Badge Bunny Page 11

  “I’m pretty sure I’m just not supposed to see her. I think texting is fine.”

  “Oh, okay. Sorry, I’m not too up on this wedding tradition thing.”

  “Clearly.”

  I stumble into the guest bathroom, leaving the ensuite bathroom for Drew to use. Meric is already in there, brushing his teeth. “Ugh, sorry, man.”

  “I’m almost done,” he says, his mouth full of toothbrush.

  I nod and make my way into the living room where Sam and Luke are sprawled out on a blow-up mattress surrounded by pillows, couch cushions and blankets. It almost looks like they made a blanket fort or something. “You guys getting up or what?” I shout loud enough to startle them both. Their heads pop up like rockets.

  “Dude, why’d you have to shout so loud, for Chrissakes!” Luke bellows.

  “Where’s Jack?” I question.

  “I thought he slept in the guest room with Meric?” Sam replies.

  My eyes dart from the living room through the opening to the kitchen, all the way out the kitchen window to the deck. Sure enough, Jack is sitting comfortably reclined on Sonnet’s lounge chair reading the morning paper with a steaming cup of coffee beside him. Leave it to the dad among us to be up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Speaking of which, a fox might make a nice character for an upcoming book!

  An hour or so later, we’re all more or less put together and on our way to meet Drew’s dad for breakfast. The restaurant is only a block or so from the beach, and I’m close enough to see that the tide is in, and the water is up way further on the beach than normal.

  “Whoa, the sea was angry that day, my friends!” I announce in a deep voice, turning to Drew. “Did you see this? Is it okay?”

  He barely glances at the water, then back to me. “Oh, yeah, it always looks like that after a storm passes through. At least it stopped raining, right?”

  The sun is buried beneath angry gray clouds, and the sea, too, looks gray except for the white caps on the choppy waves rolling toward the shore. I don’t know what looks more threatening, the skies or the seas.

  “It’s fine, Chris, chill out,” he insists, giving me a look that says not to push it.

  I shake my head. I know he lives closer to the beach than I do, but he doesn’t have to act like I’m a complete idiot. I’ve lived along the stretch from Cape Henlopen to the Indian River Inlet my entire life, and the only time I’ve ever seen the ocean look like that is during a hurricane.

  “Right, the tide is in right now, and as soon as it lets out, the water will recede,” Sonnet insists as we cross the bridge onto the peninsula where Ben’s camp is.

  “Your friend said the storm turned, right?” I can’t help but be a little troubled by what I see. The water is up to the sides of the bridge, even splashing over the metal rails a bit. There are deep ruts in the seashell gravel from where the tide must have washed away some of the rock the night before.

  “Yes. We may still get a little rain, but that tropical depression is headed out into the Atlantic where it belongs.” She breathes a sigh of relief. It’s just the two of us in the car today. Everyone else is meeting us here a little later in the morning.

  “I’m glad we decided to get ready here. That way we don’t have to walk across the muddy parking lot,” I observe, looking at the standing water near the shelter. Looks like I’ll be parking next to a puddle, though. I don’t have much of a choice.

  I scan the skies, searching hopefully for any hint of the sun, but it’s another gray day with low clouds hugging the water like they’re afraid to let go. I can tell the tide is much higher than normal because the marshy areas at the edges of the beach are completely submerged. Looking out across the water, I search for the neighboring islands, the ones made up of reeds and cattails, home to egrets and herons but nothing else. They are drowning in the tide as well. I see only the tips of the tallest cattails struggling to lift their heads up above the waterline.

  “At least the shelter is dry.” Sonnet returns to where I’m standing, still mesmerized by Mother Nature and how she doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone else’s plans.

  “So what do we need to do first?” I decide to focus on the task at hand—I don’t dare admit how scared I am of the threatening skies.

  “Help me get things ready for the caterer, okay?” I look down at her trembling hands gripping the set of keys my brother gave her to all the main building and cabin.

  “Is your dress in the cabin?” I question.

  She nods and takes another steadying breath.

