Page 32 of The Marine's Homecoming

I walk along the row and start reading the shipping labels stapled and adhered to the sides under layers of shrink wrap. The first few are what I expect—generic descriptions likeEvent SuppliesandStage Materialswith Dorsey's storage unit on Route 42 listed as the delivery address. But the origin labels tell a different story, and they appear to be hidden under random stickers that sayFragile. One crate shipped from Colón, Panama, another from Buenaventura, Colombia. A third came all the way from Guayaquil, Ecuador.

Hannah told me Dorsey was sourcing supplies from vendors up the coast, Portland, maybe Seattle—domestic suppliers who could get bulk orders to a small town on a reasonable timeline. But these crates came from three different countries in Centraland South America, and they came by sea. After what Rico just told me, I'm getting a really bad feeling about this.

I crouch next to one of the Colombian crates and run my hand along the seam. The lid is screwed down with heavy-gauge hardware, and there's a customs seal on one corner that would be destroyed if I opened it. I've got tools in my office that would do the job of prying it open in thirty seconds, but this is Dorsey's property. Opening sealed cargo that belongs to someone else crosses a line I can't uncross.

If Dorsey finds out I've been tampering with his shipments, it tips him off that someone's watching. I'm not just dealing with a snake of a man who calls himself an American. I'm dealing with very powerful people. I need proof, but I need to get it clean, or it's worthless.

Maybe I just need to bring Hannah in on this before it gets too dangerous for her. She's the one who gave Dorsey the supply lists. She would know what was actually ordered and where it was supposed to come from. If the shipping origins on those crates are different from what she requested, that's a discrepancy worth taking the risk over. And if she can confirm she only approved domestic vendors, then Dorsey's been making his own arrangements, and those crates could contain anything.

I drive across town, chewing on the fat of this recent discovery and wondering how I'm supposed to bring this up to Hannah. Her avoidance makes it difficult to even catch her for a sit-down, let alone bring up difficult topics. And the last thing I want is to stress her out more. The last time I was even close enough to speak with her, she almost passed out. It's hard to know what she can handle and what she can't, though I'd never tell her she wasn't strong enough to deal with this. I just want to protect her.

When I see that Hannah is, in fact, at the diner seated at a table with the mayor, I pause and run a hand through my hair. I know she hangs out here a lot, and I had hoped to intercept her, but I also hoped for privacy. Not an audience.

I'm standing on the sidewalk deciding whether to go in or wait when Mayor Grant spots me through the window and waves me over. She's grinning and gesturing toward the empty side of the booth. I can see Hannah's face shift as she follows Evelyn's gaze and finds me out there on the sidewalk. Hannah doesn't look thrilled, but I won't refuse the invitation. I know the mayor thinks I'm the whole reason this festival is taking place, all because I offered my property to host it.

I push through the diner door and walk over stiffly, noticing how every time I get tense, my leg seems to throb. And not knowing what the hell is even going on between me and Hannah makes me tense every time I see her. "Evening, Mayor. Hannah," I say, nodding.

"Luke, sit down and join us," Evelyn says, scooting her water glass over. "We just ordered. We could ask them to hold it and you can get yourself something too."

"I appreciate that," I tell her, sliding into the booth next to Hannah, leaving a gap between us. Hannah keeps her eyes down on her glass of soda and her jaw works tensely. My appearance seems to have caused her the same tension it causes me, though she doesn't have a limp to make it so obvious as I do.

"We were just talking about the festival preparations," Evelyn says, flagging down the waitress. "Hannah has been doing such wonderful work. This town is lucky to have her."

"It is," I say softly. "She's an incredible woman." That makes Hannah's head lift, but she still doesn't look at me. I'm not sure how to ever break down that wall she built between us because if the chemistry and attraction between us aren't enough to do it, nothing ever will be. She has it in her head that I’m the enemy. I don't think I can ever change that.

The waitress comes by, and I order a burger and a coffee and we sit and chat about the entertainment planned for the festival until the waitress brings our plates. Hannah ordered a plate of dry toast and a cup of tea, which seems light for dinner. Evelyn has a full spread going, club sandwich with fries and a side salad, and she's already working on the fries when the waitress brings out a basket of onion rings for the table.

Hannah pushes the basket toward Evelyn's side immediately. Her face tightens and she takes a sip of tea, wrapping both hands around the glass. She looks a bit green around the gills, the way she did on the boat two weeks ago when I stopped her from taking a spill into the water.

"You feeling okay?" I ask, quiet enough that it stays between us.

"I'm fine." She picks up a piece of toast and takes a small bite, chewing slowly. I just don't think she looks fine. She looks stressed and sick. Her eyes are ringed with darkness, and it appears she might've lost some weight. I'm beginning to think something is going on beyond just her stress level.

She's avoided me, and now she's eating like she's got the flu or something. If I didn't know better, I'd worry that she’s pregnant. But she wouldn't have kept something like that from me, right? Unless she's had other partners.God, am I obsessing?

Evelyn launches into a story about one of her campaign volunteers who accidentally ordered thirty lawn signs instead of three hundred. The whole time, I notice Hannah seeming less than engaged, and I am distracted by the way Hannah picks at her toast and seems to cover her mouth when Evelyn offers her some fries.

I came here trying to find her, hoping to help her see that she might be in danger, but now I have more questions than answers. And with Evelyn around, it’s going to be impossible to alert Hannah to what I fear is happening without throwing the whole town into a frenzy that might scare Dorsey off before we can catch him.

I eat my burger and study Hannah's reactions to things, and by the time we're done eating and talking, she looks ready to cry. Evelyn finally excuses herself for the bathroom and I turn to Hannah, more tense than I've been in weeks.

"What's going on with you?" I ask her very directly, and she scowls at me as her shoulders fall.

"Nothing. I'm just stressed out." Her fingers press at her temples, though I watch her blink back tears.

"It's not just stress, Hannah. You're avoiding me and acting weird. Toast for supper? Is there something we need to talk about?"

Her eyes flash open wide and her gaze darts around the dining room. "God, no!" she hisses. "Luke, just leave it alone. Okay?"

I feel so conflicted. I need to protect her, but if she knows something and she's not telling me, how can I do that? And if she's hiding something from me, I want to know why. I didnothing to deserve this particular treatment she's giving me. A cold shoulder over our past, maybe, but not this.

"Do you want me to walk you back to the marina? I was hoping we could talk." I tuck my hands under the edges of my legs on the booth so I don't reach up and curl the hair behind her ear. For weeks I've wanted to have that conversation with her about what happened between us so I'd know where I stand with her, and she just keeps dodging me. But the look on her face tells me it's about to happen again.

"I rode with Evelyn, and I'm going home after this. Okay?"

"Hannah, this is serious. It's about Dorsey."

Confusion and anger flash in her eyes as her lips press into a firm line, but relief washes over her face. So I can infer that whatever it is she's upset about has nothing to do with Dorsey or the festival. It's personal, and it's scaring the hell out of her.