The Killing Tide

by Dani Pettrey

  “Look at that face.” She pointed at Layla’s big puppy-dog eyes. “You’d have to be heartless to ignore her cuteness.”

  “Like I said.” Finn swung his legs back and forth. “Easy mark.”

  Gabby rolled her eyes. She’d seen him being just as much a sucker for Layla’s charms. Finn’s comments about her being a good mom still tossed through her mind. She’d never really stopped to think about her life after chasing stories around the world. She didn’t want to live the traveling life with kids, and if—or rather, when—she had kids, she wanted to be with them and work smaller, local pieces.

  A life with Finn at her side and a couple little rug rats danced through her mind. She popped a strawberry in her mouth and leaned against the counter for support. Now she was idealizing a life with Finn? She took a stiff inhale, realizing she feared not being with him far more than she feared an idyllic future like that. What was going on with her? How had he gotten so deeply ingrained in her mind and heart already? She’d known coming back was dangerous. . . .

  “What’s got your attention?” he asked, hopping down to give Layla a good rubdown. She licked his face and he laughed.

  She shrugged. “Just daydreaming.”

  He got back to his feet.

  “About anything in particular?”

  You. She cleared her throat. “Nah,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek as the word left her mouth. She hated to lie to him, but she wasn’t ready to tell him . . . wasn’t ready for any of it. Or at least that’s what her fear told her.

  He leaned against the counter next to her, a grin tugging on his lips. “So . . . Carmen Sandiego?”

  She turned her attention and her hands back to hulling another strawberry. Best to keep preoccupied as gooseflesh rippled up her arms at Finn’s close proximity. She tossed the stem in the small white bowl to the side. “She was very cool.”

  “Yes, she was,” he said with sincerity. “I can see why you picked her.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s basically your job in a nutshell.”

  Her face pinched. “I think you’re confusing a spy with a reporter.”

  “You were undercover in South Sudan, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So there are similarities.”

  “Perhaps similarities . . .” She shrugged a shoulder. “But there’s a key difference.”

  He lifted his chin. “What’s that?”

  “The objective. A spy’s mission can be a wide variety of things, but a reporter’s is always the same.”

  He waited for her to answer.

  “To find the truth.”

  “That’s what drives you, isn’t it?”

  She gave Layla the strawberry in her hand. “Yes, and what drives you?”

  “I’ll think on it and get back to you.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “We better get to bed. We’ve got a rough awakening tomorrow.”

  She swallowed. Sam’s funeral.

  Rissi retrieved the storage box from the back of her closet. She carried it to her bed, curled up in the covers, and opened it. It only took a moment to find what she looked for. Her hand clasped the binding, and she lifted her diary.

  Blowing off the soft film of dust that had crept through the cracks, she wiped her hand over the burgundy cover, fingering the raised Aslan crest. She smiled at the memory of the day Mason gave the diary to her. He’d smuggled it into the house and up to their secret hiding spot. And she kept it concealed in the rafters until the day of her emancipation—the day she broke free of Hank’s ironclad hold on her.

  She flipped to August 17, 2009, and her heart winced. The day Mason left the home. He had no choice upon turning eighteen, but that day it felt as though she’d lost half her heart and the entirety of her hope.

  She scanned the page, the words written with an unsteady hand.

  With wings wide, we soared above the clouds, above the grime into the blue sublime.

  The sweet smell of freedom touched my soul for a blissful moment until the grip of violence clasped me hard, dragging me back under as he soared.

  A prisoner again, I see nights with no end.

  Swallowing, she closed the diary and set it on her nightstand. Her chest heavy, the breath squeezed from her lungs.

  Why was the past resurrecting itself now?

  She clicked out the light, her breath hitching tighter.

  Maybe just for tonight, she’d dig back in, remembering the good times with Mason—flip to those pages.

  She reached out and switched the light back on.

  Finn pressed his hand against the turquoise tile, letting the hot water stream over him, rolling off his aching shoulder.

