The Crushing Depths

by Dani Pettrey

  “I ran the plates,” Emmy said, saving her from having to open her mouth. Noah wanted to know about the tail, but when it came to yesterday’s excitement her thoughts went in a very different direction—straight to her right.

  “The car was reported stolen from an airport garage two days ago,” Emmy continued.

  “Great.” Mason sighed.

  “Oddly enough,” Emmy said, a curious smile dancing on her lips, “it was returned to the same slot in the middle of the night.”

  “What?” Rissi turned toward Emmy, frowning. That was a first.

  “I’ve tracked down a lot of stolen cars, but I’ve never seen one returned.” Emmy passed a series of photographs to Rissi.

  Taking hold, she thumbed through them. A black SUV parked on level three near the far end of the garage. She passed the first photograph to Mason. His finger brushed hers for the barest of seconds but tingles still shot through her. Taking a fortifying breath, she moved on to the second photograph. It was time-stamped the next day and showed an empty spot where the SUV had been. The final photo time-stamped from this morning showed the vehicle returned to the same spot. Rissi shook her head, passing the last photograph on. It had to be the most bizarre theft she’d witnessed, and she’d seen her fair share.

  “Clearly there are cameras there,” Caleb said, passing the pictures on to Logan. “Did they capture who took the car and subsequently returned it?”

  “Airport security is running through the footage now,” Emmy said.

  “I’m heading over there when we’re done here to take a look,” Logan said.

  “Good.” Noah nodded.

  “Who does the car actually belong to?” Rissi asked.

  “A Rick Carson.” Emmy handed Rissi a small stack of printed-out pages. She took one, passed the rest on, and stared down in surprise. “He has a record?”

  “Yep,” Emmy said.

  Rissi could hear the smile in her voice. “Not every day a criminal reports something of his own stolen.” It was almost comical. Returning her attention to the printout, her gaze scanned down the page. Assault. Breaking and entering. “Grand theft auto?” she asked, nearly in sync with Mason.

  “So the guy who got his car stolen has stolen cars on at least . . .” Mason eyes skimmed to the bottom of the sheet. “Five counts?”

  “Yep,” Emmy said, shifting to cross her ankles rather than her legs.

  “Our Em always finds the dirt,” Logan said, squeezing Emmy’s shoulders.

  “I’m betting we find Rick Carson stole his own car,” Rissi said.

  “Wouldn’t that be a twist.” Logan chuckled.

  “Okay,” Noah said. “Let’s move on to Greg Barnes’s death. I got a couple calls on my way in this morning. First, Joel Waters is being discharged this afternoon and is scheduled to head back out to Dauntless this evening.”

  “Wow. Not a lot of rest there,” Em said.

  “No, but it sure sounds like he’s needed on the rig. The second call I received was from Ed.”

  Rissi scooted forward, anxious to hear what Ed had to say.

  “The mechanics finished taking the compressor apart. They discovered what they believe to be the cause of the problem. They need to wait for Joel to make the final determination, but right now it looks like the gas leak was the result of a failed flange gasket. The weird thing is one of the bolts in the flange was missing.”

  “So it fell out or was defective?” Caleb asked.

  “Ed said no to both.”

  Rissi frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Noah exhaled. “Neither do the guys on the platform. They took the entire compressor apart, and the bolt is gone.”

  “Gone?” Mason said.

  “Gone. As in nowhere in the compressor. Since it’s an enclosed piece of machinery, if the flange bolt had fallen out of place, they would have found it within the machine itself. They even did a sweep of the entire surrounding area and nothing.”

  “And it couldn’t be defective because . . . ?” Logan asked.

  Em patted his face. “You’re so pretty,” she teased.

  “You say that like it’s not a compliment,” he teased back.

  Rissi rolled her eyes. Those two.

  “According to the records,” Noah said, “Greg Barnes performed the safety inspection less than a month ago, and he noted that all parts were intact and in proper working order.”

