The Harbor

by Carla Neggers

  "About the same as the air temperature," she said.

  "That's not saying much in October. Come on, you can play a game, too." He walked over to the dartboard and, holding his beer, used his free hand to pull out the darts. "Beer?"

  "No, thanks. We just had dinner at Christina's."

  "How's her new door?"

  Zoe had to smile at his infectious good humor. "Her new door's just fine. She had the one at the café fixed— it didn't need to be replaced."

  "Have you seen Kyle Castellane around?" J.B. asked.

  Bruce handed J.B. one set of darts, thrust another set at Zoe. "Nope."

  Zoe winced at J.B.'s diplomatic skills. Since Bruce had a crush on Christina, why not ask him out of the blue about her current boyfriend? She singled out one of the darts, its tip slightly bent. "He didn't show up for dinner."

  "He's been filming around town. He was out at the lobster pound." Bruce set down his beer and fired a dart, hitting an outside score. "I heard you had a chat with Teddy Shelton while you were kayaking."

  "I didn't know you were renting him your cottage," Zoe said. "Hell, Bruce, I hope you're not charging him much. As handy as you are, you'd think you'd at least fix the steps so the guy doesn't break his neck."

  "Teddy? He doesn't care. No point putting time and money into the place. I'll just wait and tear it down when I have the money together to build something new."

  J.B. suddenly threw a dart and hit the bull's-eye. Zoe tried not to look impressed. Without looking at Bruce, he asked, "How well do you know Shelton?"

  "Not well. I don't keep tabs on him. Jesus, loosen up, you two. You look like a couple of kick-ass cops."

  J.B.'s intensity was palpable. Zoe expected it had something to do with his phone call. She knew what he was doing—checking names with a cooperative source in Washington.

  Bruce took a big gulp of his beer. "That bull's-eye doesn't count, McGrath. It's not your turn. So, what's the deal? You spending another night at Olivia's?"

  Zoe gritted her teeth. The two of them, she thought. "If anyone asks, tell them he's my houseguest."

  "People are starting to think you two knew each other from before—"

  "Don't start with me, Bruce."

  He grinned at her. "Touchy, touchy. I guess it's just as well McGrath didn't end up camping out on your boat, in case someone forgot it's my boat and tossed in a Molotov cocktail."

  "Bruce!" Zoe was lining up her darts on a nearby table but thought she might take one and throw it at him. "That's no way to talk."

  He was unrepentant. "J.B. knows I'm kidding, right, J.B.? An alert, trained federal agent—someone tries to torch your boat with you in it, you'd go overboard and catch the bad guys before dawn."

  J.B. had his remaining darts neatly folded into hispalm. "I'd keep that in mind should the pyromaniac in you decide to come out."

  "No pyro in me. I don't even like lighting the grill."

  Although technically it still wasn't his turn, J.B. threw another dart in a move that was smooth and destined not to make him any friends. It didn't hit the bull's-eye but struck close to it. Zoe didn't know much about dart scoring, but he seemed satisfied. He stood back, fingering another dart, which, despite her best efforts, struck her as sexual.

  "I should check in with Chris and see if Kyle turned up."

  "It's dark," Bruce said. "He should have finished his filming by now."

  "When did you see him last?" Zoe asked.

  "Couple hours ago. I guess he must want film of an old-time Maine lobster pound for background. I don't have a lot of faith in this documentary."

  J.B. laid his two remaining darts on the table next to Zoe's. "Rain check, Bruce. Or you can win by default." "I'll take the rain check. I want to beat your ass fair and square, McGrath."

  But Zoe knew Bruce's heart wasn't in it—he liked playing darts. He didn't give a damn about winning. He'd never been particularly competitive. She sometimes thought that if he'd been more assertive, Christina might have realized he was serious about her, not just joking around.

  As they left, J.B. took such long strides across the bar that Zoe practically had to run to keep up with him. She was sore from kayaking, tired from getting dunked and on edge from everything that had gone on since Christina had first called her about someone breaking into her house.

  And taking nothing, Zoe thought. Hurting no one.

  It was something to keep in mind. She could be on edge more because she was back home for the first time in a year, not because of any real dangers—or perhaps because of J.B., his intensity, her reaction to him.

