In Too Deep Read online

  Ben dropped his head back to grimace at the wood-paneled ceiling. “You’ve come a long way to rub salt in it.” Fine lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes and he rubbed a palm over at least a week’s worth of stubble.

  She sighed and tugged her cap off, ran a quick hand through the flattened strands. Did he honestly believe she’d come to gloat? Temper vanishing, Piper squatted at the table edge and swallowed past the dry blockage in her throat. “I’m only here to help. I’ll run the dive tours until your leg heals.”

  “It’s not that simple. I don’t just offer tours now. A lot of my business comes from cage dives. It’s why I bought the bigger boat.”

  “Cage dives?”

  “A shark cage. See the Stewart Island Great White sharks up close and personal. Loopies love it.”

  “Oh, Ben.” Spidery tickles iced down her spine. “Not the sharks.”

  “Don’t you go all holier-than-thou on me. While you’ve been up north living the dream I’ve done what I needed to survive.”

  Someone brushed against her, and Piper leaned forward.

  “’Scuse me.” Smitty’s gap-toothed grin leered above a huge plate of fried fish and chips. “Good to see you again, lass.” He winked and waddled off, stopping at the nearest group of men and muttering, “You fellas mind your own beeswax, ya hear?”

  Piper lowered her gaze to the scuffed floor and took a deep breath. Old Smitty was the worst gossip of the lot, and even from his perch in the far corner, she’d bet a month’s wages he’d been eavesdropping.

  Liquid glugged into a glass and she looked up. “Thought you didn’t drink that imported crap?”

  “I’m not in a position to turn down a free beer when it’s offered.” Ben shifted in his seat and turned his face away to glower at the window.

  Outside the wind had picked up, hammering sheets of rain against the glass in a blustery tantrum. She shivered, even though the temperature inside with so many bodies crammed together bordered on suffocating. “Listen, I’ve another idea we can try. When’s your next tour?”

  He took a sip of his beer and wrinkled his nose. “Got a shark dive booked this Wednesday—why? You gonna swim with the big fishies, little sis?”

  Piper shot him a cocky smile. “I’m meaner than anything that cruises the ocean around here. So what time do we leave?”

  “We?” He hacked out a laugh. “There’s no we, Piper. Doc says I’m not allowed on a boat for at least five to six weeks, and I assume you haven’t got a commercial skipper’s license?”

  Piper stood, rubbing her protesting thigh muscles with damp palms. License? Ah, no, she hadn’t considered who would skipper Ben’s boat. She just assumed he wouldn’t be able to dive. “No. No license. What about one of your mates?”

  “It’s summer. No one has any spare hours to give me.” He reached for the crutches braced on the other side of the table. “I told you, it’s under control. We don’t need you here. Go back to the city.”

  She lifted her chin, ignoring the small stab of hurt at the bitterness of his tone. “Not an option. So who’s skippering for you?”

  “Me,” a voice grated directly behind her.

  Her pulse exploded into chaos, but she controlled the tremble in her muscles as she half turned toward him. “Hello, West.” She moderated her tone so it was chilled with absolute politeness.

  His voice remained the same, but the boyishness there at twenty had vanished now West had nearly hit thirty. His shoulders were broader, the cut of his business shirt hinting at the shape of his chest beneath, and his dress pants sat low on lean hips. His dark brown hair, once unkempt in sync with Ben’s, was stylishly trimmed and kept in line by some slick product. Bet the locals gave him hell about that.

  Eyes the brittle blue of dried sea coral locked with hers. One assessing look shattered any doubt that he recalled each intense moment spent together when she was eighteen.

  Bubbles of old, revived attraction fizzed through her veins, as potentially deadly as nitrogen collecting in her cells during a dive. Those feelings couldn’t be allowed to multiply. A fizz could turn into a trickle, the trickle to a cascade, and the cascade to a torrent. She wouldn’t go through the devastation of purging Ryan Westlake out of her system again.

  Fool her once, and all that crap.

