Once Burned (Task Force Eagle)

by Vaughan, Susan

  Peaceful. Innocent. Only on the surface, he mused. Somewhere a murderer watched and waited.

  After they climbed aboard the Amy Jo, Lani dropped into a deck chair. Elbows on her knees and face in her hands. The picture of dejection. Not much different from how he felt. They had to make some progress, somehow. But now he needed to know what she found out. “Want to tell me about it?”

  She lifted bleak eyes. “I couldn’t find a way to ask about Kevin’s drug use without sounding like a cop interrogating a perp. Nora may never speak to me again.”

  “I’m sorry. You two have been close for a long time. She’ll change her mind and come around. Give her time.” He managed to sound more confident than he felt. If Nora ever probed Kevin about Gail, she might find more than she bargained for.

  “I hope you’re right.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “What about you?”

  “I didn’t have much luck either. After I helped barbecue chickens, I hunted down Mike Spear. For all the good it did.”

  “I’m ninety-nine percent sure he was one of my sister’s one-night stands.”

  “Agreed. Although he could’ve acted in anger back then and covered up his crime, I can’t picture him carrying out the attacks on you. I’ve checked on Steve Quimby’s schedule. He was at work when the guy tried to asphyxiate you. Even if they have the money, I can’t imagine either of those men knowing how to hire even a cut-rate hit man.”

  “So we have nothing. Still.” She shook her head. “Nora did mention Kevin’s had some problems and they’ve had some rocky times. She didn’t—wouldn’t—elaborate but I got the feeling they spent some time apart. Maybe when Kevin was in rehab.”

  “He could’ve gotten into drugs after the fire, especially if he started it,” he said.

  “Or his substance abuse could be because of pressure from his dad, the loss of his mom. He’s not strong like some people.” Her pointed stare warmed him. “Who knows?”

  “Back then he drank too much. We all did. Kevin more than most. Suppose Gail’s latest wasn’t an older guy. Suppose it was Kevin. And suppose they had a fight in the barn and he struck her in anger.”

  “I remember his temper. He could’ve killed her by accident, especially if he’d been drinking.”

  He nodded, picturing the scenario. “Then he panicked and splashed gas around and set the fire to cover what he did, like we said before. Hank was speculating the other night. He doesn’t think Kevin’s clever enough to have kept the crime covered up by himself.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Good old dad. J.T. has both money and influence. He could pay someone else to take care of loose threads that might unravel a cover-up.”

  “Someone who didn’t mind earning some extra dollars under the table. Don’t forget Brandon’s truck could’ve been the one I saw after someone zapped you last week.”

  Fear flashed in her eyes. “Murder for hire’s a huge leap from small-time drug dealing. Unless he’s involved with the Mexican cartel. Thank God he’s in jail. Could he be Vargas?”

  “I can’t feature local fishermen being cozy with an outsider. But if it’s true, he could’ve been the one who killed Frank Tyson. To keep him from spilling who paid him to bungle things. Suppose Kevin went to his dad for help and J.T. paid Tyson to call the fire accidental.”

  She scraped her tongue against her teeth. “A big motive for his murder, preventing Tyson from squealing on him.”

  “I can’t see either J.T. or Kevin committing murder directly. Brandon does work for Meagher. If J.T. knew about the drug dealing, he could’ve held that over Brandon and forced him to carry out the attacks on me and to kill Tyson.”

  He reached for her hand, enveloping its softness. “Damn smart. You could’ve been a detective.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “But I don’t see how it ties to the smugglers.”

  “So far all we have is supposition. And only the C-4 to connect the arms smuggling and the arson.”

  “When the fire marshal’s office re-opens the case, they’ll connect it to Tyson’s death and ask the tough questions. People will have to answer then. Including Kevin.”

  “All our efforts wouldn’t be necessary if Frank Tyson had asked the tough questions twelve years ago. I might not have the C-4 link now. Small silver lining in a murky cloud.” And he wouldn’t have connected with Lani. Another silver lining.

  “God, Jake, I hate all this. I hate grilling my old friends, alienating innocent people.”

