by Dani Pettrey
“Did the police have any luck with the man she saw going over her fence?” Emmy asked. “I know they didn’t find him last night, but maybe one of the neighbors saw something or heard a car peel away.”
“They did a thorough canvas of the neighborhood,” Noah said. “Unfortunately, nothing but a dog barking three streets over around the time the man disappeared.”
“Did they talk to the dog’s owner?” Caleb asked.
Noah looked around the room. This was why he loved his team. They were all in sync. Well, all but Caleb and Mason. That adjustment would take time. “Officer Jenkins spoke with her. He said she swore something was wrong with, and I quote, her ‘pumpkin poo.’ Apparently, Pumpkin Poo isn’t a barker.”
Logan chuckled. “Sorry,” he said, his laughter continuing.
“No worries,” Noah said with a smile. “I cracked up too.”
“Did she see or hear anything?” Caleb asked.
“No,” Noah said.
Emmy crossed her legs. “We did learn one thing. It seems Brooke’s stalker is familiar with her neighborhood. Being able to get out unseen by anyone other than a dog.”
“Good point,” Noah said.
“Which again points to Brodie,” Caleb said, then shifted his attention to Noah. “You want me to come with you to Riley’s?”
“That’ll be helpful,” Noah said. “We can cover more ground, talk to more people that way.”
“I’ll tell you who’d be more helpful,” Logan said. He shifted his attention to Caleb. “No insult meant.”
“None taken, but I’m curious where this is going,” Caleb said with narrowed eyes.
Logan hopped up on the corner of Emmy’s desk.
“Are you going to tell us who you’re thinking of?” Noah asked.
“Em.”
She looked at him, curiosity dancing in her wide green eyes. “I’m happy to go, but why me?”
“Because you’re a woman, of course.”
Emmy arched a brow, pinning her intent, viperlike gaze on Logan. “You better be going someplace nonsexist with that comment.”
He held up his hands, a little twinge of mock fear in his eyes. Noah tried not to chuckle.
“I am,” Logan assured.
Emmy linked her arms across her chest, her polka-dot blouse bunching beneath them. “I can’t wait to hear this one.” She moved around her desk to face him.
“Just hear me out.”
“I’m listening.” She tapped the red soles of her Louboutins against the floor.
Noah’d had no clue what they were until his sister Gabby freaked over the red underside of the shoes. Apparently, they were high fashion—which didn’t surprise him about Emmy—but also extremely high priced. She had said they were a gift. Actually, that’s all she’d say, no matter how much Gabby pressed her about who the giver was.
“Okay. Two guys, such as yourselves,” Logan said, looking to Noah and Caleb, “look like cops. You two walk in Riley’s, and everyone’s defenses go up.”
Noah and Caleb looked at each other.
“I think we were just insulted,” Noah said.
“I agree,” Caleb said, crossing his arms.
“Not at all,” Logan said, hopping off Emmy’s desk. “But, Em, if you saw these two enter a restaurant . . .”
“Yeah. I get what he’s saying.”
Logan smirked.
“Don’t push it,” she said.
Logan’s smirk turned into a wide grin. “I know no other way.”
Emmy inhaled, then released it slowly. “That’s precisely the problem.”
Logan frowned, but she continued. “You two definitely give off the cop vibe.”
“I’d ask what that is,” Noah said, “but I’m not sure I want to know.”
“All I’m saying,” Logan said, standing between Noah and Emmy, “is that if you walk in with Emmy on your arm, where are all the guys going to look?”
Logan had a point after all.
“All right,” Noah said. “Emmy, you and I will head to Riley’s tonight.”
“Sure. What time are you thinking?”
“2100. I’ll pick you up.”
“The time works, but I’ll meet you at your house. I’m having dinner with a friend not far from your neighborhood.”
“Great. It’s settled,” Noah said.
“A friend?” Logan said. “Male or female friend?”
She walked back around her desk and retook her seat. “None of your business.”
