The guy was tenacious, she’d give him that. “I’ll review the files looking for similarities when I get time, but I doubt there’s going to be anything there.”
He grabbed her arm, nails biting through the sleeve of her jacket. “Aren’t you even remotely curious?” His eyes burned with some indefinable fervor.
She broke his grip and refrained from arresting him for assaulting a police officer.
Pity was foremost in her mind. “I’ll look at the case, but after this length of time, the chance of solving your wife’s murder is extremely slim.”
Grief swam in his bloodshot eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She turned on her heel and stalked away. She didn’t like being unsettled. Didn’t like being knocked off her stride. That wasn’t how cops solved cases. The sound of gut-wrenching misery followed her down the stairs and out the door.
Finn sat in darkness, nursing a cold one. He concentrated on the woman creeping up his stairs. She moved quietly, maybe trying to catch him off guard. Good luck with that.
She rounded the corner and released her breath as she spotted him sitting in a canvas chair outside his front door.
“Wanna beer?” He reached down for an unopened one on the floor beside him.
She shook her head. “I’m on duty.”
He put it back on the deck. “And what do you do when you’re not on duty, Sergeant Rudd?”
She examined him as if she was trying to decide which angle to take. Hard-ass or friendly. “Last week I learned to dive.”
“Why?”
She laughed and the sound brushed across his skin like electricity. He wished she’d gone for hard-ass.
“Why does anyone learn to dive?”
To covertly infiltrate enemy positions. To plant explosives and cripple ships people didn’t want sailing. To insert listening devices and/or tracking devices. To take out enemy communication systems. To look at pretty creatures underwater. The list was limitless.
He leaned back in his chair, watched her as carefully as he’d watch a hammerhead. “You did a good job today”—she started to smile at his praise—“until you got stupid at the end.”
Her lids dropped lower over her eyes, masking her reaction. “You’re right. I was out of line. I’m sorry.”
Contrition didn’t sit naturally on those features and didn’t last long.
Her grin was infectious. She meant it to be, and that bothered him. She used her smile to sneak beneath people’s guard, and he didn’t like the fact that it worked on him the same as anyone else. “You’re pretty funny, Mr. Carver. I tell you I’m coming by to interview you about finding a body and you try to switch tables by critiquing my dive performance.”
“Dive performances are my specialty.” He held her gaze without smiling. The words were full of sexual innuendo, and he let those images settle around them. He wanted her unnerved, distracted. He was willing to use whatever it took to put her off her game. Same as she was using that smile of hers to get what she wanted.
Her grin deepened. “Did they teach you that in Special Forces?”
He finally smiled back. Touché. “You fishing, sweetheart?”
“Your military records say Special Forces.”
He never dropped her gaze. “I’m not allowed to discuss it. It’s against the rules.” He took another swig of beer, which tasted dark and bitter on his tongue.
“Do you always play by the rules, Finn?”
“I do, Holly, always.” He didn’t say whose rules.
“So why didn’t you report you’d found a wreck?”
His shoulders kicked up. “Thom wanted the chance to collect a few specimens before we contacted the Coast Guard. As soon as the dive world heard about a new wreck they’d swarm all over it. I assume he showed you his treasure?” She nodded. “Hardly worth killing for, is it?” He shrugged again, feeling the weight of guilt abrade his shoulders. “I didn’t think it would matter if we waited a couple of weeks.”
Her hair was jet black in the shadows, caught in a severe braid at her nape. No nonsense. Professional. Still, she looked hot in that uniform, with her police insignia and that gold stripe running down the side of her pants. And she looked well able to handle the weapons riding her hip. He liked people who could stand up for themselves and who stood up for others. Her features were unadorned, but a face like that didn’t need makeup or glitter. He’d always preferred the natural look. Her confidence and air of authority was also a turn-on, he hated to admit. And despite what he’d said to her earlier, he’d bet she was a good cop.
None of it mattered.
The only thing that mattered was keeping her far away from the marine lab and, more importantly, far away from Thom. Her uncanny resemblance to Bianca Edgefield was a wild card the older man did not need. The rekindling of a hope that had all but burned out.
“Wreck diving gets addictive. Think you’ll get addicted?” He let his gaze wander lazily around her body; long legs, trim waist, nice round butt that would fit nicely in his hands as he—Whoa! Not where he’d meant his mind to go.
“It was fun.” She leaned against the railing, not hunching up or hiding, but not extending an invitation either. “I can see why it gives people a buzz.”
He swigged back a mouthful of beer, hoping to cool off his imagination. “For what it’s worth, I was impressed this morning. I’d rather dive with a novice with grit than an experienced diver with no spine.”
“Are you giving me a compliment, Mr. Carver?”
“Maybe I’m just trying to get into your pants.”
She laughed, but her gaze slid away. “That’s not going to happen. You’ll just have to fantasize. I’m a cop and you are part of this inquiry.”
“Is that the only reason?” His voice came out gruff.
She didn’t answer. The night air was cool around them, but he wasn’t feeling the chill.
“Am I a suspect?”
“I told you earlier. Everyone’s a suspect. Did you find out anything about the ship? What she was called or how long she’s been down there? What she might have been carrying?”
