Caribbean Rescue (Coastal Fury Book 16)

by Matt Lincoln

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Olivia remarked. “Let’s go.”

  We stepped toward the entrance and through the door. The inside of the store looked just as small as it did on the outside. The walls were covered floor-to-ceiling with shelves full of various odds and ends, old books and figurines, and other things I couldn’t identify at a glance.

  “Hello!” a deep voice boomed from the back of the small shop. “Welcome! Please come in.”

  I exchanged a glance with Holm and Olivia before stepping forward.

  The man was short and had a head full of gray hair. He stood with a slight hunch, and his hands shook and looked frail, but his voice was loud and commanding. He was standing behind a counter, the surface of which was completely covered in random odds and ends, aside from a small space right in the middle for the cash register.

  “How can I help you lovely people today?” he smiled.

  There was an odd edge to his voice, not unlike what I’d heard from Captain Turner. As though he was only putting on an act of being friendly.

  “We were told that you might have some information for us,” I began cautiously. “Simon sent us.”

  For just an instant, the man’s mask fell. His smile flickered, and I saw something flash across his eyes. It was gone too fast for me to gauge what it was, though.

  “Ah, of course,” he replied, the smile firmly back in place, though obviously more strained now. “Simon. Well, if that’s the case…”

  He reached slowly toward something beneath the counter, and my hand flew to the gun at my hip.

  “Stop!” I warned. “Don’t move!”

  It was too late, though. He was already pulling a small handgun from behind the counter. I drew my own weapon just as he pulled the trigger.

  I heard Olivia cry out behind me and immediately saw red. I jumped to the side and shot at the man’s hand. He yelled in pain and dropped his gun as my bullet struck flesh. Holm leapt over the counter an instant later and shoved the man to the ground.

  “I’ve got him!” he yelled over his shoulder at me. “Check on Olivia!”

  I turned around and found Olivia on the ground, clutching her right arm with her left hand.

  “Don’t move,” I cautioned her, my heart pounding anxiously as I watched the growing amount of blood streaming down her arm.

  “I’m fine,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “I think it was just a graze. Hurts like hell, though.”

  “I’ll call for backup,” I assured her as I looked around for something to staunch the flow of blood with. “Just keep still until then.”

  Since it was hot, I wasn’t wearing a jacket, and I didn’t really want to use anything lying around this dingy little shop on an open wound.

  “Ethan,” Olivia called my name firmly. “Look at me. I’m fine. I’ve had worse, trust me. Go help Holm with the suspect before he tries anything.”

  I was hesitant to leave her side, knowing that she was injured, but I knew that she was right. I turned back around and quickly vaulted over the counter. Olivia’s worries were unfounded, though, as Holm didn’t appear to be having any trouble subduing the old man.

  “Ah!” the man cried out exaggeratedly. “You’re hurting me! Someone help!”

  “Oh, shut up,” Holm groaned as he quickly handcuffed the man’s hands together behind his back. “Save the victim act for someone who cares.”

  I bent down to help him pull the guy to his feet. Together, we walked him around the side of the long counter and back toward the front of the shop. I pushed him down roughly into the first chair I saw, unintentionally knocking a few things off a table as I did.

  “Hey, watch it!” the old man snapped. “Those are valuable antiques!”

  “Like I give a damn,” I retorted as I moved to step in front of him so he’d be unable to get up. Not that he could have run or done much else. Without the gun, he was just a frail old man.

  “I called for backup,” Olivia informed us as she came to stand by my side. She was still clutching her arm, but at least she was up and about now. “They should be here soon.”

  “Good.” I nodded. “In the meantime, why don’t we have a little chat with our friend here?”

  I turned back to the man, who was now glaring furiously up at us.

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he scoffed.

  “I find that hard to believe,” Holm replied. “Considering you shot at us with zero provocation, I kind of suspect you might have a lot to say to us.”

  “That’s a great point,” I remarked. We hadn’t even introduced ourselves as federal agents yet, so there wasn’t really any explanation for why he would have reacted like that. “Why don’t we start there? Why did you shoot at us?”

  “You said ‘Simon’ sent you,” he chuckled darkly. “I knew right away you was up to no good.”

  “Of course,” I sighed. “That piece of crap Frank must have set us up.”

  Frank had been the one who told us to say that “Simon” had sent us. He must have known that doing so would cause the shop owner to attack us.

  “Frank?” the old man cackled. “Now that’s a name I know. Not surprising that he’s the one who sent you here.”

  “So is ‘Simon’ some kind of code word?” I asked.

  “Nah, nothing like that.” The man shrugged. “Simon was an old associate of mine. He decided he was too good for us and tried to sell us out to the cops, so we had to take care of him. I knew the moment you said that name that I couldn’t trust you.”

  “Dammit,” Holm grumbled, obviously angry that we’d walked right into Frank’s trap.

  “Okay,” I replied curtly. “Well, now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way, let me tell you about the position you’re in. You just assaulted three federal agents and actually managed to injure one of them.”

  “Did I now?” the old man grinned maliciously. He didn’t seem at all concerned about the severity of what he’d just done.

