My body shoots out of bed, my back moist with cold sweat as I stare around the room. My heart pounds in my chest, and my eyes dart around as they acclimate to the light of day.

Just another dream. Another goddamned fucking dream.

I lay back against my thick white pillow and close my eyes. I breathe in and out, focusing on that action, like my post-discharge therapist taught me to do. At first, this kind of thing did nothing to stop my anxiety, my terror. Over time, it’s gotten slightly easier, but no matter what, the nightmares still come.

They are one of the reasons I never stay the night with a woman.

I release one final breath and open my eyes, taking in my peaceful surroundings.

I’m in my room, in Maine. The distant tide crashes against the shore. I glance at my clock. Shit, I’m going to be late if I don’t get my ass up, and I jump out of bed. When I move, I don’t think. It keeps me in action most of the time.

I shed my shorts and underwear, and I turn on the shower. I step beneath the water and allow my nightmares to melt away. I turn my thoughts to the day ahead and what needs to be done.

Quite a bit, actually.

I think about it, wash up, then step out and make fast work of dressing for the day in a pair of blue jeans and a white button-down shirt.

I roll up my sleeves, slide into a pair of comfortable shoes, and head out the door. I cast a glance at a few of my car projects and make a mental note to work on one or two of the engines later. Tinkering helps calm my mind. If only I had time to do that this morning, to clear my head.

I don’t have that luxury, so I slide into my take-home cruiser and drive to the station. I pull into my spot and walk in, wondering if I’ve beaten James or not. I haven’t. He’s sitting right at the desk in front, staring at his cell phone. He looks up and presses a button, sliding it under the desk.

“Working hard?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow at him.

It feels weird to be his boss. I’ve led teams before in the military, but that was different. Those men were like my brothers. James is more like a distant cousin that I don’t know how to connect with, so I don’t.

He shrugs off my comment. “You’ve got a voicemail,” he says, changing the subject.

“How do you know?”

“Because I was reading the morning paper, and the mayor has published some pretty strong words about this yacht theft.”

Ugh.

Why is this my life? I nod and head toward my office, where the ominous red light blinks. I take a seat, prepared to face the day. Anything is better than facing my own sleeping brain. Isn’t it?

The bustle of officers going about their business, grabbing coffees or discussing work surrounds me, but I block it out.

I pick up the phone and check voicemails. There are twenty-nine. One of them is from the mayor. The rest are from concerned boat owners calling to check on the status of my hunt for the thief.

“If you could give me a call back and let me know what’s going on, I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”

I take down the names and numbers. They should’ve called the sheriff’s department directly, but everyone around here has a contact who has my number. It grinds my gears.

James may have thought his comment was smart earlier, but he won’t be as thrilled when I hand this paper to him for follow up on. Finally, I listen to the mayor’s message one more time. He wants a call, and I’m not about to turn it down.

I dial the number and wait for the other line to answer.

His secretary, Bette, picks up. “Mayor Robichaud’s office, how can I help you?”

“Hey, Bette. It’s Ben.”

“Ben! How are you, dear?”

“I’m wonderful, and yourself?”

“Oh, fine, fine, though it’s not my boat that got stolen. Let me patch you through.”

“Thanks.”

I only wait a second before Beau Robichaud’s voice pierces my ear.

“Ben? What in God’s name happened there? My office is being swarmed with anxious callers, all convinced they’re going to get their property stolen. We have a reputation as a safe town, Ben!”

“I know, Beau. We’re getting them, too. And we’re going to fix it.”

“You better, because our reputation, our survival as a town, depends on people being willing to come up here to visit, to get away. If we get a rep for being dangerous, we’ll lose a lot more than a yacht.”

“I know. I’ve got it handled. The culprit will be caught and charged.”

“They better, because if they don’t, I’m not sure we can trust you to provide for this town’s safety. Every day that passes the people trust us, and you, less.”

Seriously?

I have to fight hard to maintain my training. Beau is a superior, and my employer.

“Understood. I’ll be in touch soon.”

“I’ll look forward to that report,” he says, his voice terse. He ends the call then, and I hang up. I run a palm across my face, rubbing my eyes. What a fucking mess this is. Maybe I should have stayed in the military, after all.