  “Okay, so what happened to the bolt?” Rissi asked, her mind racing through the possibilities, but she kept coming back to one.

  “Someone took it out on purpose,” Mason said, sitting back and crossing an ankle over his knee.

  “That’s how it looks,” Noah agreed.

  “Which would make the gas leak foul play,” Rissi said, “but was Greg Barnes’s death intentional?”

  “It’s hard to imagine someone would know Greg Barnes would need a smoke and that he’d take it there,” Logan said.

  “But what if it was his daily habit?” Mason said.

  “Or what if this curse stuff was used to really freak him out, knowing he’d smoke,” Rissi said. “But it’s still thin.”

  “Maybe it had nothing to do with killing Greg Barnes and everything to do with halting production,” Mason said, shifting, resting his arm on the back edge of the couch. “Ed mentioned the environmentalists taking some nasty tactics.”

  “Any hard evidence to support that?” Noah asked.

  “Not yet,” Mason said.

  “Caleb and I were told there are rumors surrounding Gwyneth and her willingness to break the law if it meant supporting her cause,” Noah said. “Which coordinates with what Ed Scott told you.”

  “I’ll run with that,” Emmy said, noting it down on her legal pad. “I’ll see what I can dig up now that I have a direction to go. If Gwyneth has broken the law at some point, there may be charges filed against her, a mug shot . . .”

  “If she was ever caught,” Rissi said.

  Noah took a stiff inhale, then exhaled. “It does appear she’s really good at covering her tracks.”

  “I found the same thing in my preliminary searches,” Emmy said. “But if I dig deep enough, I’ll find her.”

  Rissi smiled. Em was the master of finding anyone or anything. Last summer, she’d found a petty officer first class who’d gone AWOL eight years earlier, and he ended up serving his time.

  “Okay, Em,” Noah said. “You concentrate on finding what you can on Gwyneth. Logan, how are things coming with the Freedom Group’s finances?”

  “They take a lot of large anonymous donations. Donations I can’t find anyone writing off on their taxes.”

  “Interesting.” Noah noted it on the board, and Rissi smothered a smile as the neon pink writing filled the white space.

  “They work almost exclusively off donations, not grants,” Logan continued. “However, most marine biologists, which the crew of the Freedom predominantly are, work off grants. It’s an odd combination. Em and I are still trying to compile a complete list of the team on board. Everything surrounding the organization and its namesake ship are murky. But I’ll dig deeper as soon as I get back from the airport.”

  “Okay.” Noah directed his attention at Mason and Rissi. “What’s your plan for today?”

  “We’re going to start interviewing crew one. They were the crew on rotation between when the safety inspection was performed, and the day that Greg Barnes died.”

  “Crew one rotated out the morning of Greg Barnes’s death,” Mason added.

  Noah tapped the marker against his palm. “Definitely convenient timing.”

  “Agreed,” Mason said.

  “All right, one more thing before we go,” Noah said. “Coast Guard Medic Brooke Kesler’s home was broken into the last two nights.”

  “What?” Concern flipped Rissi’s gut. “Is she all right?” Brooke was a sweet lady and a fantastic flight medic, and they’d been spending more time together because of their mutual friendship with Gabby.

  �
��She’s fine,” Noah said, an ounce of concern clinging to his usually steady voice.

  Rissi quirked a brow. Not like her boss at all. He was always confident, steadfast in their ability to work a case or protect someone. But . . . she studied his set jaw. He was worried about Brooke?

  “Finn did a full run-through after the first break-in before he and Gabby headed to the airport,” Noah said. “They called me in to keep an eye on Brooke and to work the case. Em’s been working the evidence samples Finn collected, along with the samples she and Logan collected last night.”

  “Any suspects?” Caleb asked.

  “She has an ex, Brodie O’Connell, who has been harassing her for ending things. The perpetrator left a message in lipstick on her mirror basically saying ‘You hurt me. Now I hurt you.’ Finn took a sample of the lipstick.”