  Steam filled the bathroom and Gabby his thoughts.

  He’d done exactly what he vowed not to do. He’d fallen in love with her all over again.

  After another moment of indulging in the warmth spreading over his skin, he shut off the water and stepped out to find Layla waiting for him, her body pressed against the tub.

  “Hey, girl.” He grabbed his towel off the hook and wrapped it around his waist. Tucking in the corner to secure it, he took a wide step over the dog.

  Feet planted on the cool floor, he moved for the bedroom.

  Changing into his boxers, he climbed into bed, and Layla jumped up beside him.

  He turned out the light and settled in, wondering which nightmare would fill his dreams tonight—the agony of losing Stan Larson to the ocean waves or the horror of Fuentes finding Gabby. As much as he wished otherwise, he feared it was only a matter of time before the drug lord did.

  fifty-five

  Finn looked at Gabby, surprise shooting through him when she reached for his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. They followed the rest of the gang down the winding, sand-packed path between the dunes, rushes fluttering in the breeze. At the end of the trail, the ocean spread far and wide. The rhythmic lapping of the waves lulled as they headed barefoot across the warm sand for Sam’s memorial service.

  The people gathering took a seat in a large circle on beach blankets spread out across the sand. Flowers in vibrant oranges and yellows lay in a large pile in the center of it all.

  Coconut suntan lotion wafted on the salty sea breeze.

  “Hi, guys,” Beth said as they approached.

  “Hey, lady.” Finn hugged her. Then he knelt in front of Ali. “Hey, kiddo. I’m praying for you today.”

  Ali nodded, tears welling in her sweet eyes.

  His chest tightened, choking the breath from his lungs at the injustice of it all.

  Beth clasped her daughter’s hand and wiped the tears from her eyes. Then she stood and sniffed, not bothering to hide the tears rolling down her own cheeks. Her yellow sundress fluttered in the breeze blowing over the heightening tide. “If everyone will take a seat, we’ll get started,” she said.

  Finn did as instructed, sitting on the yellow and jade tie-dyed blanket. Gabby sank beside him, tucking her legs to the side and securing her blue-and-white sundress beneath her knees.

  Chris Tomlin’s “I Will Rise” played on the iPad nestled on Beth’s blanket.

  Tears misted in Rissi’s eyes across the circle—Noah on one side of her and Caleb on the other. Logan and Emmalyne sat on the blanket beside Beth and sweet Ali.

  Beth leaned forward and began in a trembling, yet somehow strong, voice. “Sam wouldn’t want us mourning at a funeral parlor. He’d want us out here celebrating his life by the sea that he loved so much. So today I’d love to have anyone who’d like to share a story about Sam speak. And then instead of placing flowers on a coffin, we’ll send them off to sea in his memory.”

  Finn’s chest warmed. Sam wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

  Rissi took a shaky inhale as she climbed into her Fiat. Noah wiped the sand off his feet before climbing in the passenger side. He pulled his Sperrys on and unrolled his khaki Dockers until they met the top edge of his shoes. His light-blue dress shirt highlighted his tan skin. All the men
had worn similar attire to the memorial service, while all the women had worn sundresses.

  “I’m guessing we should go by the station, so I can change before we head to Marv’s?” Rissi said, hoping to get back into real clothes.

  “We aren’t far from his place. If you don’t mind, let’s just stop on the way, and then we’ll head to the station.”

  “No problem,” she said, lowering the convertible top.

  Noah ducked slightly, the top of his head nearly bumping the black collapsible roof.

  She shifted the car into reverse, feeling silly in the jade sundress—in any dress. And especially when headed to work. Where would she keep her gun?

  Knowing what they now did about Marv and Mr. Layton, they had a good deal of questions for him, and a warrant to search his house and property. Rissi wasn’t sure exactly what they were looking for but hoped the search would uncover something that explained what he and Mo had been doing for Litman Limited—other than killing John Layton. The payments went back months, long before Layton had been killed, so what were the payments for? Drug running as well?

