Free Compulsion by Martina Boone Page B

alcohol during prohibition. Wyatt’s still running drugs, if you believe the rumors. He’s not catching many fish on his boat, that’s for sure.”
    “That all sounds like a bedtime story designed to scare little Beaufort and Watson children. If Wyatt is so dangerous, if he’s running drugs, why haven’t the police locked him up?”
    “Because Colesworths have spent three hundred years learning how to hide in plain sight! Also there are a lot of Colesworth cousins around here, not to mention plenty of people willing to look the other way if the money is right. Especially if the drugs aren’t sold here in town. Don’t make the mistake of thinking Wyatt’s innocent. Or safe.”
    Barrie stared out the window. It wasn’t so much what Eight said that was hard to ignore as it was the absolute certainty in his voice. But everyone was supposed to be innocent until proven guilty. Shouldn’t that go double for family?
    On the left side of the car, a strip of beach dotted withtowels, coolers, and sunbathers led to a marina. On the other side, a pier stretched out into the ocean, and at its base sprawled a restaurant painted in vivid turquoise. Picnic tables shaded by red-and-white umbrellas crowded the deck around the building.
    “That’s Bobby Joe’s there.” Eight shifted the car into a lower gear. “You’re still sure you want to do this?”
    At least thirty cars filled the parking lot beside the restaurant, and a steady flow of customers shuffled in and out. So many people.
    The familiar trembling started in Barrie’s hands, but she dug them into the seat. “What’s Cassie like?” she asked. “Besides being a Colesworth, is she nice? Smart? Pretty?”
    “I don’t know,” Eight said flatly.
    Barrie leaned back against the door and studied him. “You went to school with her.”
    “We didn’t exactly hang out, and she’s a grade behind me.”
    “The school can’t be that big. So?”
    “So she’s both smart and pretty. I don’t know how to describe her. The closest thing I can tell you is that she leaves a strong impression.” Eight’s face was wooden, making it impossible to tell if he meant a good impression or a bad one. Not that it mattered. Even in Barrie’s class of sixty-four kids at Creswell Prep, there had been a couple of girls like that. They either attracted or repelled, but like the peacock at Watson’sLanding, they always fascinated. Barrie hadn’t been friends with any of them.
    She stared at the restaurant and reminded herself to breathe. It was so easy to clench up and forget, and then the panic would take root. “Maybe we ought to come back later. It’s kind of busy. Cassie might not have time to talk.”
    “Well, damn,” Eight said, narrowing his eyes across the lot at a pickup backing out of a parking space near Bobby Joe’s. “It’s bad enough what my dad will do to me for introducing you to Cassie. He’ll tear a strip off me if I let you run into Wyatt.”
    “That truck? How can you even tell? It looks like every other white pickup we’ve passed.”
    “Wyatt’s has a gun rack.” Eight tapped the brake and slowed their approach to the entrance of the parking lot.
    “Is that supposed to make me nervous?”
    “It’s supposed to be a fact.”
    There didn’t seem to be any way to avoid a meeting, even if they didn’t turn into the parking lot. The road ran straight on, with a sidewalk and a row of shops on the other side. No driveways. No side streets. Wyatt, if it was Wyatt, was going to get to the exit before they did, but not soon enough to pull out before he saw them.
    The white pickup was still twenty yards from the road. Eight had the Mercedes slowed to ten miles per hour, practicallycrawling to give Wyatt time to exit. But a line of cars was stacking up behind them. One of the drivers honked. Two sharp blasts. Eight hesitated, glanced in the rearview mirror, then punched the accelerator.
    The Mercedes surged forward. Still accelerating, they passed the