“Fuck,” I say under my breath. I take a second to close my eyes. Just what I need. Baggage besides the seafood I am about to shuttle to the resort up in the San Juans. “Redhead? Legs for miles?” I ask.

Ed’s bushy eyebrows head north. “I wish. How about male, fifty and balding. I’d peg him as IRS except the guy’s wearing a bolo tie.”

I turn on the worn dock, the water lapping at the side. I catch a whiff of the briny tang of the outgoing tide. The man, who appears to be in his fifties, is headed our way and he’s definitely not Cara. Or Tara. Ed’s guess is pretty good, but as far as I know, the tax man is the one guy who doesn’t have an issue with me.

“Mr. Bridger!” The man raises his hand as if to hail a cab. He wears a bolo tie along with a white shirt and crisp jeans. And he holds a square leather briefcase. Definitely a creditor.

Just what I need. I have enough issues dealing with the healthcare system on the phone about my mother’s bills. In-person is a whole new level of pressure I don’t want.

I set my hands on my hips and prepare for a battle. “If you want money, it’ll only happen if I get these oysters in the air. They’re not the paying customers you probably want to see, but they are alive. For now.”

He stops in front of me and wipes his brow. For the Northwest, the weather is warm. Almost hot, even for summer. Another reason to get the plane in the air instead of lingering. Oysters and heat aren’t a good combo.

He glances at the plane and then back to me. “I’m not here to take money from you, Mr. Bridger. I’m Tom Shankle, lawyer from Shankle, Smith, and Brazee.”

Great. A lawyer. “I’m being sued.” I turn my back on him, grab another cooler, and pass it to Ed. “Even better.”

“You’re not being sued.”

With a quick glance, I see Shankle smile.

“You make visits to everyone who owes you money?” I stop mid-reach and stand upright. At six-two, I have five inches or more on the man. “If you bothered my mother with your money-grubbing shit—”

He holds up a hand. “I assure you I didn’t bother her. She’s not the reason for this visit. I hope her current treatments for multiple sclerosis are going well.”

I frown. What’s his angle?

“You know a lot about the health of a woman who’s not the reason for your visit.”

Mom’s latest meds are part of a trial and aren’t covered by insurance. Expensive. But working. She currently only has mild symptoms and I want it to stay that way, although she can no longer pilot trips for the business she founded. If Shankle wants to pull the plug on the treatment, that’s a no-fucking-go.

Shankle rubs his jawline. “I’ve kept tabs on you.”