  Em nodded.

  “If that doesn’t sound like an angry, unstable ex, I don’t know what does,” Rissi said.

  “One more thing,” Noah said, once again addressing Rissi and Mason. “The NTSB liaison, Jeremy Brandt, called just before you two walked in. They salvaged the wreckage, and it’s being systematically combed through. They’ll figure out what happened and will continue to keep us in the loop.”

  “Great,” Rissi said, anxious to know what had gone so wrong.

  THIRTY-NINE

  “Okay,” Noah said. “Logan, get a mug shot and anything you can find on Rick Carson, our car owner and possible thief.” Noah shook his head. “Never thought I’d say that sentence in my lifetime.”

  He shifted his gaze back to Logan. “Take any photos you find online that might help you identify him, then head on over to view the airport surveillance footage.”

  “Roger that,” Logan said, striding for his desk.

  “Caleb, head over to the address that Em has on Carson. Interview him, see if you can shake anything loose.”

  “On it,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “Ris and Mason, you already know what you’re working on.”

  Rissi nodded.

  Noah set down the pink marker. “I’m going to have a chat with Brodie O’Connell.”

  “Keep us posted,” Rissi said.

  “Will do,” Noah said, heading for the station door, followed by Caleb. He turned and looked at Rissi. “Good luck today.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled.

  “I’m going to grab a drink for the road,” Mason said, heading for the kitchen. “Can I get either of you ladies one?”

  “A gentleman,” Emmy said. “I’d love a LaCroix.”

  “You got it.” He looked to Rissi. The way he looked at her was unlike the way he looked at anyone else—like she was the only one in the room. “And you?”

  “I’ll take the same as Emmy. Thanks.”

  He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Emmy leaned over as the door shut behind him.

  “So what did you want to talk about?” Rissi asked.

  “We need to keep this between us,” Em said.

  It wasn’t like Emmy to keep things on the down low. Emmy never slandered anyone or repeated a rumor that might be hurtful, but she definitely kept up on the lives of those around her, and of those they investigated. Which made Rissi wonder how much Emmy knew about her and Mason. If this was an attempt to get juicy details, she was going to throttle Em.

  Logan came and joined them. “News time?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” There was definite hesitancy in Em’s voice. What was she about to tell them?

  Emmy’s gaze shifted to Mason exiting the kitchen with three coconut LaCroixs in hand. “Sorry, man,” he said to Logan. “Want me to grab you something?” he asked as he passed out the cold sparkling waters.

  “I’m good, but thanks,” Logan said. “Sit down and join us. Em has some news.”

  “What’s going on?” Rissi asked, wondering why she hadn’t shared during case-board time.

  “I got a line on Gwyneth Lansing,” Em began. “Gwyneth spent last academic year teaching marine biology at University of North Carolina Wilmington.”

  “Okay.” Lucas attended UNC Wilmington, but so did a ton of other students. Rissi wasn’t ready to jump to any conclusions, but it was intriguing both had been on the same campus.

  “We looked at her class rosters,” Logan said, “to see if any names lined up from the Dauntless. It was a long shot, but it panned out.”

  Rissi shifted, concerned with the direction this was going. “What did you find?”

  “Caleb’s nephew, Lucas, took two of Gwyneth’s classes before he dropped out and went to work on Dauntless,” Em said, straight to the point albeit with compassion.

  Rissi’s stomach plummeted. “Are you sure?”

  “We checked twice,” Logan said. “Even called the registrar to confirm.”

  Rissi shut her eyes. It didn’t prove anything specific, but it did prove a connection between someone on Dauntless and someone on the Freedom.

  “I have the dorm information of Lucas’s old roommate, who also was in one of Gwyneth’s classes.” Emmy handed Rissi a slip of paper with the guy’s name, the dorm name, and his room number. “Maybe he can tell you if the two ever interacted beyond normal classroom conversation.”

