Page 13 of Crosscurrent

She stood in the dim front room for one long beat. Vega had been eying them for three weeks. Today was the face-to-face.

The chief was making some decision about Sweet and Sawyer. It needed to be the right one. A smart woman like Marisa Vega poking too deeply into Cara’s background would veer toward disaster in a hot second.

Lord, give me strength. The prayer came short and dry and real, the way her prayers had been coming for almost a year now.

4

"You haul a sixteen-foot fiberglass on a single axle, you deserve what you get."

"You deserve what you get either way. It's a boat trailer, Roy. It's not theology."

"Everything's theology."

The old argument swirled between the tables, mixing bad logic with the smell of fish and chips and charbroiled steaks. Gabe bit back a groan.

Roy and Hank had been at it for ten minutes at the table by the window — voices raised for the joy of being raised and not for anything sharper. Gabe sat at the corner stool of the bar, half-listening to the old argument. The Saltwater Grill on a Wednesday.

Manny set down a ginger ale, no ice, and slid over the basket of saltines.

"Roy's been on that trailer for an hour," he said. "Wait till Hank brings up the boat ramp permit at the Bay Marina. That'll be a show." He flipped the towel over his shoulder. "How was Bible study tonight? Pastor Ben was full of fire this morning when he came in for coffee."

“He talked about Job.”

“Heavy.”

“Mostly the friends. The friends were the bad part.”

Manny smiled, lifted his chin toward the back. Reagan was emerging from the kitchen. She read Gabe’s face in the half-second it took her to clear the doorway, but she didn’t ask. She slid his order across the counter— chowder, sourdough, and a small wedge of the cheddar she only put out for family, which literally included the entire town. So basically, just not tourists— and tipped him a two-finger salute on her way back to the kitchen.

He spooned chowder. He thought about Cara closing up four blocks east, and the pastries she’d save him if she was in the mood, and whether Pastor Ben’s the friends were the bad part would still land tomorrow morning the same way it had at six-thirty tonight.

The bell dinged again.

Ellie Torres strode in wearing jeans and that puffy jacket Gabe remembered from winter patrol, her hair down for the first time he could remember. She scanned the room, found him, raised a hand, and headed his way.

She took the stool one over from his. Not next to him. Interesting. She had definitely tracked him down.

“Chief.”

“Not anymore.”

“Whose fault is that?”

He toyed with his fork. “It’s called a life choice, Detective.”

She huffed. “A bad one.”

“Oooh, snap.” Manny actually snapped the bar towel in his hand.

Gabe glared. Ellie grinned.

She leaned around him to catch Manny’s eye. “Coke, please.”

Gabe let her settle in. The Old Dog knew how to let a younger one fill the silence. Old Dog gets older being quiet.

Ellie arched her back and groaned. “We’ve been on double shifts since Vega got here. She’s not running us hard, just a lot. Testing our limits, I guess.”

Gabe pushed her glass closer to her elbow. “What’s your read on her?”