  ***

  West smothered a grim smile as he scanned the length of her, from the leather biker jacket, down to black jeans emphasizing a pert ass, to grape-colored combat boots—a touch of pure Piper. Her shoulders stiffened to fence-post straight. So, she remembered more than just the sound of his voice.

  Every cutting, snide comment he’d intended to use from the moment Ford had sidled into his office with a grunted, “Piper’s back,” evaporated into sea fog. He swallowed, unable to extract his gaze from her full mouth and creamy skin. Her hair, which in his rare poetic moments he’d thought of as burnished chestnut, should’ve flowed past her shoulders, but instead she’d cut it short, the fine strands curling in the humidity.

  “You cut your hair.” Jeez, West, real smooth.

  She twisted a lock around her finger, before tucking it behind her ear. “Too many drunks tried to grab me by it.”

  He gripped the top of the nearest chair, then noticing his reaction, deliberately relaxed his hand again. What Piper chose to do with her life was irrelevant. “The perils of being a cop.”

  Her head swung toward Ben, who clattered and fumbled to get his crutches from behind the table.

  West took a step closer, trying to block the faint perfume of her skin from addling his brain even further. “I take it you’ve volunteered to run the diving part of Ben’s business.” The rigid line of her backbone betrayed her tension.

  Her arrival and plans to work would solve some of Ben’s issues, but create a whole bunch of new ones for West. Back on the island, Piper became another pain-in-his-ass problem, a reminder of his youthful naivety. “So how does a cop plan to make nice to tourists and handle testosterone-fired guys on a shark cage dive?”

  She slapped him with a deadpan stare. “I’ll handle it fine. I know how to deal with pushy, arrogant men.”

  Score one for her. “Good for you, but Ben needs a qualified diver on his tours, not a hobbyist—”

  “I’m a certified rescue diver and dive instructor. Probably more qualified for this than both of you combined,” she snapped.

  West pulled a fast grin before smothering it. Was she now? Color crept up underneath the collar of her jacket, an old telltale sign he’d done a great job of either unsettling her or pissing her off.

  “A lot of qualifications for a simple officer of the law. You’ve been busy.”

  “Very busy.” She turned to Ben, who had wrestled himself to his feet. “So who was your dive guide before?”

  At his sister’s words Ben’s face hardened into a stone mask. He could’ve warned her not to go there.

  “No one you know.” Ben’s tone snipped the words into staccato bites. “And they left unexpectedly at the beginning of the season which is why I’m in this mess.”

  “Why did—” She paused, eyebrows drawn in a sharp “v” as she stared down a nearby table of snickering girls. Once they’d returned nervously to their drinks she switched her intense gut-clenching gaze back to West. “Can the three of us go to your dad’s office and talk privately?”

  “It’s my office now, but sure. After you.” West made a grand sweeping motion toward the bar. “We’ve also a small matter of reimbursement to discuss.”

  The idea had popped into his head on a flash of devilish inspiration. If Piper was determined to stay here and make him suffer with her close proximity, he could damn well ensure she was miserable too.

  Her jaw dropped. “Reimbursement?”

  “Everything has a price, including me.”

  Her gaze contained the lash of a stingray’s barb, full of venom and almost as painful. Luckily she didn’t have the ability to hurt him anymore with those beautiful hazel eyes.

 
Score one for him.

  Ben made it across the pub to the polished wood bar before he stopped, leaning heavily on his crutches. “I’m exhausted and my ankle’s throbbing like a bitch. Can’t we hash the details out tomorrow?”

  Piper shoved her fists into her leather jacket and sighed. “Go home then. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Ben crutch-hopped to the pub’s front doors. The cunning bastard, playing on Piper’s obvious concern. Pissed as a wet cat at her brother, she still knew when to push and when to leave him the hell alone. Pity that same savvy didn’t apply to him.

  West walked ahead down the hallway that led to the restrooms and also connected the pub and restaurant to the kitchen at the building’s rear, not waiting to see if she followed. Flicking open his office door, which was just beyond the restrooms, he strode inside to sit behind his desk. Piper stalked in after him and slammed the door.

