by Mark Stone
In this instance, the details were as followed: This coffee shop was a half a block away from the precinct, in perfect walking distance. It was, as most place in Vero Beach this time of year, constantly swarmed with treasure (and sun) seeking tourists on vacation. People on vacation don't wear loafers. They wear sandals or, when they're really feeling frisky, just bare feet. What was more, Marcus knew Kate. He knew she liked this place, The Setting Sun Coffeehouse. Most importantly, he knew just why the idea of bringing the Jewels of Pascal into this would be so painful for her.
"And you did it anyway," she muttered under her breath, drowning her sorrows in another swig of slightly sweet indulgence as she heard him pull the chair out from across the table and sit down.
When she finally looked up at him, the older man's face was a blank slate.
"You're upset," he said. It wasn't a question.
"No," Kate answered, shaking her head and looking out the window she had parked herself next to when she entered this establishment nearly ten minutes ago. She hadn't fully expected Marcus to come after her. In truth, she wanted to be alone. Still, it didn't surprise her he had, and it was certainly better than that cocky bastard reality star coming for her. She could only imagine what he thought of her at the moment, rushing out of the room at the mere mention of the Jewels of Pascal.
Not that she cared.
"I don't blame you," Marcus answered, ignoring her protest. "In fact, I expected as much."
"And you still did it," she answered, waving off the waitress who came rushing to take Marcus's order.
"What if I would have wanted a coffee?" he asked, spying what she had done.
"Then I guess you'll have to live with the disappointment," Kate shot back.
Marcus sighed loudly. Leaning back in his seat, he looked her up and down.
"I did what I did because it had to be done," Marcus answered simply. "I meant what I said about people using their skillsets. It's why Duncan is better suited to deal with that damned mob boss and it's why you're better suited to deal with this."
"You're confusing me with my father," Kate said bitterly, blinking hard. "He might have taken me out on those boats of his, looking for sunken treasure and trading stories of the past with greedy tourists, but that was him. That was his life and what he enjoyed."
"I couldn't care less about sunken treasure or what your father did. That's not what I was talking about," Marcus said. "Vero Beach is your home. It always has been. You understand the people, and you care about them and this place in a way that couldn't be replicated." He stopped a beat. "Plus, you know how to rein in big personalities."
With a start, Kate realized what this was about. Marcus hadn't chosen her for this because he thought she was her father. He knew better. He chose her because she wasn't her father, because she had always been the only person who could talk any sense into her father, and that meant she'd more than likely be able to do the same with this “Anchor” character.
"I'm not a babysitter, and I'm not interested in reliving my childhood with some bland carbon copy of who my father used to be," she said, leaning forward and slamming her hand hard against the tabletop. "The damned Jewels of Pascal, Marcus? Really?"
"I know, Kate," he said solemnly. "I'm sorry."
"He died looking for them, Marcus," Kate answered, blinking tears out of her eyes and pushing away the horrible memory of that sunny day, a phone call she had always feared but never really expected to receive.
"I know," he lamented. "I know he did. That's why I thought you'd be best for this. I thought maybe it'd give you some closure, seeing as how they never actually found his body or anything. I didn't realize it would have this effect on you. I'm sorry about that, but it doesn't change anything."
"Excuse me?" Kate said, her body tensing.
"I get that you have a personal connection with this stuff, Kate. You equate it with a personal tragedy, and that's fair. I was hoping you'd react differently, but you didn't, and I can accept that. What I can't accept is you acting as though you're above the rules."
"Marcus," she started.
"I gave you an order," he said, cutting her off. "Your superior officer gave you an order, point blank. It wasn't up for discussion, and it certainly shouldn't be subject to a display like this."
"You wanted to tie me to a spoiled reality television star," Kate said, by way of explanation.
"And you ran out of the room like a girl who just got told she couldn't go to prom," he answered. "Which one of you looks spoiled?"
"That's different," she answered. "That was a bad reaction. It was a knee jerk thing. I shouldn't have done it, and it won't happen again. It doesn't change the fact that this man isn't qualified."
"And who the hell are you to say that?" Marcus asked, his face hardening and losing the “unreadable” quality it had before. Kate could certainly read it now, and the message wasn't a kind one. "I worked my tail off to get where I am, Kate. I know you don't always agree with my methods. Hell, I don't always blame you for that. Some of the decisions I make probably look less than logical from the outside, but crime is down seven percent since I started. You can't argue with results."
He began tapping his hand against the table.
"And, in case I need to repeat myself, I'm your superior officer." He breathed heavy. "I meant what I told you, Kate. You're on thin ice here. I have people to answer to as well, and they're not exactly happy with you at the moment. A lot of taxpayer money was spent on a bust that you just botched."
Kate pulled her fingers inward, clenching her hands into fists again. "I understand that."
"It doesn't help you insisted on leading the investigation solo, or that I haven't been able to outfit you with a partner up to your standards the entire time you've been in my employ," Marcus said.
"I can't help it if you keep offering me inept people," she answered.
