Overboard: Nightforce Security Series - Book 3

by Beck, Keira

  He took his phone from his pocket, opened the flashlight app, then lay on the ground by the back tire. Angling the beam into the wheel well, he examined the vehicle.

  A metal box was fastened to a metal plate. No wires, no lights. Didn’t seem to have any kind of triggering mechanism. Not a bomb. Declan reached for it. It popped right off the car.

  The damn thing was a magnetic GPS tracker.

  He may not have laid eyes on anyone suspicious that night, but someone had seen him. And taken an interest in his comings and goings.

  Chapter Three

  After Declan left the marina, he made the ten-minute drive to Presque Isle’s amusement park. It was a major local attraction, busy all summer long plus every weekend in the spring and fall. Wave pool and lazy river. Roller coasters and kiddie rides. The iconic Ferris wheel and merry-go-round. Games and food booths on the midway.

  The park had closed two hours earlier and now looked like a ghost town. The main lot was empty, all the rides turned off. Serpentine silhouettes of roller coasters snaked through the property. The giant tower of the signature high-drop thriller ride stretched into the sky, a dark, silent sentinel in a darker night. Without cheerful bells and flashing lights, calliope music and whirring motors, bustling crowds and theater performances, the place was nothing more than acres of unfulfilled potential with ominous overtones.

  Declan shook off a chill. There was something sinister, creepy, about the stillness in a place renowned for such joy. He was glad he wasn’t inside.

  A few of the ‘streetlights’ were still lit in the park—lamps that illuminated pathways between attractions. There was no reason to leave them on overnight, so he assumed some of the workers were still there. Just what he’d hoped. He drove away from the main entrance and circled the park, looking for the employee parking lot. Only three cars remained. A vintage Chevy truck and a well-worn Toyota sedan sat fifty yards from the gate. A brand new Mercedes held the prime spot at the front.

  Someone might leave the Chevy or Toyota overnight, but the owner of the Mercedes would have to be crazy to risk vandalism, theft, or towing. Bonus? The car would be easy for Dec to find again.

  Confident in his choice, he cut his lights and rolled up to the luxury sedan. After scanning the area and determining no one was in the lot, he exited his Hellcat, crept up to the Mercedes, then affixed the GPS tracker to the back driver’s side wheel well. Staying in a crouch, he darted back to his car. Still no indication anyone had seen him.

  Declan circled around to the entrance of the park. Only then did he switch on his headlights and head for his rental cabin.

  No one chased him down.

  Mission accomplished. Whoever was spying on him could track the manager or owner of the park instead. Might give Declan the time he needed to figure out what was going on and put a stop to it.

  Back at the cabin, he checked the perimeter for signs of trespassers and looked for any indications of break-ins at the doors and windows. Satisfied he was safe, at least for the time being, he let himself in then plopped on the sofa. His stomach grumbled—he hadn’t had a bite since lunch—and there wasn’t much in the fridge. He could go back out but really just wanted to get some sleep.

  Declan kicked off his boat shoes, stepped out of his jeans, and stripped off the button-down. He took the time to fold the clothes and place them neatly on the chair, then he tucked the shoes underneath it.

  Old Navy habits died hard.

  Back in only his trunks and t-shirt, he stood with his arms spread wide, letting the air conditioning cool his skin. Summers at the lake were fucking humid, and the extra layer of clothing hadn’t done him any favors.

  He padded to the kitchen and opened the fridge. A package of hot dogs he never got around to grilling sat between a jar of pickles he’d inherited with the rental—didn’t want to know how old those were—and jug of orange juice. A nearly-empty pizza box took up another shelf. Declan lifted the lid and sighed. One slice of sausage mushroom and seven crusts.

  His ringing phone had him darting back to the living room. He fished his cell from his jeans pocket, leaving the stack of clothes slightly rumpled. “Flynn.”

  “Declan, it’s Mako. Where are you?”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “We’ve finally been released. They’re taking Adam to the station for more questioning, but the rest of us are free. For now. The Windsors promised to send their attorney to the station, so there’s nothing more we can do for Adam. I need to stay here with Caroline’s family, but I’d like you to talk with Josh. Tonight, if you’re still around.”

