The Killing Tide

by Dani Pettrey

  An earth-shattering roar quaked across the water. Fire flashed high in the sky. A boat? Dear Lord.

  Heightened waves rippled under her board, nearly tossing her into the churning sea. She shifted her stance, just barely managing to stay upright. A cold weight settled over her, queasiness in the pit of her stomach.

  Red-hot flames mingled with charcoal plumes of smoke on the horizon. The boat had to only be a handful of nautical miles away.

  Please let whoever was on board be all right.

  Her muscles rigid, she jumped at the sound of Noah’s voice. “Beach patrol will have seen the explosion and called it in,” he said.

  Her throat tightened. “We need to get out there.” Needed to help.

  “Agreed.” Noah nodded.

  The hum of a boat’s motor rumbled, the water choppy in its wake.

  Beach patrol.

  Thank you, Lord.

  “Get in,” Tim said as he idled the boat beside them.

  Rissi unhooked from her kiteboard and swam to the boat’s starboard side. Tim extended a hand, and she grabbed hold, letting him heave her in. He reached for her board and rigging, lifting it into the craft behind her.

  Noah followed. “I need to radio the Guard base,” he said, setting his gear and board in the vessel.

  “We put in a call straightaway. They said the copter’s ETA is ten, and they’ll have rescue swimmers,” Tim said, relaying the information.

  “Thanks.” Noah swallowed, concern etched across his pinched brow. “I’m going to call the station, let the team know.”

  “Of course,” Tim said, gesturing to the radio at the ship’s helm.

  A chill tingled along Rissi’s limbs, gooseflesh rippling up her arms.

  Please let everyone be all right.

  “Caleb,” Noah said.

  “I heard.” Caleb’s voice crackled over the radio. “I hate to tell you this, but it’s Mo’s boat.”

  “Mo?” Rissi’s heart thudded in her chest.

  Noah’s face paled.

  “He called in the Mayday. Said there’d been an explosion and they were abandoning ship.”

  “He say how many on board?”

  “Ten.”

  Which, with his usual crew of four, meant he had six passengers on board.

  Please let them all be okay.

  Noah lowered his head, his softened gaze sweeping over Rissi before he asked Caleb, “Did he say if everyone survived the explosion?”

  “He didn’t . . .” Caleb paused for the beat of a breath. “The call dropped before Mo finished talking.”

  Rissi balled her hands into fists as the boat sped toward the flames and Mo Tucker’s boat. She’d always liked the old seadog. The whole team, save Emmy and Logan, often took dive charters with him and his crew. Young Braxton, a mere nineteen, flashed through her mind. And Marv, the stalwart one of the crew. Her last wreck dive, they’d all been laughing and merry. How would she find them now? Would she find them?

  She swallowed, her throat swelling. Couldn’t the boat go any faster?

  What felt like an eternity later, the two bright yellow life rafts came into view. She spotted Mo’s ash-covered face and sighed with relief. He was battered but alive. As were Jack, Braxton, and Marv.

  She did a quick count. Nine.

  Heaviness sank in her chest. Mo had said ten on board.

  twenty-seven

  Rissi’s muscles coiled. Had someone been left behind, or were they lying in the bottom of one of the life rafts?

  Noah’s jaw tightened, a muscle in it flicking. He was clearly wondering the same thing.

  “Good to see you guys,” Mo said from one of the yellow-and-black octagon life rafts. The charter passengers were secured in orange life vests as the rafts bobbed in the arriving boat’s wake. Slack faces and dazed expressions stared back at her as she assessed each passenger for obvious signs of injury.

  The chop of helicopter blades cut through the air above.

  Rescue swimmers. Hopefully they could retrieve the missing passenger. She looked back at the Calliope. Half-ablaze and half-submerged—she was going down fast.

  How did a lifelong seadog lose his vessel?

  Rescue swimmers jumped out of the helicopter, fins first. They splashed into the water five yards north of the life rafts.

  “Please,” a forty-something woman with wet curly hair cried. “My husband is still on the boat.”

