by Patti Larsen
Our relationship might not have been perfect or as close as me and Daisy, but the rekindling of our friendship since she’d taken over as mayor—and revealed to me the truth of why she was in bed with the Pattersons—had taken the last of the edge off our mutual animosity. As had the realization we had a mutual enemy in the (murder) drowning of her brother, Victor.
These days, just seeing Robert’s 70’s ‘stache and beer gut made me want to throw up for more than one reason.
It didn’t help that Liz kept shooting angry looks at MC or that her diver friend wouldn’t meet her eyes. The room was uncomfortable enough as it was, and despite the fact Mom’s delicious cooking was even more incredible than ever, every bite tasted flat and empty in my mouth.
It wasn’t until we were silently staring at our dessert bowls of fresh biscuits slathered in crushed strawberries and vanilla ice cream that the mood in the room changed. And not for the better. Because despite the fact the doors to the dining room were closed and the “Private Function” sign had been set out, at least one of the two men who pushed their way through didn’t seem to care he wasn’t invited.
Gregg grinned all around before helping himself to the only empty seat at the table. Oh. My. God. He sat in Dad’s chair. Okay, so not officially or anything, but that was always where my father sat when we used the dining room for family purposes and the sight of Mr. Asshat with his butt in my dad’s seat almost set me off.
I didn’t get the chance to react, not when he happily helped himself to a serving of Mom’s strawberry shortcake, sitting back and taking a big bite while Martin remained standing, as though trying to hide behind Gregg’s chair, distinctly uncomfortable. I wanted to say something, do something, in response to his blatant arrogance. But I was honestly so floored by his clear show of don’t give a crap I couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Gregg polished off his serving in a few hearty bites before setting the bowl aside and nodding to Mom. “Delicious,” he said and rose to his feet, in his mind a welcome guest satisfied with himself, winking at Liz. “See you all in the morning.” And then, just like that, he strolled out as though nothing untoward had happened and this was all just tickity-boo.
Was it possible to despise someone so much you couldn’t breathe?
Apparently, that’s a yes.
“God damn it, MC.” Liz’s fist slammed down on the table, making everyone jump, Daisy letting out a little meep of nerves before covering her mouth with both hands. The FBI agent instantly looked contrite, inhaling sharply with that same fisted hand now reaching out toward my bestie. “I’m sorry, everyone.” She visibly pulled herself together, though she was clearly still angry when she again focused on the Tortuga team leader. “You had to know he was going to pull a stunt like this.”
MC shrugged, tossed her dark ponytail over her shoulder, the freckles on her tanned nose meeting as she scowled at her friend. “Gregg Brown is always a possibility,” she said, voice low and angry. “And not my fault, Liz.” She finally did meet another gaze, but it was first mine, then my silent husband’s. “Fee, Crew, I’m sorry about this. But I made you a promise. We all did.” Chantal and Anja might not have looked happy either, but they both nodded their agreement as MC went on. “If there is a treasure to be found, we’ll find it.” She stood abruptly, tossing her napkin to the table, nodding to Mom. “Dinner was amazing, Lucy. Daisy, thanks for getting us set up. And now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to turn in early.” She strode out without another word, her dive team hesitating before also rising to their feet.
“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Chantal said right to Liz who grunted and shrugged sharply.
“This isn’t her fault,” Anja spoke up before Chantal shot her an angry look. “It’s no one’s fault,” she hurried on, as if placation was necessary. “He’s a predator and we either have to work with him or stay ahead of him.”
“Or we could shoot him,” Liz growled. “That’s what I’d do with a predator. Put it down before it could do any more harm.”
Crew sighed softly, face no longer blank and quiet, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Careful, Agent Michaud,” he said. “You do know this town has a reputation for murder, right?”
“Makes her the prime suspect,” I said, silently thanking Crew for lightening the mood. Even Mom giggled a little, Daisy’s faint smile but giant eyes showing her nervousness.