Even as I think it, I don’t believe that. It was time to get out, but is civilian, small-town life good for me? If something like this can destroy my career, is it worth it?

I stand and fold the list of callbacks, keeping it in my hand at my waist as I step back out. James is waiting for me, and he glances up, trying not to look like he’s excited for gossip.

My god, small town people are predictable.

“How’d it go?” he asks. There is a tinge of excitement in his voice.

“He was disturbed by the news, but he has faith in us to solve this mystery and bring the asshole to justice.”

James’s face falters a little, but he’s quick to bring it back to a neutral expression. If I hadn’t been trained in reading people from every angle, I would miss something like that. This morning, it doesn’t go undetected.

Poor James. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. He ran against me for sheriff and he’s never gotten over the loss.

“Does he have any leads?”

“Why would he have any leads?”

James shrugs. “Sometimes political leaders know things that cops don’t. They’re better connected.”

“I don’t think anyone around here is that connected.” I glance around at the other deputies and sigh. What the fuck is James on today?

“You don’t?” he asks, and I don’t like his tone. I stare at him and wait for him to elaborate on that.

“You brought in Naomi Greeves yesterday, dripping wet, right out of the water. I could have sworn that you were convinced of her guilt, even pissed that you didn’t have enough to go on and had to let her go. This morning you’re telling me that no one here is connected, when there are pieces of evidence all over that woman.”

My gut twists with anger at his insinuation, and it shouldn’t. He’s not altogether wrong. I did drag Naomi in a day ago with full intent of making her confess to the crime, or at least that she was an accomplice in one way or another.

But now, after speaking with her, seeing her in action at her restaurant, I think she’s telling the truth.

I’m not convinced Naomi has anything to do with the crime. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“I’ve spoken with her several times since then. I don’t have a reason now to think that she was connected to the crime. I think she’s innocent.”

“You think? Was that during the romantic drive home you provided last night? Did something happen after that to change your mind?”

He’s making outrageous insinuations. What pisses me off the most is that they are close to the truth, and I don’t like that he’s making correct guesses about this. Is the fact that I’ve slept with Naomi clouding my judgement?

I never let sex get in the way of my better judgement. It’s been a rule of mine for a long time, and it’s kept me out of a lot of trouble. I shouldn’t have had sex with her, but I can’t quite find the will to feel bad about it. I still crave her, even now. I want to grab her hair as I get her on her knees. I want to drive my dick home, nice and hard, and watch her come from that angle.

I clear my throat. I’m proving James’s point. Not a good thing. “You’re reading into things. There is no connection there.”

James sits forward, his eyes searching mine as he speaks. “She is new to town. She was at the scene of the crime. There is a strong possibility that that woman is the ring leader in all of this. There is no one at the moment who looks guiltier than Naomi Greeves!”

“That’s bullshit!” I say, much louder than I should have. “I’ll keep an eye on her, but I think you’re on the wrong path. I think we need to look elsewhere.”

James shrugs. “Suit yourself. Ignore the facts if you want, but I would hope for more from you than this little obsession you’ve got for Naomi. You need to get a grip on your own dick, Ben. It’s obvious you have some kind of little thing for her.”

“You’re delusional. Just because I help a woman get home, because I get enough information out of her during that time to get reasonable doubt as to her guilt, does not qualify as obsession. Do not question my motives in this job. I will do what it takes to bring justice to this town, just like I’ve done since arriving.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. Just don’t overlook the fact that the criminals are either long gone, or it’s her and she’s playing you for a fool. Or she’s one of them. Do you feel like getting played, Ben? With your job on the line?”

“I don’t overlook anything. I’m going to go on patrol. Here.” I slam the folded paper down on the desk. “There are twenty-eight people looking to make sure their boats are safe in the harbor. I’ve written down names, numbers, and boat names when given. I want them all called and responded to by the time I get back in a few hours.”

I don’t ask him whether he’s willing to do it. I’m too angry. He will, because he has no choice. If he doesn’t do it, he knows I can give him worse tasks.

I step out of the station into the cool air of an early autumn day, but I don’t feel the joy in it. I think about James’s words, and Naomi’s. There is something here that doesn’t add up.

I wish I could figure out what the fuck it is.