Crashing Waves (Cross and Anchor Suspense Series Book 1)

by Mark Stone

  “How many people were on the team?” Kate asked, ignoring Anchor’s response and getting right down to business.

  “Five,” Anchor said. “A photographer and a historian. Given that - from all I could find - the historian was a loner with no wife, children, extended family, or even close friends, so I figured our best bet was to go with the photographer.”

  “I’m guessing he’s not so solitary?” Kate asked.

  “Nah,” Anchor scoffed. “Guy was a party animal, all over social media, and everyone of those pictures was tagged to his fiancée.”

  “You think she’s next?” Kate asked.

  “I think she’s our best bet,” Anchor said. “That’s why we’re here.”

  Anchor screeched into the parking lot of the Seaside Bakery. It was a new place, just opened in the last few months by the photographer’s fiancée. Pretty, a large white building with pink flourishes, Anchor could see where it would appeal to people, though the parking lot was completely empty, save for one car which probably belonged to the owner.

  “Got your badge handy?” Anchor grinned. “I've always wanted to go busting into somewhere with a badge in hand. It looks so cool in the movies.”

  “Then you should have finished police academy,” Kate shot back. “If you had, you might have even learned that, in this situation, that’s exactly the last thing you should do.”

  “I don’t follow,” Anchor admitted.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Kate sighed. “Look. We don’t know anything about this situation. Sure, we know that there seems to be a connection between the team who went missing while looking for the jewels and the Willful Guild, but we don’t know what that is. For all we know, this woman could be involved. None of the people who have been taken by the guild have died as a result. They’ve all been cleared as suspects so far, but we obviously don’t have the whole picture here. If we go marching in there, badges out, then we let them know we’re onto them. What’s more, if she’s not involved and the guild is watching her, we let them know we’re onto their plan, which changes it. If that happens, our best chance at finding them vanishes.”

  “What are you saying?” Anchor asked. “That we don’t go in there?”

  “No, I want to go in. I need to take a look around and question this woman, but I can’t be obvious about it. I’m saying we go in there pretending to have another agenda, undercover, so to speak.”

  “And what might that be?” Anchor asked, glaring at the woman.

  “Look at this place,” Kate said. “You know what kind of people go into a bakery like this?”

  “People with low blood sugar?” he asked.

  “There’s a three-tier cake with a bride and groom in the display window, Mr. Anchorage,” Kate said. “Seventy-five percent of business for bakeries in this area comes from the wedding industry. No one will look twice at us if we come in asking for a cake for an event.” She took a deep breath. “Do you have a ring, Mr. Anchorage? Because you’re about to ask me to marry you.”

  The man blinked.

  “Okay,” he said. “But I think you’re going to have to start calling me Anchor now.”

  Chapter 7

  Stepping into the bakery, arm in arm with a man she barely knew, Kate realized just how out of hand all of this had gotten. She was a cop, and had been for many years now. That alone made her the more qualified of the pair. Throw in the fact that she had gone undercover on more than one occasion, and anyone would think she was well within her comfort zone.

  As it turned out, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Kate was a methodical type of cop. She liked to dot her I’s and cross her T’s. Because of the nature of this thing, the way Marcus threw her headlong into this investigation with her ridiculous new partner, she hadn’t had time to cross or dot anything. In fact, all she knew about this case (other than what she had gleaned from conversations she’d heard around the police department as well as what everyone knew from the news, was what Anchor had told her. And who even knew if that was accurate. She wanted the case before Marcus put on the mob case but didn’t think she stood a chance of getting it.

  Marcus might have been confident in this reality star explorer’s interpretation of things, but Kate was still making up her mind. What he had said made sense, but in her years on the force, Kate had heard a lot of things that made sense which later turned out to be completely inaccurate. Anchor could be wrong about this. He might very well have thrust her down an ill-advised rabbit hole that had nothing to with what was really going on with the Willful Guild. There was only one way to find out though and, unfortunately for Kate, that way involved her pretending to be so in love with the cocky idiot on her arm, she actually wanted to marry him.

  “Follow my lead, and stay as silent as possible,” Kate said as they entered the bakery, squeezing Anchor’s arm to let him know she meant business. The place was nice, if a little plain inside. Like a lot of places in Vero Beach, especially places run by people who hadn’t grown up in the city, it leaned heavily on the beauty of the beach and water. With huge windows looking out over the surf, it was clear where the eye was supposed to be drawn. That was probably why those same windows were dotted with displays of what had to be the most expensive cakes this woman had to offer.

