by Dani Pettrey
A side door opened, and a man matching Rick Carson’s mug shot stepped out. “Who the heck are you, and what are you doing in my garage?” He pressed a red button on the wall.
“You didn’t need to do that.” Caleb lifted his badge from the chain around his neck. “I’m CGIS. I have some questions for you.” Carson calling the police was superfluous.
Within moments two exceedingly muscular men appeared behind Rick Carson in the doorway, guns drawn.
Caleb looked behind him. Another two were positioned by the open bay door.
Okay, so not the police. And definitely not the best situation. At least he had a closed door serving as a wall at his back, and he was an excellent shot if things went sideways.
“I just want to talk,” he said, his tone even. “That’s all. We can talk here, or we can go into the station.”
“Talk.” Rick looked at his men and laughed. They followed suit. “Come, then.” He held out an arm, gesturing him over. “Let’s talk.”
Caleb followed him through the door and past the two men who looked more like mercenaries than security detail. They entered a walled courtyard separating the main house from the garage.
Finally, he led Caleb out yet another set of doors on the far side of the courtyard. “By the pool is a good place to talk. Good view,” Rick said. He wore white linen pants and a Tommy Bahama resort shirt with oversized pineapples on a peach background.
Caleb glanced over Rick’s shoulder at the four-lane Olympic-style pool overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
“Sit,” Rick said, gesturing to a glass-and-wrought-iron table and the four chairs around it.
“Thank you.” Caleb sank into one, questions pinging inside his head. Why would a man as rich as Rick Carson steal his own car and then chase down Rissi and Mason? Or . . .
Caleb looked back at the men he’d mentally named Brawn and Muscle. Where had the other two gone? He couldn’t be certain, but he bet they were going through his car.
Assessing Rick in his element, Caleb decided he needed to alter his approach. “Thank you for taking time to speak with me.”
Rick waved a man in a white shirt and black bow tie over. “Eddie, I’ll take a rum and Coke, and our guest . . .” He looked to Caleb.
“Just a Coke please.”
“Are you sure? It’s British Royal Navy Imperial Rum.”
That was high dollar. “Thank you, but I’m on duty.”
Eddie returned with a glass of Coke with a lime wedge on the rim for Caleb and the rum and Coke for Rick.
“Thank you, Eddie, that will be all.” Rick took a sip of his drink while Caleb did the same. “Please, proceed with your questions.” He checked his watch. “I have a noon tee time.”
“You reported your car stolen from the airport two days ago. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And where were you flying to?”
Rick dipped his chin, his brows arching. “Is that pertinent to the theft of my car?”
“It could be.”
“Dayton, Ohio. I had business there. I spent two days and flew back late last night.”
“How late?”
“My flight landed shortly after 11:15 p.m. Or if you prefer military time, 2315.”
Conveniently after Rissi and Mason were tailed by his SUV.
“And when you returned?”
Rick took another sip, this one longer than the first. He set his perspiring glass down on a coaster. “My driver, Matthew, picked me up. Then I received a call early this morning from airport security telling me that my car had been returned.” He laughed and reached for a box. “Cigar?”
“No, thank you.”
“Can you imagine that?” Rick laughed, his belly moving beneath his pineapple shirt with the chuckle. “A thief returning a car. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“How did you discover your car was stolen if you were out of town?”
“I asked Grigor”—he pointed to the man Caleb had nicknamed Brawn—“to see if I left some important papers in it. He went to the airport, and it was gone. I reported it stolen immediately.”
“And?”
“Airport security said they’d run through their surveillance, but I doubt they ever did. I never heard back from them.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Yes, I did. They said they’d look into it, but the police and I aren’t exactly simpatico, you know.”
“I see that.” Caleb laid one of Rick’s mug shots next to a printed out rap sheet.
“Interesting.” He tapped the table. “You checked me out. Why?”
“Your car tailed two of our agents quite aggressively last night.”
He took a puff of his cigar and blew out a stream of smoke. “I’m very sorry to hear that. I suppose that explains why it was stolen.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind if we sent a CSI agent out here to run the vehicle.”
“Yes, Mr. Eason. I would.”
Interesting. He hadn’t given his name. “It’s Agent Eason.”
“Of course.” Rick’s jaw tightened, but he still attempted a smile. “Agent Eason, I’m over the theft. I have my car back. I see no need to prolong the issue.”
“Okay.” Caleb shifted gears. “Then let’s talk about your record for stealing cars.”
Rick set his glass down. “That was a long time ago.”
Caleb exhaled. “Not so long.”
“I guess that depends on your perspective.”
“I suppose.” Caleb looked around at the mansion and expansive grounds surrounding them. “Do you mind me asking why a wealthy man like you would have such a record?”
Rick reclined in his chair. “I wasn’t always wealthy.”
“No?” He already knew that but wanted to see if Rick would tell the truth. If he lied about something as simple as that, who knew what else he’d lie about.
“No. I was a bum and a thief.”
“So what happened? What turned your life around?”
“I found Jesus.”
