Cassandra Harris's athletic strides carried her past a weathered, broken-down fence, down the grassy bank onto Paradise Cove's sequestered beach. Her tanned legs effortlessly ate up windblown sand dunes as she began her morning walk. She smiled as the early morning sun kissed her lightly freckled face.

She wore faded Converse, saltwater shorts, a paper-thin tee with a light blue windbreaker. Her shoulder length brunette hair whipped about her face with the strong breeze. At this time of day, the ocean was sapphire blue, coppery rays turning the cresting waves a foamy turquoise.

Inhaling fresh salt-air, she let the sweet blast of oxygen fill her lungs as tingling negative ions engulfed her body. Crashing waves surrounded her in a rhythmic cadence. She loved the tangy smell of Paradise Cove. She'd come here every weekend as a little girl with her mother. The beach soothed her soul. What a gorgeous day. She sighed, wishing she could spend the day here beach-combing with a good book, a blanket and a cold beer. The shoulder holster carrying her Glock chaffed against her shirt's thin material. An irritating reminder work waited.

She stopped.

Surfer dude was up ahead. Her heart started to beat faster. Tanned to a light caramel, he was wore faded, dark green Cargo shorts, his powerful muscles rippling through his chest and thighs as he stooped over to pick up scattered pieces of driftwood. She felt a familiar ache in her loins. He looked like a civilized Tarzan with his sinewy muscles and bare feet. Probably collecting debris for a bonfire, later. He prowled the beach most mornings, an early riser like her. For some reason she was shy about saying hello. Get a grip, Cassie. You're a twenty-four year old seasoned detective for Christ sake, not a schoolgirl. You've been around a lot of guys. Guys with guns. This one was lugging wood around the beach.

Maybe it was the arousal his body stirred in hers.
With his thick dark blond hair, defined abs and strong chin, he could have been a GQ male model. He walked the surf with the languid ease of a confident, benevolent predator. She'd seen him surfing most mornings. A distant figure paddling along the cliffs, riding the current out where the waves were breaking. There was poetry to his surfing as he became one with the ocean's undulating currents.

She lingered on his swimmer's shoulders as he squatted. Was it her imagination, or were they slightly drooped today? When he glanced up as if sensing he was being watched, she tore her gaze away from his stormy sea-green eyes. Caught gawking like a teenage groupie. Nice, Cassie.

She pivoted and walked along the faded brick-colored snow fence, reluctant to leave. She couldn't help loitering on the beach. He'd gone back to collecting wood.

She looked up at the windblown bluffs. His father's ancient silver trailer, with the parasail canopy, sat on Paradise's premium lot. A scourge to neighbors flanking the property with million dollar homes. The dwelling might be 1950's vintage Americana, but the lot had a breath-taking panoramic view of the Pacific. She'd tracked him there and seen the beat-up red truck he drove with his surfboards in back parked out front. A small smile tugged at her mouth. She'd never seen him with anyone. Not even a dog. The guy had little baggage. Although he lived close to Paradise Cove's Snack Shack, she never saw him dining there.

She turned and looked at the quiet cove. People said Paradise was a little piece of heaven made to escape from California's Silicon Tech valley. Movie stars and owners of tech start-up companies all living together in a communal beach park. Multi-million dollar homes intermixed with dumpy trailers. That's where  he lived. In a 1950's Hollywood Airstream travel trailer.

She wasn't a stalker, but she couldn't help her curiosity combined with her detective instincts. Her mind naturally noticed details, making connections. She inhaled sharply as his thigh muscles rippled as he bent down to pick up another piece of driftwood.

Cassie recalled her best friend, Jenny 's advice. "Where ever you put your attention is what you'll attract into your life. Be careful." She didn't know if she ready for anything that could complicate her life. Besides, a man like that probably had a wolverine girlfriend, with a pack more waiting in the surfing bar. Lots of women to choose from. Sighing, she turned retracing her steps. If she didn't hurry, she'd be late for work.

Surfer dude had collected enough wood. Biceps nicely defined, he pivoted like a dancer with his armful of wood and headed back up the beach towards the Snack Shack. 

She looked at her phone. 6:45 am. Yikes. She had just enough time to make her mother some breakfast before driving to work. There'd be hell to pay if she was late again. Her boss had been a bear all week. Everyone steered clear of Paul when his hemmoroids flared up.

A text vibrated her phone. I need help. It's an Emergency! It was her mother. Pivoting on her heel, she raced back to her motorcycle.