Cady tried to maintain her aloof behavior, to conceal the fear and repulsion she felt toward the man. She thought she had her act perfected. Usually. Right now, she felt off-balance and not at the top of her game.
“Looking for you, of course,” she said.
“Everything okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I just wanted to see what you needed me to do.”
Cady had—with the help of the entire taskforce behind her integration here—staged it to appear she’d saved his life, and that had fast-tracked her into Raul’s inner circle. She reported directly to him.
He studied her face, his lip twitching as he processed some thought unknown to Cady.
She kept her chin up, desperate not to break her cover.
Don’t blow it, Cady. Not yet. Just a couple more weeks and you’ll have all the information you need to put these guys away for good.
Raul continued to stare at her, his eyes as lifeless as a corpse. Only he wasn’t dead. His soul was, though.
“You found us just in time,” he finally said. “It’s almost time for our Big Easy to be revealed.”
“Big Easy? As in New Orleans?” What sense did that make? DH-7 had invaded the entire West Coast, but they operated primarily out of Seattle.
“No, Big Easy as in it’s going to make us a lot of easy money.” He grinned, his gaze revealing what consumed him. Greed. Power. Lust. “I’ll fill you in later.”
Cady nodded, wishing he’d tell her now. Wishing she could beg for details and not be in the dark. But she couldn’t. Not without showing her hand.
“Later then,” she said.
As he walked away, his guys followed—but not before Sloan gave Cady a death glare.
The man didn’t like her. He never had.
Even though he and Raul were rarely together, Sloan was Raul’s right-hand man. He covered gang operations in California, while Orion covered the Expansion, as Raul called it. That included the gang’s spread of influence toward the East. Both men’s presence here in Washington state further proved that the gang was planning something big.
She didn’t like where things were going, yet she felt powerless to stop it. Right now, at least. There would come a time for everything to fall apart. She knew good and well she could lose her life when that happened.
It was more than she’d signed up for, yet not much in the grand scheme of things. Not when she considered the stakes—those being the safety of the general population at large.
As soon as the men disappeared down the hallway, Cady froze and listened for those telltale sounds again. The inconsistent hum. The teasing tapping. She needed to know what they were. Where they were coming from.
She leaned against the wall, her fingers pressed into the grimy plaster. All she heard was her own heartbeat. She knew she hadn’t imagined the earlier noises.
She stepped away then heard it again.
The noise sounded like a soft beat against the wall.
It wasn’t the furnace either. The uneven rhythms made her realize . . . a person was making that sound.
Someone trying to send a message? Trying to get someone’s attention? Probably.
Cady’s gut twisted as she pondered what to do. This being undercover thing wasn’t easy . . . especially when she saw horrible things happen, yet couldn’t break her cover. As Samuel Stephens, the taskforce leader, always told her . . . Cady had to keep the big picture in mind.
That didn’t stop her from following the sound.
She wandered down the dark hallways with the sickly yellow lights overhead. Those bulbs buzzed and only made everything around her feel like a bad dream or like she was a character in a cheap horror flick.
She wouldn’t be that lucky. No, this was all too real. And Cady was in too deep now to do anything but complete the assignment.
The sound got louder, and she continued to follow it, her breathing becoming more labored with each step.
She paused outside one of the doors in a far corner of the building. Was this where the noise came from?
It was her best guess.
She glanced to her left down the hallway. Nothing.
Glanced to the right. Nothing.
Other gang members were close. She heard their voices echoing down distant corridors. But they were far enough away that maybe . . .
Swallowing hard, she grabbed the knob.
She’d check it out. See what was on the other side. And then she’d develop her next plan of action.
Just as she twisted the handle, a footstep sounded in the distance.
Cady jerked her head toward the sound. Sloan stood at the end of the hallway, that icy look in his eyes. The six-foot-plus giant was as imposing as they came. His chest, arms, and neck were covered with tattoos, his ears and eyebrows were pierced multiple times, and his hair had been shaved to the scalp.
“What are you doing?” He reached her with quick strides, gripped her wrist, and twisted it until Cady gasped.
“Nothing.” She sucked in another gasp of air, unable to conceal her pain. “I’m not doing nothing.”
“Could have fooled me,” he growled, twisting her arm again until it felt like it might snap. “You need to mind your own business.”
“I am.” Was this how it all would end? It couldn’t. Not until Cady found what she needed to make this all worth it. If she died now, her work would be in vain.
Sloan leaned close, so close that she could smell cigarettes, halitosis, and coffee. “I don’t like you. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t trust you like Raul does. The only reason you’re still here is because Raul insists that you’re good enough to rise in the ranks one day.”
She shivered—both at his words and at the thought of remaining in DH-7 any longer than necessary. She couldn’t imagine being the mastermind behind their deadly schemes. Couldn’t fathom immersing herself any more deeply in the dark, vicious world that stole people’s souls as easily as a skilled pickpocket stole wallets on a busy street corner.
She jerked away from Sloan’s grasp, careful to keep the defiant look on her face—a look she’d perfected for her cover. “I need to go.”
“You do that. But I’m watching you.”