  “It would be in your best interest to cooperate with us,” I continued.

  “Or what?” he retorted. “Look at me! I know how your American court systems work, how long it takes them to do anything. I’ll be dead before the trial’s even over.”

  I clenched my jaw in frustration. It was clear that he wasn’t at all worried about the consequences of his actions.

  “Looks like backup’s here,” Holm muttered as he turned toward the front window. I turned to look, and I could see flashing lights just outside the store. “Come on, let’s get Olivia patched up. We can get this one into custody and continue the interrogation later.”

  “I’m trembling just thinking about it,” the old man sneered mockingly.

  I just turned around and began to follow Olivia out of the shop to where I could already see the ambulance parked outside. The guy’s cavalier attitude was pissing me off and taking a minute to collect myself would enable me to crack him later.

  We were just about to walk out the door when I saw it.

  I happened to glance up just in time to spot the curiously shaped object mounted on the wall. I hadn’t noticed it when we’d come in because it was hung on the same wall that the door was on. There was so much crap piled up on tables and shelves in front of it that I almost didn’t realize what it was at first.

  “No way,” I mumbled as I stepped toward the object.

  “Ethan?” Olivia called. “What is it?”

  “This,” I replied dumbly, still too shocked to respond properly.

  “This?” she repeated as she doubled back to stand beside me. “What are you talking about?”

  “This,” I answered as I shoved one of the tables away roughly so I could reach forward and touch the massive thing mounted on the wall. The old man was yelling something behind me, probably in protest at me throwing his stuff around, but I could barely hear him past the blood rushing through my ears.

  “What is that?” Olivia asked as she leaned forward to examine the large metal object.
<
br />   “An anchor,” I breathed, barely able to believe what I was seeing. “It’s the Dragon Rogue’s anchor.”

  17

  Ethan

  The old shopkeeper had been carted away, to a different police station, thankfully. At least this way, we wouldn’t have to deal with the antagonistic Captain Turner. Olivia, too, had been patched up by the paramedics and cleared to continue working under the caveat that she take it easy and try not to use her right arm.

  “That’s not going to happen,” she’d muttered skeptically.

  She wouldn’t be able to shoot her gun if she was unable to use her right arm, so she’d either have to sit it out the rest of the case or risk worsening her injury. Either way, it wasn’t an ideal situation.

  By now, the paramedics and police had all left, aside from a single officer who had remained behind to secure the scene.

  Really, we should be heading down to the station to interrogate the man who had just shot at us, but instead, I was still standing there in the tiny antique store, holding up the officer who probably just wanted to finish his job and leave, staring fixedly at an old anchor mounted on the wall.

  I heard the door open, and my eyes left the anchor for just a moment to see who it was, only to resume their gazing when I saw that it was just Holm.

  “Are you sure it’s the anchor?” Holm asked skeptically. “Don’t all anchors kind of look the same? How can you tell this one came off the Dragon’s Rogue?”

  “I’m sure,” I replied firmly. “Well, mostly, anyway. I’ll be able to tell without a doubt once I get a look at the other side, but I know this is it. I’ve seen blueprints and drawings of every part of the ship, probably a hundred times now. I knew the moment I saw it what it was.”

  “What’s on the other side?” Holm asked.

  “According to the records that exist about its construction,” I explained, “Jonathan had the year it was commissioned etched into the arms. If it says sixteen-eighty-seven, then we’ll know for sure. That isn’t all, though. Look here. Usually, the crown of an anchor is rounded on the bottom, right? Well, the Dragon’s Rogue anchor had a crown shaped like a letter V, instead. You can see right there that the apex is pointed instead of rounded.”

  “Damn.” Holm whistled. “It might actually be the real deal then, huh?”

  “I hope so,” I replied eagerly. “It’s crazy, though. What are the odds that we’d find it here?”

  “Astronomically small,” Holm deadpanned. “Seriously, it’s kind of ridiculous how lucky you are. You keep being in the right place at the right time. Just think, if we hadn’t gotten this case, we never would have come to Turks and Caicos. And even if we had, for whatever reason, what are the odds we would have ended up in this tiny little shop?”

  “Maybe it’s fate.” I grinned. “Or the ghost of my ancestor trying to guide me to his long-lost ship.”

  I was so giddy I was speaking nonsense. Holm was right. The fact that we’d just happened to stumble upon the anchor was nothing short of a miracle. I was so excited that I didn’t know how I should react.

  “So, uh… what’s your plan, then?” Holm asked me. “I mean, the shop owner just got arrested, and I doubt he’s coming back anytime soon. It’s not like we can just take it, either.”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t,” I muttered as I admired the anchor. It was in rough condition, not surprising considering it probably hadn’t been well taken care of by whoever had been in possession of it up until now. Who knew how long it had been sitting in this dusty old place, gathering rust and wearing away. Still, it was in a better state than it might have been.

  “Marston.” Holm admonished me gently. “Listen, brother, I know how much this means to you, but we actually can’t take it with us. Even if you did manage to convince me, the thing’s massive. It’s not like we can smuggle it back in a suitcase.”