  “Absolutely,” Anchor said, that rueful grin still plastered across his stubbled cheeks.

  An automatic dinging rang through the store, letting the owner know that potential customers had entered. Like clockwork, a woman with short cropped blond hair and rosy cheeks walked in from a back room. She wore an apron and had flour on her forehead.

  Kate opened her mouth to greet the woman, but she was silenced by the man who had just promised to keep his trap shut.

  “Hey there! How are you? Hell of a shop you’ve got here. I especially like the hardwood floors,” Anchor said, stomping against the floor with his foot and then looking over at Kate, his grin widening as if to tell her that he knew he hadn’t done what she had asked and that was something she’d probably need to get used to. “Impressive, don’t you think, darling?”

  He squeezed Kate’s arm the same way she had squeezed his. She seethed silently before turning back to the woman, throwing on the bright smile she’d need to keep her cover up, and chirping out an answer.

  “It’s definitely something,” she muttered.

  The blond woman walked toward them, quickly pulling off her apron and placing it onto her counter. With flour still on her forehead, she offered them a hand to shake.

  “Hey there. I’m Chloe Evans. I’m so glad you like the store. We worked really hard on it.”

  Though Anchor attempted to shake the woman’s hand, Kate beat him to it, shooting the man a look that told him to cool it. She needed to take the reins on this. That was, if they wanted to get anywhere.

  Undercover jobs were complicated. Usually, they took a lot of planning. This sort of thing, jumping whole hog into an investigation without much more than a conversation about it, was like a nightmare to Kate. Knowing that Anchor had absolutely no experience in this sort of thing only served to make the situation worse. One misspoken word could take it all down. One unspoken word could take it all down. Being undercover was like trotting through a minefield. And, at this moment, Kate was tied to a man who had no idea where any of the explosives were.

  Still, she had no choice. They were where they were, and she was going to have to make the best of it.

  That however, might prove easier said than done.

  Chloe looked the pair up and down as Kate shook her hand. Kate saw a flicker of recognition in the bakery owner’s face and realized this was going to be a little harder than she thought.

  “Nice to meet you Chloe,” Anchor said. “This is my fiancée Wanda and I’m Andre—”

  “Anchor!” Kate said, dropping the woman’s hand and moving her palm to Anchor’s chest. She patted him forcefully to shut him up. “His name is Anchor.”

  Anchor jerked a little, giving Kate
a look. The one thing Kate had told him about all of this (other than the bit about keeping his mouth shut, which he totally ignored) was that they’d be using fake names.

  That wouldn’t work now though. Another baked in problem with this undercover stuff- and using Anchor as a partner in it- was that the man had some sort of notoriety. Sure, it wasn’t that much (and not nearly as much as he’d have probably liked to think), but there was no doubt from the look on this woman’s face that she recognized him, and they wouldn’t get anywhere with her by lying off the bat.

  “She totally recognizes you, honey,” Kate said, the last word sticking in her throat as she patted him even harder on the chest. “No need in keeping up the charade.” Kate swallowed hard, looking at Chloe. “We don’t always use our real names. With my husband being famous and all, I’m sure you can see why we might have to.”

  “Oh come on,” Anchor answered quickly, even though Kate wasn’t speaking to him. “That’s not exactly true, is it?”

  Kate leered up at the man. Not only was he not being quiet, but he also wasn’t even going to stick to the story now? This partnership, if you could even call it that, was a mistake, regardless of what Marcus said about it.

  “What are you talking about?” Kate asked through newly clenched teeth.

  Anchor pulled his arm away from hers. Then, wrapping her in a giant hug as he placed his arm around her waist, he grinned. “I’m not your husband yet.” Nodding at Chloe, he said, “That’s why we’re here actually. I’m gonna lock this little peach down in a couple of months and I want to give her the kind of wedding fit for someone who’s landed a superstar.”

  “Superstar?” Kate asked, her eyebrows quirking upward.

  “Oh, you don’t have to be modest, my little seashell. Chloe here knows you did good.” Anchor winked down at Kate, an act which sent spasms of anger through Kate. Not only was he running roughshod all over this operation, but the bastard was actually enjoying it…a lot.

  “That’s what we call each other,” he added, smiling so wide and so brightly, Kate could only imagine it was becoming harder for the irritating man to hold in his glee at the situation. “She’s my little seashell, and I’m her great big superstar.”