  The temperature had dropped precipitously, a taste of winter in the cold, clear night air. It was fully dark now, the stars and sliver of a moon sparkling over the harbor.

  A beautiful day, now a beautiful, freezing night. With a shiver, Zoe climbed into McGrath's Jeep. She was aware of how close he was. What if Stick was right and he was more out of control than she thought? What if she was letting herself get caught up in his need to find a new adrenaline rush to give himself an excuse not to have to confront his demons? She knew what that was like.

  But she didn't think that was what was going on, at least not entirely.

  "I assume we're going to check on Kyle," she said. "Do you know the way?"

  He gave a curt nod.

  He drove faster than seemed necessary to her. She borrowed his cell phone to check with Christina—no Kyle. Her sister had tried his apartment and his father's yacht, but no sign of him. She wanted to call the police. Zoe reported what Bruce had said about seeing Kyle at the lobster pound.

  "You're going out there? It's dark, Zoe. He can't be there, unless—" She stopped herself. "I know I'm thinking the worst because of the break-ins. It's all just so creepy."

  "Chris, if you don't want to be alone, call Stick or Bruce or someone."

  "I'll be fine. Let me know, okay?"

  Even with the windows closed, Zoe could smell the low tide as J.B. pulled into the small dirt lobster-pound lot. Bruce's cottage was next to it, through a tangle of small brush and trees on the south side, then, bordering the cottage, a hundred acres of sprawling, state-pro-tected salt marsh and sand beach. Zoe hoped Kyle hadn't gone wandering and gotten himself lost out there. It'd be morning for sure before they found him.

  J.B.

  shut off his headlights. The area was dark and quiet, no sign of Kyle or his black BMW. Zoe rolled down her window and listened, hearing only the gentle lapping of the water as the tide started to come up again. The air was downright frigid, and she half wished she'd brought her parka.

  She rolled up her window. "We should check with Shelton. Maybe he's seen Kyle."

  J.B.

  sighed. "He could be at Perry's by now, trying to figure out how to tell Christina he got carried away with his documentary and stood her up."

  "And she'll forgive him, you know." Zoe looked out at the stars sparkling on the expanse of dark water. "Well, maybe she should. I admit I've never been fond of the Castellanes. You've only seen Luke around town? You havn't met him?"

  "That's right." "My aunt was more tolerant of his quirks than I ever have been, not that I've had that much to do with him."

  J.B. still didn't move his Jeep. "What about your father?"

  "He stayed neutral. ‘Luke is what he is,' he'd say." Zoe pointed to a stand of trees, a blackish-purple silhouette against the ambient light of the stars and moon. "There's a shortcut to the cottage over by those trees. It's not much of a road, but your Jeep can handle it."

  J.B. started up the Jeep's engine again. The shortcut was, in fact, just a rutted strip of sand, marsh grass and gravel, but the Jeep bounced over it without a problem and came to a stop behind the cottage. Its back-door light was on, but Teddy Shelton's truck was gone—and, again, there was no sign of Kyle or his BMW.

  Zoe pushed open her door and stood out on the dirt driveway, the cold air impossible to ignore. She shivered. "Maybe Shelton decided to take off after he had both of us snea
king up on him."

  J.B. got out. "I thought you just saw him by accident." She smiled over the Jeep roof at him. "I did. I'll go

  knock on the door—"

  "Hang on."

  But she didn't wait for him. She trotted up the back

  steps and peered through the back door's cracked window. She tried the knob. "It's not locked. Bruce knows we're out here. He'd expect me to make sure nothing's wrong and the place is secure." Bruce wouldn't give a damn if the place spontaneously combusted, but Zoe wanted an excuse to go inside.

  J.B. mounted the steps behind her. He nodded. "Go."

  His mood was so serious and grim, Zoe wouldn't have been surprised if he drew his weapon. But he didn't, and she pushed on the door. It stuck, and she had to put her shoulder to it to get it to budge.

  She reached along the paneled wall to her right and flipped the switch for the overhead fluorescent in the galley kitchen. It slowly flickered on. "Looks like no one's home," she said.

  Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, and a halfplayed game of clock solitaire was laid out on the table. Without a word, J.B. checked the back bedroom and the bathroom and returned in less than a minute, still grim-faced. "Nothing. Bed's unmade, used towels on the bathroom floor. No personal items or a suitcase or backpack."