“I guess he’d better not end up dead, then,” Liz snarled. And relented with her own headshake and tight grin, eyes narrowed. “Then again, no body, no crime.”
Not exactly accurate, but we all laughed. Yup, going to hell, the lot of us.
Chantal and Anja said their good nights, leaving my little posse in quiet contemplation. Funny that Mom didn’t even try to rise, clear the table, bustle off like she always did. Instead, she sat, quiet and with her napkin clutched in her lap, on the other side of Crew, between him and Daisy, while Liz’s fingertips tapped over and over on the bell of her water glass.
“Clearly you know more about him than we do,” Crew said, leaning forward, one big hand taking mine absently. Comforting, knowing his default was touching me in some way.
Liz tossed her own napkin before crossing her arms over her chest, white button up straining across her shoulders, black dress jacket draped over the back of her chair. She didn’t let her hair down often—proverbially speaking—but seemed comfortable enough with us to shed the shell of her persona and show us the real Liz under the suit.
“I’ve known MC forever,” she said. “We dove together when we were kids, got our diving certifications together. She’s always wanted to hunt treasure, I told you that.” Liz’s scowl didn’t change but her tone of voice flattened out. “She met Gregg about a dozen years ago, in Roatan, I think.”
Crew grunted softly. “Honduras?”
She nodded. “They were doing their DMT together.”
My husband squeezed my hand. “Dive master training,” he said.
I didn’t comment as Liz went on. “Gregg convinced her to go on a treasure dive with him and MC was hooked.” She made a face, lips twisting, eyebrow arching. “In more ways than one. He had her convinced he was in love with her and they were the perfect team. Yada. Yada.” Liz tsked softly under her breath before going on. “They didn’t last, but that didn’t stop MC from going back to him over and over again when he called. Every time he screwed her over, every time. But she just couldn’t seem to shake him.”
“And Hannah?” I felt for the woman, though honestly, she had to have known what she was marrying. Grunt.
Liz eye rolled. “Fell for his charm,” she said, “what little he has.” Snort. “Their marriage supposedly put an end to MC and Gregg. Or so she told me.” She slapped both of her thighs with aggressive attention. “I should have known better.”
Daisy surprised me by speaking up. “Hannah blames MC for her marriage issues.” She seemed equally shocked she’d spoken but Liz nodded to her in support.
“Because women are idiots about men,” the agent growled.
Hmmm. Made me wonder about Liz’s relationship history.
Fee. Mind your own business already.
“I’m not going to lie,” Liz said, leaning ahead, hands clasped in front of her, forearms straddling the bowl of melting ice cream dessert. “I’m nervous about them diving together.” She stared down into the mess and shrugged. “But, I have to admit, she’s right about one thing. If there’s a treasure to be found, Gregg will find it.”
We broke up our little party a short time later, without much more to say about the matter. Not like we had much choice, right? Or did we? I let Crew leave without me, pausing to help Daisy lock up the annex, Mom heading for the kitchen and cleanup. Day went one way—upstairs—and I went the other—down the back hall—while my head spun and I thought about calling the whole thing off.
I hated not being in control of what was going on. Hated it. And, as I exited the back hall with a bag of garbage for the dumpster, my anxiety a
bout the whole plan ramped up at the sight of two people arguing in the dark in heated whispers.
Because it wasn’t MC and Gregg, or even Hannah and Gregg who huddled just outside the back deck light, hands gesturing in angry waves at each other. Nope. It was Gregg, sure. But the woman having the fight with him?
Surprise, surprise. It was Chantal.
***
Chapter Seven
Then again, maybe not so surprising, but their intense conflict reached the point, as I watched, that she actually looked like she was going to hit him. But not before she looked up and caught me watching, likely with my mouth hanging open.
The two went their separate ways, Gregg brushing past me with his now characteristic wink while Chantal disappeared through the serving door to the dining room. Avoiding me? Hardly took a massive pass of deductive reasoning to reach that assumption.
