The Indigo Brothers Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  Tonight, he was after pink shrimp, and maybe if things went well, he’d take a run around the Tortugas for some Royal Red. That would bring in some extra cash he could use to remodel the second bedroom his wife wanted to turn into her hobby room. The money would go a long way to getting her off his back.

  He was two hours into his run, eyes glued to the fish finder, looking out for the telltale signs of the larger schools when an unusual echo popped up. For now, he ignored the strange blob on his screen and focused on the massive school of shrimp swimming along the sandy bottom.

  Skeeter directed his crew to drop the tickler chain to get the shrimp moving and to avoid a large bycatch.

  But the echo kept repeating. He realized his nets were about to get tangled up in whatever it was so he maneuvered the boat into position, avoiding the echo as much as he could but still aiming for the schooling shrimp. He ordered the outrigger lowered, the nets, and the bag line.

  Everything was running smoothly until he felt the long line jerk, caught on something. God, he hoped he hadn’t ripped another net. He should’ve heeded the echo and avoided the area altogether. Reluctantly he powered down the engine and ran to the winch, hoping like hell he hadn’t torn a hole in the net too badly. In all his years of shrimping, he’d dragged up just about everything you could think of, tires, fishing gear, half a lifeboat, a buoy, a car hood, and even an old World War II mine that gave him gray hairs until the Coast Guard took it off his hands.

  The winch began to strain with the load as it brought up some type of large cylinder-shaped object. Skeeter elbowed his crew chief, Bobby Joe Wylie, in the ribs and bet him five bucks that they’d snagged their first washing machine.

  “Maybe it’s one of those old bells. You know, like from the Titanic,” Bobby Joe said hopefully. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “I don’t think it’s a bell. Too small,” Skeeter declared with some maritime knowledge of such things.

  So when a fifty-five-gallon drum surfaced in the net—a dull black barrel with silver markings, the kind used in chemical storage facilities—the two men traded annoyed looks.

  “Damn illegal dumpers,” Skeeter muttered. Every time someone dumped waste into the Gulf it screwed with his livelihood. If the markings on the drum could be traced back to an owner, he wanted to know who and what they’d dumped. But as he took a closer look he noticed all the key numbers had been sanded off, leaving nothing to identify the vendor.

  “What the hell have we got here?” Skeeter asked as he angled the winch holding the drum and carefully lowered it onto the deck so Bobby Joe could work it out of the net.

  “Check the net for damage,” Skeeter called out as he grabbed his crowbar and tapped the drum a few times to determine if it might be empty or full. He decided the only thing to do was to pop off the lid to see what was inside.

  He used the crowbar to chisel around the rim and pry off the sealed top. As soon as he was able to inch up the cover, the odor hit him and knocked him back a step. He recognized the smell of death from his two tours of duty in ’Nam. Fearing what was inside, he knew he had to finish getting the lid off.

  He raised the heavy top high enough to get a peek in. The first thing he spotted was the long hair signaling an adult female body, and the plastic bag over her head. He took a few steps back to gain his composure and got a deep breath of fresh air before returning to the drum to open it the rest of the way. By this time the crew had gathered around the barrel to watch.

  Skeeter had to find the mettle to take a good long look at what was in there. When he peered in, he saw immediately an additional smaller body, the petite head, a child’s head with dark hair that obviously belonged to a little girl. Large chunks of concrete had been dumped in the bottom of the barrel and used to weigh it down and make it sink. If not for getting tangled in the nets, it might never have surfaced at all.

  Skeeter stepped back in horror as the realization hit him. He knew then exactly what he had on his boat. He choked back tears, but tried to hold it together enough to get his mind right. “Bobby Joe, get on the radio and call the Coast Guard, give them our location, and tell them we may have found that missing lady and her daughter.”

  While the night spun out around him, Skeeter heard Bobby Joe’s rattled voice in the distance. “This is the Southern Star calling the Coast Guard, this is the Southern Star calling the Coast Guard; Mayday, Mayday.”

