Thirty minutes in, Ryan’s voice came through the earbud Adam was wearing. “I’ve got something. This one feels like a briefcase.” A briefcase would have the right dimensions based on what they had seen from the sonar. The distance from the bridge made sense too.
But the initial thrill of the find was replaced by disappointment. A briefcase wasn’t waterproof. Whatever was in there . . .
“Adam, give Gabe a call,” Anissa said. “He’ll want to be here when we open this.”
He placed the call as the team followed all the steps necessary to bring the briefcase to the surface. Ryan did everything he was supposed to do. He marked the briefcase with a buoy and took photographs underwater, and then the team on land took pictures of the buoy once it reached the surface.
Ryan and Anissa took their time ascending. They’d been down long enough that they had to make a five-minute safety stop when they got within ten feet of the surface. Nothing in that briefcase was worth getting decompression sickness over. When they got the briefcase to the shore, they handed it off to Adam.
Gabe arrived while Lane and Adam were setting up a secure area to open the briefcase away from prying eyes.
Once they had everything situated, Ryan and Anissa, still in their suits, stayed back as Gabe opened it. Water gushed out.
Great. This didn’t bode well for the contents. The only way to recover wet documents was to let them dry completely. And they really didn’t have that much time.
Gabe reached into the briefcase and removed something. It wasn’t the glob of wet paper Adam had been expecting. It looked more like a stack of laminated photographs. “Adam, will you take a look at these?”
“Why me?”
“Some of these places look like pretty high-end establishments,” Gabe said. “Some private homes. I’m hoping you’ll recognize some of them.”
Adam recognized all of them.
“Gabe, if you don’t mind, the rest of us are going to go pack up,” Anissa said.
“Oh, sorry,” he said. “If I can keep Adam, then we’re good. Thank you.”
When the others had left, Gabe tapped the photos. “Okay. What am I looking at?”
“That’s Senator Carson’s house. That’s Gus Johnson’s boat. That’s the Van Storber spa.” Adam flipped to another photo showing an image of a door. “That’s The Back Door.”
“No kidding,” Gabe said. “The back door to what?”
“It’s a restaurant.” Adam handed him the photo. “It’s called The Back Door.”
“Never heard of it.” Gabe handed him another photo.
“They don’t advertise.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t need to.”
“I don’t get that,” Gabe said. “Restaurants need people talking them up. They need to get their name out. They need people to be able to tell where they are. Where is this place?”
“It’s in a small building not far from the marina. And they have plenty of people talking about them. Last time I checked, they’re booked about six months out.”
“Have you eaten there?” Gabe asked.
“I have. Food’s good. But their big draw is their exclusivity. They have seating for fifty. You eat whatever the chef is serving. There’s no menu. It’s a foodie’s paradise. And the kind of place movers and shakers like to take their clients . . . to show they can.”
Adam pointed to the photographs spread in front of him. “I can’t figure out the connection. We have three restaurants. A couple of private residences. A spa. A hotel. A boat . . .”
“Are any of them yours?”
“If by ‘yours’ you mean do any of them belong to a Campbell, then the answer is no.”
“Not even the hotel?”
“It’s not one of ours.”
“I thought your family owned all of them.”
“No,” Adam said. “This is The Porterhouse. It’s been here for seventy years or so. The Sullivan family owns it, but they’ve farmed out the running of it to some company that specializes in boutique hotels. I don’t think they’re even on-site anymore.”
Gabe frowned at the photo. “I thought the Campbells owned everything.”
Adam hated talking about the family business. To anyone. But this time he didn’t have much choice. “Point of clarification—we do not own the entire town.”
“Close enough,” Gabe said.
“Look, my great-grandfather had four sons. He was a hard worker and did quite well for himself. All four of his sons stayed in the area. Two of them opened up their own businesses while he was still alive, and two of them took over the businesses he’d started. When he passed away, his sons had added to his already successful ventures, and their children and grandchildren are still operating most of those businesses to this day. But just because something has ‘Campbell’ on it doesn’t mean I know much about it. There are a lot of Campbells in town, and I don’t have Sunday lunch with my fourth cousins.”
“Okay, but I thought it was your branch of the Campbells that had the hotels.”
Gabe was going to keep asking until he spelled it out for him. He might as well do it now and save himself the trouble of having to do it later.
“My grandfather owned five different businesses at one time. He sold two of them decades ago to a couple of his nephews. The primary holding company—which my father runs—has three main divisions: finance, real estate, and hospitality. Within those divisions are everything from accounting firms to general contracting to hotels and restaurants.”
“What about your dad’s siblings? Why didn’t they get any of the businesses?”
“My dad is the oldest of three. My uncle Stuart and my aunt Margaret and her husband, Derrick Lawson, own DOR. DOR was part of the hospitality division years ago before they split off on their own.”
“Why all the splitting?”