Part of me prodded at my curiosity to go after her and find out what was going on while the rest of me—the tired and flustered and suddenly overwhelmed part that preferred the arms of my loving husband to pursuit of whatever private issue Chantal might have had with Captain Annoying—shrugged and went about her business.
You know what? Regardless of what happened with this treasure hunt, the actual hunting part wasn’t the point. So who cared, if it came down to it, which of the people we’d hired and accidentally allowed into our investigation via a loaded contract uncovered the actual Reading hoard?
That was me. Mrs. Brightside.
Still, it was impossible to completely shake the uncomfortable feeling lingering in the back of my mind as I finished up my chores and headed for home. Maybe that part of me that loved a good mystery refused to let go on sheer principle or perhaps it was the lurking worry that nothing positive could come from something so screwed up in the first place that had me slump my way into Crew’s house, shoulders down, a frown on my face surely deep enough to hide a treasure in.
My darling husband took one look at me, glancing up from the sofa where he re-reviewed the video feed on his laptop, and shut the lid with a click, rising to come to my side while I abjectly kicked off my shoes at the door and, lower lip jutting at an appropriately unhappy distance, held out my arms to him.
Of course he obliged me with a sweet and loving hug. Didn’t comment on my settle into sulk, or the fact he was in the same conundrum of aggravation as me. Because he was a good husband, wasn’t he? Crew knew to give me a minute to poor me before kissing the top of my head, then my cheek, then my lips.
The perfect distraction.
I came up for air a few minutes later, hands wound into his dark, thick hair, breathing into him while I exhaled the tension I’d carried with me since our arrival at the dock that morning. “Hissy fit officially over,” I said.
“Damn,” he whispered, nose brushing mine, voice husky. “Did I miss the hissy part? I love the hissy part.”
Smartass husband. I snorted a laugh, loved his chuckle over my mouth, kissed him again before patting his stubbled cheek.
“It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” Like he knew any better than I did. But if Crew told me it was? I’d believe him, no question, 100%.
“It is,” he said, telling me exactly what I wanted to hear, bless him. “I promise, Fee. One way or another, we’re going to prove if the treasure is here once and for all. And no one can stop us.”
I hesitated in that moment, not wanting to shake the firm conviction in his voice, exhaling finally with enough concern his lips tightened and he nodded.
“Go ahead,” he said. “You won’t feel better until you tell me everything. Even if I don’t want to know.”
How did he know me this well? I filled him in on Chantal’s fight with Gregg while he fetched us both a beer, cracking mine open before handing it to me and popping the seal on his own.
“Well, according to Liz none of them get along,” he said, taking a long drink, blue eyes locked on me.
I nodded, sitting at the counter, hating being a doubter. “It just seemed pretty personal, that’s all,” I said. “Maybe he had an affair with her, too.” Would be like him, I guess. Yup, judging Gregg Brown was my new favorite game.
Crew leaned across the tile, setting his bottle next to mine, free hand covering my drumming fingers and silencing their rapid beat. “Let’s see how tomorrow goes,” he said. “There’s a few spots that look promising.” He circled the counter then, gesturing at the computer. “Want to see?”
I sort of did, but shook my head finally, reaching down to lift my watching pug into my arms. She’d been slow and plodding on our walk home, probably tired, the dear.
“I trust you,” I said, wishing I didn’t feel so disillusioned all of a sudden. This was supposed to be fun, right? Had been only this morning. Why then was there a giant, black cloud threatening rain with a chance of disaster looming over me? Because, I realized, the training I’d just taken hadn’t lost its repeated impact just yet. And, when I finally understood what was really making me panic—yup, that was the underlying feeling, good to know—the word I’d just uttered at him resonated like no other. I reached out for his hand, clutching Petunia to my chest with her butt in my lap, head against me like a toddler, as I blurted what I was thinking. Classic Fleming. “You’re supposed to be able to trust each other out there,” I said, barely above a whisper while I gave voice to what was weighing so heavily on me. “And I don’t trust him.”
