot colder on the water, and I shivered in my brand-new leather jacket, wishing I’d gone for practicality instead of style. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, and at least I looked really good while I shivered uncontrollably.
I wasn’t sure who’d driven up, and Vince hadn’t said, but he had mentioned there were only a couple of people he could trust with the information he’d found out. Considering the delicate nature of said information, I hoped he knew what he was doing.
I decided standing on a swaying dock wasn’t in my best interest, and I couldn’t see or hear anything from my current position. I was one of those people who had constant FOMO—fear of missing out—and I needed to see what was happening in the worst way.
My choices were limited. I tried to recall the layout of the fishing cabin, at least what I’d seen of it. It was basically one main room that served as a bedroom and living room, a small kitchen that was no more than a sink, a microwave, and a minifridge, and a closed door I could only assume was the bathroom.
My best chance of curing my FOMO was to make my way over to the kitchen side where there were two small windows. I leaned as far as I could without toppling into the water to see what the layout was like.
There were stilts spaced evenly apart on the entire left side of the cabin, as if someone had planned to build onto the structure at some point. They stuck up about two feet out of the water, and if I could manage to stand on one I’d be able to look into the window.
I was feeling pretty optimistic about my chances of success. The mucky water surrounded almost the entire house, but there seemed to be solid ground just on the other side of the kitchen window, leading back up to the front.
I debated whether or not to untie the pirogue and row myself to my destination, but I was afraid it’d make too much noise if I accidentally hit one of the stilts. I wasn’t exactly Sir Francis Drake when it came to boats. My only other option was to jump from stilt to stilt until I reached the window.
I heard a car door slam and knew my time was limited to get into place without being seen or heard, so I took a deep breath and channeled my inner ninja warrior. The stilts were a good size, big enough I could fit both feet on them, but there wasn’t extra room for forgiveness if I missed my target.
I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans, said a little prayer, and then stepped onto the first stilt, which just happened to be directly beside the dock. It was solid beneath my feet, and I let out a whoosh of surprise. I didn’t give myself time to think or I would’ve chickened out. I jumped to the next one. And then the next. Until finally I stood on the one just outside the kitchen window.
I had to admit it felt good to know that marriage and pregnancy hadn’t totally stolen my mojo.
If I stood on my tiptoes I could barely see in the kitchen window. I gasped in surprise as I saw Vince staring back at me, his lips thin and his eyes narrowed. I was used to this look from men, so I gave him a thumbs-up, and he blew out a breath and went to answer the knock at the door
Vince stood with his back to me and his weapon drawn and down at his side while he cracked the door an inch to see who it was. Then he opened it wider and let two men inside.
They were older, probably in their late fifties to early sixties, and I could tell by looking at them they were cops. Or at least they used to be. Cops all looked the same—not in physical appearance, but there was something in the eyes that was a dead giveaway. My father had the same look.
I didn’t recognize either of the men, but Vince shifted where he stood so when they faced him they didn’t have a clear shot of the kitchen window. Vince put his weapon back in the holster.
“Jimmy,” Vince said, shaking the man’s hand.
Jimmy was tall and lean, and he seemed to be in good shape despite his age, and he was very handsome. His hair was thick and silver, and his face clean shaven, showing a little dimple at the chin.
“Bruce,” Vince said, reaching out to the other man. Bruce was considerably shorter than Jimmy, maybe a couple of inches taller than my own five foot eight. His hair was dark and thinning on top, but his mustache was Super Mario Brothers quality. He was also quite a bit thicker through the middle than his friend. They both wore khakis and loose button-down shirts that screamed retirement.
“Thanks for coming,” Vince told them.
“Anything for you, Vince,” Bruce said, clapping Vince on the back. “It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do. Retirement isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” I raised my brows at that tidbit. I’d called that one right. “I’ve remodeled every room in our house, and Helen told me if I didn’t get out of her hair she was going to put me in a home. Thirty years of marriage, and the woman wants to put me in a home.”
Vince snorted out a laugh and seemed to relax some. “Could be worse. She could want you dead. Cop wives are very resourceful. Remember back when Johnny Russo kept getting those stomach aches and no one could figure out what was wrong with him? I swear his wife was poisoning him.”
“Well,” Bruce said. “Johnny Russo was a horse’s ass. Who