Adam tried to keep his tone civil. Even though the implication irked him, he had to admit it was a fair question. “Would you like to work with your family every day? Or be fifty years old and have your fifty-two-year-old brother for your boss?”
“Ah.”
“There were a couple of spectacular blowups during my grandfather’s time. But my dad and his siblings kept things much more civil. No drama. Just a division of labor and assets that worked for everyone.”
“So, back to these photographs. Why would she bring them to you and why would she have thrown them away?”
“No idea. But I’ll go through them and try to figure out what the unifying theme is. Maybe when Sabrina has a chance to go through the files she found, we’ll be able to come up with something.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Something about Gabe’s query set off warning bells in Adam’s mind.
“I guess.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but . . . have you ever actually asked Sabrina out?”
“Whoa. Where is this coming from? And what does this have to do with the case?”
“Who said it had anything to do with the case? I thought we had covered everything case related and could move on to something more interesting. Like your love life. Or lack thereof.”
“I really don’t—”
“I know everyone thinks I don’t have the ability to maintain a long-term relationship.” Gabe shrugged. “And I don’t disagree with them. But you know what I do know? I know women like to be asked out. They don’t like some guy to assume they’re an item without ever bothering to be sure they are.”
Adam tried to come up with a crushing reply, but . . . he had nothing. Gabe had a point. A terrifyingly good point.
“You want Sabrina in your life, then quit goofing off. We all know the girl can barely tell when we’re joking or serious. You’ve probably got her in knots about the signals you’ve been sending. If you ask me—”
“Which I didn’t.”
“But you should have.” Gabe didn’t miss a beat. “If you ask me, you need to woo her.”
“Woo her?” Who used woo in a sentence t
hese days?
“Friendship is a wonderful basis for a relationship, man. Probably the best there is. But if you want that girl in your life, you’re going to have to man up and be bold about it. Quit dancing around it and tell her. Show her. Sweep her off her feet.”
“I agree,” Ryan said.
Where had he come from? He’d changed out of his dry suit and was back in dry clothes. “What is this? Some sort of relationship intervention?”
“No. Just friendly advice.” Ryan ran his hands through his hair. “You need to ask her out.”
“Like you did? Because I seem to recall that Leigh fell hard for you before your first date,” Adam said.
“Well, the fact that someone was trying to kill her put a damper on the dating options, but she knew where we stood,” Ryan said. “She knew how I felt. She wasn’t having to guess.”
Gabe snorted. “Adam, do yourself a favor and do not use Ryan as an example of how to get a girl to go out with you. But do listen to him. And to me. We can all see how crazy you are about her. And I’m pretty sure she’s as into you as you are into her. But you’re going to have to give her something to work with. Sabrina’s not the kind of girl to come after you. You’re going to have to go after her.”
“I’m not sure she wants me to.”
“Yeah, that’s where the asking part comes in.” Gabe spoke like he was trying to explain something to an eight-year-old. “You ask her out. She says yes or no. Then you know.”
Adam didn’t argue. He couldn’t. But it burned him up that his friends had seen something he’d missed.
“I’ll see you guys back at the office.” He grabbed his phone. A plan was forming in his mind and if he called now, he might be able to put phase one into effect today.
It was time to see if Gabe and Ryan were right.
Or completely wrong.
13
The buzzer at the exterior door of the lab pulled Sabrina away from the monitor she’d been staring at for the past several hours. Her clock told her it was almost four.
“We’ve got company, Dr. Fleming.” Dave, the officer who’d escorted her to the lab, smiled. “But it isn’t unexpected. Let me go out and speak to him.”
“Okay.” It had taken her over an hour to get her new phone set up. She must have missed something. A phone call or a message maybe. Dave didn’t seem concerned. She’d been so focused on the video surveillance and the files she’d sent to Mike, she hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten.
A few clicks of the mouse and she had a view of what was going on in the hallway. Dave was standing outside the door chatting with a teenager holding a massive bouquet of . . . lavender roses.
No one but Adam would send her a bouquet like that.
She gripped the sides of the desk and pulled herself to her feet. She suspected the blast had pulled every single muscle in her body. She hurt in places she hadn’t known it was possible to hurt.
She shuffled her way out of her office.
“Dr. Fleming, these came for you.” Dave handed the flowers to her.
“Are you sure they’re safe?” She was only half joking.
“Yes, ma’am. I checked them out.”
Apparently, Dave wasn’t joking. Okay then. “Thank you.”
Sabrina carried the vase to her desk and positioned the flowers where she could see them regardless of which monitor she was using. She took several deep breaths, the fragrance soothing a place she hadn’t realized was agitated until it calmed.
There was no card, but she didn’t need one.
Adam had sent her flowers.
Flowers she actually liked, so unlike the garish red bouquet still sitting by the door where Darren had left it . . . had it been only yesterday?
