by Dani Pettrey
“Can I get you some coffee?” Mason asked.
“That’d be great.” He raked a hand through his brown, tousled hair.
Mason moved to grab him one.
“So what’s this all about?”
Rissi explained the situation before Mason made it back to the table and handed Brian a mug.
“Yeah, I’m sorry the guy’s dead, but I doubt any of us are really going to mourn his loss.” Brian dumped a long pour of sugar from the glass jar on the table into his cup, then swirled it around. Brown liquid sloshed over the side, and he caught it with his thumb before it could drip on the table. Licking his thumb, he said, “Just right,” before smacking his lips.
“Can you tell us what happened between you and Chase?”
“Not a lot to tell.” He gulped down a few swigs, then swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’d started seeing this gal, Jen. It was new, and we were just seeing where things headed. As usual Chase showed up at the Stormy Gull—”
“The old bar out by the piers on the south end of town?” Rissi asked.
Brian tapped his nose. “You got it.”
“Thanks.” She noted it down. “Please continue.”
“Everybody knew that me and Jen were sort of together, but I was on shift on Dauntless. My crew-one buddies said one night Chase took one look at Jen and went straight for her. Laid on the charming crap he uses on all the girls.” He shifted his jaw, his fingers drumming the table in a fast trill. “Next shift change, my buddy tells me Chase and Jen left together.”
“Did you confront Chase?”
“When he arrived on the rig to fix the risers, and things settled down a bit after Greg’s death, I talked to him.”
“And?” Mason asked.
“And . . .” His fingers drummed louder. “He gave his usual spiel about he can’t help if the women prefer him.” Brian curled his fingers into a fist. “It’s like the guy took pleasure in jabbing at the rest of the crew. The single girls he didn’t much care for. Always the ones already taken.”
“It was the conquest for him,” Mason said. He knew jerks like that. Arrogant . . . egotistical . . .
“Yeah.” Brian linked his arms across his chest. “He’s one of those guys.”
FIFTY-FOUR
Mason studied Rissi as she leaned against the port side rail. The fierce wind swirling over the frothing sea whipped her hair about her face. Lifting her hands, she pulled her hair into two clumps and fashioned them into a loose bun-style thing. A few wavy wisps caressed her neck.
He longed more than anything to stride up behind her and press a kiss to the beautiful nape of her neck, but he restrained himself. He’d just gotten off the phone from updating Noah. The temps on land were rising, but the storm at sea was headed straight for Dauntless.
“Thought you could use this,” he said over her shoulder. The sweet scent of pineapple drifted on the wind ruffling her hair.
“Thanks.” She smiled, taking the mug he offered. Her fingers brushed his for the faintest of moments, sending a surge of energy up his arms.
She took a sip as he shook out his hands.
“It’s good,” she said, inhaling the scent swirling up in the steam rising in a faint fog from the blue-and-white speckled mug.
He gripped the rail separating them from an eighty-foot drop into the raging sea.
“Storm’s moving in swiftly,” she said, turning to face him, her back resting against the rail.
He studied the clouds, the wind tracking them like leaping frogs across the sky. “Looks like we’re going to have to wait out the storm before they send a copter out.”
Rissi exhaled. “That sucks.”
Mason shrugged his hands into his pockets. “I agree, but at least chow’s on. I say we take a break and eat.”
“Sounds good.”
———
Ten minutes later, Rissi sat next to Mason in the galley, devouring the sloppy joe the rig chef, Leroy, had served her with chips. She’d waited far too long to eat, and her hypoglycemia had kicked in with a fury. Thankfully, her bottoming-out corresponded with the second shift’s dinner break.
The volume of a constant high-pitched murmur buzzed around as the men talked. No doubt all curious about the investigation.
Greg’s death had been the result of sabotage. And now that they knew Gwyneth had coerced Randy Patterson into tampering with the Textra copter, so was Max’s.
Chase’s cause of death, on the other hand, at first seemed cut-and-dry—accidental stingray barb to the heart. But, with his reputation of hooking up with other guys’ girls and the anger they’d witnessed in a good number of crew members toward him . . . something wasn’t sitting right with her or Mason. Unable to return to land until the storm passed, they’d keep digging, starting with searching Chase’s room.
Rissi gazed around the bustling galley, studying the men’s faces, wondering if she was staring into the eyes of a killer.
Mason’s hand rested in the center of her back, fingers splayed. “You okay?” he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her neck.
She nodded, thankful to have him here with her. She finished her meal, and as she stood to renew their investigation, her stomach suddenly flipped, hard. She covered her mouth.
Mason’s gaze fixed on her. “You okay?”
Queasiness rumbled through her gut, followed by a loud gurgle.
“Ris?”
Her stomach flipped again—fierce and swift.
She bolted from the table, racing for the bathroom she’d spotted on their way into the galley.
She’d barely slammed the door behind her and dropped to her knees before her meal left her.
Sinking back on her heels, she grabbed a tissue and wiped her mouth, flushing the toilet, thankful one of the few single bathrooms aboard had been by the galley.
