Promise Cove (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 1) (102 page)

“T
h
an
k
s
.
”
H
e
p
o
in
t
ed
t
o
the
s
t
ack
of
cloth
e
s
sh
e
’
d
set on
the
bed.
“
And
than
k
s
for
d
o
i
n
g
m
y
l
aund
r
y
.
I
t
feels
l
i
ke
I should
be
p
a
y
i
n
g
y
ou
rent
or
somethi
n
g
.
”

A
w
k
w
ard.
The
room
reeked
w
ith
it.
B
ut
the
suggestion brought
her
back
f
rom
her
embarr
a
s
s
men
t
enoug
h
t
o
spea
k
. Appa
l
led
at
the
n
o
tion
he
p
a
y
rent
when
he
w
as
d
o
i
n
g
so much
of
the
wor
k
,
she
a
l
l
but
seethed,
“
N
o
.
N
o
,
y
ou
’
re
wor
k
i
n
g
her
e
.
And
I
ca
n
’t
p
a
y
y
ou
y
e
t
…
L
aund
r
y
is
the
least..
.
”

F
eeli
n
g
the
unea
s
in
e
ss,
he
made
the
m
i
s
t
ake
of
looki
n
g in
t
o
her
b
r
il
l
i
ant
choco
l
a
t
e
-
brown
e
y
e
s.
H
is
mind
suddenly went
b
l
an
k
.
H
e
could
n
’t
remember
w
h
y
h
e
’
d
w
an
t
ed
t
o
go in
t
o
t
o
w
n
in
the
fi
r
st
p
l
ace,
or
w
h
y
h
e
’
d
w
an
t
ed
t
o
act
so
cold
t
o
w
ard
he
r
.
F
eeli
n
g
more
and
more
l
i
ke
a
jer
k
,
he
admit
t
ed,
“
J
or
d
an,
it
’
s
ok
a
y
,
I
did
n
’t
mean
a
n
ythi
n
g
by
i
t
.
Than
k
s
for
th
e
clea
n
cl
o
th
e
s
that
’
s
a
l
l I
mean
t
.
”

But
the
d
a
ma
g
e
w
a
s
done.
S
he
tu
r
ned
and
a
l
l
but
ra
n
f
rom
the
apa
r
tment
le
a
v
i
ng
him
f
eeling
l
i
ke
the
slithe
r
ing
s
nake
he
w
a
s.

McCready’s turned out
to be a cross between a pub and a dimly lit pool hall owned by an ex-Irish boxer from Dublin named Flynn. The place sat between a bait and T-shirt shop amidst a series of vacant storefronts along the wharf overlooking Smuggler’s Bay.

N
ick
sat
at
the
lo
n
g
,
scarred
maho
g
a
n
y
ba
r
,
nu
r
s
i
n
g
a bee
r
,
lis
t
eni
n
g
t
o
D
w
ight
Y
oa
k
um
on
the
juke
trying to
so
r
t
out
his feeli
n
gs
a
bout
g
ui
t
a
r
s,
C
ad
il
l
acs
and
h
il
l
bil
ly
m
us
ic.
H
e brooded
over
the
earlier
scene
w
ith
J
or
d
a
n
.
H
e
’
d
put
her
off
a
l
l
r
i
gh
t
,
enoug
h
tha
t
sh
e
had
n
’
t
e
ve
n
aske
d
a
b
ou
t
h
is
s
ca
r
s.
M
o
st
women
did.
T
h
e
y
w
an
t
e
d
t
o
k
n
o
w
wha
t
ha
d
happened.
U
sua
l
ly
a
l
l
he
had
t
o
do
w
as
mention
the
word
“
I
raq”
and
he
w
as
flooded
w
ith
s
ympat
h
y
.
H
e
did
n
’t
w
ant
s
ympat
h
y
f
rom a
n
y
one,
least
of
a
l
l
f
rom
J
or
d
a
n
.
And
she
had
n
’t
given
him a
n
y
.
S
h
e
’
d
r
un
f
rom
the
room
a
w
a
y
f
rom
him
so
fas
t
,
and
it had
had
n
o
thi
n
g
t
o
do
w
ith
his
sca
r
s.
H
is
coldne
s
s
had
n
o
t only
su
r
p
r
ised
the
heck
out
of
he
r
,
comi
n
g
out
of
the
blue l
i
ke
it
had,
but
it
had
hu
r
t
her
feeli
n
g
s.
Remembe
r
i
n
g
the shat
t
ered
look
on
her
face,
if
he
could
man
a
ge
the
logis
t
ics of
i
t
,
h
e
’
d
l
i
ke
t
o
k
ick
his
o
w
n
ass.
W
hen
he
t
r
ied
t
o
direct
his at
t
ention
t
o
the
baske
t
ba
l
l
g
ame
on
the
b
ig-s
c
reen
T
V
,
a
l
l
he s
a
w
ins
t
ead
w
as
the
wounded
look
h
e
’
d
put
on
J
or
d
a
n
’
s
fac
e
.
H
e
simply
could
n
’t
get
that
p
ic
t
ure
out
of
his
head.