  He drew her up and into his arms, inhaled her scent for comfort. “I know. I’m tired of it all too.” Lifting her chin, he examined the crinkles fanning out by her eyes, fine lines more pronounced since this began. “You’re scared. So am I. You could quit, leave town, and let me share the rest of what we have with Robichaud. We’ve drawn out the bad guys enough.”

  “Quit? Now? When we’re so close? Stuff it, Wescott. I failed Gail twelve years ago. I won’t fail her now.”

  He felt determination in her trembling shoulders. “You didn’t fail her. I failed her. If I hadn’t left, she’d be alive. You didn’t know what she was doing.”

  She stepped out of his embrace. “Exactly. I should’ve pushed her to open up. Whenever I ragged her about her moods, she just snarked back or laughed away the issue.”

  “Your parents and Gail kept her secret from you. Even if you’d probed, she probably wouldn’t have told you.”

  She flopped back into the deck chair and rocked. “You’re right. But now I want justice for her. And evidence for you about the smugglers.” She met his gaze, a fierceness in her hazel-gold eyes that pierced his chest. “I wish the fire marshal would move.”

  “The engines of officialdom crank up slowly. Being patient is hard. Remember Ed Pascal avoided having his picture taken?”

  “Ran away is more like it. So?”

  “I snapped his picture with my cell and sent it to the harbormaster on the Cape where he used to work. His office called me back and said he was busy but he wanted to talk to me about the matter personally. Said he’d call. I haven’t heard from him yet.”

  That brought her head up, snapped her out of her funk. “So our harbormaster might not be who he claims to be after all?”

  “Something’s off somewhere. Damned easy for a harbormaster to zip around all these little islands and inlets without suspicion. And he has access to waterfront properties.”

  “Are you thinking he’s connected to the smuggling?”

  “Ka-ching! Brandon could be the link between the arson and the drug-and-arms smuggling.”

  “But if they were working together, why would Pascal help bust Brandon?”

  “I see a couple possibilities but nothing that makes sense in a big picture.” He shook his head over the gaps in the puzzle. “When I saw them meet, both men seemed damned familiar with the property. The place belongs to some people from Pennsylvania who didn’t come this summer. House and a couple outbuildings. Good place to stash contraband. “

  “Or a pickup damaged in a hit and run.”

  “I texted Donovan—he’s the Task Force Eagle agent I’ve used as contact on all this—about the property but he hasn’t responded. I don’t want to wait for them to search.”

  “I get it. Because evidence could be lost. We could take a boat ride this evening.” Anxiety and excitement animated her words. She wanted answers as much or more than he did.

  “Too dangerous for you if anyone’s there. Who knows who else might be involved?” Protecting Lani while trying to search a dodgy location? Just like the disastrous search in New Hampshire. Not Lani. A wire twisted in his gut. “You’re not going. Not gonna happen.”

  “Nora’s not speaking to me. If the arsonist isn’t Brandon, he could still be hunting me. The farm is as isolated as ever. You sure you want to leave me behind?” she said sweetly.

  Chapter 23

  At dusk, Lani stood beside Jake at the wheel of the Amy Jo as he chugged out of the harbor. Moored craft around them were deserted since most people were wending
their way back to the school grounds for the fireworks display. Wind smelling of fish and dampness herded in clouds, bringing a weather change. She hoped the rain would hold off until after the fireworks.

  She zipped her hoodie against the cool night air and jammed her hands in her pockets. She shouldn’t be nervous. They weren’t planning to do anything illegal. Or dangerous.

  Out of the harbor, Jake steered around the lighthouse and Dragon Rocks, then north along the peninsula in the growing gloom. No moon shone to point out the colorful lobster buoys dotting the pitch-black waters.

  Lighted houses among thinned trees alternated with thick stands of spruce and birch clumped near the rocks defining the shoreline. A fog bank, tall and wide as a cloud, crept in from the bay, muffling running lights—if anyone else dared venture out on the water. She had confidence in Jake’s navigation skills, and they weren’t far enough from shore to get lost in the murk. Still, the fog’s eerie effect slid shivers over her back.

