The Crushing Depths

by Dani Pettrey

  A blond woman dressed in a knee-length, navy knit dress, heeled sandals, and a gold, sun-shaped necklace stood at the office door to greet them. She was strikingly beautiful in a natural way. Long blond hair, green eyes, and subtle makeup. “Come in, gentlemen,” she said, gesturing them inside.

  The bright yellow office was small. One room. He’d anticipated at least two. One for the detective and one for this woman. He was guessing she was an assistant as Emmy didn’t mention Kelly having a partner. A cherrywood desk sat in the center of the room with a high-back brown leather chair facing them from the opposite side.

  “Please, have a seat,” she said, sitting down behind the desk.

  “We need to speak with Mr. Kelly,” Caleb said, disappointed he wasn’t present. “Can you arrange for a meeting with him?”

  She steepled her fingers, her nails painted a light pink. “That might prove difficult.”

  Caleb cocked his head. “Why’s that?”

  She leaned forward. “Because I’m not a him.”

  After a moment of stunned silence, Noah said, “I’m so sorry, Ms. Kelly. We were under the impression that Austin . . . that you . . .”

  “Were a man,” Caleb blurted.

  “Well, clearly you were wrong, and I have to say a little sexist.”

  Sexist? Their assumption had been reasonable, given her first name, and he didn’t appreciate her questioning his integrity. “Would it be sexist if my name was Sally, and you assumed I was a woman?”

  “Perhaps, but Austin can be either male or female whereas Sally is predominately a female name.”

  “Where I grew up, Austin was predominately male,” Caleb countered. “Actually, every Austin I knew was a male, and—”

  “We’re hoping you can help us,” Noah said, cutting in.

  Her piercing gaze shifted from Caleb to Noah. “Help you, how?” She twirled her gold pen in her slender fingers.

  “We’re investigating the Freedom Group.”

  “About time someone did. Are you with the Holly Ridge Police Department?”

  “No. CGIS,” Noah said.

  “So the ones who mucked it up in the first place.”

  Caleb tucked his chin in. “Excuse me?” Now she was insulting his brotherhood?

  “I’m sorry, did I speak too fast for you?”

  Noah smothered a laugh with a cough.

  “I don’t know what happened with the Oak Island CGIS on this case specifically,” Caleb said, “but I know the service. We’re very good at what we do.”

  She shrugged a nearly bare shoulder, her dress strap merely an inch wide. “Perhaps you are. Sometimes,” she added. “But not on my case.”

  Caleb scooted forward. “Your case?”

  “Yes.” She rested her arms on the cherry desk.

  He planted his hands on it—his fingertips inches from hers.

  “CGIS wrote it off as an accident,” she said. “I discovered the truth.”

  “Well.” Caleb sat back. “Please, enlighten us.”

  “Skip Malone was dating a woman in the organization,” she began. “Rumor goes, they fell madly in love. Since they worked together, they tried to keep their relationship a secret. Never being romantic in public. Coming and going separately.”

  “If that’s the case, then how do you know they were together, that it wasn’t just rumor?” Caleb asked, not doubting that she knew, but curious how she’d figured it out.

  “I found a source who’d been with the organization from the start and saw them together several times when they thought no one was around.”

  “And your source’s name?” Caleb asked, betting she wouldn’t divulge a source, but it never hurt to try.

  She didn’t answer, at least not verbally. She simply dipped her chin and lifted her brows.

  “So your source saw them together,” Noah said, “but I’m assuming there’s an ‘and then’?”

  “You’re right.” She smiled at Noah. “The source once heard them arguing because he said she was—and I quote—‘too intense.’”

  Noah frowned. “Meaning relationship-wise?”

  “No.” Austin folded her hands together over the leather desk mat. “She pushed the limits when it came to her love for the environment.”

  Caleb had not seen that coming.

  “Apparently, she was willing to break the law to ‘protect the endangered,’” Austin said with air quotes.

  “To what extent?” Noah asked.

