by Dani Pettrey
“Any chance you saw their car?” she asked.
“Yeah. When they were in the kitchen, I got out of the bathroom and snuck out the bedroom window. They were parked right underneath it. It was one of those cutesy cars.”
Parker arched his brows.
“Kind of like a bug, but different.”
“A Fiat?” Avery asked.
“Yeah, I think that was it.”
Avery looked at Parker. A Fiat had been following Gary, with a blonde driving with her hair pulled back in a long ponytail. What did Skylar have on them? “Did they find what they were looking for?” Avery asked.
Megan shook her head. “No, and they were super frustrated. The chick kept nagging under her breath at the dude that this was all his fault.”
“But she never said what? I mean what Skylar had on him?”
“No.”
“Thanks, Megan. That was really helpful. If you think of anything else or if Sebastian comes home, please call us or have him give us a call. I just want to find my friend,” Avery said, handing her one of her business cards.
Megan took it and nodded before shutting the door.
“What do you think Skylar had on the dude?” Avery asked, using Megan’s word.
“I don’t know. Something worth money?”
If Skylar was working another con—though Avery prayed she’d left that all behind, like she claimed—it would definitely involve money.
“Why do you think Megan assumed they were rich college kids? I get assuming that being early twenties it’s likely you could be in college, but rich?”
Avery settled back in her seat. “It’s really not that hard to tell, especially when you come from where I do. You learn to spot people of different classes quite easily. I’m guessing Megan grew up someplace similar to me and Sky.”
She half expected Parker to take that as a cue to inquire further about her past, but he didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t ever going to ask.
“Any chance they were college kids who were high and just goofing around?” Parker tossed out another option. “Illegally and not at all funny, of course. I’m just saying college kids have been known to do stupid things when they’re high.”
“Doubt you’re high if you put enough thought into wearing gloves.”
“Ah. True.”
The blonde must have come back. There’d been no guy in the car with her when she’d been tailing Gary. Perhaps she’d dropped her male companion off and returned for one more look, finding them at Skylar’s instead. Then, seeing Gary tearing out of the parking lot, she’d followed in pursuit just as they had. At least until they’d spotted her. Assuming for certain it was the same blonde, but what were the chances? And, if so, why the interest in Gary? Avery shifted, ready to hit the next spot.
“So you’ll drop me off at my car on your way to the harbor? I can head for the abandoned hospital and keep you posted.”
He glanced over at her with a smile. “Yeah, about that—I’m thinking no.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re going to go all overprotective again? I can hold my own. We’ve been over this.”
“I know you can hold your own, but they teach you in self-defense classes not to put yourself in dangerous situations to begin with, right?”
She remained silent. She’d taken more than enough self-defense classes to know he was right.
“It’s unsafe. Come work the ship with me. We’ll get it done quicker together, and then we’ll head to the hospital. I promise I’ll work as fast as I can while still doing the job right.”
“It could be dark by the time you’re done. Even if you’re ‘fast.’”
“Really? Air quotes?”
“We both know your version of fast and mine aren’t the same.”
“So I’m thorough at my job.”
“And I totally admire your level of dedication, but I want to find Skylar, and this is a huge lead.”
“Which we will follow together.”
She grunted and shifted in her seat.
“Did you seriously just grunt at me?”
“Yes. You’re that vexing.”
He chuckled.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Agree to disagree.” He winked.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stuck with me.”
That hit her hard. How she wished that were true, but after Skylar was found they’d go back to their separate ways. “What if I ask Griffin to go with me?” she said, quickly trying to distract herself from the reality of the situation.
“Declan put Griffin to work on the safe-deposit-box angle with Kate, and before you go there, Declan’s on the ship. Face it, beautiful, you’re stuck with me.”
She fought a smile, trying to look fierce. “Flattery only irritates me more.”
He didn’t bother to squelch his smile. “I know.”
19
Terminal Six was a flurry of activity. Immigration, the Coast Guard, and Customs officials were all present and all clamoring for control of the situation.
“Super,” Parker said under his breath as he climbed from his car and grabbed his kit. This situation was precisely why he’d chosen to become a freelance crime-scene investigator. He got to choose whom he worked for and when.
Avery walked down the pier by his side, the humid harbor air and crabby scent bringing with it memories of his hometown, Chesapeake Harbor, though his harbor was a much cleaner inlet off the Chesapeake Bay, the water far fresher and the scent less pungent. It’d been a few weeks, more like a month, since he’d seen his folks. He needed to make a point to get down for Sunday dinner next week.
They approached the merchant ship, and Parker frowned as he gazed up at the Malaysian flag flapping in the wind.
“What?” Avery asked beside him. The past six months without her had been beyond miserable. He prayed this case or—he glanced up at the merchant ship they were about to enter standing more than six stories over them—cases wouldn’t just be a one-time occurrence. He prayed Avery was back in his life for good.
“Malaysia,” he finally said, tracking back to his initial thought and Avery’s question.
“What about it?” she asked. “Why the frown?”