  “How far up the peninsula is this place?” She raised her voice to be heard above the engine’s growl.

  “Not much farther,” he replied. “Uncle Joe removed most of the electronics to install in his new boat but I checked a map against the chart. I’ll head out toward the Mobcap. The island’s directly offshore. Once I spot it, I’ll turn toward shore.”

  “I know the Mobcap.” Barely the size of the town baseball field, the windswept island was deserted except for a few scraggly trees and a tumbledown shack. “We used to sail around it. The water’s plenty deep. No dangerous rocks either. Dad would let Gail and me swim ashore and look for shells on the little beach.”

  “You must be mellowing. You’ve called him Dad twice now.”

  Whoa, so she had. She blinked, not at Jake’s perception but at her slip. “Maybe. I phoned him the day we went to see Tyson’s wife. We talked about repairs to the house, a little about Gail’s troubles that spring and summer. Our phone conversation wasn’t easy but it made me realize how much I miss him.”

  “Long time to hold a grudge. Didn’t your mom say the marriage was in trouble before the fire? You could sign a peace pact.”

  She was yielding to what her heart knew was right, to what her heart wanted. “How did you get to be so wise?”

  The dim light of the control panel limned his strong profile. He flashed his crooked grin. “Had time to think since Mom’s illness. Family’s too important to blow off. So?”

  “One thing at a time. After this is over. When the murderer is brought to justice.” The weight of it seemed to lift, and she peered into the fog. Lace curtains of the swirling curtain dimmed the on-shore lights. “Houses look so different from the water. How will you recognize it?”

  “The boat house has a distinctive roof line like a Chinese pagoda.” His gaze swept her hunched stance. “You cold?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Hey, think I can’t take a little Maine night outing? I’m nearly a native, you know. I even swim in the bay.” Once a summer in the sixty-five degree water, just to make that claim. But she’d never admit the plunge turned her skin blue.

  He laughed and curved an arm around her shoulders. “Nearly a native? No such thing here. You either go back several generations or you’re from away.”

  She snuggled closer. A rough outline of humped land loomed just ahead. “There’s the Mobcap.”

  A massive whomp from below pitched the boat askew.

  She jerked sideways out of his arms. She slammed against the side of the wheelhouse and the safety rail dug into her back.

  He spread his legs to steady himself and gripped the wheel with both hands. “What the hell?”

  Another jolt and the running lights died as well as the instrument lights. The old lobster boat tipped steeply to port. Heart racing, she held on. “What’s happening?”

  “Not sure.” She couldn’t see him but knew his grim face from the tightness in his voice. “Get to the companionway if you can. Take a look below.” He handed her a flashlight.

  Staggering as the boat did another carnival-ride maneuver, she hand-held her way around him to the companionway. One look below with the flashlight had her gasping. “We’re taking on water. Below deck is flooding.”

  He cursed and grabbed the radio mic. He clicked buttons. “Dead. Dammit, my uncle said this thing was giving out. Of all the rotten times.” He bent to look below the console and swore again. When the engine coughed, he opened the locker in the cockpit and shoved a life vest at her. “She’s sinking. We’ll have to abandon ship. Put this on. Clip the light to it. It’s waterproof.”

  Abandon ship? She stood frozen with the vest dangling in her arms. When she saw Jake whip into action, she shook the ice from her brain. She tore off her hoodie, which would be dead weight once wet, leaving her in a T-shirt. Her arms went through the vest’s arm slots. She clipped the bulky garment’s clamps securely.

  A gaze around the boat hit only a wall of gray. No lights from houses or other boats. The dense fog cut them off from the rest of the world.

  Raindrops splatted on the windshield.

  Jake shut off the dying engine and donned his life vest. He opened his cell phone. “Shit. No connection. Fog and rain or we’re out of range.”

  Lani tried her cell. “No bars here. Why here? Why now?” She drew in a shaky breath.

  He staggered aft. The ever-steeper angle forced him to hang on to whatever he could grab. Sea water sloshed over the low side onto the deck. In seconds rain flattened his hair and plastered his T-shirt to his skin. Her heart stumbled, but thank God for Jake. He looked so strong and in charge, she felt a fraction better. He threw open a storage locker and dragged out a yellow rubber blob.

