by Matt Lincoln
Fascinating. She couldn’t imagine the kinds of things he must have been through to receive those awards, but she figured it was probably intense.
The article didn’t say much about his personal life, so she went back to the search results to see if she could find anything more. There were several pieces from local news media that mentioned him as an agent in stories about his cases, arrests, and convictions. Not much about his Navy service beyond the general background information, but then, most of that stuff wouldn’t be easily accessible to the public.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t find out, though. After all, she was a journalist.
A few pages into the search results, she found a headline about the death of a Commander Franklin Marston. She clicked through and read the article with a tug of sadness. Franklin was Ethan’s father. A highly decorated Marine officer, he’d been killed in action overseas at the start of the Gulf War. According to the article, Ethan had been twelve years old at the time, and his mother had died of a heart condition five years before that.
She couldn’t help wondering what happened to twelve-year-old Ethan, who was apparently an only child after he’d lost both of his parents.
Suddenly unwilling to snoop around in Agent Marston’s life any further, Tessa closed the browser, set the laptop on the end table next to the couch, and indulged in a long stretch. It was still early, especially for a Sunday morning, and the free continental breakfast offered by the hotel probably had plenty of options still available, but she thought she’d just order breakfast from room service instead. The food was probably better, and she didn’t have to pay for it anyway.
Besides, if she left the room, the officers would most likely have to follow her. She wasn’t keen on the idea of wandering the hotel with a pair of uniformed cops in tow. She’d look like a convict… or a target.
Just as she stood to head for the room phone and call the front desk, there was a knock at the door, and she jumped a little. It was probably one of the officers. Maybe they’d heard her moving around and showering, and they wanted to check in now that she was presumably awake.
She crossed the room and looked through the peephole. The familiar face she saw waiting on the other side made her own break out in an unbidden smile.
“Ethan,” she said as she opened the door, “I didn’t expect you this early on a Sunday.”
He smiled with faint surprise. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be up and around yet, either, but I’m glad you are. Mind if I come in a minute?”
“Not at all.”
“Would you like some breakfast?” She stood aside, and then closed the door after him when he walked inside. She suddenly felt nervous and flustered with the memory of what she’d been doing a minute ago, prying into this man’s life like a stalker. She barely glanced at him as she headed for the main room. “I was just about to call room service. I could order you whatever you’d like.”
He didn’t respond. She stopped, turned around, and found him watching her with a bemused tilt of his head.
“Guess you haven’t been up long since you’re not exactly dressed yet,” he said.
“Oh! I, um…” she stammered, at once acutely aware of the nothing she was wearing beneath the hotel robe. “Breakfast?” she blurted out.
His laugh was gentle and warm, without a trace of mockery. “Actually, I’m not real big on breakfast. I appreciate the offer, though, and I did bring coffee. Hope you don’t mind cream and sugar.”
She finally realized he was carrying a foam coffee cup in each hand, and heat crept up the back of her neck and spread to her face. How had she not noticed that?
“It’s perfect. Thank you,” she said as she accepted the cup he held out to her. “You can probably tell I haven’t had any of this yet today.”
“Clearly.” A small smile played on his lips. “Why don’t we sit down?”
She nodded in relief. “Good idea.”
Tessa took a seat on the couch where she’d been using the laptop, and she was surprised at the disappointment she felt when Ethan sat on the other couch, opposite her. It was nothing personal, probably just easier to talk when they were facing each other, but she liked being near him.
Her blush returned as she considered exactly how much closer she wanted to be, and she pushed the idea away. That was not appropriate.
Ethan watched her for a moment, almost as if he could read her thoughts. She tried not to squirm. Finally, he flipped the plastic tab on his coffee cup open and took a sip.
“Did you manage to get any sleep last night?” he asked.
His concern touched her, and she smiled. “Actually, yes. I knew I was safe. What about you?”
“Oh, I slept like a baby after we got our suspect in custody,” he said.