“Isn’t Malaysia where Kate said the possible photograph of Luke was taken? I’m pretty sure Griffin said Malaysia when he’d relayed the information.”
Avery slipped her wind-blown blond hair into a black hairband. “Kate asked me to take a look at the photograph when I had a chance.”
“Did she? I suppose that’s not surprising. You are the photography expert. Probably wants you to confirm it hasn’t been photoshopped.”
Avery shifted her ponytail, pulling it to the side and flipping it over her right shoulder, exposing her supple neck that he wished to kiss his way up. . . .
“I’m hesitant to look,” she said.
He snapped himself out of it. Sooner or later he was going to have to tell Avery how he felt, but how did he move forward when he still had one foot in the past? “You’re hesitant to look because it might not be Luke in the photograph?”
“Yeah. Because I might not be able to give her the answer she so desperately desires. I don’t want to be the person who dashes her hopes.”
He prayed she didn’t dash his. That is, if he ever got the nerve to man up and tell her. He just had to figure things out first. He’d been praying, and God kept answering Avery, but what about Jenna’s memory? How could he respect and preserve Jenna’s memory and still have a future? He cared so deeply for Avery. Beyond cared, but . . .
Waves pounded harder against the ship the closer they drew to the water’s edge, the spray of the bay lashing their faces as recreational boats bounced out in the harbor. He was thankful for the jolt back to where his present focus needed to be—the ship before them.
Walking up the Hiram’s gangplank, they then proceeded up the series of steep, narrow ladders to the bridge, where Declan said he and Lexi would
be awaiting them.
Declan caught sight of them as they entered and moved straight for them. “Thanks for coming, man.”
Parker set his kit at his booted feet. “Anytime. You know that.” He lifted his chin in greeting to Lexi, and she returned the gesture, switching up to a smile for Avery.
“Appreciate you coming too, Avery,” Declan said.
She slipped her hands into her pockets. “Always happy to help when I can.”
Another man—six-foot-two, one-hundred-and-seventy-five pounds, with cropped hair—joined them. Parker bet coast guard.
“Guys, this is Noah Rowley with CGIS,” Declan said.
Parker extended a hand. “Pleasure. Parker Mitchell.” He turned to Avery. “This is Avery Tate. My crime-scene photographer.” And friend and . . .
He exhaled, cutting off that thought. She wasn’t anything more, and yet she was everything.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Noah tipped his coast guard cap.
“Tate will be fine,” she said, preferring to use her last name when working.
Noah smiled. “Tate it is.” He looked back to Parker. “I hear you’re quite the genius when it comes to crime-scene investigation.”
“I just do my job.”
“So do my boys. We’ve finished with the bridge.”
“I’d love to hear what they’ve found.”
Noah gestured toward the crime scene. “Let me show you.” He went through each step, explaining what his team had processed thus far—and it was all wrong. Not the Coast Guard team’s work, but the crime scene itself.
“It’s been staged,” Parker said.
Noah placed his arms behind his back, standing at parade rest. “That was our estimation as well.”
“The question is why?” Parker knelt down by Agent Steven Burke’s body, examining it in greater detail. Who was Steven Burke, and what was a federal agent doing on a Malaysian merchant ship?
It took them several hours to fully process the crime scene, including Steven Burke’s berth upon Declan and Lexi’s request, but Parker and Avery’s work was finally complete. At least what could be done on the ship. He would do further work in the lab later, but his priority was to Avery and Skylar’s case.
Rowley’s men offered to handle the tedious task of fingerprinting the rest of the crew. It would take multiple man-hours to finish, and Avery had been patient to hold off on such a big lead in Skylar’s case.
Before leaving, though, he did a quick overview with Declan, Lexi, Avery, and Rowley to go over his preliminary findings.
“So?” Declan said, always so impatient when it came to investigations.
“There is no way the shootings happened as the captain claimed. The trajectories don’t fit his explanation of where everyone was standing—Burke and the first mate were shot from behind—and there is no gunshot residue on Burke’s hands. Also the captain’s wound was not caused by slipping and hitting his head—there is no blood or tissue residue on the control panel, and the wound itself doesn’t fit. I am guessing he shot the bridge gun to set up his story, and someone else hit him over the head to make him appear the victim. And . . . I believe both men were shot by that other person.”
“Any idea who the other person is?” Lexi asked.
“I’ve got so many fingerprints that it’s going to take days to work through them all.” He turned to Rowley. “Have your men started fingerprinting the crew?”
“Yes, it shouldn’t take long—I have several men on it.”
“Excellent. I’d love a copy of your report, so I can compare it to mine.”
Rowley nodded. “Of course, and I’d like a copy of your results as well. Just in case you found anything my boys missed.”
Parker nodded. He liked Rowley, or “Row” as his men referred to him. It wasn’t often he got to work with someone who excelled at his job and cooperated so earnestly on top of it.
“One more thing,” Parker said before leaving. “Has your team fingerprinted the refugees?”
“Why would we?” one of Rowley’s nearby men responded. “I doubt any of them would be in the database.”