  “You’ve got this, okay?”

  She nods again, but I don’t miss the tear glittering in the corner of her eye. I am sure when she envisioned her wedding day, she imagined it sunny and glorious, like angels kissing the earth with all the heavens’ blessings. She and Drew are supposed to walk down the aisle in the late afternoon, at 4:30. Surely by then this will all be cleared up, and there will be stars aplenty for their “Music Under the Star Wars” reception.

  I admire Sonnet’s spirit. I know she has that tear in her eye now, but she’s not going to allow anyone else to see it. She’s going to put on a brave face. She’s a scientist; she loves nature. And she’s not fussy. She refused to hire a makeup artist or someone to do her hair, preferring instead to go with a natural look. So a little bad weather isn’t going to rain on her parade, so to speak.

  I follow her into the kitchen, where we start getting all the serving dishes and utensils laid out and organized. The caterers will be here in an hour, and everything will be ready for the food. I hope Sophie, Claire and Lindy have managed to keep Mrs. Wilson busy this morning so she doesn’t show up and start annoying her granddaughter. Hurricane Victoria, indeed. I’d rather deal with any manner of storm instead of her, and I imagine Sonnet feels the same.

  I convince Sonnet to seek refuge in my brother’s cabin, which he’s lent us for the bride and her party to get ready. Around the same time, I see big, fat raindrops begin to fall again, plinking into the mud puddles and sending cascading rings rippling out from the murky brown centers. And then a caravan of vehicles rumbles across the bridge.

  I hang back, wanting to see who has arrived, and if it’s Hurricane Victoria, I plan to run interference and keep her away from the cabin while Sonnet gets herself ready. I’ve assured her that when the other ladies get here, we will wait for the caterers and make sure everything goes smoothly. I don’t want her worrying or stressing out.

  “I hope the tide is going out soon,” says Mr. Clark as he steps out of his car.

  “High tide was at 11:03,” Drew announces, glancing down at his phone. “Low tide is at 5:07, then high tide again at 11:14 tonight.”

  “Well, aren’t you the budding meteorologist,” Chris says, climbing out from Drew’s truck. Meric, Sam and Luke follow.

  “Hi, Mr. Clark, Mrs. Clark,” I wave across the mud-puddled walkway.

  “Oh, please, call us Bob and Connie,” Drew’s mom insists. “No need for such formality.”

  Drew steps closer to me with Chris right behind him. “Where is Sonnet?”

  “She’s in the cabin. I told her to go take a load off. She is seriously stressing, Drew.” I wish my eyes weren’t as cloudy as the skies, but I’m trying really hard not to go into panic mode.

  “What can I do?” he questions, his green eyes sincere and worried.

  “You can’t see her,” I remind him.

  “Maybe I can cheer her up?” Chris interjects.

  I whip around and glare at him. I can’t imagine a scenario where his presence wouldn’t agitate the bride even further. “What are you going to do, draw her a picture?”

  The look he gives me is tinged with poison. I clasp my hand over my mouth, then whisper “Sorry.”

  “Chris can’t draw,” Drew says, turning to me. “I think he failed art in school, right, Everson?”

  He just smiles and nods, and as soon as Drew steps away, I’m all over that like an ant on a picnic. “Who the hell fails art?”
<
br />   He scoffs, “Uh…well, the art teacher and I had some creative differences.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I didn’t always draw cute animals, you know. I went through a…phase…where I liked to draw gory stuff. Skeletons. Skulls. Zombies. Creatures of the night.”

  “Wow, I just keep stashing away more and more ammunition,” I tease him. “You don’t even make it hard.”

  He gives me a little shrug, and there’s something in his eyes that tells me he doesn’t mind being teased. In fact, I think he rather enjoys it. Except for about the book thing—but mostly because he doesn’t want anyone to know his secret. And naturally, that makes it the most appealing thing to tease him about.

  “I still need to find out something about you—something embarrassing. Maybe Sonnet knows something?” He starts to head off in the direction of the cabin.