  "Maybe Shelton did clear out. That's not a good development."

  Zoe walked over to the picture window. She couldn't see the view, just her reflection and that of the flickering kitchen light. She thought she looked shaken and ragged, a ghost of the law enforcement officer she'd been even just a few months ago.

  "Forget it," she muttered. "You look around. I'll wait in the Jeep."

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  She turned abruptly, running into the solid wall that was J. B. McGrath. She was so preoccupied, she hadn't noticed him move toward her. That wasn't good. What if he'd been Shelton? Someone else? She was out of practice. Her head wasn't in the right place. She glanced away, trying to quash her agitation and uneasiness. "I don't think I can handle being back here."

  "You are handling it. It's just not as easy as you'd like it to be."

  "If I cause anyone to get hurt—"

  "Zoe."

  She held up a hand. "It's okay. I'll snap out of it. It's been a long day." Being that close to him got to her, and she shot across the ancient linoleum floor to the door out to the deck. "I'll take a look outside and meet you back at the Jeep."

  She walked out onto the deck, its floorboards soft and sagging, but the below-freezing temperature quickly penetrated her cotton sweater. Crossing her arms for added warmth, she ventured down the steps to the narrow footpath cut through the tall grass. The shallow cove was straight ahead, the water was so far away now, just past low tide, that she could barely hear it. She could smell the salt-drenched mud and sand, the seaweed. The stars and moon were breathtaking sprinkled across the night sky.

  J.B. had followed her, his tall figure casting a long shadow across a stretch of moonlit path. The kitchen and porch lights in back didn't do much out here. Zoe paused, letting her eyes adjust to the unrelenting darkness.

  "I don't suppose you undercover FBI agents have built-in night vision equipment?"

  "I've got some goggles in my Jeep."

  She glanced back at him. "You know, I have no idea if you're serious or not. I'm going to guess not. Why would an undercover agent need night vision?"

  "We like our toys."

  "What about a simple flashlight?"

  She saw his smile. "I have that, too."

  But he reached out suddenly and touched her arm, his other hand on the grip of his pistol, his eyes focused on the stretch of light woods between the cottage and the lobster pound.

  "Did you hear something?" Zoe whispered.

  Then she heard it herself, a rustling sound. And a moan.

  J.B. drew his pistol, touched her shoulder in unspoken communication she recognized—he'd investigate, she'd stay put. Basic. He was the armed law enforcement officer. She wasn't.

  Then came a pained, male voice. "Ah, hell. Zoe? Zoe, is that you? It's me, Kyle. I could use a hand before I freaking freeze to death."

  Zoe lunged forward, but J.B.'s grip tightened on her elbow. He shook his head, and she understood. She'd responded like a friend, not a cop. "Are you alone?" he called to Kyle.

  "Yeah. I think so."

  "Can you walk?"

  "I just got the crap beat out of me—ah, shit. I'm cov

  ered in mud." But they could hear him moving in the brush, making his way toward them. "What a cesspool."

  J.B. didn't budge. "Just keep walking."

  Zoe could see Kyle now, a solitary figure emerging from behind a nearby spruce. He stumbled onto the path, and she caught him around his thin waist, taking most of his weight. He wasn't wearing a jacket and was cold to the touch. When he looked up, a ray of moonlight struck his face. It was battered, bruised and bleeding. A mess.

  "Good God, Kyle," Zoe said, "what happened?"

  His lower lip was split, his nose was bloody, his left eye was swollen. His right cheek looked bruised and raw. J.B. kept his hand on the grip of his 9 mm. Kyle managed to hold up a shaking hand. "Relax, okay? Both of you. He's gone. That guy, Shelton. He punched me

  out and took off."

  "How long ago?" J.B. asked.

  "Awhile. I don't know." He brushed at his bloody nose with the back of his hand. He'd started to shiver uncontrollably. "I've been pretty out of it."

  "Come on," Zoe said. "Let's get you inside and get some ice for these cuts, although you'd think you wouldn't need any as frozen as you are. J.B. has a cell phone. He can call an ambulance and the police—"

  "I'm okay. I don't want to make a stink. Shelton overreacted, but I had it coming. He caught me sneaking around his truck—he wasn't in the mood to ask questions. I don't blame him. For all he knew, I was going to shoot him and steal the damn thing."

