Her Private Treasure. Wendy Etherington

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      She narrowed her eyes briefly, as if trying to figure out if there was a loophole. Which, of course, there was.

      “Your offer to help is admirable,” she said after a moment. “In fact, it’s—” She stopped and shook her head ruefully. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard sentiment like that.” She brushed her hand across his arm. “Thanks.”

      Now she thought he was being noble.

      He almost wished he could call back his words. His nobility was tainted. He didn’t deserve her admiration. But he wanted her.

      When she reached into her pocket and pulled out a clip of cash, he held up his hand. “I’ll pay for the drinks.”

      “I appreciate the offer, but you can’t.” She took out a twenty-dollar bill and laid it on the bar. “Generous.”

      She turned toward the booth Al had settled into. “My compensation to the cute bartender whose flirting I’d never consider returning.”

      “Why not?”

      She flicked him a glance. “I’m attracted to men, not boys.”

      “WOULD YOU LIKE a drink, Mr. Duffy?” Malina asked as she scooted into the booth and faced the cranky harbormaster.

      He pointed a knobby finger toward the bar area. “It’s comin’.”

      Malina looked over to see Carr Hamilton headed toward them, a glass of whiskey in each hand.

      He slid onto the seat beside Duffy, then lifted his drink in a toast and his lips in smirk. “I figured you’d want to abstain. On duty and all.”

      “Very considerate, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, certain the sharp attorney caught her sarcasm. “However, I don’t need your assistance.”

      “I’m sure you don’t. However, I’m Mr. Duffy’s lawyer.”

      “He called you?”

      “No, but isn’t it fortunate I was here? I’ll stay on his behalf.”

      “I don’t want to be here at all,” Duffy said, glaring at her.

      “Me either,” she muttered. The man she had the reluctant hots for was currently sitting across from her, meddling in her case, distracting her from nearly everything. “But I have a job to do.”

      Duffy sipped his drink. “You should be home, cookin’ for your man.”

      Though her muscles tensed like a coiled snake, she managed to let the anger roll off. “I’m better with a pistol than a spatula.”

      “Not natural,” Duffy insisted.

      Malina drilled her gaze into his. “Frankly, Mr. Duffy, I’d rather be anywhere else, talking to anyone else than you. And yet…” She lifted her hands and leaned back. “Here I am, striving to protect the law-abiding citizens of Palmer’s Island from the criminal element. If I can make the sacrifice, so can you.”

      Duffy continued to glare silently at her, as if sure he’d never seen a self-possessed woman in his life.

      “Al,” Hamilton said quietly, “let her do this.”

      Duffy sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

      “I’d like to record the interview, if that’s okay with you.” She cast Hamilton a glance. “And your attorney, of course.” With their verbal agreements secured, she asked Duffy, “Do you know Jack Rafton?”

      Duffy looked wary. “Yeah. Slip number nine.”

      “Owner of a twenty-six-foot cabin cruiser called American Dream?”

      “Yeah.”

      “How would you characterize your relationship?”

      “We ain’t got a relationship, lady. We’re men.”

      And not homophobic at all. Malina resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She liked her job, she really did. Or, rather, she used to. “Are you friends?” she asked.

      Duffy shrugged. “We have a drink together sometimes.”

      “Have you ever been to his house?”

      “No.”

      “Do you have his cell phone number?”

      “No.”

      “What do you talk about when you’re together?”

      “Fishing. What does that have to do with anything?”

      “She’s trying to determine if you’re close friends with Jack,” Hamilton put in.

      “Are you?” Malina pressed the harbormaster.

      “I guess not.”

      The man could give clams pointers. “But you see Mr. Rafton frequently.”

      “He has a boat. I run the harbor.”

      “Does Mr. Rafton seem under an unusual amount of stress lately?”

      “How the hell do I know?”

      “Have you seen him at the docks at unusual times over the last few weeks?”

      Duffy’s gaze darted to Hamilton. “What does she mean unusual?”

      Hamilton’s lips twitched. “Out of the ordinary.”

      “I know that. I don’t know what that has to do with—”

      “You run the harbor,” Malina interrupted. “You know when people come and go. When does Rafton usually come and go?”

      “Early morning, sometimes after dinner.”

      “When has he been taking his boat out lately?”

      Duffy sipped his whiskey before answering. “Later.”

      “How much later?”

      “Eleven, maybe twelve at night.”

      “So would you characterize that as unusual?”

      Annoyance lined Duffy’s face. “I guess so.”

      His statement fell in line with what others had said with less reluctance and certainly more grace. Was Albert Duffy simply ornery, or did he have some connection with Rafton that he didn’t want known? With this man, directness seemed to be the only course. “Are you engaging in or helping to cover up illegal activity perpetrated by Jack Rafton?”

      Duffy sputtered so heavily he couldn’t speak.

      “Agent Blair,” Hamilton said, his gaze locking on hers, “that’s inappropriate.”

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