  I frowned with dismay. I knew he was right. Honestly, once the old guy was arrested, I wasn’t sure who ownership of the anchor would pass to. And he was right about the logistical aspect of it as well. The anchor looked like it was around twelve feet in length, and that wasn’t accounting for the arms or the key pin that jutted out of either side, making the entire thing impractically big and bulky. Even if I did somehow manage to finesse it into my possession, how exactly would I get several tons of metal back to Miami?

  “I’ll figure it out,” I sighed, trying to convince myself as much as Holm. “We need to focus on the case now, anyway.”

  “Alright.” Holm clapped a hand down onto my shoulder sympathetically.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and began to take as many photos of the anchor as I could. For now, it was all I could do, and I refused to even entertain the idea that it might be all I would manage to get.

  I didn’t hesitate to move the shop’s furniture around so that I could get pictures from better angles. Technically, what I was doing was a huge breach of policy. I didn’t really have the authority to be messing with things at a crime scene. It wasn’t like I was actually searching through things, though. Surely just moving things around harmlessly wasn’t too bad, right?

  That was what I told myself as I maneuvered around as best I could to capture the anchor from as many different perspectives as possible. The anchor itself was far too heavy for me to move on my own, as much as I was itching for a chance to get a look at the other side.

  “Don’t break anything,” Holm muttered as he watched me moving things around. He glanced back through the front window. I followed his gaze and saw that the officer was still outside, apparently engaged in conversation with Olivia.

  After a few minutes, I put my phone away and reluctantly forced myself to look away from the anchor. As much as I wanted to stay and figure out a way to bring it with me, we were still in the middle of a case. That needed to take precedence.

  I turned and walked quickly out the door before I could change my mind, Holm right behind me. The sun was almost painfully bright to my eyes after spending so long inside the tiny, dark store.

  “Finally done in there?” Olivia asked me as I stepped toward where she and the officer stood on the street just in front of the shop.

  “Unfortunately,” I nodded. “As much as I’d like to stay, we need to get down to the station to speak to the shopkeeper. Uh, sorry to keep you waiting.”

  I apologized to the officer, who just waved his hand dismissively.

  “Hey, don’t sweat it,” he replied. “It’s all good.”

  He went into the shop to begin closing it off as a crime scene then.

  “Holm told me you want to take it back to Miami.” She smiled at me sympathetically. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled back at her. Though I didn’t feel too confident about my current chances of leaving Turks & Caicos with that anchor, her encouragement was enough to make me feel just a spark of hope that I might actually be able to get my hands on it after all.

  18

  Ethan

  The station at Grace Bay was smaller than the one back in Kew Town. In fact, if we hadn’t known that it was a police station, I would have assumed it was some kind of little boutique store.

  The station was only about a five-minute walk from the antique store and was located inside a shopping plaza. The main entrance was painted a shade of bright blue, and it even had a little canopy over the front doors. The only thing that set it apart from the stores on either side of it was the little sign that read “Police Post” mounted just to the left of the entrance.

  The very best part of the station, though, was the fact that we didn’t have to deal with having the aggressive Captain Turner breathing down our necks.

  “This is the place?” Holm asked as we stood outside the entrance.

  “This is the place,” Olivia confirmed with a nod. “Obviously, it’s a lot smaller than the Kew Town station, but since that’s a no-go, this is the next closest.”

  “As long as we don’t have to deal with any more co
rrupt cops,” I grumbled as I stepped through the doors.

  The interior wasn’t significantly different from the Kew Town station. Like that one, this station had a small desk just inside the entrance with a larger area filled with desks toward the back. The difference in atmosphere was palpable, though. Where the Kew Town station had felt cold and suffocating, the Grace Bay station felt bright and airy, in no small part due to the fresh air and sunlight that were streaming through the open windows.

  “Good afternoon,” the officer sitting behind the front desk greeted us. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m Agent Marston,” I introduced myself as I pulled my badge out of my pocket. “This is Agent Holm and Agent Hastings. We were just involved in an altercation at an antique store on Allegro Road.”

  “Oh! Of course.” She smiled as she stood up. “The captain’s waiting for you now. I can take you back to his office.”

  “Thanks,” I replied as she led us through the small building. It was bigger than it looked on the outside but still felt cramped. After walking through a short hallway, we passed a bullpen full of desks before finally arriving at a door marked “Captain Morris.” The officer knocked on the door.

  “Come in!” a warm, rich voice called from inside.

  “The federal agents are here,” she called. She swung the door open before stepping aside to let us into the office. It was the exact opposite of Turner’s, whose office had been bare and practical. Morris, on the other hand, had lined his walls with newspaper clippings, photos of what I assumed were family members, and even colorful drawings that children had clearly made.

  His desk, too, was covered in picture frames and little knick-knacks that made the office seem lived in.

  “Welcome to our town.” He grinned widely as we stepped into his small office. “I’m Captain Everett Morris. I wish we weren’t meeting under such unfortunate circumstances. I hope you will not think that all of us here on the Island are like Richard.”