by Dani Pettrey
“Yes, ma’am.” He strode over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Sleep well.”
Noah’s and Emmy’s gazes both landed on her, questions clearly racing through their minds.
“Thanks.” She turned to Emmy. “’Night, Emmy. Thanks for your help tonight.”
“No problem. Anytime.”
She and Noah saw them out, and for a moment it was like they were a couple seeing friends off for the night. It felt . . . surreal. Like a lost dream she’d given up on years ago.
She locked up while Noah set the alarm. “So you never said what happened with Brodie’s alibi.”
He gestured to the couch, and she sat, pulling her legs up to her chest and tossing a Hurricanes hockey team blanket across her bent knees. She wasn’t sure she was ready to hear this, but she certainly wasn’t ready to go to bed without knowing.
Noah draped his arm along the back of the couch. “Brodie was at Riley’s Pub with his crewmates, like they all said.”
Fear clamped hold, her pulse spiking. “Then who—”
“But,” Noah interrupted, giving her hope it was still Brodie. Not that she wanted anyone stalking her, but an unknown stalker scared her more than Brodie being a vengeful moron. “It doesn’t sound like he was there all night. Everyone remembers him coming in with his crewmates, ordering a beer or two, then no one remembers him being around until he started a game of pool around 0100.”
“So he could have ducked out.”
“It’s definitely possible.”
“What now?”
“Now you go to bed. You need your rest.”
“So do you.”
“Agreed.”
Twenty minutes later, she lay back in bed, calmer than she’d been the last time around. Knowing Noah was sleeping down the hall in her guest room gave her peace. He was strong, resolute, and an excellent agent, but that’s not what was tugging at her heart. It was his kindness, his strong yet gentle manner. His love for his family. His playful side she’d come to see. He really was the sweetest man. She rolled over, staring at the shut blinds. Why couldn’t a guy like him fall for a girl like her?
He stood outside, using the old oak tree in her lawn for cover this time. Her silhouette passed in front of her bedroom window before moving out of sight.
So she thought the agents helping her would dissuade him. On the contrary, he was more committed than ever.
The fear on her face when she spotted him in her backyard had filled him with bliss. Bliss because he’d accomplished the first part of his mission—filling her with fear. Raw, gnawing fear.
Her bedroom light switched off, and he smiled, the tree’s knotty surface bumpy beneath his gloved hands. He was just getting started.
FORTY-SIX
Fresh morning coffee in hand, Rissi and Mason strolled down the Riverwalk and she, once again, fought the urge to hold his hand. Still feeling horrible for breaking the news to Caleb about Lucas, she’d tried calling him last night, but it’d just gone to voicemail. She’d tried again this morning, but he’d probably been on his daily run.
Since she and Mason had their investigative plan for the day and weren’t heading into the office for the morning meeting, Noah had called to update them about all that was happening with Brooke. Black widows? Rissi shivered. Things were quickly getting out of control, and in an effort to make sure she stayed safe, Noah had decided to stay in Brooke’s guest room until either they were able to prove it was Brodie and put him behind bars, or Gabby and Finn returned, and they could take turns with Brooke. From her boss’s voice, it sure didn’t sound like he minded handling guard duty in the meantime.
Curious.
She and Mason decided to take Em’s advice and visit Margaret Gregory as soon as the Wilmington Maritime Historical Museum opened. If Lucas was using the curse as a cover to sabotage things on Dauntless—or even if he wasn’t behind all that was going on, so many of the crew were buying into the curse that it was clearly affecting rig operation. It was time they learned exactly what they were dealing with.
The museum was located along a flat-stone street at the end of the Riverwalk. Mason held the door open for her, and they stepped inside. White wainscoting covered the bottom half of soft blue walls. Glass cases stood all around the front room, with portraits and informational plaques artfully lining the walls.
A refined woman greeted them. “Hello, how may I help you?”
“Hi. I’m Rissi Dawson, and this is . . .”