  “My source didn’t know. She just heard him tell Gwyneth that he couldn’t believe she’d done it, that he wasn’t covering for her. Then she disappeared. She only showed back up after Skip’s death. Now she basically runs the group.”

  “Wait,” Caleb said. “Are you talking about Gwyneth Lansing?”

  Austin sat back, linking her arms across her chest. “The very one.”

  “You think she had something to do with Skip’s death?” he asked, rather stunned at the turn of events.

  Austin cocked her head. “I think she killed him.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Noah held the door for the women entering the family restaurant he and Caleb had just grabbed dinner in. It was in the building next to Austin’s, and the fresh scent of tomatoes and basil had beckoned as they’d walked toward the Jeep. The recipes of the Rossi family from Urbino, Italy, passed down from generation to generation, were beyond scrumptious.

  Noah stretched his back. He’d be full for days, but that fresh-from-the-oven bread, the garden-fresh herbs and tomatoes, the handmade pasta . . . He’d be returning again.

  “Well, this was a worthwhile visit,” he said as they strode across the parking lot.

  “Yes. Worthwhile,” Caleb said. “But she was so . . . so . . .”

  “So?” Noah smirked, knowing it pricked at Caleb’s irritation.

  “So annoying,” he finally said.

  “Better than a self-righteous prig,” said a female voice.

  Noah and Caleb spun around to find Austin standing less than five feet away.

  “Prig?” Caleb’s voice hitched.

  Noah bit back a laugh. He loved Caleb like a brother, loved his entire team. But he had to admit she’d nailed him.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “It means—”

  “I know what it means.” Caleb’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching.

  Man, she’d really gotten under his skin. “Was there something you wanted?” Noah asked.

  She dragged her gaze away from Caleb, pursing her lips before nodding back toward the restaurant. “I saw you stop in for dinner, so I decided to make you a copy of my file on Skip. He was a good guy from everything I’ve gathered on him. His family really loved him.” She handed it to Noah.

  “Thanks,” he said, grateful for her generosity in sharing information. “Family, as in wife?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Siblings.”

  “I didn’t realize Skip had any family.” Noah tapped the folder in his hand. “I’m surprised none of them took over the Freedom Group.”

  “None of them were passionate about the environment the way Skip was.” She looked at the brown folder. “I hope you’ll see something in there that I missed.”

  Noah flashed a glance at Caleb to keep him from saying something rude.

  He held quiet, but his flickering jaw said it was killing him.

  Noah smiled. He’d never seen a woman get a rise like this out of Caleb.

  “Do me a favor?” Austin asked.

  “Sure,” Noah said.

  “Keep me in the loop. That case still itches at me. I know the evidence is hiding in there somewhere.”

  “We definitely will,” Noah said as he opened the driver’s side door.

  Caleb was quiet for a couple of minutes after they pulled out onto the main road. Then he slipped on his sunglasses and leaned back against the headrest. “Okay, so she’s not completely annoying.”

  Noah chuckled.

  “So, what did you think?” Rissi asked Mason on
the way out of the park. The warmth of the sun still soaked in her skin, and with Mason beside her, it was the perfect end to a perfect day.

  He looked over with a smile that stole her breath away. “I had the best time.”

  “Good. I’m glad. Now there’s one more stop before we leave OBX.”

  He arched a brow. “Oh?”

  “Yep. Make a left up there where that red car is turning out.”

  “Okay.” He flipped on his blinker and made the turn.

  “One more left and . . . there you go.”

  He looked at her, a smile tickling his handsome face. “Sonic?”

  “Yep. It’s tradition. Hit the drive-thru.”

  “And what am I ordering?”

  “Two large tater tots and two Route 66 cherry limeades.”

  Mason pulled through the drive-thru and insisted on paying. The guy working the register handed him their drinks, which he passed on to Rissi for the moment and set the bag down between them.

  “Those tots smell delicious,” he said as they pulled away.

  She smiled. “Wait until you taste them at the beach.”

  He chuckled. “What?”

