by Dani Pettrey
Rissi’s brows arched. “From the inside out?”
Ed nodded.
“We should have her arrested,” Bob said, his round face nearly tinging purple.
“Our team is on it,” Rissi said, knowing Emmy and Logan wouldn’t stop until they tracked Gwyneth down.
“They better be.” A thick vein swelled along Bob’s left temple, throbbing.
“We need to speak with Lucas,” Mason said.
Joel poked his head in the door. “Sorry to interrupt, but Erik and Jayce are at it again.”
“Jayce?” Rissi shifted. “Isn’t he supposed to be watching Lucas’s door?”
“It’s probably Garrett’s turn,” Adam said.
Ed pushed off the counter he’d been leaning against. “Sorry, folks, I’ve got to handle this. The rig hotheads are at it again.”
Ed and Joel rushed out of the office.
Rissi looked at Mason, and they followed, running down the tower stairs.
What in the world was going on?
Down more steps and along the narrow passageway, they followed Ed toward the galley. Twenty yards away, loud voices and . . . cheers, of all things, emanated along the corridor.
Ed paused with his arm blocking the doorway, gripping the frame on the other side. “You might want to wait out here,” he said to Rissi.
She rose on tiptoes to peer in over Ed’s arm. Two men were brawling across the galley floor as a cheering group hollered. “Nail him!” “Watch your jaw!” “You’ve got this!”
Blood dripped down Jayce’s face.
“I’ll be fine, but thanks,” she said.
“All right,” Ed said, lowering his arm to his side. “Your call.”
Mason stayed by her side, his shoulders squared. She’d seen that protective stance before.
“That’s enough!” Ed roared, not wasting any time in moving into the thick of the melee and pushing the two sweaty, bloody men apart.
Both lunged at the other again.
“Enough!” Ed planted his palm in the center of Jayce’s burly chest and physically pushed him back.
Joel helped haul back the man Rissi assumed was Erik.
“Let go of me,” Erik roared.
“Settle down.” Joel gripped Erik’s arms, his knuckles whitening from the strain.
Adam stepped to his side to lend a hand, if necessary. Erik was a big boy—definitely the body-builder type.
“Whatever.” Erik ripped out of Joel’s hold and stormed toward the galley door. “I’m out of here.”
“We need you to stay,” Mason said, stepping between him and the door.
Erik paused, his chest heaving. “What for?”
“We’ve got questions for you.”
FIFTY-ONE
Rissi sat beside Mason on one side of the galley-style table, Erik, Ed, and Jayce on the other—in that order.
Forearms resting on the table, she began, “What were you fighting about?”
“The fact that he’s an—” The expletive left Erik’s mouth with a hiss.
“Not appropriate,” Ed said. “There’s a lady present.”
“And?” Erik spat.
“And,” Ed said, his voice crisp, his words punctuated, “you use that kind of language in front of her again, and you’re fired.”
Erik scoffed. “What is she, some hoity-toity princess?”
Mason straightened, his shoulders squaring.
Erik lifted his chin with a laugh. “And what are you, her protector?”
Mason smiled. “Oh, she doesn’t need a protector. She can hold her own.”
Erik eyed her up. “Is that right?”
Rissi leaned forward, only too happy to practice her boxing moves. “Try me.” She smiled.
“Stay put, Erik,” Ed said through gritted teeth, “or you’re fired. Not that I wouldn’t love to see this lady kick your butt.”
The veins in Erik’s tightly gripped fists bulged, but he stayed put.
Mason gave Rissi a quick wink, then shifted his attention on Erik. “Let’s start at the top.”
Erik’s tongue rubbed the inside of his cheek, making it bulge out like a sulking kid. “Which means?”
“What were you and Jayce arguing about?”
Erik remained silent, so Mason shifted his attention to Jayce.
Jayce shrugged. “I was just calling it like I see it.”
“Which is?” Rissi asked.
“Word is Chase’s tanks were dry when he surfaced. No way he used that much air during the short time he was down there.”
