The Crushing Depths

by Dani Pettrey

  Noah cocked his head. “As in hidden?”

  Emmy swiveled her chair around. “I believe so.”

  “To what end?” Caleb asked.

  “That’s where the fun comes in,” Logan said, rubbing his palms together. “We dig beneath the surface. Unearth what’s hidden.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Emmy said with a smirk at Logan. “But he’s right.”

  “Yes!” Logan said. “Eyewitnesses.” He pointed at Noah and Caleb. “You heard it. She said it. I’m right.”

  Emmy rolled her eyes. “I knew the words should have never left my mouth.”

  Noah needed to maintain a certain level of authority over playful antics on CGIS time, but watching Logan and Emmy was hilarious. He never got involved in their banter, because as much fun as it would be, it wasn’t the professional level of leadership he needed to exude. He loved being a team leader, watching out for his teammates and running the unit, but sometimes he wished he could metaphorically kick off his shoes and just cut up with them.

  “Did you find anything we can look into?” Caleb asked, stoic as always. Speaking of letting loose, Caleb desperately needed to decompress and enjoy life more, but Noah doubted that would happen any time soon. Especially after Mason’s arrival.

  “The organization’s registered name is the Freedom Group. Here’s the headquarters’ location,” Em said, ripping off a page of legal paper and handing it to Caleb.

  “It’s up in Holly Ridge,” Caleb said, showing Noah the address.

  “Then I guess we’re going to Holly Ridge. Anything else we should know?”

  “They are claiming to be a nonprofit,” Logan said.

  Noah arched a brow. “‘Claiming’?”

  “I need to dig a lot deeper to find their real finances, but what they are making publicly available isn’t adding up,” Logan said. “There’s more there.”

  “Okay, we’ll let you get back to it while we head up to Holly Ridge,” Noah said.

  “Yes, sir.” Logan turned and headed back to his desk.

  “Other than finding the basic information on the Freedom Group’s website and a few online articles on events benefiting the organization, I’ll have to dig deeper too,” Emmy said.

  “And Gwyneth?” Noah asked.

  “Gwyneth Lansing is nowhere to be found on their website,” Logan said.

  “That’s odd.” Noah frowned. “But you found her last name. That’s a good start.”

  “Logan only found her full name by tracking down the Freedom Group’s corporate tax returns,” Emmy said.

  Noah narrowed his eyes. “So how is she connected to the group?”

  Emmy sat back in her chair. “She’s the executive director.”

  “Well, that raises some questions we’re going to need answers to,” Noah said.

  “And . . .” Emmy sighed. “I think we’re just scratching the surface. There’s definitely a lot more going on than meets the eye.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  A thought occurred to Mason as they pulled into Jockey’s Ridge after grabbing rental boards across the street. He’d been so excited about spending the day with Rissi, he hadn’t thought about her rib. “Are you sure this is the smartest thing to be doing with a bruised rib?”

  “Eh.” She shrugged. “I can barely feel it.”

  “But if you fall on it . . .”

  “Don’t worry,” she said as he opened the passenger-side door for her. “I don’t plan on falling.”

  He smiled. He liked the confidence she’d grown into. Could the woman be any more alluring?

  Noah approached the one-story glass-and-metal structure before him. Freedom Group was scrolled in bright blue letters with the p shifting up into a wave over the doors leading into their office.

  The walls of the building were all glass, but one-way, so everyone inside could see out, but no one on the outside could see in.

  Noah pulled the door handle, and it remained in place.

  Caleb arched a brow. “Locked?”

  Noah nodded. “I’m beginning to think everything about this organization is off.”

  A beep sounded to their right. Noah cast his gaze to the speaker as a woman’s voice came over it. “May I help you?”

  “Yes. We’re here to speak with one of your group members.” That sounded the least confrontational.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, we do not.”

  “Then I’m afraid I’m unable to help you.”