  “Do you know where?” the brown-haired swimmer asked as the blond swimmer turned and headed for the sinking ship.

  “He’s dead,” Mo said. “Don’t risk your life trying to get him.”

  “Dead?” Rissi’s chest squeezed.

  “Please.” The woman sobbed. “Please don’t let John sink with the ship.”

  A young woman wrapped her arm around the sobbing woman’s shoulder, rubbing her trembling arms.

  The blond rescue swimmer halted twenty feet from the boat, waiting at the outside edge of the debris field.

  The second swimmer reached his side, assessing the ship.

  A horrible crack emanated from the Calliope. Rissi watched in horror as the boat split in two. The aft bobbed upright in the sea, then rapidly sank below the surface.

  “No!” The woman shot to her feet, hollering.

  The rescue swimmers held at the edge of the debris field as the boat fully submerged below the surface as the ocean swallowed it whole. They turned and, with sad expressions, swam back to the rafts.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the blond swimmer said. “It sank far too quickly. It wasn’t safe to enter. I’m very sorry,” he said, bobbing in the wave-churned water.

  Wailing, she crumpled into the raft.

  Finn finished placing the scene markers at all the pertinent spots in the second dead prisoner’s cell.

  Sitting on his haunches, he surveyed the space to double-check his work, then glanced over at Gabby. Possessing a strong constitution necessary to work a bloody crime scene without losing her breakfast, she was proving to be a great help.

  “Ready for the next round of pictures?” he said, getting to his feet.

  She nodded, her cheeks losing their color.

  “You okay? I can take it from here if you’d like—no problem.”

  “No.” She shook her head, lifting the camera. “The distraction is good.” Color rushed back to her face. “I’m so sorry. That came out wrong.” She lowered her hands, holding the camera at her side. “It’s just . . .” She bit her bottom lip.

  He stepped to her side, warmth radiating through his chest with love and compassion for her. “You’re worried about Noah.”

  She swallowed, glancing at the floor. “I know he’ll be all right. . . .”

  “It’s natural to worry.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. I suppose so. I just heard explosion and . . .”

  He rested a hand on her shoulder. At first she tensed, but then her coiled muscles softened beneath his touch.

  She blinked, her long lashes fluttering as she looked up at him. “Thanks.”

  He brushed a stray hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger a moment longer than he should, but he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to her like the tides were to the moon.

  She blinked again.

  “Hey, guys,” Caleb said, rounding the corner.

  He halted a few steps in, his gaze falling over them. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  She took a pronounced step back and swiped her nose. “It’s fine. What’s up?”

  Finn’s hand still tingled from her touch.

  Caleb exhaled. “You’re going to want to see this.”

  Rissi clasped the woman’s trembling hand, helping her from the raft up into the patrol vessel. The Coast Guard ship out of Wrightsville Beach gave an ETA of fifteen minutes. A second out of Wilmington would arrive shortly after.

  In the meantime, they’d deemed it best to secure the passengers on the beach patrol vessel.

  Noah gave Mo, the last to board, a hand o
nto the ship.

  He was covered with ashes, his short-trimmed hair thickly powdered.

  “What happened?” Noah asked.

  “I’ll tell you what happened.” The woman broke from Rissi’s grasp and hurried to Noah’s side, lunging at Mo.

  Noah’s eyes widened as he moved to restrain her.

  She flailed in his hold. “He”—she fixed her gaze on Mo—“let John die.”

  “Whoa!” Noah said. “Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

  “My husband died from a blow to the head.”

  Noah’s brows arched, his gaze darting to Mo.

  Mo exhaled. “Mr. Layton was in the bathroom, not feeling well after his dive. We were headed back to the marina at a good clip. The boat was rocking. He must have lost his balance and hit his head on the sink.”

  Mrs. Layton shook her head. “It’s your fault he was sick in the first place.” She lunged back at Mo, but Noah’s grip held firm.