"That's not the issue, and you know it," Marcus answered. "You've run off seven qualified officers in two years, Kate. All of whom were able to form fruitful partnerships with other people, by the way." The captain looked down at the table. "I didn't want to tell you this, but I've been fighting for you, Kate. People in positions of power aren't thrilled with the idea of Herbert Cross's daughter as a loose cannon. They want to let you go."
"I told you I'm not my father," she answered, stunned by what she was hearing. Sure, she knew that being partnered wasn't her strong suit, but she never imagined things had gone this far. This job, it was her whole life. If she couldn't do it, she wasn't sure what she'd have left.
"No, Kate. You're his daughter; the daughter of a local hero, the daughter of one of the greatest treasure hunters this place has ever known. Do you have any idea how many bars have drinks named after your old man in this town? Do you have any idea how revered he is?"
She did. She had lived her entire life under his shadow, the great Herbert Cross. It colored every aspect of her life. She got into college off that last name. They said she didn't, but her acceptance letter came before she'd even mailed her essay out. And those bars, the ones with the drinks named after her dad, they were crawling with men who wanted to hit on her and take her home just because of who she was, because of where she came from.
"Look," Marcus continued. "City Council likes this idea. The mayor likes this idea. Having a celebrity like Russell Anchorage on the team could be good for us. It could bring us the attention we need to allocate taxpayer dollars to our department, but only if he's effective, only if he doesn't make an ass of himself." Still tapping his fingers against the table, he continued. "I vetted him, Kate. He went through training, almost finished the whole damned police academy before he left to do his show."
"So, he's unqualified and a quitter," Kate murmured.
"He's your last chance," Marcus answered. "That's what he is. Like I said, you're uniquely qualified to deal with him. You might even be able to make an asset out of him. I believe you can, Kate. Because, if you can't—”
"I know,
" she answered, swallowing hard and understanding what Marcus was saying. "Bring him in. I suppose I'll listen to what he has to say."
"There's no time for that," Marcus said, standing. "You can do it on the move. He's waiting outside."
"Waiting outside for what?" Kate asked, standing herself and tossing some crumpled-up money on the table for her half-wasted coffee.
"He says he knows who the next victim is going to be," Marcus said. "You two are about to go find out if he's right."
Chapter 6
Russell Anchorage tried not to look at the detective he had been partnered with as she climbed into the passenger seat of his cherry red convertible Corvette. It wasn't that she was attractive. Though, with dark hair and sea green eyes, she certainly was physically Anchor's type, even if her attitude had left a little to be desired. No, the reason Anchor wanted to make sure he wasn't staring at this lady like some ridiculous stalker had less to do with what she looked like and more to do with who she was.
Herbert Cross had been an icon to Anchor. When other kids in his school had posters of Barry Bonds or Chuck Norris on their bedroom walls, Anchor slept under a blown-up Polaroid of the greatest treasure hunter this coast (and maybe the world) had ever known.
He spent nights dreaming of what life might be like if he was lucky enough to be one of the crewmen aboard Herbert's vessel. He spent days reading about Herbert's adventures in the travel magazines and action journals. He even wrote the man a fan letter once, and got a reply in the form of a kindly worded letter from the man, which he hung right next to the Polaroid.
And now he was face to face with his hero’s daughter, and she was none too happy with the arrangement.
"This car is ridiculous," Kate said as she closed the door, allowing Anchor to speed off as she slung the seatbelt over her shoulder.
“Why don’t you stop being coy and tell me how you really feel?" Anchor chuckling, finally chancing a glance in the woman's direction. One look at her betrayed facial features that were as familiar to Anchor as his own. He had looked at pictures of Herbert Cross more times than he could count; of the man standing on his boat and surveying the ocean, of the great explorer with his latest find.
Kate looked a lot like him; same eyes, same strong chin, same quizzical eyebrows. Though hers were tilted critically at him at the moment.
"I think we both know I've told you how I really feel about things, Mr. Anchorage," she said. "And I'm not saying it's a bad car. In fact, it makes sense for a ‘fly by the seat of his pants’ reality television star."
"And what exactly would you know about the seat of my pants?" Anchor asked, grinning.
He knew that he had some sort of affect on Cross, she just didn’t want to admit it. And he completely understood she was the type who preferred to hide her emotions rather than put them on display.
"But for a detective," she continued, completely ignoring his interjection. "It stands out when it's supposed to blend in. It's flashy. It draws the eye and, worse than anything, it's red. There isn't a color more noticeable."
"Which is why I got it," Anchor said, shrugging.
"Like I said," Kate balked, rolling her eyes. "It's completely ridiculous."
"Not a fan of red?" Anchor asked, turning right into traffic and checking his blind spot. Vero Beach always got busy this time of year, and the roads crowded out as a result. Anchor didn't mind it. More traffic meant more tourists, and more tourists meant more income for this town he loved and the people who lived in it. "Someone should tell that to your lips."
"What are you talking about?" she asked, looking at herself in the side mirror. "I'm not wearing lipstick."
"Really?" he asked, looking over at her again, and definitely not seeing as much of her father this time. "That's impressive."