Logan exhaled. “Fair enough, but tonight, for Riley’s wear something . . .”
She arched a brow. “Something?”
“Something less professional and more date-like.”
She stared at him like he had to be kidding.
“You do go on dates, don’t you?” Logan asked, his tone casual, but there was something in his gaze. . . .
Noah studied him. Was he hoping she’d say no?
“Of course I go on dates,” Emmy said.
“What did you wear on your last one?”
“A white short-sleeve blouse, navy pencil skirt, and white sling backs.”
“Nice.” Logan smiled. “Wear that.”
“Okay, now that we’re done discussing my wardrobe, what happened with Rick Carson?” she asked Caleb, curiosity alight in her eyes.
Caleb shared what he’d learned.
Noah sat back. “Rich?” He shook his head. “I hadn’t seen that coming.”
“Believe me, neither did I.”
“And you think he’s conning this woman? That he lied to you about changing his ways?” he asked Caleb, but he already knew they’d agree on the answer.
“I do.” Caleb nodded.
“I can spot a con a mile away,” Logan said, folding a piece of spearmint gum into his mouth, then offering everybody one.
“You want to head over and take a crack at him?” Noah asked Logan.
“Actually,” he said, straightening his pink shirt collar. Only Logan could get away with pink. Despite his protesting it was salmon, the shirt was pink. “I want to take a crack at the fiancée.”
Em rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”
“It’s not like that,” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Give me more credit,” he said. “I highly doubt Rick Carson is going to give us the information needed. His fiancée might.”
“Fine,” Noah said. It wasn’t a half-bad idea. “See if you can talk to the fiancée without Carson around.”
“And warn her about Carson,” Caleb said.
“Will do.” Logan nodded.
“Before you go,” Noah said, “what happened with the airport surveillance footage?”
“Right.” Logan strode to his desk and grabbed a manila file folder, which he handed to Noah. “Here you go.”
Noah flipped through the screenshots he’d pulled from the footage. “Could any of these be Rick Carson?” he asked Caleb as he handed each to him.
“No, but I’m pretty sure I know who that is.”
Noah arched a brow.
“He’s one of Carson’s . . . henchmen, for lack of a better word. He has that build.”
“Which is quite distinctive,” Emmy said.
“So . . .” Logan slipped his hands into his gray dress pants. “That’s your type. World Wrestling Federation guys?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged a shoulder, her gaze on an open file on her desk and not at him.
“Carson said he sent Grigor to fetch some papers out of the vehicle.”
“Last name?” Emmy asked, ready to type the name in and start searching.
“Sorry. Didn’t get one. But Carson said the SUV was gone when Grigor got there.”
“Apparently not.” Noah held up the photo of Grigor climbing in the SUV. “And . . .” He held up the next picture of Grigor driving it out of the garage.
“Fast-forward to the middle of the night that Rissi and Mason were followed, and Grigor returns the SUV to where he took it from, ” C
aleb said.
“Do you think Rick was in Dayton?” Noah asked.
Caleb shook his head. “Not even a little chance. The flight manifest has his name on it, but once past airport security, he could have bribed anyone who looked remotely like him to take his place on his flight.”
“You think Carson was in that car following Rissi and Mason?” Noah asked, getting to the heart of the matter.
“I do.” Caleb gave a nod of agreement.
FORTY-ONE
When Logan left to meet Bella Armstrong at a coffee shop and Emmy was engrossed in searching for answers on Rick Carson, Noah grabbed the folder Austin Kelly had given them and tucked it under his arm. “Let’s head into one of the interrogation rooms, Caleb. It’ll be quieter, and we can dig into the file there.”
“Sounds good,” Caleb replied.
Once settled in their seats, Noah flipped the file open. “Let’s see what we have here.” He took the first half of the file and gave the remainder to Caleb.