  Chapter One - Heat

  As far as waves went, Indigo Key was no North Shore, Oahu. But for Garret Davis Indigo, the island where he’d grown up held a special place in his heart.

  Part of his childhood memories included tourists swelling the island’s population. The natural beauty attracted sightseers like a casino lured gamblers. They flocked here year-round for the exceptional weather—temps rarely dropped below the sixty mark. They came to conquer its waves and fish its world-class waters, to angle for marlin and hook bonefish, or reel in barracuda. They’d make the trip from the frozen winter tundra to dip their toes in the warm blue waters, to swim, to snorkel, and to scuba dive, or watch sunrises and sunsets that rivaled exotic places in the tropics with names like Belize or Aruba or Barbados.

  The youngest of four, Garret had mastered these waters early. Most times, the four-foot swells were barely enough of a crest to experiment with stunts or aerials. But somewhere along the way he’d discovered the secret to becoming a five-time world champion surfer. He could angle higher, carve and cut through a wave, barrel deep, and attack a lip with a combat mindset. On any given day, anywhere in the world, he’d try any wave. Whether it was beating out the competition at the Banzai Pipeline, coming in first at the Big Wave Africa, or winning at Bells Beach, Australia, Garret rode a surfboard like he’d been born to it.

  In a way, he had.

  His older sister, Olivia Shay—known as Livvy to her family and friends—was the one who’d first dragged him into the shallow part of Sugar Bay and put him up on her surfboard. She’d seen to it that he sailed through the waves without drowning. He’d been two at the time, to her eight. But his first solid memory of the event was probably around the age of four.

  From that moment on, he’d lived in the water like he was two parts dolphin. At times, he’d skipped school to do it. Most of the time, he faced getting busted. Dealing with his parents’ wrath meant taking the punishment Lenore and Tanner dished out by grounding him. To their credit, they tried everything to keep him from going to the beach during school hours. They took away television privileges, his access to music, his computer, his games, and even tried embarrassing him by walking him into class and standing guard at the door.

  For all their efforts, most times their tough tactics failed miserably. There were other times, of course, when he buckled down to study. But when the notion hit or the water was just too beautiful to stay inside, Garret pushed the boundaries time and again. It wasn’t until he was in his sophomore year that Livvy had taken him aside and straightened him out about cutting class.

  Their six-year age difference hadn’t mattered then. When his big sister said to straighten up and cut the crap, he stopped skipping school. Mostly.

  Livvy had been missing now for more than two weeks, along with her husband, Walker, and their two kids, Blake and Ally. After the disappearance, his family had spent the first forty-eight hours hopeful. His brothers, Jackson and Mitch, had even formed search teams to scour the island for any signs of them. But that became difficult when certain upstanding members of the community went out of their way to stymie the efforts. Who knew Indigo Key fostered a dark underbelly, one that would roadblock finding a missing family of four?

  He’d always considered his hometown a laidback, quirky community of like-minded people. That is, until his sister and her family had gone missing. He was beginning to rethink everything he knew about the place.

  As each day passed, he came to realize Livvy wouldn’t have disappeared without letting family know her plans, especially if it meant taking the kids out of sch
ool. If she’d gone willingly…anywhere…she would’ve called home at the first chance. That meant she hadn’t left town on her own. She hadn’t taken the kids out of school.

  These days, he looked at everyone with suspicion.

  Sometime during that first week, Garret had moved from hope and rescue into the sad land of recovery. He and his brothers had expanded their search from land to sea. They’d gone out every day as a team on Mitch’s salvage vessel, The Black Rum, using sonar scans to hunt whatever looked promising on the ocean floor.

  So far, they’d come up with nothing.

  Maybe that’s why he’d sought out a private detective from Miami. Anniston Marcelli had turned out to be a gorgeous Italian beauty with dark, shoulder-length hair. She had a quick wit and carried a sidearm she knew how to use. He wasn’t sure which attracted him more, the easy way she laughed or the fact she could nail the center of a target dead on.