That was going to be a problem. Because Cady really wanted to know what was in that room. She wouldn’t be finding out right now, though.
Chapter 1
Today’s Goals: Continue life as normal. Sell ice cream. Cool it with the Google searches.
As had become her routine, Cassidy Livingston stepped onto her deck just as the sun rose over the roaring Atlantic. She couldn't imagine not drinking in this view one day. The peacefulness of it helped her clear her head, gain her focus, and remind herself of her alternate personality.
Cady Matthews from Seattle, Washington, was gone. Cassidy Livingston of Lantern Beach, North Carolina, had taken her place.
Her old life seemed so far away from this island, where the sand had not only invaded her pores but her heart as well.
Cassidy had been on this isolated island for two months. She had four more to go. In some ways, that seemed like an eternity and in others it wasn’t long enough.
Time shows us what’s important.
She’d just been pondering that inspirational quote earlier, a nugget of wisdom from an old Day-at-a-Glance calendar that used to belong to her best friend, Lucy. The wisdom never ceased to be useful and relevant—especially since Cassidy came here to Lantern Beach.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Kujo?” She glanced down at the golden retriever sitting beside her. He belonged to her neighbor Ty Chambers, but Cassidy was dog-sitting while Ty was out of town.
The dog nuzzled her hand in response.
“Days should start with pondering how big the world is and how small you are in comparison, right, boy?”
He barked in affirmation.
Cassidy took another sip of her coffee. As she scanned the shoreline, she paused and squinted. What was that?
Some kind of object had bee
n beached a little farther down the sandy banks. From her perch atop her second-level deck, she couldn’t make out any details, except that it appeared to be rectangular with blue and black tarps covering the edges.
She set her coffee on the railing, climbed down her exterior stairway, and trod over a patch of sandy cement before reaching the small path that cut over the dunes toward the beach.
As she passed Ty’s house, she glanced over. He’d been out of town for six days, but Cassidy suspected he was home now. She'd seen a light on in one of his windows last night. It was hard to know for sure, since he hadn’t taken his truck with him. Apparently, an old friend had picked him up.
A surprising jolt of sadness diced through her heart at the realization that he hadn’t called. Their relationship was strange, one where they took two steps forward and one step back. But Cassidy had thought he’d call. Or stay in touch. Or do something to indicate he cared.
But the truth was, it was better this way. Ty had broken down her walls, and she’d been in the process of trying to restore them. Ty didn't know who Cassidy really was, and when he found out . . . she had no idea what he would think.
Car tires rumbled behind her, and Cassidy paused. A moment later, Serena Lavinia jumped out of her rundown Ford Fiesta and rushed toward Cassidy. Today, the woman-of-many-faces was dressed like a preppy boarding-school girl in a button-up top and khaki shorts. Serena always kept Cassidy on her toes with her ever-changing personalities. The girl took “finding herself” to a whole new level.
Cassidy motioned for Serena to join her on the narrow path to the beach. As she crested the dune, a strong breeze hit her. Even when it was 90 outside, this breeze made it feel 20 degrees cooler. That worked out well in the summer, but she couldn't imagine the place during winter.
“I was hoping I’d catch you,” Serena said, joining her on the sand. “I wanted to ask if I could take an earlier shift today.”
“Why’s that?” Cassidy kept walking, and Serena joined her.
“I have a story to cover later for the paper, and the person I need to interview is only available at three. It’s the organizer of the Fourth of July parade.”
Fourth of July was three days away, and apparently Lantern Beach liked to celebrate big. There was not only a parade here on the tiny island, but also concerts by local musicians and church groups, an art show, and even a 5K.
“That is exciting.” Cassidy said. “I’m glad you’re enjoying all your jobs so much.”
Serena worked part-time for Cassidy, part-time at her aunt Skye’s produce stand, and part-time as a beat reporter for the local island newspaper.
“So . . . about the shifts?” Serena asked, raking her dark hair from her eyes as the wind hit her.
“I don’t mind if we switch,” Cassidy answered.
It wasn’t like Cassidy had anything better to do on the island, a fact that normally drove her crazy. For as long as she could remember, her whole life had been filled with purpose, and to-do lists, and twelve-step plans on how to move ahead. She’d always been an over-achiever, and it was eye-opening trying to simply be an ice cream woman now.
Cassidy glanced again at the mystery object, which was only eight feet away now. What could that be? Something from a ship? A temporary shelter that had blown down the beach? Part of Blackbeard’s treasure?
As she reached the structure, she saw it was six feet long and three feet wide. Was that a boat? Maybe a raft some kids had made? She had trouble picturing children putting this together. The vessel was too . . . complex.
Her gut churned. There was more to this. An ominous feeling hovered over her as she peered above the edge.
“What is this?” Serena wrinkled her nose at what looked to be a pile of trash.
Cassidy squinted. “That's what I'm trying to figure out.”
“It looks like a boat.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Cassidy continued to stare at the wreckage. She felt sure that's what it was—something the ocean had eaten up and spit back out.
The sides of the structure were comprised of Styrofoam that had been duct-taped in place. The frame was some sort of metal. Bottles and snack wrappers littered the bottom of the craft.