  Rissi knew what Em and Logan were getting at, but they were skirting around it. She prayed they weren’t right, but they had to make sure Lucas wasn’t involved with Gwyneth in any way other than student to teacher. “We’ll stop by the campus today.”

  “If you need us, we can help with interviewing crew one,” Emmy said.

  “Thanks. We’ll talk with”—Rissi looked down at the slip of paper—“Seth, and if we need to follow a lead, we’ll call you.”

  “Sounds good.” Logan nodded.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Rissi said as she and Mason walked out to his Impala. While her Fiat was adorable, his car was downright awesome.

  He held the passenger door open for her before walking around to his side. The scent of rugged spice swirled in the air. Did he always have to smell so alluring? She needed to concentrate on the interview before them, not on how amazing he looked or smelled.

  Mason turned the key and the 350-ci V8 engine growled to life.

  They pulled out of the lot before Mason asked, “Which part is hard to believe?”

  “Lucas taking Gwyneth’s class. The fact that there’s a connection between them . . .”

  “Yeah.” He turned right and tapped the wheel. “I gotta say that doesn’t look good.”

  “Not at all.”

  Noah once again found Brodie at the fire station. This time the firefighter who greeted him in the bay wasn’t nearly as affable.

  He flashed his badge. “Noah Rowley. CGIS. I’m looking for Brodie O’Connell.”

  “I know who you are,” the dark-haired man said. “And you’re barking up the wrong tree. Brodie’s a good guy.”

  Good guys didn’t lay a hand on women. “Where is he?”

  The guy gestured to the back hall. “Studying for his lieutenant exam.” Without another word, the guy turned back to reloading the fire engine’s gear.

  Noah found Brodie three doors down on the right. He sat at a round table, his back to the wall, his head down and focused on a thick test prep manual.

  Noah knocked on the doorframe.

  Brodie looked up, and his gaze hardened. “What do you want now?”

  “Brooke’s house was broken into again, and a lot of damage was done.”

  Brodie closed the book. A large red badge atop a blue oval covered the center of the manual. “I’m sorry to hear that, but it wasn’t me.”

  “I didn’t say that it was, but interesting you should go right to being defensive.”

  “Dude, come on. If you’re here it’s because you think I’m the one who did it.” He stood and tucked the exam prep book under his arm. “But I didn’t.”

  He started for the door.

  Noah took a full stance in it, blocking Brodie’s way. “We’
re not finished.”

  “So this is how we’re going to play it?” Brodie asked, his shoulders squaring.

  “Looks that way.”

  “You know I could kick your butt.”

  Noah cocked his head. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “And get arrested for hitting a CGIS agent. I don’t think so.”

  “Look. You can answer my questions here, or I can haul you into the station.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Brodie said, his cheeks flaring red. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Where were you last night between 1930 and 2100?”

  “At Riley’s.” His jaw tightened.

  “As in Riley’s Pub?”

  “Yeah, my rotation ended at 1900, and then me and a few of the guys headed to Riley’s.”

  He had to be lying. Wasn’t he? An unsettling, disjointed feeling swept through Noah. If Brodie really had an alibi, then who’d been at Brooke’s?

  Caleb pulled up the right side of the circular driveway, around the edge of the cobalt blue tiled fountain with a Greek-style sculpture of a woman holding a basket of grapes.

  He rolled to a stop in front of the two-story, eighties-style home. Off-white with large windows and he’d bet at least five thousand square feet.

  Stepping from the vehicle, he caught sight of the four-car garage. And just his luck, one of the bays was open.

  Glancing back at the house to make sure no one had noticed his arrival, he moved for the garage. A silver Aston Martin Vanquish was parked in the open bay.

  If he owned a sweet ride like that, he’d never bother with an SUV.

  “Hello,” he called into the garage.

  No answer.

  Pulling his Glock, just in case, he stepped in and cleared the area. In the third stall over sat a black SUV that fit the description Rissi and Mason had given. He pulled out his phone and tapped off some pictures, making sure to get the license plate.