“Mason Rogers,” he said, extending his hand. “Pleasure, ma’am.”
“‘Ma’am’?” She laughed. “I appreciate the politeness, but I hate ma’am. Makes me sound like an old dowdy.”
“That surely was not my intention.”
“I know, young man, but you may call me Margaret.”
“Margaret,” he said with a smile.
Rissi smiled. Their day was starting off well, apparently being greeted by the very woman they hoped to see.
Margaret shifted her warm gaze to Rissi. “How may I assist you today? Are you here to tour the museum?”
“I’d love to look around.” She loved all things related to the sea. “But first, we’d like to talk to you about a local curse.” She felt funny even saying the word.
“Ah, the one that has all the sailors spooked?”
“Yes, ma—” Mason stopped as Margaret looked at him over the rim of her glasses. “Margaret,” he said.
“Captain Josiah Henry’s curse,” Margaret said with a pleased smile.
“That’s the one,” Rissi said. “It’s got the Dauntless crew all worked up.”
Margaret shook her head. “Based on the murmurings around town, I can say they have good reason to be worked up.”
“You believe in the curse?”
Margaret waggled her finger in the air. “Of course not.” She headed toward the hallway and indicated for them to follow. “But I can imagine how, when they are out at sea for three weeks at a time and things keep going wrong, it is normal to start looking for explanations. And men at sea seem more susceptible, shall we say, to legends.”
“But it’s not real.”
“I assume not, but”—she shrugged her petite shoulders, her pearl necklace swishing across her blouse—“you never know.” She winked.
“Can you tell us about it?” Mason asked. “About Henry.”
“Surely,” she said, leading them to a portrait on the wall of a handsome man in a dashing suit with dark hair and green eyes.
Margaret leaned in, lowering her voice as if she were about to impart a take-it-to-the-grave secret. “Have you heard of the Apparition?”
“No.”
“Well, Josiah Henry was captain of the Apparition.”
“Excuse me,” Rissi said, not trying to be rude, “but this plaque says he captained the Providence.”
“You’re right, my dear. Apparition became the nickname of the Providence because it was said she moved like a shadow through the British blockades off our coast during the Revolutionary War. Captain Henry’s first mate was a man by the name of Wells Blackwood the Fourth. Rather a fitting name for a traitor, don’t you think?”
She headed for the back hall and bid them to come with her. “Let’s chat over a cup of tea, shall we?”
“Thank you,” Rissi said.
“That’s very kind of you,” Mason added.
Once Rissi and Mason were settled at a round table in the center of a large office space, Margaret set out tea. Rissi guessed the room probably used to be the dining room of the old house—the large, ornate fireplace being the key factor in her determination.
Rissi wanted to ask Margaret about the house’s history, but they needed to stay on task. It certainly would be fun to come back and spend another day learning from Margaret though. She was a delightful lady.
Margaret poured the Earl Grey and offered the traditional cream and sugar cubes. Once seated, she continued, “It is believed that Wells sold out the ship and all hundred and forty souls on bo
ard to the British Captain Bartholomew Norrington.
“Blackwood was a loyalist to the king posing as a patriot aboard the Providence. The scoundrel passed a message to Bartholomew and when the Providence appeared on the horizon, moonlight glinting off the otherwise dark ship, Norrington and his men ambushed it. They spared Blackwood, seized the cargo, and sank the ship with everyone else on board, except a lowly deckhand who managed to escape.”
Margaret leaned in closer, delicate spider lines creasing the corners of her narrowed blue eyes. “Before the ship went down, Captain Henry vowed revenge on Blackwood for his treachery and on all British warships in the area.” She straightened and lifted her rose-patterned teacup. “And he upheld his promise.” She took a proper sip.
“How?” Mason asked, setting his cup on his saucer with a repercussive ting. The cutest expression of a kid who’d just broke Mom’s vase crossed his handsome face.
