Troubled Waters

by Rachelle Mccalla

  With the vehicle in park, he took Tracie’s hand and met her eyes. “I’m sorry you had such an awful experience with Trevor. It makes me appreciate what a chance you took trusting me.”

  “I had to believe not all partners are awful.”

  “Can I walk you to your door?”

  “I think I can make it. You’ve got a long trip ahead of you.” She gave his hand a slight squeeze before dropping it and hopping out of the truck. Heath watched Gunnar come barreling through the doggie door to greet her as she approached the house.

  Loneliness swept over him as he watched Tracie play with the dog a moment before unlocking her front door and letting them in. She hadn’t even wished him good-night.

  Heath knelt beside his bed and folded his hands, a position he hadn’t assumed in over twenty years. But he’d decided since his conversation with Tracie that he was going to pray, and all his memories of what his nannies had taught him included kneeling to say his bedtime prayers.

  “Dear God,” he began, feeling self-conscious and awkward. “Heath here. I know it’s been a while since I checked in, but there’s a killer on the loose, after us. And I don’t know…” He sighed, feeling a thousand times more foolish already. Was God even listening to him?

  He felt just as he had as a child, knocking tentatively on his father’s office door, waiting for a gruff “come in,” before daring to turn the knob and make his request. So often, his father hadn’t even looked up from whatever he’d been working on. “Ask your mother,” he’d told him so many times, and Heath had gone to her, only to have her say, “Aren’t you a big boy now? Can’t you do that yourself?”

  The lesson had been deeply ingrained. If he wanted anything, it was up to him. His parents worked hard to keep a roof over his shoulders and food on the table. Surely God was much the same, hard at work running the universe, too busy to be bothered by Heath’s concerns.

  He hopped into bed and stared at the ceiling. “I want to know You,” he whispered into the dark.

  But there was no answer, and he soon fell asleep.

  Standing outside the Coast Guard station the next morning, Heath flexed his fingers in frustration, wishing he could be alone with the prisoner long enough to ask him about the submarine. Though Captain Sal had been questioned several times during his incarceration, he’d refused to reveal anything about his involvement in the diamond-smuggling ring, or even whether he’d been the one to shoot Trevor. But without evidence, a confession, or even a body, Sal couldn’t be charged with Trevor’s murder. Since he was wanted in Canada on several greater charges, he was being transferred. They’d have to cut through a lot of red tape before Heath could again come so close to talking to him.

  Heath and Tracie stood by while the Canadians finished making preparations for the transfer of the prisoner. They weren’t even to be allowed any contact with him, but were merely standing by to make sure the transfer of the high-profile criminal went smoothly.

  “There’s our man,” Tracie whispered as a door opened on the sheriff’s vehicle and two deputies stood on either side of Sal as he rose, his arms handcuffed in front of him.

  Heath watched as his last bid for the truth stepped doggedly toward the pier and the boat that would take him out of their reach. The deputies stepped back as Sal mounted the steps to the boat. Thwack! Thwack!

  The sound of bullets hitting flesh took Heath by surprise. A splash of red streaked the Canadian vessel and Sal reeled forward.

  “Man down!” someone shouted.

  Heath tried to guess the trajectory of the bullets, frantically searching for the gunman. Chaos erupted around them as men dived for cover. If Sal was fatally hit, as Heath was certain he had been, then there would be no future opportunity to question him. His only shot at the truth would be if he could wrangle a deathbed confession from him, much as Tim had whispered Trevor’s name before he died.

  Heath crouched down and stepped toward the boat.

  Thwump!

  Tracie let out a startled groan as she went down behind him.

  “Tracie!” Heath screamed, turning back to her. She was hit. He forgot all about Sal and scooped her up from where she’d fallen hard on the cement. A desperate feeling overtook him as he realized he might lose her.

  She blinked up at him. “He’s on the roof of the museum.” Her voice sounded weak as she lifted one hand and pointed toward the maritime museum half a block away.

  “The roof of the museum!” Heath shouted, looking where she pointed and seeing the flash of a dark figure ducking away. “The gunman’s on the museum roof! Don’t let him get away!”

  Officers scrambled everywhere, some clustered where Captain Sal had fallen, others heading for their vehicles while a few took off on foot in the direction he had pointed. The pandemonium faded to the background as Heath focused all his attention on Tracie. He still wasn’t sure how badly she’d been hit. His heart clenched and he felt as though he couldn’t breathe. Though he’d seen a lot of injuries during his years of service, none scared him as much as Tracie’s.

  “Go get him,” Tracie insisted, her rasping voice gaining strength as she struggled for breath. “I’m fine. Go after him.”

  “I’m not going to leave you.”

  Her eyes hardened, boring into his. “It’s Trevor.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Tracie let her head fall back as she let out an exasperated-sounding sigh. “He’s getting away.”

  But Heath wasn’t listening to her. He’d found the dent in her armor where the bullet had gone in. He plucked out the flattened bullet.

  “Look familiar?” Tracie questioned.