  “Who’s Josh? You didn’t send me anything on him.”

  “What have you been doing all night? Did you even start investigating yet?”

  Declan clenched his teeth, closed his eyes, counted to five. He let his breath out slowly through pursed lips. “Look. You’ve had a rough night. I know you’re stressed, and shit’s probably gonna get worse before it gets better. But you don’t know me. Don’t question my work ethic. I know what I’m doing.”

  A hard exhale came through the phone. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m used to barking orders and having them followed without complaint.”

  “Believe it or not, I am following your orders. I spent the night at the marina, watching, listening.”

  “You come up with anything?”

  “Two broken taillights and an easy-to-find GPS tracker.”

  “What?”

  “Someone took notice of my interest in the case.”

  “Shit.” There was a brief pause, then, “If you want to back out—”

  “Like I said, you don’t know me. But trust me when I tell you, I don’t scare easy. I’m in. Now, who’s Josh and why do I need to see him?”

  “Josh Morgan. Groom’s brother. I can’t get away, and my involvement in any investigation would be… inappropriate, given my current employment. But you, a civilian, can’t compromise the government if you poke around. And Josh has quite a story to tell.”

  “Where is he? I’ll meet him.”

  “He’s at an all-night diner near the marina. I’ll text you the address.”

  Declan stripped off his trunks and wore his jeans commando-style. He opted to forego the button-down and stick with the t-shirt. At least he’d be moderately comfortable. And he’d get to eat something.

  Chapter Four

  Di’s Blue Plate was a 1950s-style lakeside diner with a reputation for big portions, reasonable prices, and the best damn pie at the beach. Said so right on the sign out front, so it must be true.

  Declan stepped inside and scanned the room. Not many people around at quarter to one in the morning, just three others. A guy, maybe thirty, at the counter indulging in coffee and a slice of coconut cream pie. Across the room from him, a couple, late twenties, in a booth by the windows. God, he hated when people sat on the same side of the table like they might die of separation anxiety. It wouldn’t have shocked him if they had one glass with two straws, but they each had their own cup. He shook his head, turned away, and made his way toward a booth at the opposite end of the room. He sat next to a window facing the parking lot. No view, but it was dark out. Nothing to see, anyway.

  Barflies would probably show up after two. That gave him a short window to interview Adam’s brother and get something to eat before the drunken food-crawl began. Declan took a menu from the holder on the table and scanned it while he waited for Josh to show up. He definitely had to try the pie. Too bad it was so late, or he’d have coffee with it. Maybe decaf? Ugh. Forget that. Water. Milk? A burger and fries. Or maybe the open-faced meatloaf sandwich.

  “Excuse me?”

  He looked up, expecting a waitress. Instead, it was the female half of the weird couple in the other booth. “Yes?”

  “Are you Declan Flynn?”

  His gaze hardened, and he gave her the once-over. Strawberry-blonde hair, green eyes. Light or no make-up camouflaging her features. Sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
Decent tan, athletic build. Probably played tennis or did something outdoors to stay in shape. Damn nice shape, too. All in all, too wholesome to be a threat. Still, he chose not to answer her. “You are?”

  “My name’s Alana. Mako told Josh to meet you here.” She pointed at her boyfriend in the booth. “That is, if you’re Declan Flynn.”

  At least the guy hadn’t withered from the distance. Declan was a bit surprised he didn’t accompany her to make the introductions. Dec sighed. It was late, and he was tired and hungry. He didn’t feel like getting up now that he’d sat. Seemed Josh had other ideas, though. Playing that home-field-advantage game. Whatever. Those psychological tricks didn’t faze Declan in the slightest. Especially since the two of them were supposed to be on the same team. “I am. Since you already have drinks, why don’t I join you?”

  “Great.” Alana led the way back to the booth, where she slipped in beside Josh.