But Margaret simply smiled. “That is why tea is a woman’s sport.” She laughed. “The cups are not made for stalwart hands.”
“True.” Mason shrugged.
“I like you, my dear.” She smiled at Rissi. “Both of you. I hope what I share is helpful to you both.”
“Very much so,” Rissi said.
“Good. Now, where was I? Oh yes, every British warship to enter the area throughout the remainder of the war sank nearly on top of the spot where the Apparition went down. At that point no one called it the Providence anymore. She had lived up to her nickname and was a haunting ghost looking for ships to devour. The deckhand who escaped told the story and it spread. And, as most legends do, it grew deeper and darker with time.”
She took another delicate sip before proceeding. “Many a sailor has claimed to see the Apparition moving like a shadow through the night.”
“Why do people think Dauntless is being affected?”
“Because it’s tied in less than a nautical mile from where the Apparition went down. When the drilling crew came in and set up the subsea part of the well, the men disturbed not only the ecosystem, but Henry and his crew’s resting spot.”
She placed her teacup in the saucer and smoothed her sophisticated bob cut. “If you believe in the curse, then it would seem that Captain Henry is angry that Textra Oil paid no respect to the Apparition. Rumor has it that the commercial diver working for Textra also dove the wreck of Apparition, which has never been done before. Add in the men working in submersibles on the line sweeping over the wreck as if it were some carnival attraction, and hauling and placing all that equipment, pumping oil so nearby . . .” She inhaled, then released it. “It’s no wonder the men are spooked.”
“So you think the men were spooked because of the location before any of the problems started?” Mason asked.
“Yes,” Margaret said. “I think that’s precisely correct.”
“So if a person wanted to sabotage the Dauntless and delay or even stop production . . .” Mason said.
“They’d start playing into the crew’s fears,” Rissi said.
“Exactly.” Mason smiled, his green eyes lighting with the motion.
Margaret’s gaze swished slowly between the two of them, and her graceful smile widened.
Rissi’s phone vibrated in her pocket. “I’m so sorry. Can you excuse me? It’s my boss.”
“Of course, dear.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said, then stepped outside. The air was heavy with the threat of rain. It had drizzled last night, but it was coming in stronger today. “Hi, boss,” she said. “Mason and I are interviewing the docent from the historical museum.”
“I hope you’ve learned some helpful information, but you guys need to come back in.”
“Sure. We’ll head right over. What’s going on?”
“Jeremy Brandt of NTSB called.”
“And?”
“The copter was rigged to crash.”
FORTY-SEVEN
“The copter was sabotaged?” Mason asked as they entered the station. He had hoped it would be deemed an accident. Sabotage added so many facets to the investigation, but the highest priority was determining who the target had been.
“I’m afraid so,” Noah said.
“Someone was trying to kill us or someone else on the copter,” Rissi said. “How could they even know any of us would be on that helicopter?”
“There was a death aboard Dauntless. They might have known we’d send out investigators, but it’s more likely they intended to harm Textra Oil.”
“You’re thinking the Freedom Group?” Rissi said as she paced. “And to think I credited them as our rescuers.”
“Some of the group might be legit,” Noah said.
“I highly doubt Gwyneth is.” Rissi shook her head.
“It was awfully convenient that they were on their run back out to the Freedom when we went down,” Mason said.
“And it puts Gwyneth on land when the copter might have been sabotaged.” Rissi looked to Noah. “Do we know when it was sabotaged?”
“The mechanic they determined compromised the helo’s collective is named Randy Patterson. He’s being questioned by NTSB now. Brandt extended the courtesy for me to come over and get briefed by him after the interrogation.”
“That was thoughtful of him,” Rissi said.
“Yeah.” Noah nodded.
Mason had seen that taut look on Noah’s face a few times since his arrival on the team, and it never lined up with anything but bad news.
“Seems like this is our day for bad news,” Noah began, confirming Mason’s intuition. “Ed Scott called right before you guys got here, and two things have recently happened on Dauntless.”
