2100 hours
South Shore
Luke stormed through the pine trees to his place, frustrated at the way he’d handled Allie. Or, more accurately, not handled her. A moment before she’d touched his shoulder holster, he’d been thinking about bringing her back to his place and going a hell of a lot further than kissing.
He wanted her so badly he couldn’t sleep. All through dinner, she’d played a game of brushing his leg, then looking away like nothing happened. He’d been so turned on he could have been eating part of the table and he wouldn’t have noticed. When they’d stepped out on the dock he’d known it was time for him to go, but he’d wanted just a few more minutes with her.
That few more minutes had cost him her trust. If he’d just told her who he was before she found the Glock, she might have understood him and his reasons for hanging around. He could have counted on her to help him piece together the last few minutes of Jefferson Platt’s life.
Now he wasn’t sure she’d ever speak to him again. He’d spent too many years being nobody, saying nothing. Now the silence that had always protected him had cost him dearly.
Luke reached his cabin and grabbed his gear. He knew the three stooges from the other night were probably setting up another lab somewhere right now. This time when he found them, he’d call in and wait for backup.
He moved soundlessly to his canoe. If he didn’t spot the new lab by midnight, he’d come back, store the canoe, and drive across the bridge flashing his lights twice. Luke reminded himself he was an expert trained to do a job. In his gut he had a feeling the drugs on this lake and Jefferson’s death were connected. He’d find the meth lab first, then go back and face Allie.
Luke smiled, knowing he’d picked the easier of the two jobs to do first.