That was news. “We heard Chase was dead by stingray barb when he was pulled up by the topside line.”
“Yeah, but maybe he would have survived if he’d had enough air for the ride up.” Jayce pinned his narrow gaze on Erik.
“Are you saying you think Erik had something to do with the dry tanks?” Rissi asked, needing Jayce to be absolutely clear with his statement.
“He was the last one to do maintenance on the equipment,” Jayce said, casting his attention back on her. “I mean, I suppose it’s possible there was an equipment malfunction, but it seems really unlikely given everything else going on around here. And I heard him and Chase arguing less than an hour before Chase went down to check the riser.”
“So you think . . .” Mason prompted.
“I think someone messed with Chase’s equipment,” Jayce’s voice held steadfast, his gaze shifting to Erik, “and since Erik was the last one to check it . . . ”
“Seriously?” Erik scoffed. “Dude, when I checked Chase’s tanks, everything was full. What happened between me checking them and him putting them on, I can’t say. Besides, the dude was killed by a stingray. What does that have to do with his tanks?”
“Uh-huh.” Jayce studied Erik a moment, then shook his head. “Seems like the easy way out to me, dude.”
Erik strained forward, trying to lean across Ed to Jayce, but Ed held him at bay. “Everyone knows Chase and I didn’t get along, but you seriously think I’d kill the guy?”
“Loathed each other is more like it,” Jayce said. “You two spent more time fighting with each other than working.”
Erik’s teeth ground loud enough for Rissi to hear. “That’s an exaggeration.”
Jayce arched a brow. “Is it?”
Erik stood, and Jayce followed suit.
“You wanna go?” Jayce asked.
Mason rounded the table as Ed grabbed Jayce, and Mason clamped his hands on Erik’s bulky arms, pulling him back.
“I said enough!” Ed’s holler echoed off the galley walls with a thunderous clap.
Jayce settled, but Erik wrestled against Mason’s hold.
“You best let go, boy,” Erik said, who looked all of a handful of years older than Mason.
Mason’s jaw set. “I suggest you listen to your boss and take a seat.”
“Or what?” Erik scoffed.
Mason opened his mouth to reply, but Ed got in Erik’s face before the words left his mouth. “I said take a seat, or you’re out of here.” He held Erik’s brooding gaze.
It took a moment, but Erik finally flopped into his seat with a thump.
Mason shook out his hands but remained standing.
“Why did you and Chase loathe each other, to use Jayce’s words?” Rissi asked.
“Chase was a—” Another expletive started to fly, and Ed took a step forward.
Erik cut off the nasty word and rephrased. “He was a jerk.”
She was starting to wonder if the same couldn’t be said of Erik. “Why do you say that?”
“Because he was always going for other guys’ girls, always talking smack, pretending to be a ‘charming’ guy but he was a—” He stopped short, catching himself this time.
The air quotes on charming looked personal. Had a girl chosen Chase over Erik?
“I’m going to need a list of names of the guys with girlfriends you think Chase messed with.”
Erik snorted. “You better have a long piece of paper.”
“Did he hit on any girls you were interested in or dating?” Mason asked.
Erik shrugged. “Not any worth mentioning.”
“Please. Who are you trying to fool?” Jayce said.
“Shut up, Jayce.” Erik pounded the table, and the napkin pile in the center bounced. “This is none of your business.”
Jayce looked at Rissi. “Chase was running around with Erik’s girl, Charlene.”
“Is that true?” Rissi asked, turning her full attention on Erik.
He swiped a hand over his head. “She wasn’t my girl. We just fooled around now and again.”
“And Chase and Charlene . . . ?” Rissi began.
Erik shrugged. The tiny muscle along his rugged jaw twitched. “Hooked up,” he said. “But what do I care? I got what I wanted from her first.”
Rissi winced at his derogatory statement. Erik was a pig, and it sounded like Chase was even worse.
“If you didn’t care,” Mason said, pushing off the wall and coming to sit beside Rissi, “why the argument with Chase?”