  Noah pulled out his badge and held it up to the tiny camera mounted above the speaker. “I believe you are.”

  All pleasantness faded from her voice. “Just a minute.”

  Five minutes and a very impatient Noah later, the door buzzed open.

  Noah kicked off the wall he’d been perched against and followed Caleb inside.

  A woman in a gray pencil skirt, tall black heels, and a white-and-black silk blouse greeted them. “How may I help you?”

  “Special Agent Rowley and Special Agent Eason,” he said as they held up their badges. “And you are?”

  “Jane Dudish. I’m the PR liaison for the Freedom Group. I understand you have some interest in our organization?”

  “Yes, we do,” Caleb said.

  Jane was quite attractive and exuded a pleasant air. Not a bad play on the Freedom Group’s part. He suspected Jane was able to give just enough information to make a visitor feel welcomed and informed, so they left happy but without any real knowledge about the group.

  “How can I help?” she asked.

  “What can you tell us about the Freedom Group?” Noah asked, starting with the long list of questions they’d amassed on the way over.

  “I’ll be happy to share our history, our vision, and our work, but may I ask what interest the CGIS has with us?”

  “More curiosity than anything else,” Noah said. No need to make her uneasy. The more they kept things pleasant, perhaps the more they’d learn. Though his gut said otherwise.

  “I see.” She clutched her clipboard against her chest. “And how did you hear about us?”

  Caleb looked to Noah, and Noah nodded for him to proceed.

  “Members of your group rescued members of our team last night after their copter crashed in the ocean.”

  “Oh.” Jane nodded as if it’d just clicked in her head. “Of course.”

  “We owe your organization a great amount of gratitude and thanks,” Noah said.

  Jane smiled, her countenance brightening. “If you gentlemen will follow me, I’ll show you around and tell you more about the Freedom Group.”

  Noah smiled at Caleb as they filed in behind her.

  Jane led them to a portrait of a man probably in his early fifties, with brown hair and weathered skin. He wore a navy blue polo shirt with a red Ralph Lauren emblem on his chest.

  “This,” Jane said, “is our founder, Skip Malone.”

  “Is Skip a nickname?”

  Jane smiled. “Yes. His given name was Malcolm Malone the third.”

  “Meaning he was related to Malcolm Malone, the inventor of the glass hull in the sixties?”

  “Yes. That would be Skip’s grandfather. He created resin infusion and vacuum bagging. Vacuum bagging has a wet laminate cured under vacuum, which pulls out the excess resin, creating a light yet strong laminate. Resin infusion is a variation of vacuum bagging in which the resin is infused into the dry laminate after the vacuum is created. Both methods produce clean and light fiberglass parts.”

  So the family was loaded.

  “We’d like to speak with Skip,” Noah said. “Could you arrange a meeting for us with him?”

  Jane pushed the brim of her red-framed glasses up her slender nose. “I wish I could, but . . .”

  What excuse was she going to provide?

  “He died two years ago in a sailing accident.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Noah said.

  “Thank you. As you can imagine, we all took it extremely hard.
But,” she said, straightening her shoulders, “we’ve continued his legacy, fighting for the protection of sea life. Growing up on the water and scuba diving, Skip saw lots of marine life and was in awe of their beauty. But he also saw the damage being done to their homes by illegal dumping of chemical waste, trash carelessly tossed in the water, oil spills . . . The list goes on. Instead of watching the destruction of the animals and the ocean he loved, he decided to do something about it. In 2005 Skip founded the Freedom Group.”

  “Which does what, exactly?” Caleb asked.

  Jane gestured down the hall on their left. “Follow me and I’ll show you.”

  Her heels clicked along the black tile floor into a room with glass-enclosed displays and numerous wall hangings with detailed plaques beside each picture.

  “This is our history, gentlemen.”

  An hour and a half later, they’d learned all the wonderful things the Freedom Group had accomplished, but there was no mention of Gwyneth Lansing.

