It happened again at the pelican on my way out of town.

Did that mean the truck was getting ready to explode? Broadrick would have a canary if I blew up his brand-new truck.

I searched the dashboard panel and finally found the blinking icon. Thirty miles to empty.

Ugh. Why did I keep running out of gas? The guarantees weren't death and taxes. They were death, taxes, laundry, and gas. Also, having to make lunch every day. So many adult decisions. And they all sucked.

I'd already memorized the directions to my destination and parked at the curb in front of the home. The single-story brick ranch reminded me of many in Pelican Bay. The design really had a hold on the market in the seventies.

A cute, white porch spanned the front with an unattached two-car garage on the left. A big Boston fern hung from the center of the porch with a wooden rocking chair under it.

I hopped out of the truck, with both feet landing on the ground at the same time-a move I'd been perfecting. Someone had a white car parked in the driveway, but otherwise the place appeared quiet.

Hopefully, I'd caught Mick's wife, Samantha, home alone and ready to chat. Otherwise, I'd wasted the last few gallons of Broadrick's gas.

The front door swung open and a tall, skinny man in his early twenties stepped onto the porch. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk a few feet from him, but he didn't glance in my direction.

His too-long light-colored jeans scuffed against the porch boards as he walked across it wearing a baggy T-shirt. He opened the back door of the white car and retrieved a banker's box before turning toward the home.

"Hey," I called, stepping into the yard. My foot slipped, digging into the muddy ground. Ugh, just wonderful.

The man halted halfway to the porch.

I hesitated just a moment and then walked toward him. "Are you Eric Concord?" I asked, even though he matched his picture in my file perfectly.

It would piss Broadrick off that I'd put myself near a suspected killer. Good thing he wasn't home yet. What he didn't know wouldn't get me in trouble.

"Here," he said and handed me the box in his arms before heading back to the car for another.

I peeked in the open side hole to find a stack of neatly folded shirts. "What are you doing?"

Opening a retail space? No one folded their shirts fancy like unless they were selling them.

"Moving in," Eric said as he shut the car door with his hip and then met me in the grass.

I gave him a grunt of acknowledgment. "I'd heard Mick kicked you out."

He stopped mid-step at the porch. "Who did you say you were again?"

I hadn't.

"Vonnie Vines." I stuck my hand out for a quick shake. "Your dad was my mentor."

"Stepdad," he said and turned back to the porch. But he stopped when we both reached the front door. "My mom is grieving right now."

I set my box on the ground by my feet. "You're staying here to help her in her time of need?"

He shrugged and leaned against the closed front door-a clear sign I wasn't getting in the house this trip. "Yeah, and she needs someone to watch the place because she's moving."

"Where to?" That's a quick life change to make after a death. I glanced at the box of too-neat shirts at my feet.

Eric set his box down as well and ran his fingers through his messy brown hair. "Tennessee. She says the house has too many memories."

I bet it did.

"I've always wanted to visit Dollywood." Broadrick said he'd take me, but SEALs rarely had reasons to visit the landlocked state. "It's true then? Mick kicked you out for flunking out of college?"

He grabbed the box from my feet. "I didn't flunk out of college. I failed one class."

"Biology?" A lot of students cried about the biology lab teacher.

Eric clenched his jaw. "No. Business statistics. The professor refused to grade it on a curve even though half of us failed."

That was shitty. Some professors were just jerks and liked to make kids struggle.

"Some people are saying you killed Mick."

Eric rolled his eyes with an enormous sigh. He definitely didn't seem on the defense, but he also didn't appear real broken up about his stepdad being murdered. "The police asked all these questions. Sure, we didn't always get alone, but I didn't hate him. I didn't want him dead."

"He had a particular personality." The pen clicking almost drove me insane. And those hats. I suppose I wasn't really crying about his death, either.

He shuffled the box in his arms. "My mom wanted to divorce him for years, but they actually got along okay. No major fighting or anything."

Divorce? Really? That's the first I'd heard of it. Mick didn't tell me and neither did his partner.

"Why didn't she?"