"Enough of this, Mr. Anchorage," Kate said, her sea green eyes boring into him. "You know where I stand with this. I think you don't belong here. Even if you have information that can help with this investigation, I think you’d be better off to hand it over and be on your way. My captain doesn't feel that way, and that means my hands are tied. So, given the fact that we are where we are, why don’t you go ahead and spill what you know? Where are we headed, Mr. Anchorage?"
"You're really not going to call me Anchor, are you?" he asked, a quasi-impressed smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"I'm really not," Kate confirmed. "Now please answer the question and, while you're at it, slow the hell down. You're driving like a lunatic and I can’t have that. While you're on this case, and with me in particular, you're a representative of the Vero Beach Police Department. I won't have you acting recklessly."
"Really?" Anchor chuckled, swerving into the left lane without even considering the use of a turn signal. "That's kind of rich coming from you. Don't you think?'
"What is that supposed to mean?" Kate asked, and, from the corner of his eye, Anchor could see her entire body tense as it twisted toward him.
"It means you're the same cop who caused seven thousand dollars' worth of property damage when she fist fought a boat thief and forced him to crash into a marina. And you're the same cop who jumped onto the flat bed of a moving truck just to take down a convicted rapist." Anchor shook his head. "And that's just what I got from a quick Google search while I was waiting in the car for Marcus to convince you to come with me today." He took a breath and chanced another look at the woman. "You're a good cop. I'm sure of it, but you don't mind bending rules to the point of breaking them when the situation calls for it, do you?"
"I guess I don't," Kate said, pursing her lips at the man.
"Wouldn't you consider this, working with me, to be the biggest rule bend you can think of?" he asked, grinning wide again.
"Maybe," she conceded. "But you're forgetting one thing. In the situations you talked about, my hands were tied. I jumped into danger, even put other people in danger, but there was no choice in the matter. It was all I could do. So, answer my question, Mr. Anchorage. Tell me where we're going, and why we're going there. Then I'll decide whether or not this particular situation is dire enough for you to be in the driver's seat today."
Anchor jerked the wheel hard, taking a hard right. The car jerked as the tires screamed against the pavement.
"Fair enough. A few months ago, after my show…ended,” Anchor said, a noticeable catch in his voice. “I took a little bit of a break, went up North for a bit. Afterwards, I came back down here and rededicated myself to the hunt.” He shrugged. “The ocean was calling me back, and I couldn’t say no to her.”
“Get to the point,” Kate said, blinking at the man and pulling away a little in her seat.
“The point is, when I came back, there was news,” Anchor said. “I heard some team I had never heard of went off looking for the Jewels of Pascal. I thought that was pretty pigheaded, seeing as how no one had ever even come close to finding them before. I mean, if your father couldn’t do it, then what are the chances some newbies could do it? Who knows we could get lucky and hit the jackpot.”
Anchor watched the reaction on Kate’s face when he mentioned her father and immediately regretted his decision and that was why he tried to cover it up with a joke. It was slight, a tightening around the edges of her mouth and eyes, but it was just enough to tell him the pain of losing the man was still raw and real.
Still, apologizing for the gaffe would only serve to pick at the scab further, so he plowed forward.
“The ship went down,” he said flatly. “Disappeared in a storm. The team was never seen again and, of course, they never got to the jewels. Or, at least, I didn’t think they did.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Kate answered, the echo of pain on her face suddenly replaced with confusion. “You’re implying that this team you’re talking about actually did get the jewels and managed to get them back to land after their ship went down and they disappeared?”
“I don’t know,” Anchor admitted. “But I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the a
rtifacts found on every person who’s been forced to help with these robberies are the Jewels of Pascal, and that’s not all,” Anchor said, taking a hard right, so hard, Kate went winding toward him in her seat. She grabbed at the roof, stopping short of falling into the man.
“Some defensive driving classes would do you a world of good,” she muttered under her breath, pushing herself straight in her seat again. “What does all of this have to do with you knowing who the next person the Willful Guild is going to take is?”
“It’s all connected,” Anchor answered. “I did some research after I realized I was looking at the Jewels of Pascal, before I brought it to the attention of your police department. It turns out that every one of the people who has been taken by the Willful Guild is, in some way, connected to a person on that team that disappeared while looking for the jewels.”
“What?” Kate asked. “Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent,” Anchor answered with a nod of his head. “The first person taken, the redhead who marched into that bank on Vine swearing a sharpshooter was trained at her head was the daughter of the team’s captain. The second one, the man who later claimed he had received pictures of his niece playing at her prep school along with threats about her safety, was the best friend of the team’s navigator.”
“And the woman with the bomb strapped to her chest?” Kate asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Ex-wife of the trained diver,” Anchor answered.
“And all of this has been checked out by Marcus?” Kate asked again, swallowing hard.
“It’s all been verified,” Anchor answered. “We’d have been able to tell you that if you wouldn’t have rushed out for an impromptu coffee break.” He glanced over at the woman. “Not that I blame you. When espresso calls, I know I have to answer too.”