  Not likely, Zoe thought, but she let it go. This wasn't the time to push him for answers. He was in pain and cold, his teeth chattering. She helped him onto the porch, aware of J.B. behind her, on high alert.

  Once she got him inside, Kyle sank onto Bruce's duct-taped couch and moaned again, drool oozing over his cut lip as he continued to shiver. His khakis were soaked and muddy at the knees, his sweatshirt smeared with blood from his lip and nose.

  J.B. took a musty blanket off the back of a chair and laid it on Kyle's lap. "Looks like Shelton hit you more than once."

  "Twice that I remember. I don't know, maybe three times." His speech was slightly slurred, but Zoe attributed it

  to his swollen lip and shivering. She found an ancient ice tray in the freezer, whacked it on the counter and dumped the ice in the sink, then scooped a half-dozen cubes into a dish rag and handed it to him.

  "You should have that lip and eye looked at," J.B. said. "Your nose might be broken, but I doubt it. What about your teeth?"

  "I didn't lose any." Kyle placed the ice pack on his lip. "I'll be fine. It was stupid, the whole thing. I mean, the guy saw me and went apeshit."

  "Did he say anything?" Zoe asked.

  "Yeah. He said, ‘Get the fuck away from my truck.'"

  J.B. didn't smile. "Then what happened?"

  "I told him, ‘Yeah, man, cool, I'm moving,' but he had me by the arm. Jerked me around and pounded my face. I mean, shit. I'm no fighter. But I told you, I'm not messing with him—I'm not pressing charges."

  Zoe sat next to Kyle on the couch. He seemed nonplussed more than angry or scared, as if he still didn't quite understand, couldn't absorb, what had happened to him. "Christina missed you at dinner, and Bruce saw you out at the lobster pound shortly before dinner. Was that when you ran into Shelton? Around dinnertime?"

  "I guess. I don't know. I think I was knocked out." He yawned, more a reaction to stress and exposure, Zoe thought, than tiredness, but she could see the simple motion caused him pain. He winced and moaned in pain, licking along the edge of his l
ip where it was cut, the blood mostly dried. "You know, one minute Shelton's beating the shit out of me, next thing, I'm facedown in the mud."

  Zoe frowned. "Kyle, if you lost consciousness or were incoherent for even a few minutes, you need to see a doctor."

  "I don't know, maybe I was just in shock or something." He moved the ice up to his eye. "How bad do I look?"

  "Pretty bad," Zoe said.

  She could feel J.B. taking in every word, every nuance as he stood motionless in the middle of the room. He'd returned his pistol to its holster. "Did you hear Shelton leave?" he asked.

  Obviously losing energy, Kyle sank back against the couch. "I don't think so, no."

  "Where was his truck when he saw you?"

  "In the driveway."

  "The cottage driveway?"

  "Yeah."

  J.B. didn't relent, but his tone was steady, nonthreatening if not gentle. "What were you doing here?"

  "I was filming—" Kyle paused, bolting up straight as if he had a fresh surge of energy. "That's right! I dropped my camera. The fucker came at me, and I dropped it—I didn't even think of hitting him with it. It must still be out there. I was filming at the lobster pound, then I walked over here, because I—I don't remember. I saw a hawk or something."

  "Where's your car?" J.B. asked.

  "My car? Oh, yeah. It's down by the boat launch. I didn't want it to get in the way. You know these lobster guys. They'd bulldoze a BMW right over if it got in their way."

  That explained why they hadn't seen it, Zoe thought. She eased to her feet, every inch of her body telling her she'd already overexerted today. Her shoulders ached from kayaking, her legs were tired, and she was sleepy, ready to collapse into a warm bed and get unconscious. But she had to feel better than Kyle did. She held out her hand for him. "We can take you to the emergency room—"

  "I'm fine."

  She didn't argue. "And if you don't want to press charges against Teddy Shelton, that's your prerogative, but you need to tell the police what happened."

  "Why?"

  He took her hand reluctantly, and she helped him back to his feet. "Because if you don't, Special Agent McGrath here will. Or I will. Either way, the police need to have a chat with our Mr. Shelton."