Her apprehension churned harder.
“This is crazy,” Serena said, jiggling the side. “But it’s pretty sturdy.”
Cassidy picked up something inside. She sucked in a breath at what she saw.
It was a cloth. And it was bloody.
People had been on this contraption. People who were hurt or injured.
This hadn’t been a peaceful adventure. No, this had been a life-or-death mission.
Cassidy pulled out her phone. She needed to call the police. Now.
Chapter 2
“I've seen this type of craft before,” police chief Alan Bozeman said. “It's from Cuba.”
“Cuba?” Cassidy stared at the chief, using her hand to block the glare of the sun coming off the ocean.
She had little to no confidence in the man, and nothing he’d done since Cassidy arrived in town had proven that she should put her trust in him. Bozeman seemed to bumble one investigation after the other, earning him the nickname among locals of Chief Bozoman.
Cassidy had learned a couple weeks back that he’d mostly gotten the job because his father was a state senator. Bozeman didn’t even look like someone who was serious about law enforcement with his oversized belly and shifty gaze.
Bozeman nodded as they stood on the sand, the offshore breeze slapping them and its force turning their clothing into something that looked shrink-wrapped around them. “That's right. Cuba. Must have gotten sucked up in the current. The storm surge from that tropical depression that’s been churning out in the Atlantic is crazy strong. Red flags are up all along the beach. Vacationers aren’t very happy about it.”
If that was true, then . . . “Where are the people who were inside?”
“We’ll probably never know. They walk among us.” Bozeman laughed, but the sound trailed off when he realized no one else was joining in.
“So you’re saying some refugees from Cuba were in this raft that the jet stream propelled up here, and now whoever was onboard is gone?” Cassidy repeated what he’d said to make sure she understood Bozeman’s theory. “And possibly injured?”
The chief looked into the distance a moment before nodding. “Yep, that's what I'm saying. Happened up in Hatteras last year. Apparently, it happens quite often down in Florida. That amount of blood doesn’t indicate anything life-threatening, nothing to really worry about.”
Cassidy wasn’t buying it. There was a story behind this contraption, and she wanted to know what.
She cleared her throat, trying to be subtle and unassuming. “If this is from Cuba, why are there American snacks on board? Fritos? Dasani? Wouldn’t there be more things written in Spanish?”
The chief cringed, the blank look in his eyes indicating he didn’t really know. “Not necessarily. Everyone wants to be an American, right? Or maybe the occupants picked up some food and drinks along the way.”
That was all fine and dandy, but . . . “If they made it to land somewhere in the US they would have just stayed . . . don’t you think? What reason could they possibly have for buying food and setting themselves adrift again?” She threw in the “don’t you think?” part in an effort to remember her cover as a civilian. It was so hard sometimes.
“Who knows what people like that are thinking?”
“People like that?” Outrage lined Serena’s voice. “You mean people who are terrified and desperate?”
The chief cringed, obviously not well-versed on being politically correct. “I'll call in the Coast Guard just to be sure. But I don't think there's anything to worry about.”
Of course he didn't.
But Serena was right. Whoever had been aboard this contraption had been desperate.
“I'll take over from here, ladies,” the chief said, effectively dismissing them from the scene. “Thanks for calli
ng this in.”
Cassidy didn't want to leave the boat, but she had no good excuse to stay. If only she had a moment to inspect the vessel more. To search for more clues. To maybe take some more pictures—she’d snapped a few before the chief arrived.
Low profile and laid-back.
Yep, those attributes were supposed to be Cassidy’s middle names since she’d arrived here in Lantern Beach. So far, she’d failed at staying true to either, but she was determined to change that before she drew too much attention to herself.
She, Serena, and Kujo started back toward her cottage, the midsummer sun beating down on them with the force of an oven ripe for roasting as soon as they breached the other side of the dune. Today was trash day, and, when the wind shifted, the rotting odor of curbside cans that hadn’t been emptied for a week drifted toward them.
“So about switching my shift . . .” Serena said once they reached the shade under Cassidy’s house. “You did say okay, didn’t you?”
“Sure, that’s fine, Serena.” Cassidy was too preoccupied to argue.
The twenty-one-year-old smiled. “Great. Thanks so much!”
Serena scurried off toward Elsa, the pink ice cream truck with a mind of its own. At random times, the vehicle started to play music. Was it an ode to the fact that locals refused to eat any of the treats inside?
Some might claim it was. Thankfully, Cassidy wasn’t as superstitious about the fact that the previous owner had been found dead inside—by natural causes, supposedly.
Cassidy watched as Serena climbed into the driver’s seat. The college student definitely made Cassidy’s life more interesting with her experiments in discovering herself.
“Hey, Cassidy,” Serena called, sticking her head out the back of the truck.
Cassidy paused by the stairs leading up to her place. “What’s up?”
“I think someone got into your ice cream truck last night. You might want to come check this out.”
Cassidy walked over toward Elsa, anxious to see what Serena was talking about. “Why do you think that?”
Lantern Beach Mysteries Box Set Page 37