A couple of hours and a pot of coffee later, Noah flipped over the last page in his pile. Austin Kelly had done her work well, but he was curious about Caleb’s insight.
When Caleb finished, he stacked his papers, photographs, and newspaper clippings back into a neat pile and tapped it upright on the desk to straighten it further.
“Well?” Noah said.
“She did an impressively thorough job.”
“Why, thank you.”
Noah and Caleb both turned to see Austin at the door with a wide grin on her face.
“Sorry,” Logan said, standing in the open doorway beside her. “She asked to see you. Actually, insisted on it.”
“It’s okay,” Noah said.
Logan nodded. “You guys need anything else?”
Noah was anxious to learn what Logan had found out from Bella, but that could wait. “Another pot of coffee would be great,” he said. Rissi often brought in the morning espresso drinks, but when it came to ground office coffee, Logan made the best. He supplied them with his favorite Kona coffee blend.
“I prefer tea,” Austin said. “Green kombucha with a little honey. I have some with me.” She pulled a packet out of her backpack and handed it to Logan. “Thank you.”
Logan smiled. “My pleasure.”
“I didn’t realize you were staying,” Caleb said.
“I’m sure you gentlemen could use my . . . What was it you called it? Oh right, my impressively thorough job insights.” She set her backpack on the table and pulled out a chair.
Noah smothered a smile. He liked Austin. She was bold and sassy. And after spending the last couple of hours reviewing her meticulous work, it was clear she was a brilliant investigator. Plus, he liked that her backpack, white linen pants with blue stripes, and a short-sleeve navy top that hit the high waist of the pants sent a definite beach boho vibe—as his sister Gabby would describe it. He didn’t quite understand what boho meant, but thanks to Gabby endlessly pointing out styles to him, he could at least recognize it when he saw it.
Caleb looked to Noah. “She’s joining us?”
“Yes.” Noah smiled. “I believe she is.” If for nothing else, to watch her and Caleb go at it. But in all honesty, he truly believed she would be a great asset to their investigation.
“Where are you boys at?” she asked, making herself comfortable.
Caleb’s brows arched. “‘Boys’?”
“I’m sorry. Do you prefer guys? Dudes? Men?”
“The latter will be fine.” The muscle in Caleb’s jaw flickered.
“We’ve finished reading through your file,” Noah said. “I took the first half and Caleb the second, and we were just about to discuss.”
“Wonderful. Then it looks as if I’ve arrived at the perfect time.”
“Debatable,” Caleb murmured under his breath.
Noah took the fresh cup of coffee Logan brought in and sat back with a smile. This is going to be fun.
FORTY-TWO
The address Seth provided led Mason and Rissi to a U-shaped complex that looked more like a motel with monthly rental units than an apartment building.
Mason glanced around. It looked sketchy. “Is this the right place?”
“I’ll double-check.” She looked at her phone. “Yep, this is it.”
Longboards lined the front porches while surfboards and skimboards rested against the exterior wall.
Rissi removed her blazer, pulled her hair up in a ponytail, and stepped from the car.
Mason arched a brow.
“Trust me. They’ll view us . . .” She looked him up and down. “Well, me less intimidating this way.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Are you implying I’m always intimidating?”
“Not always.” She smiled. “At least not with me.” She winked and headed for the front corner unit marked Office.
“Interesting choice of location,” he said, looking around as he moved in step with her. Looked like yet another bad choice by Caleb’s nephew.
He opened the white storm door for her and then followed her into a dim ten-by-ten room. The whir of fan blades hummed from the bar-height front desk.
A fly buzzed by Rissi’s head before zinging past his. He swatted it away and moved to ring the reception-desk bell.
It twanged. A moment later a fifty-something man stepped through the beaded strings separating the back room from the front office.
“Yeah?” His brown bowling shirt embroidered with Harvey’s Howlers was buttoned askew. His white undershirt was gray around the collar.
“We’re with CGIS,” Rissi said, flashing her badge. “We need to speak with Lucas Eason’s roommates.”