She gasped. “You caught him?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate, but concern filled his features. “Unfortunately, it’s doubtful that he was acting alone. That means you’ll have to keep the police detail until we can put this whole thing to bed.”
“So I’m still in danger,” she said as she tried to keep the disappointment from her face. “I guess I can’t go back to the beach and finish my photo shoot, then?”
“Not yet. Hopefully soon, though.”
It wasn’t that much of a surprise, but she had hoped for a moment that with the immediate danger gone, she could get back to work. She’d probably have to call Donald tonight and explain at least some of what happened. It looked like her stay in Florida was going to be extended.
“All right,” she said. “You’ll tell me when it’s safe to go back?”
“Of course,” Ethan said with a smile. “You know, you’re a lot more cooperative than my witnesses usually are.”
“Really?”
He laughed under his breath. “Yeah. A lot of them think I’m exaggerating the danger, or they decide they can take care of themselves. Until they find out that bravado doesn’t deflect bullets.”
“Ugh.” She shivered a bit. “Well, at least I know I’m not bulletproof. My parents didn’t raise any fools.”
“Good to know.” He smiled and sipped his coffee, thankfully missing her subtle wince as she thought about what she’d just said… and why reacting would be a bad idea, since she really shouldn’t know that he’d been orphaned at twelve. “Anyway, I just stopped by to give you the good-news, bad-news report,” he said as he stood. “I have to get to the office. Got a suspect to interrogate.”
Tessa got up with him and realized she hadn’t even touched her coffee yet. She popped the lid open and took a sip so she wouldn’t appear ungrateful, finding the coffee still warm and not half-bad. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it,” she said. “Ethan, would you—”
She cut herself off before she said what would basically amount to asking him on a date.
“Would I what?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.
“Nothing,” she murmured. “I was going to ask if you wanted to have dinner with me tonight, but that would be…”
“I’d love to,” he said into the space of her awkward silence.
She blinked. “You would?”
“Don’t look so surprised.” There was amusement in Ethan’s gaze, and something more. Something that made Tessa’s insides flutter with breathless anticipation. “It may seem like it, but I’m not my job all the time. Besides, I can still protect you when I’m off duty.”
She bit her lip and glanced away briefly. Now she couldn’t tell if he’d agreed because he liked her or because he felt obliged to keep her safe. “Thank you,” she said uncertainly. “How… uh, how should we work this?”
For an instant, she thought he looked frustrated, but his expression cleared quickly. “I’m not sure exactly how much time I’ll have to put in at the office, but unless something drastic comes up, I can pick you up around six,” he said. “You’ll be here?”
“Yes. I’m going to stay in today,” she said. “Until you get here.”
“Good.” He seemed pleased that she
didn’t have plans to wander around town placing herself in harm’s way. “You have my number. Call me if you need anything, and I’ll see you tonight.”
She managed to smile and stay pleasant as she walked him to the door, as she received brief introductions to the officers that had come on shift earlier that morning to replace the ones who’d guarded her through the night, as Ethan dismissed himself and turned to head for the elevators. After she closed the door on the rest of the world and went back to the couch, she sank down and released a long, unsteady breath.
Even though they’d caught the shooter, it wasn’t over yet.
There was still someone out there trying to kill her.
Chapter 17
My little misstep with Tessa was still niggling at me when I got to the office. That line about protecting her while I was off duty, I hadn’t meant to say it out loud since I’d finally admitted to myself that my interest in her wasn’t purely business.
She’d definitely picked up on it, though. I’d seen the uncertainty in her expression when I mentioned protection and duty, and I knew what she was thinking. She figured my accepting her invitation to dinner was part of the job and probably thought I was being polite.
I’d just have to prove that idea wrong tonight.
Holm’s desk was empty when I walked into the squad room, but Griezmann and Birn were in their usual places, which was actually unusual.
“What are you two doing here on a Sunday?” I asked.