Eric shrugged. "She threatened a lot. Even moved out for six months my first year in college."

I rubbed at my chin, deep in thought. That didn't seem like the actions of a woman who wasn't fighting with her husband. Or ones who got along. He'd given me motive and excuses all in the same discussion.

"Where were you when Mick died?" I asked.

Eric did another eye roll and moved the box more to his other arm. "Sleeping."

"Alone?"

"Yes. Is there anything else you'd like to grill me on?" He had enough snide in his attitude to drown me.

And yes. I had a plethora of questions to ask him, but his patience was obviously running out, so I hurried.

"Have you ever been to Pelican Bay?" I asked and then watched his face for any movement.

More annoyance. "Only to the apple orchard as a kid."

"Ever shot a gun?" I asked quickly before he made me stop.

"Yes." He tapped the top of the box with his open palm. "I grew up with a private eye as a stepfather. It would be weirder if I said he'd never made me practice a few times. It's basically a requirement."

He had a good point.

"Do you own a gun?"

A deep answering sigh. "No, and I also didn't kill him."

The killer shot Mick once. In the back of the head. From a distance. Meaning whoever shot him had good aim. It'd taken me two pleading phone calls, but Kelvin finally told me the details of Mick's autopsy. He owed me one after I pretended to be his fake girlfriend and let him dump me in front of his family.

"What happened to Mick was terrible. We weren't close, but I am going to miss his horrible taste in Christmas presents and his twice-baked mashed potatoes. This is hard enough on my family and Mick said you were a shit PI, so I don't know how you're going to solve his murder."

Mick said I was a shit PI? Not "the" shit but "a" shit. It hurt. Deep in my chest. Sure, he wasn't my favorite guy either, but I thought we had a mutual respect. Okay, I didn't respect him, but I thought he respected me. Frasier said he spoke highly of me.

"Nobody needs you making this worse with all your questions. Just let the police handle it," Eric continued, cutting into me again with his words.

He also wasn't winning any points in my book. Frasier was right. This guy had to be the killer.

"Regardless, I have to try."

Eric stacked the boxes in front of the door and opened it, but he didn't make room for me to enter. "It was probably one of his clients. Mick pissed off many people. Half the town hated him."

"How can I look at his case files?" I asked as he walked inside carrying both boxes.

The screen door shut, and Eric talked through the screen. "I'll email you."

"But you don't have my email," I shouted as he shut the main door on me.

Ugh. Men.

**

I made the drive back to Pelican Bay with an entire ten gallons of gas in the tank and spent two hours letting Katy turn me into a sexy kitten. Her words, not mine.

There were seven gallons in the tank by the time I pulled into the parking lot of the airstrip on the outside of town.

Pierce's black helicopter cut in across the water and flew straight down Main Street. The chopper blades sliced through the air, creating a hell of a sound as it closed in on the section they used as a landing pad.

They drew closer, and I squinted, trying to get an early view of Broadrick. However, the helicopter's doors were shut, and I couldn't make out his face from any of the others seated behind the pilot. My stomach tightened in anticipation, and my skin tingled. He was almost home.

My hair whipped into a frenzy atop my head as the helicopter descended. All Katy's hard work lost in less than a minute as the helicopter dropped into place. The skirt of my short black dress twisted around my thighs.

I waited until the blades stopped and the doors opened before I began my stroll toward the black beast. My steps picked up once Broadrick's broad shoulders exited. I had a full sprint going once his eyes came into view, and I ran at him full speed.

He stopped ten feet from the helicopter and opened his arms, letting me run right into them.

"I missed you!" I said as I launched my legs around his middle and squeezed him with my arms.

He flinched, his body jerking away from me, and he sucked in a gasp. "Hey, baby."

I jumped off him as if I'd hurt him and then turned to his back and pulled his shirt lower on his shoulder. A thick white bandage peeked out from behind the material. The bandage looped over his shoulder and down his back, getting lost in the area I couldn't see from my lower vantage point. One thing was instantly clear.

"Holy shit! Broadrick, that is not a scratch."