Crew’s blue eyes flashed and, in that moment, I knew he was as worried as me. More so, maybe, given his training. He’d been diving since he was a kid, took the sort of education underwater reserved for those who, as far as I was concerned, came closer to being astronauts (was that oceanauts? Aquanauts?) than divers.
But, before I could really fall into the pit of despair waiting to engulf me, Crew shook his head, kissing me again, this time with tenderness. His steady hands grasped my shoulders, shook me just a little, faint smile lifting his lips, lighting his blue eyes.
“You know I would never put you at risk,” he said, never mind himself, right? “These people are pros, Fee, with years of experience. Not one of them will let their grievances get in the way of safety.”
So he said. But I did feel better. He seemed sure, so what choice did I have?
“Do you want to stay out of the water?” Crew hesitated before going on while I fought for the usual irritation that typically flagged as a precursor to him trying to protect me, shocked when it didn’t rise to the surface immediately. “You don’t have to dive tomorrow.”
It was sheer force of will that spoke for me then, and old habit, rather than conviction. “I’m diving,” I said, rising with Petunia in my arms. “And that’s final.”
Crew just nodded, let me go. Thing was, as I climbed into bed and tucked the covers under my chin, my pug snuggled against my hip, it wasn’t my husband who prodded me to think it over.
Nope. Traitor brain. It was me.
***
Chapter Eight
You know when you have something big weighing on your mind and you toss and turn all night in between flashes of nightmares and uncomfortable half-dreams that leave you unsettled, unrested and, in general, at odds with the world?
Not saying that was my night, but. Yeah. Sigh.
That’s how I ended up out of bed and in the office at Fleming Investigations, Petunia on her dog bed next to my desk, tackling paperwork at 6AM while my husband still slept at home. An early text and the looming thunderstorm that had rolled over Reading the night before delayed our first dive of the day for at least a few hours. No way could I stay in one place without a distraction—non-Crew related, get your mind out of the gutter—which meant an early morning trip into the wilds of my hometown where I even had to make my own coffee since Sammy’s didn’t open until seven.
I wondered, as I glanced at the end of the long, narrow room that was the headquarters of my new profession, when Darius slept or if he even did. He sat, quiet and watchful, my protective shadow, at the door to the of
fice, ramrod straight and android focused. Not the first time I wondered if, in fact, somehow Malcolm had not hired but created the hulking bodyguard like some Irish mobster Dr. Murrystein. The fact the lurking giant of humanity drank tea instead of coffee and preferred opera to regular music—a fact I’d discovered when he drove me home once when my car wouldn’t start—leaned me in the direction of invention instead of birth, but I digress.
Whether man or machine, Darius wasn’t going anywhere and certainly wasn’t contributing to an upswing in my present mood.
Made all the better (sarcasm, my old friend, how nice of you to make an appearance) when the door swung open and a gust of wind blew trouble into my life.
How, exactly, did I know the woman marching toward me, her normally perfect dark bob tossed by the lingering gale outside, her dark eyes locked on me, practical pumps thudding on the runner carpet leading all the way to my desk, meant discomfort to my existence? Because I knew that look on Olivia Walker’s face, had seen it so many times in the last number of years it barely phased me anymore.
The former Reading town mayor came to an abrupt halt, nodding to me in a sharp and decisive manner, one fist tapping on the surface of my desk as if she needed me to pay attention and didn’t already have my undivided. Well, almost undivided, as I caught and tracked Darius’s silent and blank-faced approach behind her. What was he seeing in her I wasn’t? He had, after all, been trained to spot danger when others might miss the signs. Was I overlooking something? Or, as usual, was he simply being overprotective as Darius seemed to adore doing just to irk me and, more notably, my former law-enforcement husband?
“Fiona.” Olivia drew a deep breath, clearly unaware she was being tracked by a watchful hunter ready to pounce on her if she made the slightest wrong move in my direction. I actually had a faint heart palpitation in worry for her and almost waved Darius off, instead surging to my feet and circling the desk to join her, knowing putting myself between her and him might be the only way to preserve her from disappearing suddenly and never being heard from again.