At his silence, Mason repeated, “Why the argument, Erik?”
“Chase was always talking smack,” Erik said.
Jayce shook his head with an exhale. “That’s true. Seems like that’s all Chase did. Talk about what girl he’d hooked up with last, or who he was going after. Didn’t matter who they were with.”
“How many guys on the rig did he do this to?” Rissi asked, but she was met with stony silence.
“How many of the crew’s girlfriends did he hook up with?” Mason asked, his words straight to the point.
Erik sniffed, then rubbed his nose. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe a handful.”
Which equaled a handful of suspects if Chase’s death wasn’t the result of the stingray puncture to his heart. What if he had run out of air, causing a seizure, and he was stabbed by a stingray’s tail as topside pulled him up through the migrating swarm?
Rissi pushed a notepad and pen across the table. “We’re going to need names.”
FIFTY-TWO
Garrett sat reading in the passageway outside of Lucas’s bunk when Mason and Rissi approached.
“Hey, Garrett,” Rissi said.
“Hey, you guys. You ready to talk to Lucas?”
“Yep.” Then they had a new round of suspects who may or may not be related to Chase’s death. They’d be interviewing them all. She’d been taught to turn over every stone, even the smallest pebble, as that’s where the truth often lay.
Garrett stood. “All right. I’m going to run for a relief break, grab some coffee, and I’ll be back.”
“Thanks.” Taking a stiffening breath, Rissi prayed, Please, Lord, let the truth come to light. Please be with us all.
She opened the door to find Lucas laid out on his bed, his laptop propped on his thighs, watching a movie with a lot of gunfire retorting.
“It’s about time.” He shut his MacBook, flipped his legs over the side of his bunk, and sat up, his head cresting the base of the upper bunk. He leaned forward. “What do you want now?”
“Now, I’m going to read you your rights,” Mason said.
Lucas gaped at Rissi. “Is he kidding?”
“I’m afraid not.”
His eyes, the same shape and color as Caleb’s, widened. “You’re arresting me?”
This was going to be even harder than she’d expected. “We have you tied to Gwyneth Lansing and her protests, Lucas. We’ve traced the tuition money you stole from your uncle and donated to the Freedom Group, and now we have the missing flange bolt tied to you. That’s more than enough evidence to bring you in for questioning. But we’ll start here, for now.” They’d take him into the station when they headed back to shore.
Mason finished reading him his rights, and Rissi pulled up a chair, sitting facing him.
Mason remained standing, giving her space to work.
“Tell me about your relationship with Gwyneth Lansing,” she began.
Lucas’s gaze shot to the side, his jaw shifting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? Because we’ve been told you were in a relationship with her.”
Color flared in his cheeks. “That’s a lie!”
“So you’re claiming you don’t know Gwyneth Lansing?” She kept her voice calm. Lucas was getting stirred up enough for the both of them.
“All I know is what the guys on the platform say about her and her team.”
“You’re lying.” Rissi’s jaw held firm.
“No,” he said, looking directly at her, “I’m not.”
He’d literally just lied to her face. Heat swelled inside, but she continued to keep her voice even. “School records indicate you were in two of her classes. Your roommate, Seth, said you told him about your relationship with her.”
Lucas swallowed, the red hue slipping from his cheeks.
She crossed her legs. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”
He remained silent.
Time to play hardball. “You know, you weren’t the only one she formed a relationship with to get what she wanted.”
His brows pinched together. “What are you talking about?”
“She manipulated a guy named Randy Patterson who does maintenance on Textra Oil’s helicopters. He admitted to shearing the pitch control rod, which caused the helicopter we were on to crash into the ocean and kill the pilot. Randy’s facing murder charges, and you might very well be too.”
Lucas’s hands gripped the edge of his bed, bunching the blue blanket between his fingers. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
She leaned forward. “Greg Barnes died because of what you did. That’s at least manslaughter. Your only chance for a lighter sentence is if you talk to us. If you cooperate, we’ll put in a good word for you with the DA.”