  She was itching for Noah and Finn to get clearance to dive the Calliope, and she prayed it offered the clues they needed to tie everything together. It was hard to wrap her head around a replacement coming for Sam. Mere days ago, they had been ribbing each other during their pickup baseball game.

  The warm September wind ruffled her hair, tousling it about her head as they made the ten-minute drive to Marv and Loraine’s place. She hoped Loraine was out and about. Rissi hated that they might have to search the house while she stood by, watching as they went through her things. Hated to question her husband in front of her.

  Unfortunately, they weren’t that lucky.

  Loraine answered the door. Her freckle-smattered face frowned. “You guys again. Haven’t you already done enough?” She moved to shut the door.

  Noah interceded, catching it before she could shut them out. “I’m sorry, Loraine, but we need to speak with Marv.”

  “He ain’t here. Hasn’t been since you all left yesterday.”

  Noah cocked his head. “What?”

  “He headed out not long after you two did, and I haven’t seen him since.” Annoyance filled her tone, but concern showed in her chestnut brown eyes.

  “I assume you’ve tried calling him?” Noah asked as her hands settled on her hips.

  “Gee. I didn’t think of that.” She rolled her eyes. “Great detective, you are.”

  “Look, Loraine, we want to find him as much as you do,” Rissi said.

  “I doubt that, and if so, it’s only because you want to pester him. He didn’t do anything. That guy on the boat had an accident. Accidents happen all the time. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about it.”

  So Marv had worked his spiel with her. Much as he’d tried with them.

  “Have you called Mo?” Noah asked.

  “Of course I did, but he hasn’t seen him. No one has.”

  “Did he take anything with him?” Rissi asked.

  Loraine tilted her head, leaning against the doorframe with a look of resignation. “Like what?”

  “A bag of clothes? Anything that might suggest he was taking off for a while?” Rissi asked, adding the for a while for Loraine’s benefit.

  “Nah. He just said he had to run an errand. He kissed my cheek, jumped in his truck, and took off. Haven’t heard a peep from him since.”

  Noah handed Loraine the warrant. “I’m afraid we’re going to need to look around.”

  Loraine flipped the paper open and shook her head. “Of course you do.”

  Gabby stepped through the hospital’s front sliding door, Finn’s protective hand on her lower back.

  They moved for the elevators, intending to question MCPO Fletcher before his discharge, but the murmur of a crowd echoing across the arched ceiling caught their attention.

  Camera flashes popped over the hallway separating the elevators from the main lobby sitting area.

  “You don’t think . . . ?” Gabby said.

  Finn sighed. “Yeah, I do.”

  They rounded the front desk and stopped short at the plethora of people—guardsmen clapping, reporters shouting questions, cameras flashing. In front of it all, with a bashful smile that Gabby would bet was as fake as a three-dollar bill, sat Dennis Fletcher in a wheelchair.

  “What happened out there?” the brunette female reporter in the front row asked.

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that while Petty Officer Seavers’s murderers are still at large.” He looked at Finn, disapproval etched on his stern brow.

  “I thought Coast Guard Investigative Service already made arrests?” another reporter asked.

  “And they were massacred in their cells,” someone in the audience said.

  The crowd erupted into a frenzy of murmurs and questions.

  “Agent Walker,” Fletcher called. “Agent Walker.” He waved Finn forward.

  The noise of the crowd lessened as gazes shifted to Finn.

  “Why don’t you come up here and answer these good folks’ questions?”

  “I’ll be back,” Finn whispered before striding to Fletcher’s side.

  “Agent Finn Walker,” Fletcher said.

  “What’s happening in the case?” the brunette reporter asked.

  “Sheila Murphy with the Post,” a tall woman on the right side of the room said. “Why hasn’t Petty Officer Seavers’s murderer been brought to justice?”