  “The CGIS agents rescued last night mentioned a Gwyneth was especially kind. How does she fit into the organization?”

  “Gwyneth prefers to remain behind the scenes.”

  “Meaning?” Noah prompted.

  “She prefers her work highlight all Skip did for the organization and not bring attention to herself.”

  Noah followed a nagging gut. “Were Gwyneth and Skip close?”

  Jane’s gaze darted about the room, fixing on a gentleman standing in the shadows by a side door.

  She cleared her throat. “I hope you found this time helpful. We greatly appreciate your interest in our critical work and hope you’ll consider partnering with us so we can continue to protect our seas and the marine life.” She handed them each a brochure. “This has information on the next steps you can take.”

  “Do you mind if I ask who that is?” Noah said.

  She blinked. “Who?”

  “The man over . . .” Noah looked back, but the man was gone. “There was a man standing there a moment ago.”

  “It could have been anyone. We all visit this room often to remind ourselves why we do what we do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend. You can leave through that door.” She indicated a side door with an Exit sign illuminated in red above it.

  “We’d love to chat with more of your employees.”

  “Volunteers,” she corrected.

  Caleb’s brows furrowed. “Everyone here is a volunteer?”

  “Ninety-five percent.”

  “And the other five?” Caleb asked.

  “Are paid positions. As with any organization, you need several full-time people to keep things running smoothly.”

  “We’d like the names of the five percent,” Noah said.

  “I’m afraid that’s not public knowledge.” Jane clutched her clipboard tighter. “Now, I’ll see you out.”

  They had no search warrant to demand records, an employee list, or even to speak with anyone else without their consent, so their work here was done.

  Once they stepped outside, Jane waved and shut the door behind them, clicking it into place.

  Caleb slipped his hands into his Dockers pockets. “Well, that was . . .”

  “Interesting?” Noah said.

  “Exactly.” Caleb slid on his aviator sunglasses. “So now what?”

  “We call and see what Emmy and Logan have found and give them a lot more to look into.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Mason looked at Rissi standing atop her teal-striped board. She’d described sand surfing well.

  He was going to like living in North Carolina. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed Alaska while stationed at Kodiak. He’d made some good friends there—in particular the adventure-loving McKenna clan. But sandboarding in the warmth with the ocean in view could definitely hold its own with snowboarding. But wherever Rissi was is where his heart would be.

  He watched the breeze ruffle her hair, fluttering strands about her face. She pulled the hairband off her wrist and knotted her hair up into a loose bun, tucking back the flyaway strands.

  She smiled. “Ready?”

  He smiled in return. “Let’s do this.”

  “Come on,” she called, jetting over the edge of the dune.

  Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he followed, sand kicking up in his wake. Thoughts of Hank returned as he watched Rissi carving the sand in front of him. He’d been so careful to keep a distance from her whenever Hank was watching, knowing the monster would take sick pleasure in trying to rip their friendship apart. He squeezed his eyes shut at the memories, but now they were free of such constraints. And it felt amazing.

  Hearing she cared for him . . . he didn’t think he could ever be happier than he was in this moment.

  Rissi dug the edge of her board into the sand, rocking to a sideways stop.

  He stopped beside her.

  “Not bad.” She smiled.

  The breeze fluttered an unruly strand of hair about her face. He took hold of the silky strand and tucked it behind her ear.

  She gestured to his board. “You like?”

  “Love it.”

  Picking up her board, she shook off a layer of sand. “Ready for another run?”

  “Always.”

  “Race you.” Rissi gestured up the dune, a twinkle in her eye.

  A smile tugged at his lips. “You’re on.”

  Her laughter filled his ears as his feet sank in the hot sand. He’d never heard a more beautiful sound.

  “Hey, Em,” Caleb said, calling while Noah drove.

  “Noah and I found some more crumbs for you to follow. The founder of the Freedom Group—”

  “Skip Malone,” she said before he could finish.