  He nodded. It looked much like the bullets that had hit him, only slightly less mushroomed. Of course, it had traveled a much greater distance before hitting her. He felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that she’d worn the vest he’d given her only the day before. Something like a prayer of thanks rose in his heart.

  “You need medical attention,” Heath cautioned her as she sat up.

  “Why? You didn’t.” She stood and grabbed her ribs where the shot had hit her, wincing visibly.

  “You need medical attention,” he repeated.

  She bit her lip but straightened to her full height. “You got hit with six of these?” she whispered, pain in her eyes.

  “Yeah. Kinda knock the air out of you, don’t they?”

  “Kinda,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

  He grinned. With an attitude like that, he knew she would be okay. He pulled her into his arms, not caring who was watching.

  But apparently she cared. “Heath, it’s okay. Just a stray bullet. I’ll be fine.”

  He stepped back and looked into her face. “You think that was a stray bullet?”

  She looked down, not meeting his eyes.

  “I’ve read all the files on our man Trevor,” he continued, “and everything says he was an expert marksman. He fired three shots today, as far as I can tell. Two of them took out Sal. Are you going to tell me he didn’t hit his intended target the third time?”

  Tracie looked up at him, biting her lower lip.

  “He waited until I stepped clear. He knew my vest blocked you the last time. Obviously he didn’t want that to happen again.” Emotion caught in his voice and he leaned closer to her. “Tracie, he’s trying to kill you. You, understand?”

  Pain filled her features as she finally met his eyes. “But why? Why me?”

  Heath pulled her back into his arms. “I don’t know.” He’d been asking the same question himself. “But we need to find out.”

  Tracie still felt tightness in her chest as she prepared to head home at the end of the day. Whether the sensation stemmed from fear or her injury, she wasn’t sure. Trevor had escaped once again. This time, she wasn’t the only one to get a good look at him, though. Gary, John and Mack had returned with bewildered expressions on their faces, and had shakily admitted to chasing after a man they’d been sure was dead. It had opened up a whole new elem
ent in the case. If Trevor was indeed still alive, as now seemed likely, he was wanted on murder charges—for killing a man named Mitchell Adams six weeks before, and now, for killing Captain Sal.

  When everyone else was gone from the office, Heath stuck his head around the side of Tracie’s cubicle. “You done for the day?”

  “Just finishing up,” she said, filing copies of her last two reports. As she shoved the file drawer shut, pain speared through her blunt force trauma wound, and she held her hand to the spot, sucking in a sharp breath and struggling not to show how badly she was hurt.

  But Heath was immediately at her side, his right hand covering hers as she pressed against the point of pain. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should have X-rays.”

  “What are they going to do? Put me in a full-body cast?” She shot back.

  Heath grinned at her. “You’re amazing, you know that? I’m so lucky to have you in my life.” He reached out and smoothed back a few hairs that had come loose from her chignon.

  Tracie froze. It would be so natural to lean into his arms, to let him hold her until she almost believed he could truly keep all the dangers that threatened her at bay. But she’d had a wake-up call the evening before when she’d discovered he had no relationship with God. She wouldn’t allow herself to fall for him under those circumstances, no matter how drawn to him she truly felt. After the way he’d responded earlier that day when she’d been shot, she’d realized he’d begun to have feelings for her. She couldn’t let that continue—for his sake, and for hers.

  “Heath,” she began hesitantly, looking up into his steel-blue eyes. “I need to apologize to you.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve been letting you get close to me, even though I barely know you. That’s not normal for me. I don’t move that fast.”

  An injured look flashed across his features.

  Tracie wasn’t sure how she could continue. She cared for him so much already. But she knew that getting involved with a man who didn’t share her faith would only lead to more hurt in the future. “I’d like you to back off.”

  “I respect that,” he said quietly, dropping his arms and taking half a step back.

  She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank you,” she said, though a part of her wanted to take back the statement, to draw him close again. She hardened her heart against the impulse.

  “So I guess that means you don’t want to have supper with me tonight?”

  The way he was being polite about it only made her feel that much worse. “Sorry.”

  EIGHT

  “Ready to head out?”

  Tracie nearly jumped when Heath popped his head inside her office Thursday morning. She’d been up to her forehead in paperwork, frantically trying to make some headway.

  “Be right there. Just let me run to the locker room a second.” She squeezed past him and headed down the hall, checking her watch as she went. Tim’s funeral was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes.

  The tiny women’s locker room was empty, as usual. There were only a couple of women who worked at the Coast Guard building. Tracie pulled open her locker, her mind scrambling over the details of the paperwork she’d deserted and the emotional upheaval of the funeral. She looked at her keys dangling from the hook inside her locker, and stopped short.

  Something wasn’t right.

  A creeping sensation tickled her neck as she squinted at her keys. Then she smelled it, so faintly she almost could have thought she’d imagined it. She could have shrugged it off, but she’d learned otherwise. Bolting for the door, she hurried to where Heath stood waiting for her.

  “Can you come take a look at this?”

  “In the women’s locker room?” He started in a lightly teasing voice, but then looked at her face and quickly sobered. He must have seen the fear in her expression. “What is it?”

  She led him to her locker. “Look.”

  “I see keys.”