  She ignored his gesture to sit and leaned against a file cabinet, a relic from when his dad, Bill, worked as Due South’s manager. Probably just as well she didn’t get comfy. He wanted her out before the crazy-good scent and sight of her made him say something stupid. Again.

  “You’ve been running tours for Ben since he broke his ankle last week?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Only fishing charters and sightseeing.” He shrugged, picking up a pen and clicking the nib down. “We can’t run the cage dives without at least one qualified diver and a skipper aboard.”

  “Well, thank you for helping him.”

  “You don’t need to thank me, we’re a community here. We have each other’s backs.” He couldn’t keep the bite of acid from searing through his voice.

  “I’m sure Mum and Shaye have already thanked you enough.”

  “They have.” He consciously relaxed his hands, replacing the pen on his desk. “But the problem is we’re short staffed and there’s only so much Ben can do to take up the slack for me when I’m out on his boat.”

  She cocked her head, but remained silent.

  “He’s not a manager, I know he hates sitting behind my desk,” West said. “But Shaye moves well between sous chef and the day to day running of the hotel.”

  “Shaye’s a smart cookie.”

  No mistaking the pride in Piper’s tone over her younger sister.

  “We need you to help out.”

  “Ah. Kind of a ‘you scratch my back, I scratch yours’ scenario?”

  “You always were a smart cookie.”

  Her nose crinkled like she’d smelt something bad. “You want me to wait tables like I did as a teenager?”

  “No. We’re trying to keep what customers we have, not scare them away by dumping water jugs over their heads.”

  Her eyes widened then narrowed to hard slits. “Hey, that was one time when a revolting old man shoved his hand up my skirt.”

  “I didn’t say your reaction wasn’t justified.” He laced his fingers behind his neck and tilted his chair back. “But no. I don’t want you as wait staff. You’re needed in the kitchen—”

  “Are you serious? You’ve choked down my attempts at cooking, right?” She pushed off from the file cabinet and paced the short distance to the opposite wall.

  For a moment he just watched her, all long legs, stiff spine and bucket-loads of attitude. Gone was the pretty hazel-eyed girl who looked at him like he was every superhero rolled into one. Now she was fifty percent cop, fifty percent stranger.

  “I thought you were here for Ben?”

  “I am,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

  “Then if I’m prepared to reorganize my life to help out, don’t you think scrubbing pots and stacking dishes is a small price to pay?”

  She froze halfway back to the file cabinet. “What? I thought you wanted me to help Bill—with prep or something.”

  West barked out a laugh and smacked a hand on his desk. “You really think Dad will let you touch anything in his kitchen?”

  The tiny darts of her gaze speared him from across the room.

  “No. You’re on kitchen-hand duty.” He couldn’t resist adding a tight grin. “Starting tonight since your sister’s already done a full day’s work and is out there now clearing tables.”

  “I’ll happily do my share.”

  Happier if she could reach across the desk, rip off his arm and beat him to death with it judging by the razor edge in her voice.

  “I’ll ring through to the kitchen and let Dad know you’re coming on board. Think you remember the way?”

  “I remember.” She spun one-eighty and headed for the door, bristly as a porcupine. He caught a glimpse of her flushed cheek as she stalked from the room and yanked the door shut.

  Well, well. Looked like she remembered more than just the layout of Due South after all.

  ***

  Piper studied the restaurant’s double kitchen doors as if they led to the bowels of hell. And they may well, since she’d agreed to work for the devil himself. She blasted another glare down the short corridor to West’s office and showed heroic restraint by not marching back to lodge her boot right where it would do permanent damage.

  “Piper?”

  She turned to see her sister coming out of the restaurant’s staff entrance, sagging under a huge tray of dirty dishes, with wisps of long brown hair floating around her face.

  “Ohmigod, it really is you. You came!”

  “I told you I’d sort something out.” Piper hurried toward her.