He shook his head. “Coast Guard will probably figure it out in five minutes, but I couldn’t find anything.”
“So you did inquire?”
“I searched online databases and checked out a bunch of maps at the local library and some historical references. I did not ask around.”
She pulled a face. That had been her next question.
He wasn’t about to tell her that Gina might have seen what he was up to. No way would a sweet woman like Gina skewer a guy with a big-ass dive knife. And if she had been going to murder anyone it would have been his brother, years ago.
“Did you recognize anything about the equipment the dead man wore?”
Finn tipped back his beer and took another icy swallow. “No.”
She was eyeing him sharply. “Could his equipment have come from the marine station?”
“Sure.” Finn shrugged. “But his tanks were missing, which would be the main thing I’d recognize.” He was very careful about tanks and regulators, not so particular about all the rest. “I’ll do an inventory tomorrow if you want, but we have a lot of equipment and a lost-and-found people dip into. I didn’t recognize the weight belt, but the suit was something I’d have used to make patches.”
“What about the knife?”
“Looked like a thousand other dive knifes.” He got to his feet and took a step toward her. “How was Thom when you left him?”
Her eyes tracked him carefully. “Upset.”
“He ask you to reopen the investigation into his wife’s murder?”
She nodded. Bit her lip.
“I figured.” The silence stretched for a few moments. “He’ll get over it. Believe me, he’s used to disappointment.”
“The professor said you went to live with him after your dad died. When was that?”
Tension crackled between them. Her lower lip looked wide and bee-stung. His gaze hooked there and
he couldn’t look away. “Is that part of the investigation, or personal?”
She straightened her shoulders. “There is no personal, Mr. Carver.”
He leaned against the railing beside her, not touching, but close enough to unnerve anyone with half a brain. Holly was firing on all neurons and swung around to face him. “When did your father die?”
Old familiar anger made his chest tighten. “Nineteen eighty-nine. I was thirteen.”
Busy eyes watched his face. He didn’t kid himself she was besotted. “You must miss him.”
“I hated the sonofabitch.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“We don’t all get to grow up in happy families, Holly.” He clenched his fist against his side. “Count your blessings.”
“I do.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” He wanted to know more about her. Wanted to figure out what made her tick. Wanted to distract her.
She shook her head. “I’m an only child.” Her mouth pulled down as she looked up into the night sky. “Spoiled rotten by loving parents. My dad’s a cop too. Mom died, almost two years ago now.” She looked a little lost when she mentioned her mother.
“You miss her.”
She nodded. Then she looked pissed, as if she hadn’t meant to tell him a damn thing. He took another swallow of beer to stop himself doing anything stupid, like trying to find out how that plump lower lip of hers tasted.
She switched the subject. “Has the professor always been so…”
“Messed up?” Finn nodded. “Ever since he found his wife and child with their heads smashed in, he’s clung to the slippery edge of sanity. The only things that keep him going are his research, searching for the killer, and maybe finding out what happened to his little girl.” His eyes swept her features. “You really do look like Bianca Edgefield, you know.”
“You knew her?”
“I was six when she was murdered, but she was one of those women who always made a fuss over us kids. Bought us bags of candy and ruffled our hair.”
He’d liked her. Everyone else had treated him like he was stupid. Thom had fixed that.
“What did your mother think of her?”
“My mother?” A strand of her hair had come loose in the breeze, and he tucked it carefully behind her ear. She looked like she was thinking about removing his balls with nail clippers, but she held still. “My mother wasn’t around.”
“Where was she?”
“I have no idea. She took off when I was little and never came back.”
He watched as another note was added to her mental to-do list. Did she think his mom hadn’t really run away from her dickhead alcoholic prick of a husband, leaving her kids to his nonexistent mercy? “She mailed a postcard a few weeks after she left. Postmarked Florida.”
She nodded, but he could tell she was going to check it out anyway. What did he care?
“Did you see anyone on the way to the dive site last night?”
“Nope.”
“Did you tell anyone where you were going?” Back to rigid cop mode.
“No.” He frowned. “But I did write our coordinates on the dive sheets in case we didn’t come back. It’s SOP.”
“You wrote them down that first time too?”
“Sure. There was a sea otter sighting, which was unusual in that bay. We checked it out but didn’t find anything. Decided to do a quick dive while we were out there so the trip wasn’t a total bust.”
“No surface crew?”
“No surface crew either time. Thomas was emphatic the ship-wreck remain a secret. Nudibranchs are more active at night—hence the night dive.” He wished she was watching him so closely because she wanted him, not because she wanted to catch him lying. Heat spread through his body. Muscles tensing with unwanted attraction. Plenty of good-looking women came through the marine lab, but he didn’t believe in abusing his authority. He’d be quite happy for Holly to abuse hers, though. He wanted her. But he had to make sure she stayed far, far away from them all.
“Do you have any theories about who the victim might be?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.
“Right. Thanks for the information.” She stepped away from him as if he’d given her some big clue in this investigation.
“Holly?”
She paused on the top step.
“Are you involved with anyone now?”