  “Please don’t bother her, okay? Just let her be. She has to enough to deal with, especially with Hurricane Victoria afoot!”

  As if the skies are revolting against that infamous name, they suddenly open up, and a huge downburst of wind sends a deluge of rain pouring down on us. “Oh my god!” I scream, and Chris grabs my hand, pulling me toward the shelter. I follow him, feeling how big and warm his hand feels wrapped around mine. He swings the door to the kitchen open and waits for me to duck inside before he joins me.

  Big, fat raindrops are dripping from his short, sandy blond crewcut down his tan face, and I swear his eyes are almost glowing with mischief. “What is it about the rain?” he asks, looking down at me. He reaches out and flicks a drop of water off my arm.

  His touch immediately sends a bolt of electricity through me. I don’t remember that happening last night when we rehearsed walking in and out together arm and arm, but here and now, in the darkness of the kitchen, drenched with rain, I feel something. Something I did not expect—nor want—to feel.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I lie, looking down at my feet, which are covered with wet sand just from running in here through the muck.

  This time he takes a finger and strokes it down my cheek, removing a trail of water that has just descended from my hair, and the sparkles tingle up my spine again. Damn it. How is he doing that?

  I do know what he means. Crap.

  “I’m still figuring you out, Dr. Miller,” he says, leaning toward me. “You are a very interesting puzzle to unravel.”

  My heart is in my throat, and I feel its beats radiating through my body, pulsing in my ears like a fast bass drum beat. It wants to form a song with the air rushing in and out of my lungs, maybe something with a kickass guitar riff, but I am currently unable to breathe.

  “There is nothing mysterious about me, Trooper…Everson,” I say, struggling to get his name out. I want to call him Trooper Asshat so bad. I want to blow him off and whip around defiantly, storming from the room, but I can’t quite seem to bring myself to do it.

  We’re suspended here in this moment. I hear some bustling in the area where the ceremony is going to take place, and I hear the pounding of the rain against the roof, but it all sounds like a ballad, a soft, sweeping ballad. And if I’m not imagining things, he’s swaying to the swell of the music, swaying toward me as if he might just—

  The light flicks on. “Miss Jayne?” comes a loud, ear-piercing voice.

  I whip around, almost sending Trooper Asshat flying backward. “I’m the Maid of Honor,” I explain. “Can I help you?”

  I glance back at him, and Chris’s body is pressed against the wall like he’s just avoided falling off a cliff. Was he going to kiss me? For real?

  No time to worry about that now; the sharp, annoying voice belongs to the caterer, an older man with a much younger assistant. They start wheeling in a cart full of boxes and containers. After that comes Mrs. Clark, oops, I mean Connie, followed by Mrs. Jayne and Hurricane Victoria. Oh, perfect.

  Chris appears to have recovered, but he shoots me a look. I think it’s one of disappointment.

  “Where have you been?” Meric asks as soon as I emerge from the kitchen back out into the pouring rain. He’s standing there under a huge golf umbrella, and I run over to join him. We look like lovers huddled under the brightly colored canopy, and the fuchsia color reflects on his face as he stares at me with raised eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

  “I was helping Brynne,” I answer, though I’m not sure what I was doing could technically be called helping. I thought we were having a moment. When I touched her arm, this crazy buzz surged through me. I think she felt it too… There was a look in her eye. That hard look she usually gives me actually softened for a moment.

  “Helping her what?” He waggles his eyebrows at me as we start to move toward the front of the shelter, doing that awkward walk of two people sharing an umbrella. He opens the door and props the umbrella on the front porch. We both stamp our wet feet on the mat just inside the lobby.

  “The caterers are here,” I deadpan. Hey, it’s not a lie. Being a cop, I know all the tricks of dancing around the truth.

  “Uh huh. I saw you guys last night.” A playful grin spreads across his face. “Lindy noticed it too, so it wasn’t just me. You guys are totally hot for each other.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I scoff. “I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

  “She is definitely…intimidating. So is Sonnet, really. But they’re both really nice once you get to know them. I know Lindy was a little put off by them at first, but now they’re like old friends.”