  Declan sat across from them, the Naugahyde seat squeaking as he slid across it. He extended his hand. “Declan Flynn.”

  Josh shook it. “Josh Morgan. And you’ve met my sister.”

  Alana smiled and nodded.

  Sister?

  The waitress came over. “Are you waiting for a fourth?”

  “No,” Declan said. “Just me.”

  “Ready to order?”

  He looked across the table and raised his eyebrows.

  Josh lifted his cup. “We’re fine with coffee. But don’t let that stop you from getting food if you’re hungry.”

  Declan looked at the waitress. “You have a special tonight?”

  “Chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and green beans. Or corn. Comes with a salad and dinner roll.”

  “Sounds good. Give me that. Beans, not corn. A slice of peach pie, warm, with vanilla ice cream. And a large glass of milk, please.”

  “Milk, huh? Good for you.” The waitress retreated, writing on her notepad.

  Declan shrugged. “Too late for coffee for me. It would keep me up all night.”

  “I like milk with chocolate cake,” Alana said.

  “Or cookies,” Josh added.

  Okay. Friendly, down to earth. They weren’t bad people. He’d judged them too quickly on their appearance and their family too quickly on stereotype. Time to do his job and get the facts—objectively.

  The waitress returned with water, pie, milk, and a carafe of coffee to refresh the Morgan siblings’ cups. “You looked hungry. Nothing wrong with dessert first.”

  “Thanks.” Declan took a bite of the pie and nearly moaned. The sign outside was right.

  She smiled then returned to the kitchen.

  He looked across the table. “So, tell me. Why did Mako want us to talk? What couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “I guess he wanted you to have all the facts as soon as possible,” Alana said. “Sorry if we’re keeping you up. No one at the manor is getting any sleep. He probably didn’t consider that you aren’t as affected as we are.”

  Manor? “Believe me. I’m invested. Talk to me.”

  Josh looked around the room, then dropped his voice just above a whisper. “Adam and Scott have been best friends forever. We used to be next door neighbors. Adam was in high school when we moved to a different neighborhood, but they stayed in touch. They’d do anything for each other. They’re like brothers. But that also means sometimes they fought, as dirty as family members fight. They knew just which buttons to push, and they used them. But they always worked things out. And they always had each other’s back.”

  “Why do I get the feeling things changed recently?”

  “It was at the bachelor party.” Josh sipped his coffee.

  “You need to understand,” Alana said. “Adam has money now, and he’s marrying into a lot more. Scott felt the disparity. Adam didn’t, but he did.”

  “So, Scott was jealous?” Made sense.

  “Not exactly,” Josh said. “He was content with his lot in life. But when it came to the bachelor party, he felt pressure to keep up with the Joneses.”

  “Or the Morgans.” Alana toyed with the edge of her napkin.

  “More specifically, the Windsors,” Josh said. “Some of Blair’s family were invited, obviously. He could hardly plan for shots and an all-you-can-eat buffet at a local strip club. Or that’s what Scott thought, anyway. Blair’s family is actually very down to earth. They wouldn’t have cared if the party was nothing more than chips and a keg in some guy’s basement.”

  Yeah. That’s why they rented a cruise ship for the wedding. Because money and appearances didn’t matter. Declan stabbed another bite of pie, maybe a little too forcibly.

  Alana glanced at his hand when the fork clanged off the dish. “Anyway, that’s why Scott planned a trip to Atlantic City. He was trying to go big, to keep up.”

  “Okay. The guy had an inferiority complex. Why would the cops think Adam killed him because of it? If anything, the guy with the jealous-rage motive would be Scott.”

  “Because of the argument,” Josh said.

  The waitress came over with Declan’s blue plate special. “Chicken fried steak, potatoes, green beans, salad, and dinner roll.” She winked, leaned down, and whispered, “I brought you real butter, not that horrible fake crap.”

  Declan smiled. “Appreciate it.”

  “Get you anything else?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She patted him on the arm and retreated.

  He started buttering his roll. “Go on. What argument?”

