by Beck, Keira
Overboard
Nightforce Security Series - Book 3
Keira Beck
Contents
Overboard
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Author’s Note
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Also by Keira Beck
Overboard
Brides are supposed to go overboard on their weddings. Best men, not so much.
Former Navy SEAL Declan Flynn is in Lake Erie, grabbing some down time before starting his new job, when his soon-to-be boss calls and asks him to start early. But saying yes puts Declan in the wrong place at the wrong time … or maybe it’s the right place at the right time.
A cruise ship wedding, a missing best man, and suspected foul play are just the tip of the iceberg. Powerful people are not pleased that Declan’s interfering, and he quickly finds himself in the middle of trouble.
Fortunately, Declan Flynn is perfectly comfortable in the the middle of trouble.
Until, that is, beautiful—and filthy-rich—Alana Morgan enters the picture. Declan can’t afford to let her distract him, but he can’t stop thinking about her either. And when Alana is the next to go missing, Declan must risk it all—with the help of Nightforce—to find her before time runs out.
Chapter One
Declan hooked his sunglasses over the collar of his t-shirt then turned in his life jacket and key to the guy at the rental counter. A couple hours on the Jet Ski was just what he’d needed to unwind. It was nice to be on the water recreationally instead of professionally.
Of course, he wasn’t a frogman anymore, so recreationally was the only option now.
He slung his towel around his neck and walked over to the rail. Manmade aromas of hot dogs and fried dough mingled with the organic scents of the lake, and the call of seagulls floated on the wind. Sunset was probably an hour away—the sun was low in the sky, but the horizon hadn’t started to turn.
Must be happy hour.
Finding a lakeside bar sounded like the perfect segue from afternoon aqua sports to evening dinner. Maybe after he’d find a nightclub. Shit, who was he kidding? He’d rather go back to the cabin after dinner and binge-watch something on Netflix.
He was turning from the rail when a motor—louder than any Jet Ski—caught his attention. Two Coast Guard crafts buzzed through the water. A rescue copter flew overhead.
Someone wasn’t having a good day.
His cell rang. When he pulled it from his pocket and glanced at it, he scowled before swiping his thumb across the screen. “I was having a good day.”
“Guess we’re skipping the pleasantries?” Danny asked.
“What do you want? I’ve got a frosty six-pack with my name on it.”
“You go to the lake like you planned?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry, boss. I’m coming home Sunday night and will be at the office bright and early Monday morning, ready to start my new job.” After years of bouncing around, country to country, base to base, he was ready to settle down and make Pittsburgh his home. Danny was a good friend. Working for him made it possible for Declan to put down roots.
“What if you start now, and I give you vacation time later to make up for it?”
“Danny, I’m coming back tomorrow evening. Can’t it wait until Monday?”
“That’s the thing, Dec. I need you there. And I need you now.”
He squinted into the sun, just able to make out the Coast Guard boats and chopper in the distance. Bad fucking day, all around. “What’s going on?”
“A friend of mine went to Detroit for a wedding. His wife’s second cousin, once removed, or some shit like that.”
“I’m not in Detroit.”
“They’re not anymore, either. They were on a weekend cruise and are somewhere near Erie, Pennsylvania.”
“There aren’t any sailing routes from Detroit to Erie.”
“Maybe not with tour companies. But when you’re loaded, you can pretty much buy whatever you want. The bride’s family took the entire guest list on the water. Something like two hundred people on a small private cruise ship.”
“Small?”
“For that family? Yeah, the ship is small. Probably feels claustrophobic. Anyway, they planned on a sunset ceremony in about half an hour.”
“I know when fucking sunset is, Dan. What’s the problem?”
“The best man is missing. He’s nowhere onboard. They suspect foul play.”
“And what do you expect me to do? Rent scuba gear and look for the guy?”
“Mako said suspicion is on the groom right now. The crew is holding him until the Coast Guard and police can get there.”
“Mako?”
“Mike ‘Mako’ Kober, Navy SEAL. Lives in Cali.”
“If your buddy’s a frogman, why do you need me?”
“He’s stuck onboard right now and has his hands full keeping his wife’s family calm. Besides, he’s active duty, so he can’t legally get involved. And we need someone on the ground sooner rather than later. Someone who’s not emotionally-invested and can get the job done. Someone he can trust.”
“Trust me? Hell, he doesn’t even know me.”
“But I do. And I trust you. Besides, anyone else is hours away, and time is critical here.”
“So I’m convenient?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if you weren’t good. Wouldn’t have fucking hired you if I didn’t trust you. Dec, I can’t force you. You didn’t officially start working for me yet. But we could really use the help on this one.”
Declan sighed. Wasn’t karma a bitch? He just got out, and here he was, working with a SEAL again. “I’ll head that way now.”