A knock sounded at the door. “Ris?”
She hung her damp head, a cold sweat clinging to her. Talk about embarrassing. “Come in.”
Mason opened the door and knelt beside her, his hand on her back.
“Do you feel better now?”
Did she? She started to stand when another wave hit.
A half hour and three disgusting bouts later, she was finally able to leave the bathroom.
Sweaty and shaky, she hardly felt well, but there was apparently nothing left to come out of her.
Mason held her arm, steadying her as she pressed the cool, damp cloth he’d given her to her forehead.
“I found you a place to rest.”
She shook her head. “We’ve got more investigating to do.”
“Darling, you need to rest. Besides that, half the crew aren’t in any shape for questioning.”
She frowned, the slight movement ricocheting pain through her skull. “What?” she managed to eke out, thankful she could open her mouth now without getting sick.
“You aren’t the only one sick.” He steered her toward the back corridor. “When I went to grab your washcloth, Joel told me he thinks it’s a case of food poisoning. The rest of the men think it’s the curse.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But you’re not sick?”
“I had a grilled cheese, remember? They suspect the sloppy joes.” He steered her into a bedroom at the end of the hall and over to the bed.
“Where are we?”
“Ed’s quarters. He’s on shift, and said you could rest here. I’m sure it won’t be a problem for the night.”
“For the night?” She stumbled to her feet. “We have an investigation to continue.”
He gently settled her back onto the bed. “You’re in no shape to investigate, and everyone is stuck on this rig for the duration of the storm. No one is going anywhere, especially with half of the crew sick.”
Her head swirled, her body swaying.
“Lie back,” he said, helping her.
A soft pillow cradled her head.
“Do you want covers?” he aske
d.
She shook her head and regretted the motion, her world spinning. “No.” The dampening sweat wasn’t enough to cool her heated skin. “Food poisoning doesn’t usually come on that fast.”
“Not normally, but who knows what caused it. It might have been something fast acting.”
“Wait . . . do you think someone intentionally poisoned the food?”
“Most of the men are blaming the curse, but I think it’s another sabotage attempt.”
“To what end?”
“To shut down the platform or stall our investigation.”
“You think the killer is worried we’re getting too close?”
“If so, I’d say our prime suspect, based on what we know, is Erik.”
“Was he part of the shift eating?” she asked, her voice weak. What had been in that meat? Her belly churned. Please don’t let me get sick again. She’d add not in front of Mason, but he’d seen her at her worst.
“No,” Mason said, “Erik was on the first shift to eat.”
“Convenient.” She sank deeper into the pillow, sweat beading on her brow.
“Even more so that Jayce was on the second shift.”
“So he’s sick too?”
“Word is it didn’t hit him nearly as hard as the rest.”
“Strong constitution?” Clearly better than hers.
“Or maybe he just ate less.”
“All right. So what’s our next step?”
“You rest.” He placed a container by the bed. “Just in case you can’t get to Ed’s bathroom in time.”
“I’ll be right here,” he said, pulling up a chair beside the bed.
“But the investigation?” Her voice was growing weaker still.
“Any crew members left to question are probably sick. And with a killer on the loose, I’m not leaving your side.”
She nodded, hating being in need but loving his presence.
A shiver shot through her body, her legs cramping. She reached for them. Charley horses.
“You’re dehydrated. Here, drink this.” He handed her a Gatorade.
“Thanks.” She held the cool bottle against her cheek.
He stood and leaned over the end of the bed. His hands wrapped around her calves, and he massaged them until the excruciating pain ceased.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
She shivered again, her body trembling.
“I’ve got you,” he said, smoothing the damp hair from her face as she drifted into a hazy sleep.
Noah picked Brooke up from work and brought her home. After sharing a take-out dinner, they started cleaning up the vandalized garage. Knowing how much the VW meant to her, he didn’t want to wait any longer now that Emmy had released the scene.
“So tell me about some of your adventures in the VW. You said it belonged to your grandparents?” he asked, helping Brooke sweep the large pieces of glass off the ground in front of its grill.
“Yeah, we used to take road trips in it.” She dumped another dustpan full of shards into the double-walled cardboard box Noah had fashioned to help safely dispose of the glass. “Pop-Pop and Nanna took me to baseball games up and down the Eastern Seaboard. That was our thing.”
“That’s a nice memory to carry.” He got to his feet and emptied his own dustpan into the box, the pieces clinking against the others.
“It is.” She quickly shifted her attention back to clean-up duty.
She sniffed, and he stilled. Was she trying not to cry?
She slipped her hair over her shoulder, revealing misty eyes and a pink nose. She had been crying.
He felt like a heel for bringing up the subject. Clearly, he’d hit a memory she held dear. One he was betting Brodie knew about.
She bit her bottom lip, then released it, standing up with the last of the glass contained. “After Pop-Pop and Nanna passed, my parents inherited it. We’d take off traveling up and down the coast, surfing our way from Maine to Florida.”
“I didn’t know you surfed.” He was coming to learn a lot about her, and he liked what he learned. She was bright, strong, and sweet. It was a captivating combination that kept him wanting more and more time with her.
