by James Hunt
Her name was written on the front of it. Not her given name, but a nickname bestowed upon her by an old partner whom she worked with during her years as a detective with the Missing Persons unit at Seattle’s Eighteenth precinct.
But the man who’d given her the nickname wouldn’t have left her a note like this. Not the godfather to her only son, the man he was named after.
Mocks flipped open the envelope and found a folded letter and a digital watch, the timer running, with thirty minutes already ticked past. She set the watch down and then opened the handwritten note.
Call Chase Grant. Inmate #26829 would like a word.
2
A steady Pacific breeze helped glide the twenty-four foot marine vessel The Sea Lion into its dock at Roche Harbor. When the bumpers along the ship’s starboard side bounced against the wooden posts, the crew quickly tied off the lines and lowered the walking plank as their passengers waited patiently.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us on our whale watching tour today. We hope that you enjoyed yourselves, and while you’re posting all of those pictures on social media, go ahead and tag The Sea Lion on Facebook or Instagram. We appreciate your time and hope you enjoy the rest of this beautiful day!”
The boat slowly emptied, the passengers hunched over their phones with expressions of wonder and excitement at what they’d captured on the tour as they made their way down the dock and toward the small fishing village.
The crowd consisted of tourists and locals, couples and families, but trailing the back of the group were a pair of heads sticking a little higher above the crowd.
“Can you believe they got that close?” Sam Cohen, bundled up in a green jacket, jeans, and boots, shook her head in amazement at the photograph she snapped of the humpback breaching out of the water. “They were massive.” She flashed a giddy smile, and for a moment, she was a six-year-old kid who was still enamored by her love of the sea instead of a five-foot ten, twenty-nine-year-old U.S. Marshal who spent her days working with some of the hardest sons of bitches in the federal government.
But instead of staring at the photographs, Chase Grant kept his focus on Sam, more interested in her happiness than what was on the phone. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Liked it?” Sam stopped in the middle of the dock, the crowd breaking around them, and pulled Grant close. “It was the best trip I’ve ever taken.” She stood on her toes and kissed him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Grant grabbed her hand and their fingers laced into one another. Sam pressed her side against him as they walked, and the pair looked like a couple cut straight out of an LL Bean catalog.
Looking at him, most folks would have pinned Grant in his early thirties, and people were always shocked when they discovered that he’d just turned forty this past year.
But he was showing signs of wear entering his fourth decade. His once jet-black hair was now fused with small streaks of gray, and his wrinkles had multiplied over a still-handsome face. And his mid-section had expanded a size or two, which he blamed on his career shift.
It had been one of the hardest choices of his life, but he knew it was the right decision. Second chances didn’t come around often, and Grant wasn’t going to screw it up. With Sam at his side, he knew that a future with her was better than the road that he had traveled before they met. A road that nearly killed him.
Off the docks and onto the streets of the small fishing village, Sam pointed to an English pub that looked so empty it might have been closed. “I’m starving. Think you want to grab a bite?”
Grant slowed them both to a stop and shoved his hands in his pockets, dressed in lighter attire, his northwestern blood better acclimated to the cool Pacific breezes than Sam. “Actually, I was hoping we could go for a walk. I know of a trail that’s close by with a pretty good view. I thought we could check it out before it rains.”
Sam puffed out her lower lip. “But I’m hungry.”
Grant laughed and pulled her closer, his fingertips gently touching her hips. “Well, why don’t we grab something to go and make a picnic out of it.”
The pouty face transformed into a smile. “I’d like that.”
It turned out the pub was open, and they ordered a traditional basket of fish and chips, forgoing the beer and opting for two waters so they wouldn’t become dehydrated during their hike.
The weather held up, Seattle clinging to the last bits of good weather before the bitter winds of winter blew their way.
Alone on the trail, they remained close, and when the crash of the ocean waves overpowered the sound of the wind through the trees, Sam slowly let go of Grant’s hand and carefully approached the cliff’s ledge. “Oh my God.” The wind was stronger at this altitude, and it whipped her blonde hair back behind as she stared out into the harbor. She turned at the waist, smiling at him. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, it is.” Grant brought the food over, and the pair munched, enjoying the view of the white caps crashing into the cliff’s base. Sea foam sprayed upward, and while they couldn’t touch it, the scent of the salt drifted up to meet them.
Sam finished her meal first, then collapsed into Grant’s lap. “This was a good day.”
Grant smiled. “Day’s not over yet.”
Sam narrowed her eyes, looking up at him. “I’ve seen that face before.” She sat up, then leaned back to give him the once over. “What do you have planned?”
Grant kept his right hand in his pocket, which was out of Sam’s view. “You always could read me like a book.”
“Well, it’s not hard,” Sam said. “So what is it?”
“You don’t want to try and guess?” Grant asked.
Sam laughed and rubbed her stomach, pushing her flat tummy out into a small pooch. “I’m too full to guess.”
“Okay.” Grant nodded, and then glanced out to the sea. “You know I’ve been up here before? My dad would take me fishing right out in that harbor.”