  “It’s your fault he’s dead.”

  twenty-eight

  Finn watched the video footage with a mixture of shock and, though he loathed the crime itself—four men were dead because of it—an odd sense of appreciation for a masterful plan.

  “As you can see,” Caleb said, pausing the footage as the men entered the building dressed in wet suits, “they kept their heads down and averted their gaze. It’s like they knew where the cameras were.”

  “Juan was quite glance-y while he was on the phone,” Emmy said. “Do you think he relayed information about the cameras?”

  “Like he knew they were coming?” Gabby asked. “Why would he give their murderers that kind of information?”

  “Maybe he thought they were coming for another purpose,” Emmy said.

  Gabby shifted to Finn. “You said based on the bodies’ positions it looked like the men lined up at the cell doors.”

  Finn’s sandy blond brows hiked. “What if they thought the men were coming to rescue them?”

  Mrs. Layton flailed at Mo, who took a step back as Noah again wrapped his arm around her waist. She was a feisty lady, seriously struggling to break free of his arms.

  “You are responsible for John’s death, and don’t think I won’t pursue this.”

  Mo’s face flushed. “John ignored our instruction regarding scheduled stops on the way up to avoid the air bends. He panicked and shot for the surface. That was his decision.”

  “There’s no way the impact necessary to cause such damage to his head could occur from a bump on the sink.”

  Mo snorted. “What, are you a doctor?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  Mo’s shoulders straightened. “It doesn’t change the facts. He hit his head. End of story.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I think you killed John. Whether by accident or on purpose, I don’t know.”

  “Why on earth would we kill your husband?” Mo swiped his hand in the air. “I’m sorry for your loss, lady, but it’s gone to your head.”

  Was there any chance that what Dr. Layton claimed was true?

  Noah saw the same question in the glance Rissi sent his way.

  He wished they could discuss an approach to this mess, but after another heated argument with Mo, the woman collapsed into Noah’s arms, sobbing.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said, hoping to calm her.

  He escorted her to the port side of the ship, but Mo followed.

  “Her accusations are ridiculous. My crew did everything by the book.”

  That had been his experience with Mo and his crew whenever he’d wreck dived with them.

  Rissi stepped in front of Mo. “I need you to return to the starboard side.”

  “I understand she’s upset, but this isn’t right,” he called over Rissi’s shoulder as she pushed him away. “She can’t blame my crew.”

  Dr. Layton attempted to bolt from Noah’s hold yet again, but he tightened his grip.

  She wrestled, squirming in his arms. “Stop doing that. I want answers. I want the truth.”

  “I need you to calm down,” he said in a gentle-yet-firm voice.

  She looked over her shoulder, her back to him. Eyes red-rimmed and puffy blinked up at him. Anger and fear brewed in her gaze. “Calm down? My husband is dead, and you expect me to calm down?”

  “I’m extremely sorry for your loss, but your attempts to lunge at Mo aren’t helping anything.”

  Mo shuffled, trying to step past Rissi, but she held her ground, blocking him from Dr. Layton.

  “You need to listen to me,” Dr. Layton said, tugging at Noah’s arm.

  “And I will. After you’re cleared at the ER, you can tell me everything you’d like to.”

  “That goes for me too!” Mo yelled from the starboard railing, pacing like a caged lion behind Rissi’s blockade.

  twenty-nine

  Noah and Rissi stood at the ship’s bow, glancing back at the pair of medics examining the passengers.

  Cool sea spray tickled her face as they sped to the waiting ambulances, which would transport everyone to the nearest hospital.

  Rissi took a calming breath and released a slow exhale. “What do you make of all this?”

  Noah glanced at Mo, then shifted his gaze to Dr. Genevieve Layton on the opposite side of the ship. “I’m not ready to pronounce judgment. We’ll question everyone as soon as the ER clears them. But Dr. Layton seems genuinely convinced the crew is to blame for her husband’s death.”

  Rissi sighed. “I agree.” She shifted, leaning against the boat’s edge. “I just can’t see Mo or any of the crew being anything but one hundred percent cautious on Mr. Layton’s dive.”