“Jesus?” He hadn’t seen that coming. He knew men like Rick Carson could be saved and redeemed, could have Jesus reach in and pull them out of the muck and mire and set their feet on the Rock of Ages. But . . . something in his gut said Rick Carson was feeding him a load of bull.
“And how did finding Jesus equate to all this?” he asked.
“I went straight. Started turning my life around. Went to Narcotics Anonymous, and that’s where I met my sweet Bella.”
“Bella?”
“Yes. My fiancée. I’d introduce you, but I’m afraid she’s out shopping. You know women.” He chuckled.
Uh-huh. He had the distinct feeling Bella was the loaded one, and Rick was just along for the ride. “What do you do for a living now?”
“I manage the estate.”
By hiring staff to do everything, it appeared.
“And I’m Bella’s executive advisor.”
“Advisor for what?”
“The company her dad left her.”
Caleb hated always being right.
“And what company is that?”
“Financial Freedom.”
“The dot.com company?” It had revolutionized online banking and investments.
Rick smiled. “That’s the one.”
“So your fiancée is Bella Armstrong?”
“Yes. My Bella.”
Financial Freedom was worth billions. “And Bella runs the company?”
“She manages it.”
Meaning she had others run it, and she got rich off her dad’s creation.
Rick Carson hadn’t changed. Not in Caleb’s estimation. He was just running another con. One he feared would end badly for Bella Armstrong.
After thanking Rick for his time and being shown out by the muscle twins, Caleb climbed in his car. He took one last look at the sprawling estate.
Rick stood at the center, second-floor window, smoking his cigar, watching him as he pulled away. He lifted his head
at Caleb as he blew out a stream of smoke.
Caleb smiled. Game on.
FORTY
Mason parked in UNCW’s general parking lot. They’d decided to take a break from interviewing crew one as each interview sounded exactly like the one before . Everything was in fine working order when they’d swapped rotations with crew two, but each one believed in the curse and blamed it for the copter crash and Greg Barnes’s death. Rissi couldn’t listen to one more retelling, and so they were switching their focus.
Mason stepped around his Impala, the sun’s rays bringing an almost sparkling hue to the hood. He opened the passenger-side door for her.
“Thanks,” she said, climbing out.
Mason’s green-gray eyes narrowed. “You’re worried.”
She considered arguing, but he knew her like no one else did. Just like when they were teens. “I am.”
“For Caleb?” he asked as they stepped onto the sidewalk leading from the parking lot to the main campus.
“If Lucas is in any way tied to what happened to Greg Barnes, he needs to answer for it. I know that.” She sighed. “I also know it’ll kill Caleb. He tries so hard with his family, and they only let him down time and time again.”
“That sucks.” Mason glanced at her hands, then slid his into his jacket pockets. She longed to hold hands, too, but it wasn’t professional, so she followed Mason’s choice, shoving her hands in her white blazer’s pockets.
A smile curled on his lips at her action, his gaze locking with hers.
She shrugged with a soft smile. “Whoa!” she said.
He stopped short and looked forward at the old oak tree less than an inch before him. “Thanks,” he said. “Guess I better pay better attention to where I’m going.”
“Probably a good idea.” She tried to smother a laugh, but it was no use.
“You think that’s funny, huh?” His best attempt at a serious expression spread on his face, but after a moment, he, too, gave up and broke into laughter.
Finally stemming the lightness of the moment, Rissi led the way around the wildflower preserve toward Seahawk Landing—the farthest student apartment complex on campus.
“You said Lucas’s mom was not a great influence?” Mason said, picking up their earlier conversation from the car ride over.
“Susie bounces from husband to husband. Making one bad choice after another.”
“That stinks,” Mason said.
“Yeah, but I suppose Susie learned it honestly.”
“As in her mom?” he asked.
“Yeah. She’s really a number,” she said as they banked right at the edge of the preserve, passed two halls, and turned left. She glanced at the shiny signs for homecoming hanging along the sorority apartments’ balconies and Frat “Row” suites.
She’d always wondered what it would have been like to attend homecoming or prom.
“I guess we missed out on that stuff,” Mason said, gesturing to the teal, navy, and gold sign on their right.
“Yeah.” She toed the pavement. “I’m sure it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
He studied her a moment but let the subject drop. “You sure know your way around here.”
“Not my first time questioning someone on campus.”
“Gotcha. So . . . Caleb and Susie’s mom?”
“Right. Their mom, Darlene, is . . .” She searched for the right adjective. “Well, horrible. Caleb’s been the only adult in the family since his parents split years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
Rissi raked a hand through her hair. “It’s been a losing battle for Caleb with his family. I’m pretty sure I would have walked away, but not him. He keeps trying. He never gives up on them.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, he is. So is Noah.” She had hit the lottery with her team family.
“And Logan?” Mason asked with arched brow.
“He’s a character, but deep down he’s a good guy too. Our team has really been blessed.”
“It sure seems so.” He lifted his chin. “What’s the deal with him and Emmalyne?”
“They’re a mess,” she said with a smile as they passed the garage that had been too full to park in when they arrived.
“But they clearly care for each other?”