Sam crossed her legs Indian-style and perked up a little straighter.
“When we’d come back from fishing, we’d flay and clean our catch and then put it on ice. Then, after we rinsed the boat down, my dad would usually go to the store and pick up supplies for the next day, but he’d let me wander off.” Grant gestured to the trail and cliff that surrounded them. “It was how I found this place.”
“Did you guys come up here often?” Sam asked.
“When the weather was nice.” Grant smirked. “So no. Not often.”
Sam laughed. She had so much life in her laugh.
“I spent a lot of evenings with my legs dangling over the side, staring out into the water,” Grant said. “It was quiet here. Peaceful. It let me think.”
Sam’s voice softened. “What’d you think about?”
“My father always preached that it was important for a man to have a purpose in life, and how what we do with the time we have needs to mean something,” Grant answered. “So I thought a lot about what I wanted to be when I grew up.”
“Is that why you became a cop?” Sam asked.
“I knew I wanted to help people,” Grant answered. “I guess being a cop was one way to do that.”
Sam remained quiet for a little bit, letting the wind whistle between them and through the trees, her blue eyes focused on him. “Do you miss it?”
Grant knew what he was supposed to say, but he’d never had the tongue for lies. “I miss the purpose that it gave me.” He turned toward her and their eyes locked. “But I don’t miss what it did to me.”
“I know how hard it was for you,” Sam said.
Grant kept his head lowered, and his heartrate skyrocketed. The fingers on his right hand had become sweaty in his pocket as he clutched the ring box. “But my dad also told me that who we choose to spend our time with is just as important.” His voice cracked. He hadn’t expected to be this nervous. “I was lucky enough to marry a woman many years ago who brought more joy to my life than I deserved.”
&
nbsp; Sam covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my God.”
Grant removed the box from his pocket and then planted a knee on the ground and faced Sam at eye level. “And somehow I’ve been lucky enough to meet another.” He opened the box, the diamond sparkling beneath the sunshine. “Sam, will you marry me?”
For a moment there was nothing but silence, and Sam’s eyes moistened with tears as she looked from the ring to Grant. Then, without warning, she flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Yes!” Sam cried, squeezing him tight. “Yes, I will marry you.”
Grant embraced the squeeze, holding her just as tight, finally able to exhale in relief. When she finally pulled back, she kissed him, her touch warm and hungry.
“I think I have to put it on you now,” Grant said.
“Right.” Sam laughed and extended her left hand. “God, I can’t stop shaking.”
Grant steadied her hand as he slid the ring on her finger, and once the diamond was secure they embraced once more, holding onto one another while the waves crashed against the cliffs and the sweet scent of pines mixed with the salty air.
Time slowed on their walk back into town, their conversation a mixture of excited babble and possible wedding locations.
“I’d be fine with going to the courthouse this afternoon,” Grant said.
Sam stepped in front of him, looking up at him with a smile. “You really want to marry me, don’t you?”
Grant placed his palms against her cheeks, cupping her face gently, and kissed her. When their lips separated, Sam kept her eyes closed, and Grant waited for her to open them before he answered. “I want to marry you more than I want anything else in this world.”
Unable to keep it together any longer, Sam buried her face into Grant’s shoulder and cried. They stood at the trail head, embraced in love, both thankful to have found one another amid all of the uncertainty that the world could conjure.
When they emerged from the woods and returned to town, the tears had dried but the smiles hadn’t faded.
“Does anyone know?” Sam asked, leading them to the English pub for a drink to celebrate.
“A few people,” Grant said. “You sure you still want to go through with this?” He stopped, letting her go a few paces ahead. “I’m not a young man anymore.”
“No,” Sam said, shaking her head as she walked back over to him. She placed her arms lazily around his neck, inching her face closer to his. “But you’re my man.” She kissed him and her phone rang. “It’s Mocks.” She waved the screen at him before she answered. “Hey, girl. I hope you don’t mind planning a bachelorette party, because I just got engaged.” She laughed. “Thank you. Yeah, here he is.” She handed the phone to Grant and walked toward the pub. “I’ll grab seats at the bar. Guinness?”
“Make it a pint.” Grant brought the phone to his ear and watched his new fiancée head to the pub. “I swear that ESP of yours gets stronger every year. How in the hell did you know I already popped the question?”
“I didn’t,” Mocks answered. “Grant, I need you to come into the station.”
It was the tone that threw Grant off guard, and he instinctively turned away from the pub so Sam couldn’t see the concern on his face. “What happened? Are you all right? Are Rick and Chase—”
“Everyone is fine,” Mocks answered. “But I need you to come in. We have a chopper heading to the harbor to pick you up.”
“Chopper?” Grant frowned. “Mocks, what the hell is going on?”
A marine horn blared, echoing across the harbor, and a flock of seagulls squawked overhead. Grant plugged a finger into his open ear so he could concentrate on what Mocks was trying to say.
“What? I didn’t catch that,” Grant said.
“I said he wants to talk to you,” Mocks said.
Hunched over, his palm pressed firmly over his ear, he frowned. “Who?”