  “Yes,” Caleb said. “So you learned about him?”

  “Yes, but you start. What did you find out?”

  “Very little, other than his name, the money his family had due to his grandfather’s fiberglass invention, and his love for the sea and its animals.”

  “Well, I’ve got something much juicier,” Emmy said.

  He wasn’t sure if he should be excited or a bit terrified. Things usually were a little twisted when it came to what Emmy found intriguing.

  “Skip died in a sailing accident,” she said.

  “We were told that too.”

  “But were you told that there was an investigation into his death?”

  “No,” he said, looking over at Noah. “We most definitely were not told about an investigation.”

  Noah’s brows hiked up.

  “Skip’s death,” Caleb explained quickly to Noah.

  Noah’s eyes widened.

  “The Coast Guard found Skip’s boat afloat at sea. A fishing trawler radioed it in. They found Skip dead. He had a large wound on his head—looked like he got nailed with a baseball bat, according to Petty Officer Second Class Valverde, who was on the response team.”

  “Impressive, Em. How did you find all that?”

  “I have my ways.” He could practically hear her smile.

  “It’s odd. . . . I don’t recall that case.” He usually remembered each and every one they worked. And a death at sea would have fallen under CGIS jurisdiction.

  “It wasn’t our station’s patrol area. Skip was sailing off Oak Island’s coast.”

  “So that CGIS station took the case.”

  “Yes, but the ME on the case, Dr. O’Connor, determined the cause of death to be the impact of the boom hitting his head.”

  That happened, especially with green sailors. They’d forget the boom swung with force when coming about, but surely a man who grew up on the water would have known better.

  “And CGIS signed off on it?” he asked.

  “Yes. But the family wasn’t satisfied. It didn’t make sense to them. Sailing was like breathing to Skip. They insisted he wouldn’t make such a newbie mistake. They hired their own investigator.”

  “Do you know the investigator’s name?” Caleb asked as Noah swerved around
a large pothole.

  “Austin Kelly of Kelly Investigations Limited.”

  “You got an address?” Caleb asked while fishing through Noah’s glove box for a pen.

  Noah flipped down his visor and pulled one out of the black storage pouch, along with a flip pocket notebook.

  “Thanks,” Caleb said.

  Noah nodded. “Hang on again.” He swerved around another pothole.

  They really needed to repave Sawyer Road.

  “The investigator’s office is here in Wilmington. 1303 Thistlewood Lane.”

  “Got it. Thanks, Em.”

  “You’re welcome. We’ll keep digging.”

  “Keep us posted.” Caleb hung up and summarized the information for Noah as he punched the address into the GPS.

  Noah swung a wide U-turn, and they headed for Austin Kelly’s office.

  Caleb found the few private investigators he’d met over the years to be very determined. Sometimes in a productive way and at others, obnoxiously so. He wondered which way this Austin Kelly guy would be.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Caleb tapped the doorframe as they approached Austin Kelly’s building. He’d tried calling the man. Twice. All he’d gotten was an automated message to leave a voicemail. Hopefully he was back in the office now that they were here, or it would be a wasted trip—enjoyable as it’d been with the Jeep top down on such a nice day.

  Kelly Investigations Limited resided on the second floor of a two-story colonial-style brick building that resembled a courthouse or old bank with the cream columns in front.

  Caleb moved to open the building’s front door but found it locked. Turning to the silver metal frame with names lining it in columns and black buttons beside each name, he buzzed Kelly’s office.

  “Yes?” a woman answered.

  “Hi. We’re here to speak with Austin Kelly.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. I’m afraid not, but it’s important we speak with him.”

  “What’s this in regard to?”

  “Skip Malone’s death.”

  The door buzzed, and Noah pulled it open.

  They climbed the stairs to the second floor, exiting into a carpeted hall with large potted palms—the fronds hitting Caleb midchest.