  “It’s weird, but I’m telling you, they taste better at the beach,” she said, popping one in her mouth. “Make a left down that next street.”

  He did and followed her directions to the sound-access parking lot, which at this time of evening was empty.

  She kicked off her shoes, grabbed the bag of tots and one limeade, and hopped out. “Grab your drink.”

  He followed suit, and they walked down the ramp to a nearly empty park on the sound side.

  “Let’s grab a seat.” She led the way toward the water, looking both ways. To their right, a couple with two black labs frolicked in the water. To their left, two people who looked rather like dots walked in the distance. Perfect.

  She sat cross-legged on the sand and pulled out the first bag of tots, handing them to Mason and then grabbing the last one for herself. “Taste one.”

  He did. “Mmm. You can really taste the saltiness.”

  She smiled. “It’s the sea air. It brings out the salt in the tots. Now,” she said, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing one ankle over the other, “for the view.” She stared at the magnificent orange sunset. “Pretty spectacular, right?”

  “Extremely,” he said, his gaze fixed on her.

  ———

  They stayed to watch the sun slip fully beneath the horizon before heading for his car. Twilight faded into night—the sky black and star-filled.

  Mason glanced over at Rissi looking content and surprisingly refreshed considering the lack of sleep they’d had. Turning his gaze back to the long stretch of road before them, he prayed she’d sleep well after the day full of adventure. He always did after a day spent outdoors. He loved that she sandboarded and, according to Finn, surfed. He wondered what else she enjoyed, and prayed he got to experience many more adventures with her.

  Unable to help himself, he glanced over at her one more time. She was breathtaking. It didn’t matter that her hair was all cattywampus in an askew ponytail with an adorable flowered knit headband wrapped about her head. Or that she had no makeup on, her skin tinged pink across her nose and cheeks from the sun and wind. Her sandy bare feet were up on the seat as she sat cross-legged, her arm outstretched, letting the wind stream through her fingers. Breathtaking.

  He wished he could pull the car over and kiss her senseless, whispering words of love that had gripped his heart since the first day he walked in the home and saw her. Those blue eyes tinged with hope, the defiant set of her jaw, the tenderness of her smile at him. No one had looked at him like that since his parents died. Looked at him with caring. And then with love.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror, and the headlights that had been a fair distance behind drew closer. They were on Route 12, which ran the length of the Outer Banks. Turning left, Mason crossed the bridge, taking them off the barrier islands and onto Route 64. The car followed, the only one behind them. Several cars passed from the other direction, but traffic was sparse.

  “I love off-season,” Rissi said as the cooling night air fluttered inside. “So much less traffic and congestion.”

  “Summers bring in a lot of visitors?”

  “A lot is an understatement. You’ll see.”

  The thought of eight more months at Rissi’s side until summer hit warmed him, but the idea of crowds did not. Being an introvert, he preferred open spaces. It was part of why he’d loved Kodiak so much. But Kodiak didn’t have Rissi.

  He made the sharp right turn onto S. Andrews Street into Jamesville, following the GPS for the fastest time back so Rissi could get some much-needed sleep.

  He instinctually glanced back. The SUV swung wide into the turn at the last minute, its tires squealing. He stiffened, looking once again in his rearview mirror as the square-shaped headlights swiped across it.

  Rissi shifted, glancing over her shoulder, a frown on her face. “What was that all about?” she asked.

  “Looks like he . . .” Mason squinted as they passed the lone street light. It illuminated the inside of the car and the silhouettes of at least three men—based on build. “Actually, they nearly missed the turn.”

  She studied his profile. “What’s wrong?”

  “Probably nothing,” he said, his gut disagreeing. He tapped the steering wheel. “That SUV has been behind us since we left Nags Head.”

  Rissi’s nose scrunched. “Really?”

  “Could just be a coincidence,” he said, not wanting to worry her if he was overthinking the situation. “They may be headed the same way as us, but . . .” He needed to know. “I think we should find out.”

  “Absolutely,” she agreed.