  “Brynne has a thing against cops,” I explain. “Well, she used to have a thing for cops, but some asshole ruined it for me, apparently.”

  “Gotcha. That’s too bad. Still, it seemed like she was into you…at least from our vantage.”

  I glance out the windows of the shelter, which are huge and can be lifted to make the venue open-air, at least the sides. I know Sonnet and Drew envisioned leaving them open for the reception and ceremony. The clock at the back of the building, behind where they’ve set up a beautiful arch of seashells and flowers, says 2 PM. It’s still pouring out, but it does look like the water has receded a bit. I see a bit more of the nearby marshes that were submerged when we arrived. Low tide is at five, so it should be fine during the ceremony. I just hope it stops raining soon so high tide later tonight isn’t going to be an issue…

  Once I get the caterers squared away, I run into Ken, the wedding coordinator. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” he apologizes, giving me an air kiss on the cheek. “Winston and I had a little issue with our doggie today. I’m so very sorry. He’s on his way too.”

  I can’t believe how many cars everyone is bringing onto this small peninsula. I hope Ben was prepared for that. There’s ample parking around the main building and even more behind the cabin. I hope we don’t have to use it, though. There are some low spots on that side of the peninsula, and I would hate for it to get flooded if the rain keeps up.

  “It’s okay. Have you seen the photographer?” I ask.

  Ken shoots me a worried look, with deep crevices appearing between his brows.

  “What, Ken?”

  He fidgets for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clearly trying to decide how to deliver some bad news.

  “What?!” I demand, probably sounding a little more intense than I mean to, but hey, emotions are running high, and the weather outside is not helping. I can barely see, it’s raining so hard.

  “The photographer lives in Long Neck,” he says, shrugging.

  “I don’t know what you mean by that.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Just give it to me straight, Ken. What is going on?”

  “He can’t get out. He’s flooded in. He might have a window around low tide, but he’s not sure.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Oh my god, Sonnet is going to blow a gasket.

  “I know, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what to do!” The distress on this poor man’s face looks like he’s about to have a coronary. I might have
to go into work mode soon.

  “Calm down, Ken. Take a deep breath.” I give him a reassuring pat on the arm. “It’s not your fault. We just have to decide who is going to tell Sonnet. I think she’s waiting for the photographer to put on her dress.”

  “Right.” He lets out a long, frustrated sigh. “Winston is bringing his nice camera, though. I mean, I can take some photos. It would be better than nothing.”

  “When is Winston coming?”

  Just as I ask, a small silver sports car sloshes over the bridge. It’s very low to the ground, and I worry for a moment as it rolls through the largest puddle that has accumulated between the bridge and the parking lot.

  “That’s him.”

  “Do you think he’d let me use the camera…to take photos of her getting dressed? The photographer had a female assistant who was going to take the photos of us getting ready,” I explain.

  “Under the circumstances, I think he will do anything to avoid Sonnet’s wrath,” Ken remarks. “We heard her bitch out a contractor once. It was not pretty.”

  I can’t help but laugh. That’s my girl. “Okay, then. I’m on it.”

  Once I greet Winston and wrangle his very expensive-looking camera away from him, I head to the cabin. None other than Trooper Asshat steps right into my path when I’m within a few yards of it.

  “Not now, Chris. I have to go tell Sonnet the photographer may not make it in time,” I warn him. I am not in the mood for any more games…even if a part of me is dying to know what might have transpired in the kitchen if the caterers hadn’t shown up.

  “You’re getting soaked. Let me get you an umbrella.”

  I run right past him. He’s right about one thing: I am getting soaked. I can feel the water dripping down my back. At least no one cares what I look like today. This is all about Sonnet.

  “Let me know if you need anything!” he calls out after me.

  I bustle into the cabin and find Sophie trying to calmly explain to Sonnet’s mother and grandmother that they’re not welcome. I admire her initiative, but she doesn’t have the authoritative ER doctor voice that I do. I eagerly step up to the plate.