by Dani Pettrey
“If we hadn’t been questioning her they may not have shown up today, but the fact that her place was bugged meant she’d been in danger the entire time. You can beat yourself up or you can focus on identifying her killer and the man who ordered the hit.”
It’s not what she wanted to hear, but her training told her he was right. She owed it to Mira to find her killer, and to do that she had to detach and focus on the facts, but her heart ached so.
He glanced over at her at the stoplight, red bouncing off his features, concern filling his eyes. “I’m not trying to be cold. I’m so sorry about Mira. I truly am, but I hate to see you beat yourself up. You were trying to help. There’s a much larger case here, and if we don’t solve it, who knows how many casualties we might be facing.”
She swallowed. When he put it that way . . .
Driving the rest of the way in silence, she contemplated the truth of Declan’s words. She’d been trained to focus on the larger picture. He was right, but the need to pray, to connect with her Savior overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes, praying God would heal the deep ache in her soul at the loss of her friend and that He would equip her and Declan for the case before them.
Twenty minutes later, Declan pulled to a stop in the marina lot. She climbed out of his vehicle and walked slowly beside him down the creaking dock to Kate’s houseboat, where she was staying until she found her own place. She turned to unlock the sliding glass door when his hand stilled her arm. Turning back, her breath caught at the deep emotion welling in his dark brown eyes.
He reached for her cheek, cupping it in his palm, his hand warm despite the chill in the air. He stepped closer still. “All I want to do is kiss you again,” he said, his voice hoarse, his breath clouding in the crisp night air.
She leaned in to him, but a shift of movement in the pier light grabbed her attention—an armed man in black.
“Get down,” she shouted, yanking Declan with her to the deck as shots fired, bullets riddling the boat around them.
Declan fired back, but shots seemed to come from all directions.
He grabbed her hand. “Into the water!”
Before she could even take a breath, they were submerged in the cold, dark harbor.
8
Declan felt Tanner in front of him as they dove deeper into the murky harbor and away from the boat, bullets propelling past them fractions of an inch away.
They’d been sitting ducks on the boat. At least in the water they had a fighting chance. He prayed Tanner was a strong swimmer because they had a ways to go before they were out of firing range.
The cold seeped straight to his bones. He could only imagine how chilled Tanner must be, slender as she was.
He tugged her leg, indicating for them to move for the surface. She followed his lead, and slowly, carefully they breached the barrier between water and sky. Frigid air crinkled through Declan’s burning lungs as he breathed deeply, keeping as low in the water as possible.
Glancing to his right, he saw the men fanned out across the docks, flashlights in hand, scouring the water.
“Keep searching. They have to come up for air sooner or later,” one of the men hollered. “I want them found!”
Declan looked to Tanner, her brown hair soaked and clinging to her face. Her lips were blue in the light of the nearly full moon, teeth chattering. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, rubbing her back to warm her, for the brief moment he could.
He scanned the harbor, the towering brick office building across the inlet his target. It was dark except for the light over the door and far enough away it should be safe to head ashore.
Lights shifted in their direction.
They were coming
“Head for that building. Deep breath!” he said before diving back under. Lights bounced off the surface overhead as they swam.
Bullets continued spiraling through the water, one skimming Declan’s left arm. He dove deeper, praying Tanner understood they needed to increase their pace, to make it farther from the docks and out of range.
Her strokes grew faster, stronger, the water streaming in the wake of her breaststroke and intermittent dolphin kick. She was doing a remarkable job.
Through the murky water he saw her moving toward the surface. He followed, hoping they were far enough out as they slowly rose above the waterline.
Lights continued to bounce off the water, but they were finally out of reach. The men suddenly shifting into a run for the parking lot indicated they realized that.
“They’re moving for their vehicles,” Tanner said, her voice trembling.
If only he could warm her.
“They’re going to start searching the perimeter. We have to reach that building.” He pointed at its tall shadow looming a hundred yards away.
She nodded and they swam, Declan using the building’s one light as a beacon.
Finally reaching shore, they remained low in the water as he surveyed the scene.
It looked clear.
“Okay,” he said. “Move quickly. Straight for the south side of the building and hold.”
She nodded, her head lolling slightly.
He kept her behind his right shoulder, his service weapon drawn as they raced for what he prayed was the safety of the building’s shadows. Tanner stumbled along the way, but he held her upright.
Their backs finally flush with the rough brick wall, he glanced down at her. She was shivering, puddles of water pooling at her feet. He needed to get her someplace safe, someplace warm. The office.
He slipped his jacket off, feeling the weight of it drenched with water, but at least it gave more protection from the wind than the lightweight jacket she had on. He draped it across her shoulders, and she slipped her arms in.
“Thanks.”
Headlights whizzed by the rear parking lot, but just as he was about to sigh with relief, the vehicle reversed and pulled into the lot. There was no way he was taking Tanner back into the frigid water. She was showing clear signs of hypothermia—shivering, lack of coordination, drowsiness. He felt her pulse—weak, just as he suspected. They needed to find another way of escape, and fast. Help us, Lord.