  Mason depressed the gas pedal, the Impala emitting a deep engine roar. He loved that sound. Continuing to accelerate, he pulled a handful of car lengths ahead. The SUV hung back.

  He should relax, but something still wasn’t sitting right. “Any good side roads around here?” he asked. “Just two lanes?”

  Rissi looked around, clearly trying to place exactly where they were—trees and night surrounding them. “Yeah,” she said. “About a mile up, you have your choice. Batters Road is on your right and on the left is Stephens Road. It’s got a sharp-angled turn from this direction.”

  “Is it a dead end? Or does it feed out somewhere?”

  “It feeds out on a number of side roads that branch off of it. But, I should warn you, it gets really narrow in the tight turns, and there’s a one lane bridge.”

  “Great.” Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, he flipped the right blinker on with the other. The green arrow flashed on the dash. Click-click-click.

  He slowed, drawing the SUV in closer, and allowing the cars coming in the opposite direction to draw closer until they were nearly upon them. A semitrailer led the pack. Perfect.

  The SUV slowed, pulling back a few car lengths. Mason held until the semi was nearly upon them, then gunned it, banking hard left onto Stephens Road.

  Rissi swung around, watching the series of cars as they flew by.

  “Did it turn right?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It’s trying to find a break in between the passing cars to turn left.”

  “All right. Time to find a good side road or secluded driveway.”

  “Good idea,” she said.

  The Impala bumped over the gravel road, bouncing over a pothole.

  “There,” Rissi said, pointing to the small driveway barely visible. Surrounded by trees, an arched trellis covered in thick ivy marked the opening to the dirt road leading up to a house in the distance.

  Pulling in far enough not to be spotted from the road, he killed the lights and engine. “Let’s get their license plate.” He wished North Carolina required front plates as Alaska had. If so he’d already have it.

  “Ready?” he asked, opening his door.

  Without question, Rissi pulled ou
t her gun and stepped from the car.

  She was right in tune with him. Just as she’d always been.

  Closing the doors as silently as possible, they hurried along the inner edge of the tree line for where the property met the road. Dropping on their haunches behind bushes, guns drawn, they held very still as the SUV’s headlights came into view. Driving far slower than it had been, it rounded the curve, its headlights flashing over the lawn. They ducked down lower. The SUV passed by and continued on.

  “Got it,” Rissi whispered.

  “Let’s call it in.”

  “I’ll give the plate number to Em,” she said as they stood and moved quietly back to the car, just in case the SUV backtracked.

  Mason turned his vehicle around, leaving his headlights off until they were back on 64 heading south with no sign of the SUV behind them.

  Brooke came home to a locked door and her lights reassuringly on.

  She dropped her keys in the bowl by the door and moved into the kitchen. Her throat parched from hours on the copter inhaling sea air, she strode to the fridge to grab some OJ.

  Pouring a glass, she took a sip, leaning back against her kitchen counter. Another long watch. She was ready for some decompression.

  She pushed off the counter as an explosion reverberated from her garage.

  Her gaze flashed to the door leading to the garage and found it partly ajar.

  Her chest tightened, sweat beaded on her skin. Please let me make it out.

  Forcing in a breath—shallow as it was—she sprinted as fast as she could to the front door. Fumbling with the dead bolt, she glanced behind her. Come on. Come on. Finally sliding the thick bar out of the slot, she yanked the door open and bolted across the lawn for Roxy’s.

  Heavy footfalls sounded behind her fence.

  Dear God.

  She braved a glance over as the motion-sensor floodlight kicked on. Clad all in black, the person jumped over the rear privacy wall, disappearing into the night.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Noah rushed through the quiet streets, his cherry flashing on the dash, red beams rhythmically circling across his Jeep’s hood. What was Brodie thinking? That he could continue harassing Brooke and he would just stand by? Had he not made himself clear when they spoke? He was investigating the case, and he would do what was necessary to find the stalker and see him behind bars. More importantly, he’d make sure Brooke was safe and felt secure in her own home.