“Yep,” she said. “You know, you’re about the only person I’ve told about trips on this bus besides Brodie. He knows how much it means to me, and he just used it against me, took what I told him and did this . . .” She gestured at all the damage. “He did this to hurt me. And he did a good job of it.” She wrapped her arms about her waist.
“I’ll talk with Brodie again. And I’ll find the evidence we need to charge him. I promise.”
She sighed. “I’ve heard a lot of promises over the years.”
“I keep mine,” he said.
She smiled softly. “Thank you.”
He held her gaze, an emotion he hadn’t felt in years stirring inside.
Her cell rang, breaking their deep gaze, and she answered it. “Kesler.”
After a brief silence, she said, “I’ll be right over.” She hung up.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just need to get to the airfield. There’s a capsized boat, and with the storm blowing in, they need all hands on deck. I’ve got to hurry.”
“I’ll take you there,” he said. “With my emergency light, I can get you there quicker.”
“Thanks.”
He didn’t like the idea of her or anyone else being out in the burgeoning storm, but it was what she did, and he found her dedicated service exceedingly appealing.
FIFTY-FIVE
A shrill, piercing sound jolted Rissi awake. A fuzzy hum filled her ears, her mouth dry.
What is happening?
Her head swam, the space around her disorienting.
She wasn’t home. Where was she? And whose bed was she in?
“You got sick, remember?” Mason said from nearby.
Now she remembered. “Right.” She’d been sick. “We’re on Dauntless,” she muttered. Her pasty tongue rested against the parched roof of her mouth.
“Here,” he said, pressing the rim of a water bottle against her lips.
She tipped it back, swallowing. The tepid water rolling down her throat felt blissful. She blinked. “Why is it so dark?”
“The power went out. Auxiliary generators came on but went back out right away.”
“The noise?” she said, praying it didn’t bring her splitting headache back.
“An alarm, but I don’t know what for. I wasn’t leaving you.”
“We need a flashlight,” she said, fumbling for her phone in her pocket. “Where’s my phone?” She patted her pockets down.
“I laid it on the desk, but it must have fallen. I’ll take a look.”
A blinding light streamed in her eyes.
She lifted her hand, shielding her face as Mason jetted to his feet, gun in hand.
“It’s just me,” Ed said, hands up, palms facing them as he stood in the now open doorway. He gripped a large square flashlight in his right hand. “Just checking to make sure you two are all right.”
“Yeah. We’re okay,” Mason said. “Her fever broke, thankfully. What’s going on out there?”
“Power outage.”
“And the generators?” Like he’d said, they’d flickered for a moment.
“You’re not going to believe this, but someone cut two of the main wires.”
“Please tell me the crew aren’t blaming this on the curse too?” Rissi said, sitting up and shifting her legs over the side of the bed.
“Whoa,” Mason said. “Don’t sit up too fast.”
She nodded and moved slowly.
“I think everyone finally realizes we have a saboteur,” Ed said. “I just wanted to let you know about the generators being tampered with before we start fixing them.”
“I need to see it and take pictures before anything gets touched,” Mason said.
“I figured, but we need the power back ASAP. Here.” He handed them another flashlight. “I’m going to head
back. Can you get there on your own?”
Mason nodded, the beam’s light casting his shadow on the wall behind her.
———
Mason turned to Rissi, still not happy with the lack of color in her cheeks. He hated to leave her alone, but this could be critical to the investigation. “Will you be okay while I check it out?”
She planted her feet on the floor. “I’m coming with you.”
“You need to stay and rest. You’re in no condition to be up and about.”
“This isn’t a negotiation,” she said, standing but looking a little shaky. “I either go with you or on my own.”
“Seriously?” Mason sighed. “Why do you have to be so doggone stubborn?”
“Pleeeease.” She drew out the word. “Don’t tell me that if the situation were reversed, you’d stay in bed—because we both know better.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. “Fine, but sit down while I look for your phone.” He knelt down and slid his hand along the floor. It took several seconds, but he finally found it under the bed. “Found it,” he said, standing.
She got to her feet, steadier this time, and took the phone from him. “Great. Thanks.”
“Ris,” he said.
“I’m going to the generators.” She walked to the door. “You coming?”
He sighed. “You know I am.”
He kept a steadying hand on Rissi’s lower back, ready to catch her if she swayed at all. The woman was making him as nervous as a momma on the first day of kindergarten.
She looked back at him a time or two as they worked their way through the maze of dark corridors—the only light coming from the flashlight Ed had provided.
Faces shown now and again as they passed random crew members in the passageways and wove around equipment, but they finally reached the generators.
“About time,” Erik said. “We’d like our lights back on, not to mention needing the equipment.”
“We just need to examine and photograph the damage to the generator before anyone touches it,” Mason replied.
“Yeah, yeah.” Erik wiped the sweat from his grimy, grease-smeared brow and flung the drops off to the side.
Rissi gagged beside him. Covering her mouth, she turned her head to the side.
