Terror Stash by Tracy Cooper-Posey Read Free Book Online

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    He jerked his chin at the waves. “There were two of you out there. You’re the only one left standing on the beach. Those waves are twenty-five feet or more.”
    She looked even more puzzled.
    The South African beside her stirred. “She’s a two-time Margaret River Classic champion.”
    His strident defense muffled her response. “Waves aren’t people,” she muttered.
    Steve would have missed her answer if he hadn’t been concentrating. He filed the odd words away for future consideration and nodded at the South African. “That explains it, then.”
    He considered her a moment more. “You’re the American?” he said. “You live in the city, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “She’s cool, she’s legit,” the short redhead inserted. “She’s been surfing here a few years now.”
    “I know.” Steve gave him a brief smile, to calm him down. He glanced over his shoulder. Two guys were walking a piece each of a surfboard back up the beach, the ankle rope trailing through the sand behind them like a morose tail. He’d rarely seen one of the tough fiberglass boards split apart like that. “Is that his board?”
    Montana swiveled to look.
    “Oh wow, yeah,” the redhead said. He sighed. “That was his favorite, too.”
    It suddenly occurred to Steve that the surfers hadn’t all scattered away to their own concerns, removing themselves from the area of a discomforting authority figure. They were still gathered close by Montana. Like the redhead, they hovered at her elbow.
    Protecting her.
    He’d never seen them do that before. He relented, knowing that his brusque manner wasn’t helping, and dug his pad and pen out of his breast pocket. “It probably wasn’t the smartest move, going out when the swell is this high. Greg is lucky you were there.” He clicked the pen. “I’ll just get your contact information and we’ll stop bothering you for now.” He looked directly at Montana.
    Montana gave him her private address and phone number and stopped short, shifting a little on her feet.
    Curiouser and curiouser. “Work address?” he prompted gently, pen poised.
    She took a breath and glanced out of the corner of her eyes at the surfers beside her. He could almost feel her sudden caution. Then a tiny shrug, which he would have missed if he hadn’t been watching her so closely. “I work for the State Department of the United States.”
    Steve could feel the shock run through the others, even though no one gave off any sharp physical reactions.
    He hid his own surprise. “The consulate in Perth, right?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Phone number?”
    She gave it.
    He nodded at her. “We may not need to reach you again, but one never knows.”
    “It’s really not a problem, Officer,” she assured him, using a soothing tone which caught his attention. It was too smooth. Too diplomatic for the audience standing around them and Steve sensed from the restless little moves around her that she had surprised them all with the sudden change in demeanor and attitude. They’d never seen her in her day-job role. Here in Margaret River, she was the loner surfer girl who knew everyone by name and hung around the fringes of the surfing crowd on weekends and holidays.
    She took a deep breath and bit her lip. Then again, the tiny shrug. She looked at him squarely, equal to equal. “Have you heard how Greg is doing, Constable Scarborough?”
    Steve blinked, surprised again. He hadn’t caught her reading his badge. She pronounced his last name with three syllables, unlike most Australians who shortened it to two. “Sorry, no. Just that there’d been an accident here.” He softened the answer with an alleviating fact. “If it was a full-on alarm, they would have told us, so I think your friend is probably okay. I wouldn’t be able to tell you more even if I knew it. You understand, right?”
    “Perfectly, thank you. I appreciate you sharing that much.”
    Steve pushed his pad back into his pocket and nodded at