Why would Adam send her flowers? He’d seemed very cold to her this morning. Not that she didn’t deserve it. She folded her arms on her desk and dropped her head. She was incredibly tired. And confused.
Her office phone rang. Adam’s number.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
“Thank you for the flowers.”
“How do you know they’re from me? I’m sure you have many ardent admirers.”
“It was you. And they are . . . stunning. Perfect. I keep staring at them. And they smell amazing.”
“I’m glad.” The pause that followed hummed with a kind of anticipation that sent a shiver down her spine. “Listen, I hate to be all business, but Gabe is trying to see who can meet here at the office around four thirty to compare notes. We have a lot of moving parts and right now none of them make much sense.”
Huh. Business hadn’t been the direction she’d been expecting their conversation to go. “Sure. I assume Dave can escort me?”
“He can.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” She should hang up and let it go, but she couldn’t. “Wait. Adam . . . why did you send the flowers?”
Silence. Had he hung up and not heard her question? “Adam?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you hear me?”
“I’m trying to think of how to respond.”
Adam Campbell at a loss for words? That didn’t happen every day. “I’d go with honesty. But that’s just me. We all know my filter’s weird.”
He laughed. “Your filter is weird. But okay. I’ll tell you, but remember you asked.”
That sounded . . . ominous.
“When we met a couple of years ago, our relationship was, by necessity, professional. But then . . . it wasn’t. And along the way, I messed up.”
“Oh.” What had he messed up?
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last night. And earlier today I was prepared to go quietly and leave you alone, even if it killed me to do it. You’re an intelligent woman who knows her own mind and can make her own decisions.”
In theory. Although at the moment she wasn’t so sure about that.
“But I think it’s important for you to have all the facts first. And the next time I see you, and when you aren’t on pain medicine, I intend to revisit our conversation from last night.”
“The facts?” She liked facts. “Such as?”
“Here’s a fun fact. When my father met my mother, he sent her a bouquet of flowers the next day. And then the next time he saw her, he asked her out.”
He’d sent flowers.
“That’s an interesting fact. Very romantic.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“So . . .”
“If I hadn’t been too chicken to do it, I would have sent you flowers—these specific flowers—the day after we met.”
A sound in the background filtered through the phone.
“Ugh.” Adam’s frustration was evident. “I’m sorry. I have to go. But I promise we’ll talk—about the flowers—soon.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you in a little while. Stick close to Dave. He’s a good guy.”
Sabrina hung up the phone and studied the flowers. Adam said he would have sent these specific flowers the day after they’d met. Lavender roses weren’t cheap. This arrangement had two dozen roses in it and deep green leaves. The vase was crystal, not glass.
Purple was her favorite color, so it would be easy to assume he’d sent them because he knew that.
But he wouldn’t have known that the day after they met.
Lavender roses were unique. They weren’t apology flowers. They weren’t “Let’s be friends” flowers. Adam knew how much she enjoyed discovering the meaning behind different types of flowers and he would know lavender flowers went way beyond “I like you” or even “I’d like to see where this is going.”
Lavender roses conveyed the idea of love at first sight.
That kind of instantaneous infatuation was an idea she’d never believed in, but somehow she had a feeling Adam wasn’t kidding.
Was she okay with that?
Her mind said she shouldn’t be.
But her heart . . . her heart was soaring.
<
br /> Thirty minutes later, Dave escorted Sabrina into the sheriff’s office. “You’ll be okay from here?” he asked.
“Yes.” She made her way upstairs to the large room where the investigative team worked. The homicide investigators had their own room off to one side, but most of the other investigators worked at desks arranged around the room by area. Adam wasn’t at his desk. She skirted the edge of the room and peeked into the homicide office.
He stood staring at a wall covered in photos and random papers. No matter what her mind thought about the situation, she couldn’t deny the way her pulse quickened at the sight of him.
A low groan escaped as he rolled his neck from one side to the other.
“Are you okay?”
Adam made a slow turn toward her. “Come on in.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He grinned. “I have a new appreciation for how the Wicked Witch of the East must have felt when Dorothy’s house landed on her. But at least I’m still walking around and no one stole my shoes. How are you?”
“I . . . don’t know.” Sabrina closed the door behind her.
She’d never been this confused in her life. She cared about Adam. More than she should. More than she’d realized she did until this morning when he’d been so . . . not her Adam. But the fact that she cared that much was exactly why she had to stay away from him. She had to, for his own sake.
But if she was determined to stay away, why was she walking toward him?
He didn’t move as she approached. “Thank you for the flowers. They are . . . I don’t even know how to describe them. It killed me to leave them in my office.”
He swallowed hard and cleared his throat but still didn’t move. “How’s your head?”
“Better than yesterday. Is it soon yet?”
Adam’s eyes widened. “Um . . . I’m pretty sure you still have a concussion.”
“Yes, I do. Which is why it would be cruel to keep me waiting. The stress is making my headache worse.”
In Too Deep Page 16