Lucas’s eyes glazed over.
Reality was sinking in.
“We know you are Gwyneth’s mole aboard Dauntless,” Mason said, striding forward and sitting on his haunches beside Lucas’s bunk. “But let me guess, since Greg’s death you haven’t heard from her.”
Lucas pressed his lips together, his gaze cast sideways.
“She’s in the wind,” Mason said.
Lucas’s gaze tracked back to him, his body stiff.
“Two of our agents are tracking her down as we speak,” Mason continued. “And I guarantee she’ll throw you under the bus.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lucas said. “I’m done talking until I get a lawyer.”
“That’s your right,” Rissi said.
“And you . . .” Lucas sneered at her. “Caleb is going to hate you for this.”
She knew that wasn’t true. Caleb knew she couldn’t ignore the evidence. Lucas was guilty. It was only a matter of whether Greg’s death was an accident or premeditated. One way or another, they’d get it out of Lucas. But for now, they’d leave Garrett guarding him while they interviewed crew members who had a bone to pick with Chase.
FIFTY-THREE
Mason paced the galley, waiting for the last suspect to arrive.
He arched his back, rolling his shoulders. It had been a long day. He hoped they wrapped up before Tropical Storm Edward, which had been brewing all day, was due to nail them.
“I’m gonna grab another cup of joe,” he said, casting his tired gaze at Rissi. She sat at the long galley table, her legs kicked over the bench, feet swaying back and forth. “Would you like one?”
“Yes, please. I could definitely use the caffeine. If only they had an espresso machine.”
He smiled as she stretched her arms out, stood, and moved about, stretching her back, shaking out her hands. “Yeah, not quite seeing these roughnecks with a Starbucks setup.”
She chuckled.
“Two coffees coming up.” He moved to the coffeemaker on the counter, poured two mugs full, and handed her one.
“Thanks.” She smiled over the blue ceramic edge as she gulped a sip and
put the mug down. “That’s not half-bad.”
He took a swig, then another, the warm liquid jerking his senses.
“So who’s left?” she asked, rising up on the balls of her feet. With her upright posture, she looked like . . .
“What?” she asked at his smile.
“You look like a ballerina.” He’d wondered if she’d dreamed of dancing as a teen. Oh, she’d never told him outright, but he’d seen her practicing moves when she thought she was alone. He’d watched for just a moment, awed by her beauty and grace, but then let her enjoy the peaceful reprieve.
She lowered her arched feet level with the floor, a sheepish smile on her lips. “I sometimes do it without thinking.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No. It’s fine. I guess I use it as a relaxation technique.”
“Is that why Emmy says you perform ‘random acts of ballet’?”
Her jaw slackened, her gorgeous blue eyes widening. “She said that to you?”
“One morning, while you were on your morning coffee run, I was working through the papers on my desk, and I heard Emmy comment to Logan about how she hadn’t seen you perform ‘random acts of ballet’ since my arrival.”
A shy smile tugged at her lips. “It’s just a way to stretch after a long day.”
“Well,” he said, stepping closer to her, “you look good doing it.”
A blush crept across her cheeks as she attempted to smother the smile gracing her lips.
“In here?” a male voice echoed in the hall.
“Yeah,” Ed’s voice responded from a farther distance away. “In the galley, Brian.”
Brian Denton, their last Chase-messing-with-his-girlfriend suspect on board, entered with a less-than-amused expression on his face. “Boss said you wanted to see me.”
“Yes,” Mason said, moving for the table. “Take a seat.”
“What’s all this about?” Brian rubbed his eyes. “One minute I’m sleeping. Next thing I know I’m being shaken and told I have to answer some questions.”
“Please take a seat”—Rissi gestured to the opposite side of the table from her and Mason—“and we’ll explain.”
“Whatever,” Brian mumbled. It took some maneuvering for him to shift his lanky legs over the bench seat, but he did, then gazed at the mug in Rissi’s hand.