“They haven’t docked yet. I’ll send you their GPS location, then you can figure out the most likely port from there.”
“Don’t bother. I know where they are.” He ended the call and squinted into the horizon, where the Coast Guard boats and rescue chopper had become tiny specs.
Chapter Two
Declan hopped in his car and drove along the coast until he caught up to the boats, helicopter, and slew of cop cars at the marina. The sun was officially setting, casting long shadows across the road. Pinks and oranges stained the horizon, and the rest of the sky had begun to purple. Twilight wasn’t far off, and he’d soon lose the ability to make out intricate details, not that he knew what he was looking for. But time was paramount.
He pulled into the closest parking spot then rooted through his go-bag in his backseat for a change of clothes. A pair of jeans over his trunks and a button-down over his t-shirt, then he was ready to go. As he headed toward the commotion, more than one bystander shot a glare in his direction, but he didn’t engage. Might be fun to burn off a little restless energy tussling with some local boys who had chips on their shoulders, but he didn’t have the time to waste. Instead, he made his way to the debarkation arena and assessed his surroundings.
There were a lot of people milling about. No one in formal wear, so they hadn’t released any passengers yet. Cops were putting up crime scene tape, but that didn’t necessarily mean the body was found. They were probably just trying to get themselves a bit of operating space. The chopper flew in ever-growing circles over the lake—expanding the search area. The sky was already dark enough that the bird had to shine its spotlight on the water. One Coast
Guard boat was docked beside the cruise ship. Another was farther from the coast. There might be more out of Declan’s line of sight.
He hoped to God they stuck with search and rescue and didn’t switch to recovery, but if they hadn’t found the guy yet, chances were slim they would. Not alive, anyway.
His phone rang, but he didn’t recognize the number. Stepping away from the crowd, he answered and covered his free ear so he could hear better. “Flynn.”
“This is Mako. Dan Caruso gave me your number. Do you know why I’m calling?”
Right to business. Declan respected that. “Danny gave me a brief rundown.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m at the marina. Cops have an area cordoned off.”
“They’re about to start releasing passengers.”
“Already?”
“Money has a funny way of making things move faster. They’re conducting interviews, getting contact info, then sending people on their way. Family are the first they’re talking to, but they’ll be the last released. Just in case.”
Yeah. First interviews because they were the ones most likely to know anything. Last released in case others implicated them. “Are you considered family or guest?”
“Somewhere in the middle, I’d guess. I’m going to be here for a while.”
“You have anything for me to go on out here?”
“Earlier today, there was talk about a fight between the groom and best man.”
“Who was talking? What was the fight about?”
“Fuck if I know. Tuned out the gossip. Didn’t impact me, so I didn’t care. Pretty sure it was one of the bridesmaids, but I can’t be sure. They didn’t have their wedding clothes on at breakfast, and I don’t have wandering eyes.”
The guy was married, not dead. But whatever. “So, the groom’s taking the heat?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think?”
“Adam didn’t do it. He’s a good guy, and his reaction was genuine when he heard the news. Shocked him, and he was worried. For his friend, not himself.”
The buzz of the crowd increased. Declan looked over their heads toward the ship. “Looks like they just let the first person go.”
“Yeah. I’m still going to be here a while. Probably hours.”
“No doubt.”
“So, can you handle things on your end?”
“I’ll start poking my nose in where it doesn’t belong. Meantime, send me anything you know—who the major players are, who might have a motive, anyone acting strange on the ship.”
“Coming your way.”
Declan ended the call and stared at the cruise ship. He couldn’t wrap his head around owning, or even renting, a vessel that size. People who made that kind of dough weren’t usually in his social circles. They were, however, people who thought they could get away with murder. And often did.
Mako might think the groom was innocent, but he was too close to be objective. Declan would trust his own instincts on that one. He wasn’t ready to rule anyone out.
His phone dinged. As promised, Mako was sending him what he knew.
Blair Windsor, bride. Father Vaughn Windsor, automotive magnate. Net worth: billions.
Adam Morgan, groom. Rich family, not Windsor-rich. Met bride at Kettering U in Flint. Together five yrs. Her family loves him. Like I said, good guy. Prime suspect bc fight w/ best man. Don’t know about what.
Scott Bruno, best man. Detroit cop. Don’t have to tell you what that means.
No, he didn’t. If one of the boys in blue was missing, local P. D. would move heaven and earth to find him. And if he didn’t turn up hale and hearty, some poor bastard would pay—even if they pinned the blame on the wrong man.
Problem was, Declan didn’t know if it was the wrong man or not.
He scanned the crowd again. The vultures had already descended. Usually, the news crews were nothing but a pain in his ass. Today, though, they could be invaluable. He meandered over to their staging area, looked for the pushiest one, then chose himself a nice, out-of-the-way spot near her. Nothing left but to sit back and watch the show.