They both looked up, and Griezmann flashed a grin. “Cleaning up after you,” she said.
Meisha Griezmann was a flawless, curvy redhead who looked more like she was playing a federal agent on TV than an actual, working law enforcement officer. That was one of her biggest advantages in the field because looks were deceiving and she could kick just about anyone’s ass without breaking a sweat.
“Yeah, what she said.” In contrast to his seemingly delicate-flower partner, Lamarr Birn looked like the business end of a tank. Hit like one, too. “How much of a paper trail do you have on this asshole, anyway?”
“What, you mean Francke? About a mile, give or take,” I said with a laugh. “You know how much the director loves documentation.”
Birn grunted and rolled his eyes. “Hence, our presence on Sunday morning,” he quipped.
“At least it’s all about volume, not organization,” Griezmann said. “There’s more than enough here to make the conviction stick. Nice work, Marston.” She frowned around her computer screen at me. “Speaking of nice work, why’d you and Holm get pulled off the case at the last minute? Not that I want your murder or anything. I’m just curious.”
I snorted. “One word. Clearance.”
“Say no more,” she said with a knowing smile.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to spit out a flustered-looking Holm with his tie tugged loose and his gear bag jammed under one arm, a cup of coffee clutched in the other.
“Sorry I’m late,” he grumbled as he stalked toward his desk. “You wouldn’t believe the traffic in my neighborhood. I mean, it’s Sunday, for God’s sake.”
Birn let out a low chuckle. “Exactly. See, there’s this thing called ‘church’, you know? Some folks go there occasionally on Sunday mornings.”
“You go to church, Birn?”
“Every week,” he said. “When I’m not doing your paperwork, you godless heathen.”
Holm struggled against a laugh. “How do you sit on those skinny wooden bench things without breaking them?”
“Strength comes from the Lord,” Birn said with a straight face, and then cracked a smirk, “and also from the sections of reinforced pews at the back.”
Holm’s laugh broke free. “I’d pay good money to see you singing church songs.”
“Hey, admission is free. Come down anytime.”
“Are you trying to convert me, Agent Birn?”
“Okay,” I said, fighting a smile myself. “Much as I’m sure we’d all love to hear Lamarr’s rendition of ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus,’ we’ve got work to do. Ours is downstairs, Holm.”
“Aww. No singalong?” Greizmann pouted playfully. “I’ve got a great falsetto, you know.”
I shook my head. “Yeah, I bet you do. Raincheck?”
“Any time you want it.”
Holm stowed his stuff and pulled himself together before we headed for the elevator. I placed a call to holding on the way down and made arrangements to have Benta brought to an interrogation room. Once we reached the basement, I led the way to the lab.
“I want him to stew in there for a bit,” I explained at Holm’s questioning look. “Plus, I’m hoping Bonnie and Clyde have our evidence ready to nail him with.”
“Right. Good plan,” he said.
Not as good as I wanted, but it was the best plan I had at the moment.
In the lab, the dynamic duo was already up and about. Of course, it was possible they hadn’t even gone to bed last night. Clyde made a beeline toward us, scooping a thin manila folder from the surface of the main table on his way.
“Got those pictures you wanted,” he said with a smile. “Had to do a little digital reconstruction, but I’d say there’s about a ninety-five percent chance of positive identification. That camera with the original photos was seriously high-grade.”
“Thanks,” I said as I opened the folder. Ninety-five percent was a good number, but even if the positive ID stuck, it only placed Benta at the scene definitely after the murder.
They were incredibly clear shots, though. Inside the folder were blown-up images of a face and part of an upper body above a rock border. The face definitely belonged to Agay Benta, and it was angry. Murderous, if one were inclined to give that expression a more precise description.
Still, it wasn’t enough. The Black Mambas had slipped from the grasp of law enforcement with more evidence than this.
“What about the gun?” I said, referring to the weapon we’d collected after the chase last night. “Tell me it’s the murder weapon.”