  He had to admit Anniston wasn’t his usual type. He often ended up drawn to a different kind of female, one who preferred no-strings sex, and whose idea of a serious discussion ran toward what to buy at the mall, or which kind of salad to order. In his mind, it was the reason a man had to explore all the different varieties before finding the one that stuck.

  This morning he thought of all that as he paddled out into the swell.

  In the rush of whitewater, he ripped through the wall, crouched low on his board and launched off the top of a six-foot wave, becoming airborne. He came down in the water with a splash, and tried the stunt again. This time he rocketed skyward, higher, whipped in a circle, rotated again until his board dropped into the foam.

  He didn’t realize he had an audience until he took his first steps out of the surf onto the feathery sand, clutching his board.

  There she stood, pretty Anniston, with that mass of dark tresses fluttering in the sea breeze. Her chocolate eyes locked on his.

  It took Anniston one look at Garret’s sun-kissed bare chest to fully give thanks for his Seminole ancestors. His dark eyes reminded her of wood smoke with a little fire around the fringes. His hair had a shaggy look to it that came down past his ears. The color leaned toward a sultry coffee, a shade lighter than the jet-black of his brothers. Even now, the mass dripped wet, the bigger drops trickling down his fit, toned shoulders and his athletic body to his very large feet. With those long toes, it was little wonder he could cling to his surfboard like a bald eagle clinging to its dinner.

  He ambled up to where she stood, and she immediately felt the hyper beat pick up in her heart.

  “You’re out early,” she managed.

  “If I plan to keep in shape and stay on the competitive circuit, I have to go through the paces. The Pipeline’s a mere two months away.”

  What she had to say wasn’t something she’d planned on telling him alone. But since the media would soon be on top of the story, she couldn’t stall for time forever. “That’s the one in Hawaii, right?”

  “Oahu’s North Shore, practically my backyard.” He cocked his head, narrowed his eyes to study the anxious look on her face. “What time did you crawl out of bed? The sun’s barely up. What brings you out here?”

  It was tougher than she thought to form the words. Dack Hawkins, the lead investigator on his sister’s case, had called her at five-thirty as a courtesy. The disturbing news had slammed into her brain enough to get her out of bed. She’d gone to the window of her hotel room and glanced out, only to catch a glimpse of Garret in flight, sailing through the water on his surfboard.

  On instinct she’d known then that it might be best if she shared the news with him and he could pass it on to his parents. But back in her room she hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to get the powerful words out. The impact they’d have would be devastating. “How about I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  The offer held a lot more than the desire for caffeine. “How about you cut the crap and tell me what brings you out here? Let’s have it.”

  Anniston swallowed hard and licked her suddenly dry lips. She moved closer. “A TV station out of Key West is reporting that last night a shrimp boat came across a barrel in its fishing nets. The skipper popped the lid on the drum and found two bodies stuffed inside—an adult female and a little girl. Dack said that even with the state of decomposition the bodies tentatively match Livvy and Ally.”

  Garret felt like he’d taken a blade straight to the heart. He actually staggered back and had to lean on his board to keep from dropping right where he stood. “Let me get this straight…Livvy and Ally were crammed inside a barrel and dropped in the ocean?”

  He decided it was a good thing he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. “That’s…I’m unable to think of a word for how horrific that is. Where? Where did they find this drum?”

  “The Gulf waters.”

  “That’s the other side of the Key. All this time, we were looking on the wrong side of the damn island. Is Hawkins absolutely certain this is a valid lead?”

  “I called the Coast Guard myself for confirmation. It’s true. The county coroner’s office accepted the barrel and the bodies about an hour ago. Because there are no other missing persons cases within a hundred miles of here, the authorities are pretty sure it’s them. A positive ID will take at least twenty-four hours. They’ll compare dental records to be sure.”

  “What about Walker and Blake?”