He held her against the building as the vehicle screeched to a stop, doors slammed, and two sets of footsteps headed toward them.
“What are you doing?” the one man asked.
“I thought I saw something,” a second man responded.
“You’ve been saying that a lot tonight.”
“I’m telling you, I saw them in the water.”
“And now? You’re telling me they swam all the way over here?”
“It ain’t that far if your life is on the line. Now, shut up and help me look.”
“This is a waste of time.”
“Xavier said to search the surrounding shoreline. You go left, I’ll go right.”
“Fine, but I still say it’s a waste of time.”
Tanner looked up at Declan, steadfast determination in her eyes, despite the fatigue rimming them.
He held his finger to his lips and stepped in front of her.
The man grew closer.
Declan waited. His timing had to be precise.
Two more steps . . .
One.
Two.
Declan rushed the man, knocking him to his knees and silencing him with a quick, powerful jab to the throat.
Tanner bent and retrieved the man’s sidearm, and they rushed for the vehicle the men had left running in the parking lot.
They jumped in and Declan swerved out of the lot as the other man raced after them, a bullet pinging off the roof.
“I’d head for my house,” he said, accelerating, “but I don’t want to risk leading them there. That is, if they don’t already have people watching it. Instead, we’re going to the office.”
She nodded as he cranked up the heat, praying it would kick in quickly.
He handed her his cell. “Give the office a heads-up—tell them to have local units search for the men who a
re after us if local police haven’t already been called by someone within earshot.”
She swiped the water dripping from the phone’s case. “You seriously think this phone is going to work after being submerged?”
“Lifeproof case. Trust me, it’ll work.”
She dialed, and it connected. “Impressive.”
He glanced in his rearview mirror as he sped down Boston Street toward the freeway. So far no tail. He wanted to take Tanner home and get her warm and dry, but the car they’d taken needed to be processed, and the Bureau office was definitely the safer location.
He turned down Ponca Street, and then Eastern Avenue as she finished the call. He was taking the back route to the office, hoping to lose anyone who might still be chasing them. Praying he’d get Tanner to warmth and safety. Praying he could protect her. Praying God would protect them both.
9
Griffin and Finley strolled toward the Gilmore Inn’s reception area. Tomorrow morning they’d be able to see the bounty of orange, yellow, and red leaves surrounding the resort. Hunt Valley was at “the height of the foliage’s vibrancy,” according to the perky meteorologist they’d been listening to on the radio during the ride up, but for tonight, there was a clear, star-filled sky. The temperatures were cool and expected to dip below freezing before the night was out, but tomorrow was going to reach highs in the mid-fifties. It was Griffin’s favorite time of year, and the perfect time for the client retreat—clear days for hiking and crisp nights for sitting around the resort’s fire pit, roasting marshmallows for s’mores.
He couldn’t wait to kiss the gooey marshmallow from his wife’s lips.
He loved being married, loved waking up next to Finley each morning. Loved spending quiet moments together and all the laughter—even sorrow was bearable, as long as she was at his side. The two had truly become one, and now he fully understood what God intended for marriage. The Lord had blessed him beyond measure by bringing Finley into his life.
He marveled that it was less than one year ago. It was a lesson in how quickly life could change for the good—he glanced at Finley and smiled. Or for the bad, he thought as he glanced at Haywood and then stepped toward him, hand extended. “Haywood, great to see you. Thanks again for the invite.”
Haywood clasped his hand. “Thanks for making it again this year. We so look forward to this time with our clients.” He shifted his gaze to Finley. “Mrs. McCray, you’re looking as lovely as ever.”
Finley smiled. “Always a charmer, Haywood.”
“How can I not be when you’re around?” He chuckled, looking a wee bit more relaxed than he had been during his conversation with Griffin earlier in the day.
Haywood glanced around at the couples gathering in the Gilmore Inn’s dining hall. French doors lined the back wall, leading out to a vast brick patio where silver pyramid-shaped heaters sparked with flames dancing in the night sky.
People mingled in small groups, mostly couples, several moving back and forth between the open bar on the patio and the round dessert tables set throughout the dining room.
Haywood swiped his nose, leaning into Griffin. “The couple next to the far dessert table are the Markums.”
“Got them,” Griffin said, catching movement out of the corner of his eye.
Blonde. Tall. Athletic. Kate had arrived.
“Perfect timing,” he said, turning to greet her, smiling at the fact she was actually in a dress. Basic black, knee-length, capped sleeves, but it suited her—especially the red heels.
“Haywood, you remember our friend, Kate Maxwell,” he said. Having met with her that afternoon, Haywood obviously didn’t need the introduction. It was more for the benefit of anyone who might overhear their conversation.
“Of course. So glad you could join us.”
“Thank you for inviting me.” She slipped her red clutch under her arm as Finley complimented her dangly earrings.
Lowell Brentwood caught sight of new blood from across the room and made a beeline for them. “Haywood, who do we have here?” he asked, swooping up beside Kate.
“Kate Maxwell,” she said before Haywood could introduce her.
“Ms. Maxwell, it’s a pleasure,” Lowell said with a slight dip of his head.