“We can prove that, more or less,” Clyde said with a slight wince. “I mean, there are some anomalies in the tests that we ran, but again, it’s a good percentage. Ninety percent chance of a match, at least, and his prints are on the weapon, so there’s that. However, uh…” He paused and cleared his throat. “There are multiple sets of prints on the gun. At least three, including the suspect’s. So that gets a bit muddled.”
Damn it, how the hell did these guys manage to get wiggle room built into forensic evidence? Even with the high probabilities on both pieces of evidence, a really good lawyer had a chance at winning the case, and Cobra Jon had really good lawyers.
The only sure thing here was a confession. Apparently, I’d have to get one.
“Okay, this is good work. It’ll help when I talk to the guy,” I said in an attempt to bolster Clyde’s crestfallen expression as I handed the folder off to Holm. I knew he’d want a look, too. “Did Bonnie find anything else?”
“She did,” Bonnie announced as she emerged from the back room, looking far too happy for this hour of the morning. “I analyzed those wood splinters found in the victim’s feet. They’re from a StanCraft Twin Arrow.” She bumped Clyde out of the way and pulled up something on the monitor, part of an investigation report. “Looks like that’s Cobra Jon’s favorite model. He has ten of them registered to his … er, fishing charter company, Bahamas Bass.”
“Yeah, right,” I snorted. Everyone knew that charter company was a front for smuggling, but somehow, magically, his boats never got boarded or searched by any port authority. “Okay, so we’ve got a potential way to tie the victim directly to Cobra Jon. Any way to make a positive ID on the boat?”
“Sure.” Bonnie shook her head and gave a slanted smile. “Find the rest of it.”
I started to crack a joke, but then I caught a glimmer, the beginnings of an idea. If there really was a shipwreck out there somewhere, we might be able to use it for more than just proving that Sweeting
had been associated with Cobra Jon. In order to pull it off, though, we’d need a little more information than what we had to work with at the moment.
“Hey, I know that look,” Holm said suddenly. “What’s on your mind, partner?”
I blinked and tucked the idea to the back of my thoughts for now. “Nothing just yet. I have to take a crack at Benta, and then I might know more. Guess I’ll just go in with what we’ve got. It should be enough.”
“Oh, wait! I’ve got something else for you too,” Bonnie said excitedly as she tapped at the keyboard. The image of the report vanished, to be replaced by a computer-generated 3D image of a large, simple wooden boat with four oar locks, two on each side, and a familiar icon burned into the hull.
“This is your pinnace,” she said. “I got the results from the carbon dating, and this baby dates back to 1687. That sounds like the right year to me.”
A grin tugged at my mouth. “Bingo,” I said softly.
The Dragon’s Rogue had been commissioned and built in 1687 for an English nobleman, Lord Jonathan Finch-Hatton, who’d set off for the Caribbean only to lose his grand ship to pirates on its maiden voyage. The fate of the Englishman was unknown, but under the command of Captain Guilford ‘Mad Dog’ Grendel, the ship had terrorized the seas for five years before vanishing during a typhoon in 1692.
“I’m running DNA tests on the remains, too,” Bonnie said. “I mean, there won’t be anything for him specifically, but we may be able to find a modern relative and trace him back through genealogy.”
“You know it’s a him?” Holm asked.
Bonnie’s head bobbed a few times. “Absolutely. Male Caucasian, approximately 45 years of age. Cause of death was dehydration, though he’d also been shot and had a broken leg when he died.”
“Wow. And you got all that from a skeleton, huh?”
“I’m going to get a lot more,” she said and then turned to me. “You should go back to that cave, see if you can find anything else in there.”
“Yeah, I think I will. Pretty soon, probably,” I said. Maybe I’d go back there with Tessa while she finished her photo shoot. I knew she was chomping at the bit to return to the scene, and I wouldn’t mind spending more time with her. Especially on a warm, deserted beach.