“Yes, but until Logan gets over himself and shows Emmy the man he truly is, it’ll always just be a playful friendship.”
Mason grinned. “It’s definitely an interesting dynamic.”
“That it is.”
They entered Seahawk Landing, and after showing their badges to the student behind the front desk, they climbed the stairs. Locating apartment 310, Rissi knocked.
A guy in his early twenties with shaggy brown hair answered the door. “Yeah?”
“Seth Andrews?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Mason flashed his badge. “Agents Rogers and Dawson. We’re with Coast Guard Investigative Service, and we’d like to ask you about Lucas Eason.”
“Lucas doesn’t live here anymore.”
“We know. We want to ask you some questions about when he was living here.”
Seth frowned. “Is Luc in some kind of trouble?”
“No,” Rissi said. He wasn’t yet. “We’re just trying to figure out a few things about him.”
Seth braced his hand on the doorframe, his arm stretched out, effectively blocking them from his room.
“We want to know about his classes . . . one of his professors . . .”
That sparked something in Seth’s eyes.
“I’m guessing you know which professor we’re talking about?” Mason said.
“Yeah. Freaking nut job.” He lowered his arm and stepped back. “Come on in.”
As dorms went, it was a nice one. The door opened into a living room with a couch, coffee table, and two chairs that looked as if they belonged in a hospital waiting room, but Rissi was guessing they were standard dorm issue. A door on her left revealed a bedroom, as did the open one to the right. Suite style, like she’d lived in at Mary Washington.
“Take a seat, if you want,” Seth said, kicking his socked feet up on the coffee table after sinking into the couch.
Mason pulled out a chair for Rissi.
“Thanks,” she said, taking a seat.
“So what do you want to know about Professor Lansing?” Seth asked.
“Did you take any of her classes?”
“I took conservation biology last fall.”
“And Lucas?”
“Yeah, we both took it. And Luc went nuts for that stuff.”
“Nuts, how?” Rissi asked, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
Seth smiled at her, his gaze lingering. “As in he started going to protests with that enviro group Professor Lansing runs.”
“So they knew each other? Gwyneth Lansing and Lucas?” She needed confirmation.
“Oh yeah, they knew each other.”
Mason’s brow arched. “Knew each other as in knew each other?”
“Definitely. I mean, they were all secretive about it. Meeting up off campus. But he told me about it . . . about her.”
Rissi cringed. Gross. “Gwyneth has to be at least a decade older than him.”
“Eight years, I think,” Seth said. “I mean, she wasn’t bad to look at, and she was smart, but she was such a weirdo.”
“Weirdo, how?”
“She’d go off on these tangents and rants about oil companies and chemical plants and such. I mean, I get that they aren’t enviro friendly, and that sucks, and I’m all for protecting wildlife. I’m a marine biology major like Luc was, but Luc talked me into going with him to one of the protests. We went out on a boat to protest the Oceanic Nautilus—the drilling rig they used to lay the subsea wells the Dauntless uses to pump and produce oil.”
“Wait,” Rissi said. “Sorry to interrupt, but did you just say Lucas protested against the oil rig whose platform he now works on?”
; Seth ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I liked Luc, but he just started disappearing more and more after he met Gwyneth.”
“He called her by her first name?” Mason said.
“Not on campus, but on that boat, he sure did. And the crowd on that boat was either talking smack just to sound tough or they were way extreme on protest tactics.”
“Such as?” she asked.
“They were talking about setting fires, vandalizing chemical plants, railroad cars that carry chemicals. Ecoterrorism kind of stuff.”
“Did Lucas say why he was dropping out of school to join the Dauntless and work for an oil company, of all things?”
“His old man—well, his last stepdad—worked rigs. Lucas called him a roughneck, whatever that meant. He was a mechanic, and he taught Luc the trade. Luc spent his last couple summers working with him on the rigs. So when he dropped out of college, he said he could make good money, and he could make a difference.”
“Make a difference?” Rissi frowned, not liking where this was going.
“Yeah. I told you the dude got weird.”
“Any idea where he lives now when not on the Dauntless?”
“Yeah. He moved in with some surfer guys in Topsail. I helped him move. He didn’t have a lot of friends here. I think that’s part of why he left.”
“And the other part?” Mason asked.
“Her.”
Noah looked to the door as Caleb entered the office. “Hey, man.”
Caleb lifted his chin in greeting. “Hey.”
“Good timing.” Noah grabbed a notebook from his desk.
“Oh?”
“I just got back from talking with Brodie.”
“How’d it go?
“He had an alibi.”
“A strong one?” Emmy asked. She was a wonder woman when it came to poking holes in lies. Logan called her the human polygraph.
“Three of the other firemen on duty while I was there confirmed his alibi. Said they were all out drinking at Riley’s Pub.”
“His buddies backing him up makes his alibi questionable,” Logan said.
“True, which is why I’m heading to Riley’s tonight.”
“We can go now,” Caleb said.
“Thanks for the offer, but I want to wait until later tonight. See if the same staff is working as last night when Brodie and his friends claim they were there. Conveniently while Brooke’s house was being broken into and vandalized.”