Noah took a sharp inhale, and Rissi glanced between him and Mason as he continued. “First, Chase Calhoun is dead.”
“The diver? Dead?” Rissi sputtered.
“I’m afraid so. According to Ed, he was impaled by a stingray.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my goodness.”
“Migration season. There are so many. Apparently, Chase had gone down for a preliminary assessment and . . .” Noah ran a hand across his chin. “Actually, I’ll let Ed and the crew present at the time tell you the rest. I wouldn’t want to relay any inaccurate information.”
“Tell us?” Mason asked. “You want us to head back out?”
“Yes, but this time pack a bag. I have a feeling you two might be there awhile.”
“Yes, sir,” Mason said.
“But the storm’s coming in,” Emmy said.
“It’s not supposed to hit bad until tomorrow,” Mason said. “We should be fine.”
“It might take longer than a day,” Noah said.
“Oil platforms weather storms all the time. We’ll be fine,” Rissi said.
“You said there were two things that happened.” Mason wasn’t sure whether he really wanted to know, but he and Rissi needed an idea of what they were walking into.
“Right. Second thing is that they found the missing flange bolt.”
“Great. Then that rules out foul play,” Rissi said.
“I’m afraid not. It was found in one of the crew washing machines.”
Why did Mason have the feeling he knew whose stuff it had been found with?
“Adam Jones said he was waiting to do his laundry and heard a clanging noise start up in one of the machines. When the cycle ended and they took out the clothes, they found the bolt lying in the empty machine.”
“Whose wash was it?”
“Lucas’s.”
“Hey, Mason,” Maddie said, shifting to look back at them as they climbed into the Coast Guard helicopter. “Rissi. Good to see you both again, but I’m guessing if you’re heading back to Dauntless, it’s not for the best reasons.”
“No, unfortunately not,” Rissi said, storing her duffel in the back rack beside Mason’s.
“We’ve got one more passenger joining us,” Maddie said.
“Oh?” Rissi asked.
“Bob Stanton,” Maddie said
. “Apparently some bigwig with Textra Oil. Noah insisted you guys fly out on one of our copters until all of Textra Oil’s are checked and deemed safe by the NTSB. Bob needed a ride out, so Noah offered to let him tag along.”
“We’ve met Bob,” Mason said, glancing over to see Bob making his way over to the bird with a black boot on his left foot.
“Hi, guys,” Bob said as Mason helped him up into the copter. “Thanks,” he said as he settled in his seat.
“I didn’t know you’d be joining us,” Rissi said.
“My platform is out of control. I’m going to ensure we are back on schedule ASAP.”
“Back on schedule?” Rissi said, her voice heightening.
“Yes.” Bob dabbed the rain off his face with his white handkerchief. “We’ve been behind since the first incident.”
“And by incident you mean Greg Barnes’s death?” Mason said.
“Yes,” Bob said without compunction.
“All right, good-looking,” Maddie said to Mason, as he was the only one not seated. “Buckle up, we’re ready to go.”
Mason sank into the seat beside Rissi.
Rissi leaned over and whispered as the blades purred to life, “Looks like you have a fan.”
Maddie seemed nice but was not for him. The only woman for him was sitting on his left, and it took all the restraint he had not to reach out and hold her hand.
“And we’re off,” Maddie said over the comm as they settled their headsets over their ears, positioning the microphone in front of their mouths.
The blades thwacked as they flew out over the ocean.
Mason’s sat phone rang. He pulled it out of the interior pocket of his windbreaker.
Sliding his headset off, he answered. “Rogers,” he hollered over the deep whoosh of the blades reverberating in his chest.
“This is Jeremy Brandt. NTSB. We spoke previously.”
“Yes. I remember. Have you learned anything?” He purposely asked without being specific. Being on a copter headed to Dauntless wasn’t really the best time to learn what had gone wrong the first time around.
“Your boss gave me this number. He said you’d want to know.”