“Dennis Pullman.”
3
The sight of the police chopper landing in the nearby park off the harbor caught the attention of every resident and tourist in the sleepy little town. And as Grant and Sam boarded the chopper, Grant spent the entire trip back to Seattle with Dennis Pullman at the forefront of his mind. A relic from his past that he wished would stay buried.
The chopper landed at Seattle’s City Hall, where two cars waited for them. One to take Sam home, the other to take Grant to Mocks’s precinct.
“I’ll call you when I can,” Grant said.
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Twenty minutes later, Grant was back in the parking lot of his old police precinct, escorted by a pair of officers who glared at Grant from the corner of their eyes.
It had been a while since he’d stepped foot into a police station in any official capacity, but not long enough for people to forget who he was or what he’d done.
Depending on who you spoke with, former Seattle Detective Chase Grant was either a hero or a vigilante cop who cared more about results than following protocol. If you asked the man himself, he’d tell you that he was neither.
But truth became lost in translation when it was filtered through the public eye, where facts and knowledge were replaced with strong opinions and passionate emotions. And while giving up the badge was one of the hardest decisions in his life, he had made his peace with it. He just wished everyone else would have as well.
When the precinct doors opened, Grant was thrust back into a world he hadn’t seen in years. The chatter, the energy, the camaraderie, all of it flooded back to him.
A few heads turned in the bullpen as Grant passed, and he saw whispers passed between the officers, leaving a low murmur of chatter in his wake.
The officers led Grant to a closed office door. He knocked twice and then stepped inside. “Lieutenant, I have him.”
“Thanks, Chris. You can send him in.”
The officer stepped aside and allowed Grant to enter, transporting him back into a world he never expected to be a part of again.
“Grant.” Mocks was the first one to the door to greet him, giving him a formal handshake due to the company. “Sorry to dampen your big day.”
“It’s fine,” Grant said, finally recognizing the other man in the office.
“Grant, this is Chief Hofster,” Mocks said, introducing the pair before sliding back behind her desk. “Chief, this is—"
“I know who he is.” Chief Hofster had a closely-cropped head of light brown hair, and he crossed his thick arms over his barreled chest. Looking close to fifty, he was a young man to hold the position, younger than Chief Mayfield, who had run things while Grant still wore a shield.
Mocks sat behind her desk and gestured to her phone. “We also have Washington’s Attorney General on speaker.”
“Glad you haven’t forgotten about me,” he said. “Mr. Grant, my name is Jason Williams. I think you were familiar with my predecessor.”
“You could say that.” Grant had connected him to a high-level corruption scheme that involved a human trafficking epidemic.
“Mr. Grant,” Jason said. “Before we continue, I need you to understand the confidentiality of this meeting. Anything we discuss in this room stays in this room.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Mocks said. “Grant enjoys talking to the press about as much as I like writing reports.”
Chief Hofster chuckled.
“I didn’t get much detail about the situation,” Grant said. “Has Pullman escaped?”
“No,” Williams said. “He’s currently shackled in a holding room here at the Washington State pen. He’s informed us that he coordinated the abduction of three people. But he won’t tell me who, and he says that the only person he’ll speak with is you. And he insists that the interaction be in person.”
Mocks held up three evidence bags. The first held an envelope, the second a letter, and the third a digital watch. “I found these on my porch this morning. The handwriting doesn’t match any of Pull
man’s samples we have on file, so it does appear someone is helping him.”
Grant picked up the bag with the letter. “Any suspects?”
“Without knowing the victim’s names it’s hard to determine who might have taken them,” Mocks answered.
Hofster pushed himself off the wall and leaned forward on Mocks’s desk, the tip of his black and yellow tie dipping into a container of pens. “I think that Pullman is just trying to get some attention, blowing smoke up our ass.”
Grant set the letter down and then reached for the watch. He ran his thumb over the face, which was set to the stopwatch feature. The numbers were counting upward, and the time had just passed the two-hour mark.
Hofster cocked an eyebrow. “That watch mean anything to you?”
“It’s a message,” Grant answered. “When I worked Missing Persons with Mocks— Lieutenant Mullocks, I used a watch similar to this one whenever I started a new case. The first twelve hours of an abduction are the most crucial. After the twelve-hour mark passes, the chances of a successful recovery drop eighty percent.”
Hofster shrugged. “So, you’re telling me that when that timer hits twelve hours, we’ll never find these people again?”
Grant returned the watch to the desk. “I’m saying that’s what I used the watch for. I’m not sure what Pullman has planned.”
“You were the arresting officer for Pullman ten years ago,” Williams said.
“I was still working Homicide then, but every law enforcement officer at the city, state, and federal levels was looking for him,” Grant said.
“But you were the one who caught him,” Hofster said. “What can you tell us about him?”
Grant sat in one of the two empty chairs in front of Mocks’s desk and rubbed his eyes. All of this was too surreal. Less than thirty minutes ago, he had been with Sam. He’d just gotten engaged. But when he lowered his hand and saw that Mocks and Hofster were staring at him, he nodded.