  Josh exchanged looks with his sister. Then he sighed. “Like I said, the bachelor party was a weekend in Atlantic City. Scott said he had everything taken care of. All he needed was for Mr. Windsor to sail us from Michigan to Pennsylvania.”

  “Mr. Windsor offered the ship for the entire event,” Alana said, “but Scott declined.”

  “Said he had everything planned. He rented a party bus to take us from Erie to New Jersey. Booked a suite. Had reservations at a steakhouse then tickets to a boxing match. All that followed by in-room entertainment, if you know what I mean.”

  “We all know what you mean.” Alana rolled her eyes.

  “Okay,” Declan said. “The argument?”

  “That’s just it.” Josh closed his eyes and shook his head. “Scott had the trip planned, but…”

  “But?”

  Alana shoved her cup away from her, frowning. “But he couldn’t pay for it. When they got to the hotel, Scott confessed to Adam that he maxed out his credit card on the ride and couldn’t pay for the rest. Adam stepped up, like any best friend would do, and covered the room.”

  “He didn’t make a big deal about it,” Josh said. “I swear. It was handled very discreetly. The rest of us didn’t even realize what had happened. Not at that point, anyway.”

  Declan had made short work of his meal, but it was starting to not sit right in his stomach. “What happened after that?”

  “Adam figured they’d stick to the room, gamble a little, then go home. But they didn’t. Scott didn’t cancel any of their plans, and my brother kept paying for all of it. If I had realized, I would have paid. I mean, it was Adam’s bachelor party. He shouldn’t have been funding it.”

  “If you didn’t realize, then how do you know all this?”

  “Because it all hit the fan after the… entertainment showed up.”

  “I’m an adult, Josh,” Alana said. “Stop mincing your words and just tell him what happened.”

  He rubbed his head. “It wasn’t one girl. It was five. And they weren’t strippers. They were…”

  “Hookers,” Alana said.

  “That’s when Adam lost it. He threw the girls out, and he and Scott got into it. Right there, in the middle of the suite. In front of me and the other groomsmen, one of whom was Blair’s brother.”

  Declan took a deep breath and nodded for him to continue.

  “Scott was humiliated, of course. I almost felt bad for him, but he seemed to have done it on purpose. Like he intended to run
up the tab just to make Adam pay for it all.”

  “But Adam didn’t care about the money,” Alana said. “What he cared about was the way Scott went about it. And the hookers. He tolerated a lot but thought that was crossing a line.”

  That’s because it was. Strippers were one thing, but… Declan had to agree with Adam on that one.

  “The argument turned physical.” Josh’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Punches were flying, and a table got smashed when they crashed to the floor. We pulled them off of each other, then I offered to take Scott downstairs. You know, buy him some coffee, sober him up. Give everyone a chance to cool off. Instead, he bolted. And he didn’t come back. Stuck us with the cost of the hotel damage on top of everything else.” He muttered something under his breath.

  Alana placed her hand on his arm.

  He sighed. “I don’t know how he got back to Erie. I wasn’t even sure he was coming to the wedding. But he showed up Friday evening and boarded the ship with the rest of us. No one said anything about Atlantic City, so I figured we were just going to pretend nothing happened and go on with the weekend like nothing had changed.”

  “But something had changed,” Alana said. “Not only did Scott not offer an apology—which Adam didn’t even care about—he picked another fight. Accused Adam of trying to humiliate him.”

  “How do you know this? From Adam?”

  She shook her head. “I was there. It happened in Adam’s stateroom. I needed to use the restroom, and while I was in there, Scott stopped by. I didn’t want to further embarrass him. Josh had told me about Atlantic City, but we didn’t tell Adam I knew, and I definitely didn’t want to let Scott know. He and I were partnered together for the wedding. So I stayed in the restroom and kept quiet. But I heard the whole thing.”

  “Okay. What happened?”

  “What you’d expect. Heated exchange. A few more punches thrown. I almost stepped out then—you know, to break it up. But I hesitated. It was pretty violent, and I was scared to be in the middle of it. Then it ended as fast as it started, so I stayed where I was.”