He scratched his belly. “Who?”
Mason pulled the copy he’d printed of Lucas’s driver’s license. He held it out to the man he assumed was the manager of the place. “Him.”
“Oh, that kid. He and his buddies are renting unit eleven.”
“Great.” Rissi slid her badge into her back pocket.
“Thank you,” Mason said, and the man nodded.
They walked along the cracked parking lot, toward the unit at the far end of the U.
The breeze whipping off the ocean swirled sea air around them. He loved the smell of the sea. It was the same no matter where he went. One of God’s great constants. The sun peeking through fast-moving clouds cast their shadows on the pavement before them.
A guy with long curly hair hanging a couple of inches below his shoulders exited unit eleven. He kicked the longboard up into his outstretched hand with a flick of his foot, making the wheels clink.
He glanced up, his inquisitive gaze flickering over Mason before settling on Rissi.
He smiled and adjusted his board shorts with his free hand.
“Hi,” Rissi said, approaching him.
His smile grew. “Hi, yourself.”
“I’m Agent Dawson, and this is Agent Rogers.”
“Agents?” the guy said. “Cool.”
“With Coast Guard Investigative Service. We’re hoping we can ask you a few questions about your roommate Lucas.”
The guy’s brown eyes narrowed. “Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“No, we’re just interviewing everyone who works on the Dauntless and those closest to them.”
“Why?”
“Because there was a death on board, and we’re trying to figure out what happened.”
“Somebody died. No way!”
“I’m afraid so,” Rissi said.
“So can we ask you a few questions?” Mason asked.
The guy looked at Rissi. “She can.”
Mason took a step back and let Rissi go for it.
Two more guys around Lucas’s age approached on longboards. “Who you talking to, Beckham?”
“They’re agents with Coast Guard . . .”
“Investigative Service,” Rissi finished. She stepped toward the guys who had just walked up. “I’m Rissi.”
They introduced themselves as Ollie
and Chauncy.
Ollie looked at Beckham. “Why you talking to cops, man?”
“They aren’t technically cops, and someone died on Lucas’s platform.”
Chauncy looked at them, his dark eyes settling on Mason. “If they are asking about Lucas, that means they think he had something to do with the death.”
“As far as we know, the death was an accident,” Mason said.
Chauncy’s gaze narrowed. “Then why the questions?”
Mason slid his sunglasses down his nose, looking at the cocky kid over them. “Protocol.”
“Uh-huh.” Chauncy wasn’t buying it.
“Nice trucks,” Rissi said, looking at his board. “Paris?”
Chauncy cocked his head. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Same trucks I have.”
“You longboard?”
“Yep. I like how your trucks are mounted. Let me guess, hard wheels?”
“Yeah.” Chauncy’s eyes narrowed again as if he still wasn’t buying it. “What kind of deck do you have?”
“Dervish.”
“Sweet,” Beckham said.
Chauncy sized her up and down, and Mason’s muscles tensed. He didn’t like the way Chauncy was looking at her and was about to put him in his place when Rissi asked, “Mind if I give it a try?”
“Sure,” he said, handing her the board.
She inspected it. “Mine are a lot softer, and I keep my trucks loose to make it easier for me to turn.”
“Most boards are made for guys, so for your weight I bet that works best.”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “Mind if I give it a try? I’m always curious how other boards ride.”
Chauncy shrugged. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” Standing on the board, she got up to a decent speed before leaning back and curving hard. She shifted her shoulders ninety degrees, then pushed with her back foot into a slide, making a one-eighty.
“Dang.” Chauncy whistled, shaking his hand like he was dropping a hot coal. “You just did a slide.”
“Yep,” she said, flipping the board up into her hand.
“Not many chicks can slide.” Chauncy’s smile widened.
“Nice custom,” she said of the wood-burned pirate design underneath. “I’ve got a sea turtle and Hawaiian tribal design.”