  “I didn’t think you’d ever come back after, well—” Shaye’s voice trailed off to a whisper and her flush deepened. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Let me get those.” She avoided her sister’s earnest green eyes and hauled the heavy tray out of Shaye’s hands. “I’m gonna be stacking them from now on.”

  “What? Why? Ford said you were taking over the dive tours for Ben.”

  “Still faster than the speed of light, huh?”

  “What is?”

  “Gossip.” Piper chuckled and shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m the new kitchen-hand. It’s one of West’s conditions for skippering Ben’s boat.” She cocked her hip and prepared to bump the swing doors.

  The door jerked open before she made contact. Bill Westlake scowled, his striped chef’s cap askew and a spatula tucked into the band of his apron like a gunslinger’s .44. “Listen you two, the hallway ain’t a place for chit-chat when my meals are getting cold. Shaye, run to table five. Piper, get your skinny backside in here, the pots won’t scrub themselves.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “He’s still a grumpy old fella but his bark’s worse than his bite.” Shaye retied her ponytail with deft movements. “I’d better get back to work.”

  “Yeah. Buy you a beer later?”

  “Long as it isn’t that imported rubbish.”

  Piper choked back a laugh. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.”

  “One more thing.” Shaye frowned. “What were the other conditions West had for helping us?”

  Something in her sister’s tone made Piper squirm. “He didn’t say. But I imagine cleaning the toilets will soon be added to my list of duties.”

  “Oh. Is that all?” Shaye sent her an astute look. “Well, thanks. I know being here isn’t easy.”

  Piper nodded and nudged the doors open, her stomach once again tangling into snarls.

  No one here knew what had happened between her and West just days before her father drowned, did they?

  Chapter 2

  Not even two hours off the ferry and somehow Piper had ended up in Due South’s kitchen. Find your happy place.

  She submerged her hands into the dishwater and searched through food scraps for the pot scrub hidden somewhere in the voluminous sink. It was a little like a fingertip search, when a weapon or some of piece of evidence the squad needed to retrieve lay at the bottom of a murky pond. Locating the rough sponge under the soaking roast pan, she hauled it from the depths.

  “Got ya, ya little booger.”
She wiped the sheen of sweat off her brow with her forearm.

  “Finished yet?” Bill bustled past. “Some of us have plans later tonight.”

  West’s father ran his domain here the same way he once would have as a New Zealand army chef, with rigid discipline and a lot of barked orders. Every item shone ship-shape in Bill’s kitchen—stainless countertops, fridge doors, and cookers. Not a speck of dust would dare land on one of his pots or assortment of utensils, which hung on precisely spaced hooks. Twice he’d returned a giant pot to her, wordlessly pointing at a miniscule trace of food left on the metal.

  “Just about.” Piper injected a cheerful tone into the words, resisting the desire to strangle him with the kitchen towel draped over her shoulder.

  She plunged her dish-glove covered hands back into the water and dragged out the pan, attacking the glued on scraps of meat with the pot scrub like she was, well, scrubbing off the smirk West had worn earlier.

  Bill’s reaction hadn’t been much better. Not a conversationalist, Bill’s reticence suited her mood perfectly because she also had little to say to him. She knew where she stood with West’s father. The man was direct, if nothing else.

  West, on the other hand…

  Piper crinkled her nose. No more wasted thoughts on West tonight. All she wanted right now was to be horizontal, preferably with something soft under her aching feet. She grabbed the pan and rinsed it under the hot tap, setting it aside on the draining board.

  The swing doors blew open and her mother, Glenna, swept into the kitchen, towing West by one arm in her wake. “There she is! There’s my girl!”

  Glenna dismissed West with a wave of her peach-tipped nails and floated past the countertops, a wall of Chanel No. 5 preceding her.

  “Hello, Mum.” Piper peeled off the dish-gloves and stepped into her embrace, watching West over her mother’s shoulder as he paused to talk to Bill.

  He bared his teeth in a savage grin at something his father said and looked over.