  “A lifeboat! Need help with it?” she called.

  Muttered cursing. “Forget it. There’s a big rip in the damn thing.” Then strangely, he threw the useless item back into the locker and latched the lid before clawing his way back.

  “Why—”

  “Not now. We have to get off.” He grabbed a waterproof plastic pack from a cubby behind the wheel. “My emergency kit.”

  He sealed the flashlight, his pistol, and both cell phones inside, then took her arm and helped her make it to the open deck. Icy pellets stung her face and soaked her hair. She shivered.

  “Jump off the starboard side, the high side. It’s a straight shot to the Mobcap. Fifty yards. Maybe less.” He shouted above the rain and the gurgle of the sinking craft. He pointed away from shore. At least she thought it was away. “We have to swim for it. Lani, I wish—”

  “Stifle it, Jake Wescott! Don’t you dare apologize. I can swim that far with my eyes closed.” She started to climb onto the rail but he pulled her back and kissed her soundly.

  “Keep your eyes open, Cameron. Works better that way.” His crooked grin buoyed her. With another kiss, he helped her over the side. “Jump as far from the boat as you can. I’m right behind you.”

  She pushed out and hit the water.

  Her whole body stiffened at the shock of the frigid water. Darkness closed over her head with the water. She braced herself not to struggle, to let the life vest’s buoyancy lift her. When she bobbed to the surface, she gasped for breath.

  A splash beside told her Jake had jumped in. He tugged on her vest to get her going as he struck out toward the tiny island.

  Behind them, she heard the old Amy Jo give a final heave and gurgle as she sank.

  What if they’d been farther out, away from land? What if they’d gone down with the boat? What if— Bile rose in her throat and she forced it down.

  She kicked and stroked but wasn’t sure she was making progress. She could barely feel her feet. Sucking in air above the chop was a chore. Even in the summer, hypothermia was a hazard in northern waters. Her heart bucked like a panicked pony.

  Stop it. Don’t panic. Swim. She spat out salt water and tried to capture the rhythm she’d developed swimming laps as part of her therapy. She kept her head up, kept her eyes ahead on Jake’s yellow vest
and the white emergency kit bobbing along beside him as she silently chanted in an even rhythm. Stroke...stroke...stroke.

  After a dozen hours—in reality only a few minutes—she saw Jake standing in the water just off the Mobcap’s beach. When she reached his side, he caught her arm. Lowering her feet to the rocky bottom, she managed to balance on her toes.

  “We made it.” He tugged her with him onto the shingle beach, the pebbles churning from beneath their feet with every lap of wave.

  She stumbled, caught herself, and dragged in breaths. “Never thought...we wouldn’t.” But the mouth and whatever moxie she had were fading with her strength.

  He wrapped an arm around her quaking shoulders. Her chilled body greedily absorbed his heat. The shack—dry shelter, whoo hoo!—was only steps away. “Let’s get out of the rain. Then we’ll see about sending for help.”

  They trooped up the small beach onto solid land. Her sneakers squelched with every tread on the weed-and-rock-strewn soil. In spite of its rough board construction and sagging plank door, the rickety structure looming in the fog was a welcome sight.

  When they reached the shack, Jake tore away the driftwood stick that functioned as a door latch. Once she was inside with him, he pushed the door closed.

  “F-feels b-better just to be out of the wind and rain.” She unclipped her life vest and chafed her arms with her hands.

  He opened the emergency kit and tossed her a small towel. “Drying off will warm you up.” He extracted a flare gun. “I’ll shoot off this baby. Hope it’s not a waste in this pea soup.”

  She toed out of her sopping sneakers, then mopped her hair and arms. The super-absorbent fabric dried her in no time. She wrung out the towel and finger-combed her hair. Someone had stuffed seaweed and old newspapers between the old barn boards to provide minimal insulation. Diffused light filtered in through salt-and-spider-web encrusted panes in two old house windows, showing her a nearly empty space little bigger than the farmhouse bathroom. Faint odors of mold and cigarettes hung in the air.