The first couple tried to weave through the throng. A middle-aged guy in a monkey suit had his arm wrapped around a sequin-gowned woman in her twenties. Declan shuddered and decided to pretend they were father and daughter.
Before they got two feet past the yellow tape, the reporter jumped in front of them. “Corrine Starr, WEYE News. Can you tell us what’s happening?”
The man blinked rapidly into the cameraman’s spotlight, but his ‘daughter’ shrugged off his arm and strutted up to the reporter. She turned slightly to the left—must be her ‘good side’—then affected a look of sympathy mixed with horror.
“Hi, Corrine. I’m Candi Beaumont. That’s ‘Candi’ with an I.”
Of course it was.
Her ‘father’ stepped farther from the camera.
“It’s terrible. The best man is missing. Just gone! And right before the ceremony, too.” She stroked her hair then pushed it behind her ear. Large diamond studs twinkled in the spotlight.
“You’ve been released. Does that mean the police have a lead on what happened?”
Candi leaned closer to the mic, revealing more of her ample cleavage. “I can’t say whether the rumors are true, but everyone’s talking about a fight Scott had with Adam just this morning.”
“Adam. You mean Adam Morgan, the groom?”
Eyes wide, Candi bit her full lower lip and nodded.
“And Scott?”
“Scott Bruno, the best man. He’s a police officer.”
“The best man is local P. D.?” Corrine Starr almost bopped Candi in the nose with the mic. She practically vibrated after uncovering that salacious detail.
Candi twirled a lock of long red hair around her finger and nodded. “Yeah. You wouldn’t think someone in Adam’s social circles would even know a blue-collar guy, but I guess they’ve been friends forever.” She leaned in again and stage-whispered into the microphone. “Someone said the fight was over money.”
“Thank you, Miss Beaumont.”
“Mrs. Beaumont.” She stood there preening into the camera. Mr. Beaumont evaporated into the crowd, not that Candi seemed to notice.
“Mrs. Beaumont.” The reporter nodded as she corrected herself, then she faced forward in an attempt to get Candi out of her shot.
Didn’t work.
“For WEYE News, I’m Corrine Starr. Back to you, Jim.”
“And we’re clear.” The cameraman lowered his gear and walked up to Candi, a smile on his face.
Candi sneered and pushed past him, probably in search of another news crew in need of an eyewitness.
Declan scowled and headed into the crowd. Mrs. Beaumont had already chummed the waters. Now he needed to eavesdrop and see what other people were gossiping about.
Twilight faded into the black of night, but police car light bars and news crew equipment illuminated the marina with flashes of red, white, and blue.
Declan milled about for three hours but gained nothing for his efforts other than a few appraising looks from some of the female wedding guests. Too busy to be interested, he kept turning in the opposite direction to avoid them, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to escape as the assemblage seemed to be multiplying exponentially with nosy locals, law enforcement, news crews, and released passengers.
It was during his retreat from a particularly brazen young lady that he overheard a conversation between a gravelly-voiced man and an angry woman.
“He didn’t handle business, so we did.”
“But your idea of ‘handling’ it impacts me,” she said. “That’s not what we agreed to.”
“Just be glad we stopped with him and didn’t turn our attention toward… well, I’m sure you know what I mean. You don’t want to keep complaining. Understand?”
“Da.”
Declan tried to squeeze through the milling throng. His gaze darted around talking heads from gr
oup to group, from couple to couple. The speakers had to be close—the conversation wasn’t loud and he could still make it out over the din of the crowd.
But no one stood out to him. And the horde swelled, pushing him farther from where he thought the incriminating words had been spoken. For that matter, the exchange was so vague, it might not have been about the best man at all. Far as Declan knew, Scott Bruno wasn’t Russian. But the people talking definitely were.
There was nothing more to be done there. He let the undulating masses carry him to the crowd’s edge, then broke away and headed to his car. About four spots away, someone called to him from the shadows. “Hey, buddy.”
Declan peered into the darkness but couldn’t make out more than a large silhouette. “Yeah?”
“That black Hellcat yours?”
He looked around the parking lot. There was only one Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat Widebody there. His baby was probably way too recognizable, but he fucking loved that car and wasn’t going to ditch it for some generic sedan or SUV. “What about it?”
“Saw some fellas messing around with it. Thought you should know.”
“Who? When?” He took a step toward the man, but he was gone. Locals.
Declan scanned the lot—it was devoid of people. Everyone was still down by the ship. As he approached his Hellcat, he looked for damage.
Someone had smashed both his back taillights. Motherfuckers.
At least they hadn’t dented the body of the car. He stooped and started to pick up pieces of broken plastic. Didn’t want to run over any shards and puncture a tire. While he was crouched down, he got a good look at the plastic guard on the back driver’s side wheel well. It was bent—and it hadn’t been before that night.