  “These are my personal keys, to my house and my car.” Her hand trembled as she reached for them. With one finger, she turned the picture fob on her keychain, expecting to see Gunnar’s face grinning back at her.

  Instead, Trevor’s sneering face leered at her.

  She screamed and flew back.

  Heath grabbed the keys from her locker. “Why do you have a picture of Trevor on your keys?”

  “I don’t know!” She covered her face with her hands, as though by shielding her eyes she could hide from the reality of the threat she’d just discovered. “It’s supposed to be a picture of Gunnar on that side. I always hang my keys so his picture faces out, so I see him when I shut the door, and when I open it up again.” It was a silly little ritual, and she felt foolish admitting to it, but it had often brought her comfort, especially on days when everything else in her life was cold and oppressive.

  “So you think someone broke into your locker and changed the picture on your keychain?”

  She fought to hold back her fear as she nodded.

  “Who?”

  “Trevor.”

  Heath raised an eyebrow at her.

  “I smelled his cologne when I opened my locker. I noticed the keychain wasn’t facing the right way, I smelled his cologne, and I called for you. And now you’re here.” She blinked at him a few times, trying to think of what else she was supposed to say, so overwrought with fear she could hardly think straight. She wanted to scream.

  “What are these keys for?”

  She pointed to each one in turn. “My house, my garage, my car, this building, my office, my file cabinet, the drawer of my desk.”

  “None of them are missing?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure these are the original keys?”

  “They look like them.”

  “How long has it been since you left them in here?”

  “I came in at six. It’s going on ten now.”

  “And we should get to the funeral.” He settled a hand on her shoulder, and she could feel the security of his strength as it settled her rattled nerves. “Is there any place in town that makes copies of keys?”

  “Sure—the hardware store, the lumber company, probably the auto shop, maybe even some of the boating outfits, I don’t know. How much does a key-copying machine cost? He could have gone anywhere, to Ashland even, or he could have his own machine. Do you want to ask around and see if anybody saw him?”

  Heath looked down at her, his voice soothing. “We need to get to Tim’s funeral. Don’t worry about it right now. I’m with you. You’re safe.”

  The smile she mustered up felt weak, but just being close to Heath made her feel safer. She tried not to consider what it might mean if Trevor had copies of her keys.

  Heath was impressed at how quickly Tracie was able to pull herself together. Though she’d been horribly rattled by Trevor’s terror tactic, by the time they reached the church, her features didn’t look any more distraught than the typical mourner’s. But once the service started, her eyes began to leak tears. Heath wished there was more he could do to comfort her, but since she’d asked him the day before to back off, he felt at a loss.

  Ultimately, he knew the only way she’d be able to move on was for them to catch Trevor and bring him to justice. Much as he wanted to focus on the minister’s words, he couldn’t seem to tear his mind away from what Trevor had done that morning. He could have easily taken the keys without anyone knowing it. So why had he gone out of his way to let them know what he’d done? Was it just to scare Tracie? From what Heath knew of Trevor, he just might be twisted enough to do so. But after the attempt on her life the day before, he suspected Trevor had more sinister intentions.

  There was no burial service after the funeral. Tracie had informed him the frozen ground would be too difficult to dig through until spring thaw. Instead, the mourners gathered in the fellowship hall for coffee, bars and punch. As Heath stood beside Tracie, steaming foam cup in hand, he considered how quickly life could chan
ge. Just five days before, they’d stood there talking to Tim. Now he lay in a casket.

  “Tracie, I’m so glad to see you!” An attractive-looking woman approached with a man on her arm. After a quick hug, Tracie introduced them as Abby Caldwell and Scott Frasier. Heath recalled their names from the reports he’d read and Tracie’s discussion of their role in the case. Abby had been engaged to Trevor years before, though she was now engaged to Scott. She and Scott had discovered Trevor’s body off the rocky shore of Devil’s Island moments before Tracie had arrived on the scene. The testimony they gave had fully corroborated what Tracie had told him.

  “You made it.” Tracie beamed at the couple through tear-reddened eyes.

  “We had to.” Abby drew Scott into their circle. “I should have been a better friend to Tim. I let him down.”

  “You were there for him when he needed it most,” Tracie noted. “If he’d died two months ago, his story would have had a very different ending.”

  Heath considered Tracie’s words as Abby agreed with her. He knew Tim had only returned to his faith in recent weeks—the minister had built much of his message around that fact. Heath wondered what kind of ending his own story would have if something were to happen to him. He wasn’t entirely certain, and that thought made him feel uncomfortable.

  “I feel so bad for Kathy Price,” Abby’s words pulled Heath’s thoughts back to the conversation. “To have lost both her sons within a couple of months of each other. I can’t imagine what she must be feeling.”

  Heath imagined Kathy would feel even worse if she knew one of her sons had killed the other. Realizing Abby had almost become a member of the Price family years before, he wondered if she’d have insights into Tim and Trevor’s relationship no one else might have.

  “What about their father?” Heath asked, wondering why she hadn’t mentioned him.

  Shaking her head, Abby explained, “Tom Price died in the Gulf War.”