  Noah rubbed his chin. “Maybe there’s another reason she blames them.”

  Rissi’s brows arched, surprise riddling through her. “You think foul play was involved?”

  Noah leaned next to her. He linked his arms across his broad chest. “I can’t help but wonder at the odds of Mr. Layton having a problem with his dive and then a ship so well run as Mo’s exploding.”

  Accidents occasionally happened on boats—people getting injured, tanks rupturing, fires starting—but as fast as the Calliope sank, the explosion had most likely ripped all the way through the keel. The odds of both happening at the same time were unlikely. Was it possible John Layton’s “accident” had been no accident at all?

  The heavy menthol odor of Vicks tickled the base of Gabby’s nose. It was a trick Finn had shared for masking crime-scene odors, or at least making them less pungent. And he was right.

  She’d been exposed to death many times on her BBC assignments, and the memories of death always lingered. As did the sight of the night guard’s shocked expression plastered on his face. He’d died in horror.

  The office door opened, and she glanced to it. Finn’s hand rested on his gun, as did Caleb’s. Her chest tightened, then relaxed as a short man, best described as petite, entered. Midfifties, graying hair, wearing a brown houndstooth jacket, wide-brimmed straw hat, and taupe trousers. He tipped the brim of his hat. “Afternoon. It’s far from good, given the circumstances.”

  “Agreed.” Finn released a slow exhale. “Ethan Hadley, this is Gabby. Noah’s baby sister.”

  Gabby sighed. Did he always have to add baby when he introduced her? Yes, she was the youngest of her siblings, but at twenty-seven she was hardly a baby.

  The man’s chestnut eyes settled on her. “You can call me Hadley,” he said, crossing the room toward her. “A pleasure to meet you, my dear.”

  So this was the medical examiner the team had spoken about with admiration. She stood and extended her hand. “Same.”

  “I’ll escort you back,” Finn said, striding around the desk to Hadley’s side.

  “Ladies,” Hadley said, dipping his head in her and Emmy’s direction. “Lovely scarf, Emmalyne.”

  Her hand reached to it, her fingers tracking the beautiful yellow leaves artfully arranged on the sheer white background. She wore matching sunshiny yellow da
ngly earrings and necklace charm, hanging low on a silver chain. Emmalyne carried an air of whimsy with her, and Gabby was thankful for the dash of light in an otherwise bleak and startling morning.

  Swirling red lights marked the marina parking lot just above the boat ramps.

  Rissi was ready to be back on land. Keeping guard over a pacing Mo and a lunging Genevieve Layton had required her and Noah’s constant attention for the majority of the ride back.

  Rissi tried to talk to Genevieve, but she’d asked to be left alone.

  They’d given the woman space, but Rissi was anxious for her and Mo to be cleared for questioning after being checked out at the local ER. She needed answers to the rattling questions inside.

  thirty

  Hadley emerged from the cells and lifted his chin at Finn as four paramedics rolled the dead men in black body bags out the front door.

  Gabby swallowed.

  “I’m finished here and will conduct the autopsies tomorrow—at least two of them,” Hadley said. He took a stiff inhale. “Speaking of autopsies . . .” He fingered his earlobe. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but I figured you’d want to at least know, if not attend . . . given the circumstances.” He rocked back on his heels. “This incident threw me off my schedule a bit, but I’ll be performing Petty Officer Seavers’s autopsy upon my return to the morgue.”

  “I want to be there,” Finn said.

  Gabby reached for his hand. “Are you sure? He was your friend, with a personal connection—”

  “I need to work this investigation like any other. I owe it to Will.”

  She nodded, self-conscious as Caleb’s astute glance shifted between her and Finn. “Okay.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll stay here. I’ve got some work to do.”

  “All right.” Finn looked at Caleb, and he returned a firm nod.

  She rolled her eyes. He was transferring babysitting duty to Caleb. While she appreciated their concern, she was a skilled and capable woman, though it seemed everyone was ignoring that fact. “Can I use your computer while you’re gone?” she asked.