Carol Ericson - Her Alibi

Now she needed to sneak out of here...and find herself an alibi.

* * *

CONNOR DUG HIS feet into the sand and squinted at the surfers battling the heavy surf—and each other.

He pulled out his video camera, zoomed in and started filming the Cove Boys and their antics in the water. Summer might’ve ended but the rowdy group of surfers who ruled the cove with a belligerent localism never stopped when they thought outsiders were riding their waves.

Connor caught the Cove Boys dropping in on others’ waves, cutting them off, yelling and making rude gestures. This footage would help with the lawsuit.

The Cove Boys’ aggressive behavior had its desired effect as, one by one, the harassed surfers came to shore in defeat.

A couple approached him, their boards under their arms. The man reached back and yanked down the zipper of his wetsuit. “Are they always like that?”

“Yep.” Connor held up his video camera. “But we’re trying to stop it. Some local surfers who don’t like the reputation of the cove are bringing a class action lawsuit against these guys—and I just captured some solid evidence.”

“Good. It’s about time someone did something about these guys.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw a surfer clambering from the surf and coming at him. He turned, widening his stance on the wet sand, his muscles tense.

Jimmy Takata, one of the Cove Boys, threw down his board. “What’s up, Wells? What’s the camera for?”

“Whaddya think? You guys can’t stop even when your attorney tells you to lie low.”

Jimmy lunged at him, and Connor dropped the camera on top of his bag and raised his hands. “You wanna go there?”

“You’re playing with fire, Wells.” Jimmy leveled a finger at him. “Your old man doesn’t rule this town anymore, and he did a crap job when he did.”

Connor’s eye twitched behind his sunglasses. “Aren’t you kinda old to be playing beach bully, Jimmy?”

“Never too old to protect your own. Besides, you’re not a cop anymore, so stop trying to recapture your glory days.” Jimmy guffawed as he scooped up his board and waded back into the water.

Connor crouched and stashed the camera in his bag. Then he hitched it over his shoulder and scuffed his bare feet through the dry sand to the line of cars on the road above the beach.

He slid behind the wheel of his truck and tossed the bag on the seat next to him. Gripping the steering wheel, he let out a breath. If he could help break the stranglehold the Cove Boys had over the best surfing spot in San Juan Beach, it might go a little way toward restoring the town’s former luster.

It seemed a million years ago since his father patrolled this small beach community as its police chief and the residents could trust each other and trust authority. Then the drugs moved in and all that ended—along with his father’s life.

Connor swallowed the bitterness that flooded his mouth and took a swig of the warm water from the bottle in his cup holder. He’d leave this place, as others had, if it weren’t for the land and his father’s dream. Didn’t he owe that to him?

Someone rapped on his window and he jumped. He peered through the glass at the couple from the beach and powered down his window.

The guy stuck his hand into the open space. “Thanks, man.”

“For what?” Connor jerked his thumb toward the beach. “They’re still out there intimidating people.”

“Yeah, but if that lawsuit prevails and those idiots are slapped with an injunction, they’re going to think twice about their localism—and your video footage should help.”

The woman held out a business card. “If the attorney needs witnesses, give me a call. We’d be happy to help.”

“Thanks.” Connor plucked the card from between the woman’s fingers. “I’ll give this to the lawyer filing the lawsuit.”

With a wave of his hand, Connor cranked on his engine and pulled away from the gravelly shoulder, spitting dust and sand in his wake. After a few miles, he made a turn to the east, away from the coast and the town of San Juan Beach.

The narrow, two-lane road wound into the low-lying hills and the early-fall temperature rose several degrees as he escaped the sea breeze. The hotter the better. His grapevines needed the warmth.

On the way to the house, Connor pulled over and jumped out of the truck. He cupped a bunch of grapes in his palm and sniffed—the sweet had started to overpower the tart—right on time, even though this crop wouldn’t be the harvest for the wine. He had to wait another year for that.

Good thing he was a patient man.

As he made the last turn, he hunched over the steering wheel and squinted at the white car in his driveway. Someone had ignored the no-solicitors sign posted at the entrance to his property—probably another one of those Realtors. That shiny cream-white Lexus looked exactly like a Realtor’s car.

His jaw hardened, and he threw the truck into Park. He pushed out of his vehicle at the same time a woman emerged from the Lexus.

As she floated toward him, her hands held out, Connor blinked. Her perfume wafted toward him and enveloped him in her spell. When she reached him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder, her chestnut hair lifting in the breeze, his capture complete.

Her warm breath caressed the side of his neck as she whispered in a husky tone, “I’m in trouble, Connor. And I need an alibi.”

Connor’s body, still hard and strong, stiffened. She knew he wouldn’t be putty in her hands, but she’d hoped she wouldn’t have to bring out the big guns.

He stepped back, and she unwound her arms from around his waist. She didn’t want to be clingy.

Narrowing his blue eyes, he folded his arms across his unyielding chest. “What now?”

She gazed over his shoulder at the empty road bordered by grapevines and pasted a smile on her face. “The vineyard looks good. I can’t wait for the first bottle.”

He snorted, “Are you really trying to butter me up? You should know better.”

“I need to ease into this.” She squeezed his rock-solid biceps. “Can we talk inside?”

“Hang on.”

He turned back toward his truck, opened the door and ducked inside, giving her a spectacular view of his backside in his board shorts. From the look and feel of Connor’s muscles, she wouldn’t be surprised if he worked this vineyard single-handedly, but he must still be spending time at the beach, given his sandy bare feet and the burnished-gold sheen on his brown hair.

He walked toward her, a black bag slung over his shoulder. As he passed her, he nodded toward the house. “Follow me.”

“Hardly the red carpet I was expecting after all this time.”

“Maybe it’s more than you deserve after all this time.”

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. She definitely needed the big guns this time around.

As she walked into the house she expelled a soft sigh. “You redecorated.”

“This is my house now, not my parents’. What’s wrong? You don’t like it?”

She ran a hand along the back of the cream-colored leather sofa, which had replaced an overstuffed floral one that had been littered with his mother’s handmade pillows. “It’s an improvement.”

He placed the bag on a granite island that separated the kitchen from the living room, where a wall once stood that had supported a shelf showing off Connor’s surfing trophies.

“Do you want something to drink? No wine...yet.”

“As much as I could use some alcohol right now, it’s still morning and I need my wits about me...all my wits.” Or at least the ones she still possessed after last night’s blackout.