  She shook her head. “So far, there’s no sign of father and son. But the Coast Guard plans to keep looking in the general vicinity. I’m sorry, Garret, so very sorry about Livvy and Ally.” Even though he was dripping wet, she put her arms around his waist in a hug anyway.

  He let himself soak up the comfort and lean into the embrace, kissed her gently on the top of her head. “Does Mitch know yet?”

  “You’re the first person I’ve told. Since Jackson’s back in Nags Head with Tessa for Ryan’s funeral and since your parents went with them, I haven’t yet made the call. I thought you or Mitch might prefer to do it.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Don’t call. God, I’ll have to be the one to tell them all. They barely get Tessa’s brother in the ground and have to come back home to this. No matter how much I thought I was prepared for the news, I’m…I’m not. They won’t be either.”

  “That’s for certain. No one should have to prepare for this. No one.”

  His mind was a jumble of things that kept hurtling through his brain, but he couldn’t quite settle on what to do next. Desperate, he stood his board upright in the sand long enough to wander over and pick up his T-shirt where he’d left it on the rocks. After stretching it over his head, he sent Anniston a look that could only be described as a plea. “I’m not sure what to do now.”

  Her heart went out to him. “Want me to go with you back to the house to tell Mitch?”

  “Definitely,” he muttered, retrieving his board.

  “No problem.” She ran her fingers down his muscled arm, took his hand in hers. “Garret, I think right this second, you might be suffering from shock.”

  With his free hand he gripped her fingers but ignored the comment. Instead, he stormed off toward the street forcing her to follow. “What kind of evil monster stuffs little girls and women down in barrels and throws them overboard?”

  He suddenly stopped his progress and whirled around to meet her eyes. “That’s exactly what someone did to Ryan four weeks ago. They killed Tessa’s brother on board Walker’s yacht, tossed him overboard and he washed up at Rumrunner Cove. Maybe it wasn’t Walker who murdered Ryan after all. Maybe it was someone else, someone Walker got involved with in one of his sleazy schemes and they eventually came after Livvy and the kids.”

  He scrubbed lean fingers along the stubble on his chin. “Which brings up the question, where the hell are Walker and Blake? We have to bring them home, too.”

  She could tell his mind kept going in and out, testing logic and reason. “My guess is they’re somewhere out there in the same area, disposed of in the same manner as Livvy and Ally. The
Coast Guard’s concentrating their efforts right there looking for another barrel.”

  Anniston watched Garret’s smoky eyes flicker to black, hardening into a seething fury. The muscles in his jaw twitched. She’d seen rage before but this was a steely, determined wrath with a life of its own.

  He bent his head to where he was a breath away from hers. “After we locate Walker and Blake, I want you to help me find the bastards who did this, help me find the why of it. An ordinary family doesn’t end up like this unless someone wanted something from them so badly that murder became the prime choice. We’ve already determined this wasn’t about the money they had in the bank. They didn’t take Ryan’s five grand he was holding. They didn’t bother with Livvy and Walker’s cash. So what the hell were they after?”

  “At least nothing that went the normal way out the door,” Anniston reasoned.

  “Something else then,” he mumbled before pivoting back toward the street, carting his surfboard, accompanied by enough anger to flash red across the blue sky.

  “Do you want to take my SUV? It’d be a lot faster than walking,” Anniston called out after him. “My Explorer is parked at the Mainsail Lodge. We walk right past the hotel to get back to your house.”

  His brow creased into a frown. “I’m not thinking straight yet. I could walk off the mad but I need to get to Mitch before he hears it on the news. You said the TV station already ran with the story.”

  Her eyes glistened with sympathy. “It was their lead story. That’s just one station. By now I’m sure others have picked it up and it’s all over the Internet as well.”

  “Damn. Let’s move.”

  When they reached the paved lot, Anniston unlocked the car so he could toss his surfboard in the rear cargo area. She drove them past the saltshaker-style lighthouse at the end of the block and took the jag in the road onto Quay Avenue.