“No.” Her eyes glinted suspiciously at the reminder he’d overheard her earlier conversation with her boss. Too bad.
He raised his bottle. “Well, if you ever want to go diving when you’re off duty, let me know.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship, Mr. Carver. I’m here to solve a murder.”
He opened his front door to go inside. “Who said anything about a relationship? I’m just offering a no-strings recreational dive.”
A light came on from the next cabin and an icy glow washed over her features. “Good night, Mr. Carver,” she said with remarkable composure for a woman who was angry enough to spit nails.
He grinned. “’Night, Sergeant.”
Bianca Edgefield’s body was rotting beneath rich prairie grass, but the woman who strode to the police 4x4 parked on the side of the road was her doppelganger. The gossips had been right, and a shot of unholy fear stabbed through muscle to bone.
How many times did the bitch have to die?
Hatred stirred for that pretty face, those long, graceful limbs that liked to open wide and tempt the weak. Edging closer, silently weighing the possibility of killing her now, again. It was quiet. There were few people around. This might be the only chance. Another inch closer as the woman spoke into her police radio. Eyes shot to the cabin where Finn Carver lived and found the man watching from the window. Too close. That big bastard was sneaky and dangerous and couldn’t be trusted.
Easing back into the shadows, one with the night. Patience was a virtue. Good things came to those who wait. The cop drove away, and a branch cracked in the deep, dark wood.
Maybe the cop would be gone by tomorrow. Maybe she wouldn’t dig. But if she stayed, if she started to dig, she was dead.
CHAPTER 4
Lights from the houses across the inlet glistened in the water. It was full dark now, twenty-four hours since they’d found that body. Exhaustion grated along Finn’s nerves, but he couldn’t put this off any longer. He headed down to the dock and climbed into the rowboat. He wanted to figure out who the victim was before the cops did—only one person to ask. Trouble was that person hadn’t spoken to him in years.
The dip of oars in the water was the only sound even though it wasn’t late. Bamfield-west was quiet, and unless there was a poker game tonight, most people would be tucked up in front of their satellite TVs, nursing a cold one.
The sea was calm, saving her energy for her next blast of destruction. A whale surfaced only a few feet away, releasing a blast of spray that showered Finn with fine droplets of water.
“Son of a—” He held his breath until it dove beneath him and the boat again. Wasn’t much that could creep up on him, and it was ironic that something so large did it effortlessly. He carried on rowing, glad for the adrenaline rush that fired up his nerves.
He tied up to the public dock but kept his face in the shadows as he moved swiftly along the village boardwalk. Up the road, past the Coast Guard station. The ship wasn’t back yet. He figured they’d be out at Crow Point for another day or so, protecting the wreck, making sure they got all their evidence—evidence and information he didn’t have access to.
He started jogging along the gravel road, not needing lights or signposts to guide his way. He knew it, the way a salmon recognized home.
There was nothing but forest around him, with the occasional house buried deep in the woods. There were hidden trails, but tonight it felt necessary to use the road. Five minutes later he came to a massive two-story log cabin topped with cedar shingles.
It was a house no ex-con should be ab
le to afford.
No law-abiding ex-con.
A shiver of unease stroked his spine.
The driveway was level and graveled, not pitted and overgrown the way it had been when they were boys. The shack had burned down years ago—a pyre of childhood memories. He ignored the ripple of antipathy that rose up inside him and the bombardment of images that flashed through his mind as he walked down that driveway. It was all ancient history now.
There were no lights shining on the property; Brent might not even be here.
He circled to the back of the house through the woods, watching for signs of movement. A flicker of red glowed on the porch that faced the Pacific in a head-on dare.
That was how his brother faced every challenge in his troubled, rage-filled life.
Finn stepped out of the woods and approached the bottom of the steps. The red glow burned brighter for a second. A cigarette.
“Figured you’d turn up sooner or later.”
Two years later to be exact. They hadn’t spoken since he quit the military. The day Brent had been released from prison, Finn and Thom had turned up to bring him home. Brent had wanted nothing to do with them. Finn had tried to talk to him a few times since but had been constantly rebuffed. It had gotten to the stage where it simply hurt too much to try to repair their tattered relationship, even if he’d known how.
“How’ve you been, Brent?”
A harsh laugh cracked the shadows. “I’ve been great, Finn. Fucking great. How was the army? Kill anyone?”
Anger simmered too close to the surface. “I did what I had to do.”
“What you were ordered to do.” Bitterness laced his brother’s tone.
“We both did what we had to do.”
The scrape of a chair grated across the deck as his brother climbed to his feet. “Is that your version of forgiveness? I don’t need your fucking forgiveness.”
“My forgiveness? You saved me.” Their father had beaten Finn unconscious with an iron bar. If it hadn’t been for Brent, he’d be dead. Worse, because Finn had been unconscious for much of the attack, the prosecuting attorney at Brent’s trial had created enough doubt in the jurors’ minds to suggest Brent might have been responsible for Finn’s injuries too. But Finn knew exactly who’d hurt him, and guilt expanded in his chest every time he saw his brother. Most days it almost suffocated him.
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