  Finn held up his hand, and the questions ceased—at least momentarily. “I am not at liberty to discuss an open investigation.” He looked at Fletcher. “Back to you,” he said, striding off the stage.

  A tall man with broad shoulders and a mop of dark curly hair, who’d stood behind Fletcher for the duration of what could only be described as a full-fledged press conference, stepped in front of Fletcher.

  “Master Chief Petty Officer Fletcher appreciates your concern and well wishes, but it’s been a trying time for him, and he needs his rest.”

  More questions flew, but the man simply strode behind Fletcher, took hold of his wheelchair, and rolled him toward the main entrance to the hospital.

  Those still sitting in the audience joined those already on their feet clapping and saluting Fletcher as he passed by.

  “They’re treating him like a hero,” Gabby said, leaning into Finn.

  “If what he said happened did, then the fact he went to get help for Seavers does make him a hero.”

  “But if he’s lying . . . ?” she whispered as Fletcher approached.

  “Then he’s a murderer,” Finn said, his gaze locked on Fletcher.

  Fletcher held Finn’s stare, then shifted his gaze to Gabby. “Miss.” He tipped his hat.

  They followed Fletcher and his guardian out, and as the tall man rolled Fletcher to the back door of a black sedan, Finn said, “Master Chief Fletcher.”

  “What is it, Walker?”

  “I need to ask you some more questions. We have new information.”

  “And I’d love to hear it,” Fletcher said as the man helped him into the car. “But the doc ordered rest, and I’m listening.”

  “It will just take a few minutes of your time,” Finn said.

  The still-unidentified man shut the door. “As he said, he needs his rest.”

  Finn tilted his head. “And who are you?”

  “Not anyone of consequence.” The man moved to the passenger door and climbed in.

  Finn held up his badge. “I asked you a question.”

  “Scott Caldwell,” the man said as he shut the door, and the vehicle sped out of the lot.

  “We going to chase them?” Gabby asked as adrenaline heated her skin. It’d been a while since she had been in a decent car chase.

  “Not near a hospital. Besides, I’ve got a better idea.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Hey, Em. I need you to run a name and a license plate for me.”

  fifty-six

  Frus
tration seared through Rissi at finding nothing useful to the case in Marv and Loraine’s house. She headed out to the shed, pumping her fists in and out, while Noah stepped into the free-standing garage.

  After taking in the bigger contents of the shed—lawn mower, trimmer, weed whacker, and the like—she turned to the metal shelf lined with old, lidded coffee cans. There had to be at least forty of them. She sighed. She had her work cut out for her.

  Eight cans in from the right, on the third row up, she opened the lid expecting more screws, nails, washers, or some other building essential. But instead she found a white handkerchief—surprisingly fresh, like it had very recently been placed there—wrapped around the can’s contents.

  She scooped her hand underneath, and whatever it was slid into her palm. Her eyes widened as she peeled the handkerchief away to find barnacle-encrusted coins. Doubloons.

  “Noah,” she called.

  “Yeah?” His voice echoed across the concrete pad between the garage and the shed.

  “You’re going to want to see this.”

  Noah entered. “What’s up?”

  She held up the handful of doubloons. “I think I just discovered what Marv and Mo have been doing for Litman Limited.”

  Finn entered the station with Gabby at his side, his thoughts wrapped up in her. He was falling even deeper in love with her.

  He exhaled. How long until he had to watch her drive away again?

  Lost in the moment, he didn’t realize Logan and Emmalyne were present until Logan cleared his throat.

  He looked up to find the two of them leaning against the front of Emmalyne’s desk, both grinning.

  “So where are we at on the license plate?” he asked, hoping if he got straight to it, they’d stop smiling.

  Logan’s lip twitched, but he shifted his focus onto the case. “They’re stolen plates.”

  “Who were they stolen from?” Finn asked.

  “Mr. Bowen’s Buick.”

  “Mr. Bowen?” Gabby frowned. “The deceased owner of the drop-spot house?”

  “One and the same.” Emmy nodded.