“Parker’s right,” Rowley said. “Everybody on board needs to be fingerprinted.”
The man nodded, his face flushed with the reprimand.
“It might be a good idea to have them take a photograph of each refugee, and note their name,” Parker said. “Once Immigration takes them, you’ll quickly lose access. Avery and I would stay and do it, but we have another case we’re working, and we’ve got a major lead waiting.”
“Understood.” Rowley nodded. “We’ll finish up here.” Parker assumed they would have regardless, but it never hurt to communicate expectations. Fortunately, everyone involved in the investigation was playing nice.
“Just a quick question,” Rowley said as Parker stood to leave.
“Sure.”
“I agree everybody on board needs to be fingerprinted, but you seem to be focused on the refugees. Any particular reason why?”
“For exactly the same reason your guy didn’t think that they were worth fingerprinting. They are off the grid. Those are often the ones you have to worry about most.”
20
After Parker and Avery departed, Declan and Lexi made their way down to the mess hall, where the refugees had been moved. They were seated around the long, narrow tables where the crew took their meals.
Tanner had seen the refugees were fed and given much-needed water. Declan admired the heck out of her. Her tenacity and compassion were both fierce, and he’d gotten to witness them firsthand today.
“Though it is likely the shooter is a crew member, as Parker said, the chance exists that the unknown suspect is one of these refugees,” Declan said under his breath to Lexi, but clearly not quietly enough.
“Unknown suspect?” Tanner said, popping up beside him. “I’m glad you two came down. I may have some information you’ll find helpful.”
Declan arched a brow. “Oh?” What was coming now?
“As you know I’ve been talking with everyone . . .”
He scanned the refugees’ faces. While they didn’t look good, by any means, they looked far better since Tanner had been with them. “How are they doing?”
“They’re terrified. It’s a legal and logistical nightmare with all the agencies being pulled in, but that’s an entirely separate situation. What I thought you might like to hear is what Hana had to say.” She pointed to the elderly lady huddled at the front table, a blanket across her feeble shoulders. Poor thing was skin and bones. “So far she’s been the only one willing to really talk to me.”
“You speak Malay?” he asked. The woman kept surprising and impressing him.
Tanner nodded. “I speak a number of languages. It’s critical for the work I do—or did—overseas. You can’t help people if you can’t sit down and talk with them.”
He turned his gaze to the lady Tanner pointed out. “So what did Hana have to say?”
“That she’s thankful the ‘evil man’ is gone.”
“What evil man?” he asked, his attention captured.
“She said he was a man who came on the boat with them. Supposedly one of them . . .”
Lexi’s eyes narrowed. “Supposedly?”
“Hana said he was dressed like them, but he wasn’t one of them.”
“Meaning?”
“He wasn’t Malaysian. He was Indonesian.”
“All right,” Lexi said. “Can she describe this man?”
“Black hair, dark eyes, a thin moustache and beard, which he stroked along his chin frequently.”
“Thin beard? Like a goatee?” Declan pulled out his pad and pen and drew a rough sketch of a man with a goatee, showed it to the woman, and she nodded. “Great. What would she estimate his height and weight?”
Tanner asked and Hana replied, then Tanner relayed her answer. “He was about the size of that man.”
Declan followed Tanner’s outstretched hand to a man in his thirties seat
ed at the table across from theirs. “So five-sixish—and weight?”
“Hana says about the same as him.”
“One hundred and fifty pounds,” Declan said, studying the man, “depending on build, of course.”
“Anything else unique about him that she can think of?” Lexi inquired.
“She mentioned that he always wore a black knit hat pulled to his ears and never interacted with or responded to the others. Just turned away if they tried to converse with him.”
“Like he didn’t speak their language or like he didn’t want to talk?” Lexi asked.
“Both.”
“If we got a sketch artist down here, would Hana be willing to describe the man? And would you be willing to translate?” Declan asked.
“Yes on my end.” Tanner asked Hana and got the same response.
“Great,” Declan said. “I’ll call it in. My guess is it’ll take the sketch artist under an hour to arrive. Please thank Hana for us.”
Tanner relayed their thanks, and Hana nodded with a smile.
He smiled back, feeling horrible for having to put the woman through any more distress, but the question needed to be asked and, he prayed, answered.
“Is she able to tell us anything about the man in question’s habits? Where he slept? For how long? Any strange behavior?” Sometimes the smallest or seemingly most inconsequential clue could be exactly what they needed to catch the suspect.
“She says at the start he was treated like one of the refugees, but after being on board for a day, things changed.”
“Changed how?” Lexi asked.
Rowley entered with two of his men, both carrying fingerprinting kits.
Tanner’s eyes widened as a terrified murmur riffled through the room. “What’s going on?”
“These men are going to fingerprint the refugees,” Lexi said calmly.
“Why? They aren’t criminals.”
“That we know of,” Rowley said. “That’s the point. We don’t know anything about them, other than that the ship’s paperwork says all cargo belongs to Max Stallings.”