Sting by Jennifer Ryder

sprung. If it’s any help, I think Monday she’ll be flat out here.”
    “Sounds good.”
    “Oh, lordy, lordy. She is gonna love this!” she whispers loudly.
    She takes a pen from her shirt pocket, tears off a piece of the newspaper on the bench and hands them to me.
    “Here’s hoping,” I say as I write my number down.
    She stashes the paper and pen in her pocket, and then places her hands on my bicep, and squeezes softly.
    “Just be patient with her, Brown-Eyes. She’ll get there. You’re good for her. I see the way she is when you’re around. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she likes you. It’s just been a while.”
    “Thanks, Gabby,” I say.
    “My pleasure.” She winks. “Oh, just one more thing. I don’t know what you’re planning exactly, but whatever you do, don’t plant roses.”
    “O-kay,” I say, lengthening out the word. I wasn’t planning on it.
    “That place had the most spectacular rose garden and she ripped out every last one of them.”
    Well, okay then. I guess she doesn’t like thorns. I get that.
    Gabby turns on her heel and sways her hips as she moves over to a nearby table, and starts up an animated conversation with the couple sitting down.
    Monday is the day.
    Ten minutes later, I receive a text with an address.
    27 Spencer Street. Our girl will be in the café from six until six <3 .
    I’ve got a twelve-hour window to work some magic.
    I save the contact to my phone, and text the number back.
    Me : Cheers. Be sure to let me know when she leaves work.
    Gabby : Sure thing, Brown-Eyes.
    I jump in the Ute and head down to the docks. With any luck, the accountant might meet with some acquaintances today.
     

CHAPTER TEN
    RYAN
    Sundays are meant for relaxing. Most people get that luxury, but not us. The most action down at the docks is on the weekends. It’s as if they’re taking advantage of the place being busy, which if you ask me, is a pretty smart move. When there’s so much boat movement and people walking around, it’s hard to get a real handle on what they’re up to.
    The accountant only paid a fleeting visit, and from our vantage point we didn’t get a good look at whom he met with. He did, however, take a small navy backpack with him. My guess is it was full of cash. If only we were getting more intel out of the wire-tap we have on him. Clearly, he’s a careful operator.
    As I scan the area throughout the day, I talk to a few of the local fisherman about what they’ve been catching, and compliment a few new faces to the docks on their prized buoyant possessions. The fact that the boat owners are keen to show me around their vessels is a clear indication that they’re not of real interest to us. I hand them a few of our charter business cards and say my goodbyes, taking a good look around on my way over to Mick.
    When I get back on the boat, I check the time on my phone. Four thirty. I guess Blondie has shut up shop by now. What’s she doing, I wonder?
    “Something distracting you, Palmer?”
    “Nothing. It’s just—” Ah, hell. I might as well talk to the bastard. “Five-foot-five and blonde.”
    He chuckles.
    “I’ve got a right hard-on for the cutie in the coffee shop. She’s fuckin’ torturing me, because she must want me, the way she looks at me, but fuck. I don’t know. This backlog of load is fucking messing with my brain. Never had to work so hard.”
    Mick laughs. Prick . “From what I hear, she’s a closed book, that one. You ask too many questions; she shuts down. If I were you, I’d forget her.”
    Mick doesn’t know yet, but he’ll soon find out that no one tells Ryan Clark not to do something. It’s just like waving a red piece of lingerie in the face of a horny bloke. I’m that horny that I’ll soon become a danger to this little seaside community.
    He narrows his eyes at me and scratches his goatie beard.
    “We done here?” I ask.
    “Yeah, Palmer. We’re done. I’m exhausted.”
    “I’m going for a