Covert Cargo. Elisabeth Rees
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for me to take my focus away from my job and put it onto you. I’ll do whatever I can to assist Tyler, but I need to keep my sights elsewhere.” He cast his gaze out over the ocean as if to emphasize his point. “I can’t afford to let myself be sidetracked.”
Beth watched Dillon’s eyes scan the ocean, darting back and forth across the waves. He always seemed to be searching the sea, permanently on the lookout. His awareness was constantly heightened, and she wondered whether his single-minded focus was the reason he’d been given the top job at the coast guard station. He had an important smuggling assignment to oversee, and her situation must be like a thorn in his side. She suddenly saw herself as he did: as a nuisance and a distraction. It made her defensive streak rush to the surface and prickle her skin.
“I’ve been managing by myself for five years,” she said, crossing her arms. “Once Ted has recovered from his surgery, I’m sure we’ll be able to cope alone. I really don’t want to divert resources from your day job.”
He clearly guessed he had hit a nerve. He took his eyes away from the ocean and settled them on her. “Ensuring your safety is as important as any task I need to accomplish in my day job, but I can’t take personal responsibility for protecting you.” He sighed. “It’s complicated.”
She looked him full in the face. She figured he was casting her off with excuses, trying to make her feel better about being such a drain on his brand-new job as station chief. She also knew that all her insecurities about being a burden shouldn’t be laid at his feet. They had been stored up nice and tight for a long time.
“One thing I’ve learned over the years,” she said, “is that things are always complicated.”
He leaned in close to her on the passenger seat. “I know that you’re an independent woman who’s going to struggle to adapt to a couple of big men lumbering around your little lighthouse like giants.” She smiled in spite of her swirling emotions. “And I also know that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself under normal circumstances,” he continued. He uncurled his fingers from the stone and held it in his palm. “But these are not normal circumstances. Although I won’t be the person taking overall responsibility for your security, I will make absolutely sure that nothing bad happens to you.” He laid a hand over hers. “You deserve all the resources we have, and you’re worth the effort. You should know that.”
His words almost took her breath away. Had he been able to guess that she saw herself as worthless? That she felt of little value to anyone? Had he seen through the air of confidence she had created to hide the pain of being publicly rejected?
She finally found her voice after being stunned into temporary silence. “When would you want to move into the tower?”
“Tyler should be here tomorrow evening, so for tonight it’ll be just me staying with you.” He checked his watch. “Let’s get back to the lighthouse so I can measure the tower room for equipment. I’ll have Carl deliver it later on.”
“How long do you think this will take?” Beth desperately wanted to know when the acid taste of fear would leave her mouth and when she could return to her normal life again. “How close are you to catching these cartel guys?”
Dillon pressed his palms together and brought them to his face with a sigh. Before he could give an answer, a crashing sound cut through the air, carried from the open kitchen door of the Salty Dog, which could easily be seen from the high vantage point of the vet’s parking lot. The noise was quickly followed by angry, raised voices and the banging thuds of a brawl. Dillon took Beth’s hand.
“I should go check that out,” he said, pulling her from the seat, close to his side. “But don’t leave my sight, whatever you do.”
Beth glanced over to the Salty Dog, the last place on earth she wanted to go. But she steeled herself, took a deep breath and allowed Dillon to lead the way.
* * *
The restaurant was busy, yet nobody was prepared to step in and separate the two fiercely fighting men, seemingly fused together in a ball of flailing arms and legs. One of the men was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. And the other guy was taller, leaner and fitter, wearing navy blue clothes exactly like Dillon’s.
“It’s Larry!” Dillon exclaimed, guiding Beth to stand by the wall out of range of the ruckus.
“The other guy is Kevin,” Beth said, wide-eyed. “He owns the place. He and Larry are brothers.”
Dillon pressed her against the wall. “They sure don’t seem to be feeling any brotherly love right now. Stay here while I pull them apart.”
He approached the men with a barking order. “Break it up, guys. That’s enough.”
Neither man made any attempt to stop brawling, so Dillon was forced to grab Larry by the collar and yank him away sharply. Larry continued to throw wild punches and kick the air, forcing Dillon to place him in an armlock. Larry cried out but immediately stilled under the firm grip of his superior. Dillon pushed the subdued man to an empty chair and made him sit while his brother hauled himself to his feet with a groan.
Dillon quickly checked that Beth was still standing against the wall. She had wrapped her arms around her waist and bowed her head as if trying to hide away. But nobody’s attention was on her anyway—it was on the two breathless men glowering at each other with wild, dark eyes. The explosion of violence was jarring against the family-oriented restaurant, busy with people enjoying a quiet lunch. This was definitely not the kind of place where brawling was commonplace.
“Okay, everyone,” Dillon called out to the crowd of onlookers while righting some upended chairs. “Show’s over, folks. You can all get back to your meals and eat in peace.”
Amid murmurings and mutterings, the diners gradually pulled their gazes away and resumed their lunches, while Larry and Kevin regained their composure and breath.
“Now,” Dillon said, looking between the pair. “I understand that you two are brothers. So what on earth has turned you into enemies?”
Neither man spoke. A tall, dark-haired woman stepped out from behind the serving counter. “Larry came bursting in here about five minutes ago,” she said, “and he was mad as a hornet at Kevin. I’ve never seen them fight like that before.”
“And who might you be, ma’am?” Dillon asked.
“I’m Mia,” the woman replied. “Mia Wride-Ford. I’m a waitress here.” She looked around the restaurant, and Dillon noticed her do a double take on seeing Beth standing just a few feet away. She turned and smiled at Beth, giving her a small wave. Beth raised a weak smile in response, obviously embarrassed to be in public view.
“And what was the argument about?” Dillon addressed the question to nobody in particular, hoping that someone would give a straight answer.
“You know Larry,” Kevin replied, straightening out his rumpled clothes. “He’s always got a beef about something. He’s a loose cannon.”
“I’m a loose cannon?” Larry said, widening his eyes and letting out a snort. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Kevin narrowed his eyes at his brother. “You had no right coming in here, shooting your mouth like that. If we weren’t family, I’d call the police and have you arrested for assault.”
Larry rose to his feet and, in a theatrical gesture, pointed to a pay phone attached to a wall. “Go right ahead, Kevin, call the police and file a report.” He crossed his arms. “I won’t stand in your way.”
Kevin stood for a few seconds, hands on hips, looking between Larry and the pay phone.
“Would you like to report this matter to the local sheriff?” Dillon asked. “If Larry attacked you without provocation, you have a roomful of witnesses to back up your story.”
Kevin bent over and rested his hands on his knees like a deflating balloon. “No. There’s no need to involve the police. We’re