“Ms. Maxwell is thinking of signing on with the firm,” Haywood explained. “So I suggested she join us. No better way to find out what we’re all about than during our seminar tomorrow evening.”
“Agreed.” Lowell lifted his glass. “Thrilled you could join us.” He nodded at Griffin and then Finley and smiled. “Griffin, Mrs. McCray, lovely to see you again. Where are the rest of your friends? I hope they’re all coming. The retreat wouldn’t be the same without the . . . What was the name of your team, Haywood?”
Haywood hitched his pants up. “The Pirates.”
“That’s right,” Lowell said with a cloying smile before taking a sip of his champagne. “The Pirates.”
“You have a good memory,” Griffin said.
“Haywood has pictures of the teams he’s coached in his office. Yours is in the center. Apparently he loved coaching you all the most. I mean, it’s been years and he’s still got that picture.”
“We won the championship all three years I coached them. And let me tell you, they were a special group of kids,” Haywood said, looking to Griffin. “Plus, that picture was of my last year coaching in Chesapeake Harbor. Good memories. Good times.” His gaze shifted over Griffin’s shoulder. “Speaking of Pirates . . .”
Griffin turned to see Parker entering the room with Avery at his side.
“Parker.” Haywood stepped forward and shook his hand. “And you must be Avery.” He cupped her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, my dear. I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”
“Thank you so much for having me,” she said.
“Another new guest,” Lowell said, moving to greet Avery as Frank Sinatra’s version of “The Way You Look Tonight” played softly over the speakers.
Whether requested by someone or of the DJ’s own choosing, crooners were Griff’s favorite and perfect for dancing with his wife. Luckily the resort provided a nice dance floor in the center of the room.
“Lowell, this is my girlfriend, Avery Tate,” Parker said.
“It’s a pleasure. I hope you got settled in your room okay.”
“We did. Avery is bunking with Kate.”
“Ah, so you all know each other. I should have assumed. You know one Pirate, you know them all,” Lowell said.
Parker arched a brow in Griffin’s direction. Was Lowell already loaded or just being a smug suck-up? Probably a combination of the two, but the former boded well for the purposes of Kate’s investigation. The more Lowell drank, the more he tended to ramble.
“Ms. Maxwell”—Lowell offered his arm—“may I have the pleasure of showing you around the inn?”
Kate put on her working smile. “I’d love that. Thank you.” She waggled her fingers, signaling good-bye, and taking Lowell’s arm, headed off with him toward the library.
“Well, that went well,” Haywood said.
“And while Kate’s with Lowell, I think Finley and I will go make friends with the Markums,” Griffin said.
Haywood nodded. “Excellent.”
“Have you had any interaction with them since they’ve arrived?” he asked.
“Thankfully, no. But I have spoken with the Coveys.” One of the other client families of Haywood’s who was missing money.
“Any sign they are on to what’s happening?”
Haywood shook his head. “Not that I could tell.”
“Could you point them out?” Griffin asked.
Haywood looked around. “There,” he said. “The couple in the center of the dance floor.”
“Why don’t Avery and I join the Coveys on the dance floor?” Parker said.
“Sounds like a plan.” Though he’d much rather be on the dance floor with his wife, Griffin nodded, taking Finley’s hand in his. “Meet up between the party end
ing and s’more time?” he said over his shoulder.
Parker nodded.
“Excellent,” Haywood said, suddenly shifting back to the nervous man he’d been earlier in the day.
Was there a chance he worried what they might learn from the Markums or Coveys? Was there a chance Haywood—a man he’d known practically his entire life—was lying to him?
He swallowed, praying he was not as they approached the Markums who, according to Finley, were expensively dressed.
Elizabeth wore a cocktail dress from some designer he didn’t recognize when Finley whispered the name, and she had a plum cashmere wrap draped along her pale arms. John was dressed in what looked to be a J. Crew suit, based on fit and style, along with a plum-and-white pinstripe shirt and matching plum tie. The J. Crew look he recognized from Finley dog-earring the Crew catalogs with items she liked for him.
“What a fabulous location,” she said loudly enough for the Markums to hear as they approached from the side. “I can’t wait to meet everyone and see more of the place. Oh, hello,” she said, stopping before them.
Elizabeth Markum turned toward them, her blond hair cut just above her shoulders and wisped to the side. Her large blue eyes held wariness, as did her tight jaw.
“Hi, I’m Finley McCray.” She extended a hand.
Elizabeth exchanged an “Oh, great” look with her husband before shaking Finley’s hand. “Elizabeth. And this is my husband, John.”
“A pleasure to meet you. This is my husband, Griffin.” She did a backward tap on his chest with her hand, then flipped her hand over, to place it firmly on his chest as she moved into his hold, positioning them to stay a while. Whether the Markums registered their intent, Griffin wasn’t certain, but either way they didn’t look the least thrilled at the prospect of company.
Was that their norm? Or did their understandable concern over stolen funds have them on their guard toward anyone and everyone? Griffin was betting a mixture of the two.
“What a lovely inn for the retreat,” Finley said.
“Yes.” Elizabeth used her swizzle stick to stir her drink, the color and scent both consistent with lime.