  “Not as big as he likes to think,” Kate said, shrugging away from him. “But, you know how men are. Obsessed with their own—”

  A bang came from the back room, and Kate’s instincts kicked in. Her body tensed and her hand stealthily moved to the gun hidden beneath the flap of her leather jacket.

  “Is someone else here?” Kate asked, her eyes trained to the source of the noise.

  “Unfortunately,” Chloe sighed, looking back in the direction of the noise. “That’s probably my assistant Patrick. He’s really horrible at- well, at most things actually. I’m guessing what you heard was him destroying the morning’s work.” She turned back to the pair. “Would the two of you mind waiting here for a moment? I’m very excited to work with you. I mean, a celebrity wedding would be a dream come true for a shop like mine. I just need to make sure the kid isn’t burning the place down first.” She shook her head. “Don’t ever hire your friends. Trust me on that.”

  “Stay here,” Kate said, glaring at Anchor and pushing away from her faux fiancé. “I’m going to go make sure that noise was what she thinks it is.”

  “Not a chance,” he answered, his voice light and far too animated for the situation they were in. “If you’re going—”

  “I’m trained,” Kate said without breaking stride as she strode toward the back room that Chloe had disappeared into.

  “And I’m a Southern man, darling,” Anchor answered. “I’m not the kind of person who’d let a woman put herself in danger while I’m in earshot.” He shook his head. “Even if that woman is a badass cop.”

  There was something about the way Anchor just described her that made Kate blush just a little. She was a badass cop and, though she didn’t need anyone to tell her that to be sure of herself, it was definitely nice to hear it once in awhile.

  Still, it didn’t change anything. Anchor would just be an albatross around her neck. She couldn’t have that, not while she was still taking stock of this situation.

  “You might be,” Kate said. “But you’re not a police officer yourself, and I don’t have time for your antiquated sense of chivalry.” She finally turned, pointing at the man following her and stopping him in his tracks. “I might not be able to get you off this case, but that doesn’t mean I have to let you complicate it any further. So please, do us both a favor and stay out here where it’s safe.”

  As the words left her mouth, a loud crash echoed through the bakery.

  Kate saw it immediately. A car, sleek and black, smashing through the display window of the bakery. Her body tensed as the broken glass and showcase cake exploding scattered like seagulls in a storm.

  Anchor lunged toward her, throwing his body over hers and covering her as she fell backward onto the floor.

  She felt his chest, heaving back and forth quickly with ragged breaths as he looked down at her.

  Eyes wide, he asked, “What was that you said about it being safe out here?”

  Chapter 8

  Anchor lay there, his arms wrapped around the woman he'd just met as he stared down into her eyes. With glass fragments splattered across his back and a wave of heat at his heels, all he could think about was keeping her safe.

  It wasn't that she wasn't able to take care of herself. She was Herbert Cross's daughter, after all. Even if she wasn't, one glance at the way her face steeled up when it became clear that danger was on the horizon was enough to tell him that she wasn't to be taken lightly.

  Still, as he told her, Anchor was a Southern guy. He had been raised, as many Southern guys had, to put the welfare of any woman in his presence above that of his own, even if it was clear she was more than capable of doing that herself.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, surprised at how frantic his voice sounded. His hands tightened around Kate's arms as he thought about the car that had just plowed into the plate glass window of the bakery. He couldn't tell whether or not it was still running. For all he knew, whoever was driving the damned thing would hit the gas again and run them over. He knew that he should get up, brush himself off, and do something, but he couldn’t. It was like he was glued to the ground. Sure, he was used to adventure, but this was a completely different kind of adventure and it would definitely take some getting used to.

  So why couldn't he move?

  "Listen to me," Kate said, ignoring his question to her and taking deep, calming breaths that Anchor found himself instinctively mimicking. "I need you to let go of me. I need you to stand up, take a breath, and get it together."

  Anchor balked. "I'm not—”

  "I know it's hard. I know it feels like some kind of fever dream is playing out in front of you. It always does. That part never gets any better, but you have to push past it. You'll be okay. You—”

  "It's not me," he breathed, still clutching onto Kate's arms. "I'm not worried about me, Cross. I just- I can't be responsible for losing anybody else."

  Kate blinked and Anchor could tell she was trying to process what he had just said. That didn't last long. Another blink and her face had steeled back over.

  "There's someone in that car, Anchor. I can feel it," Kate said, her voice still calm, still steady. "And they either want us dead or he's hurt. Either way, I need you to get off me so I can deal with it."

  "No," Anchor said, swallowing hard.

  "Anchor, I can take care of myself," Kate said, and he couldn't help but notice she had begun using his nickname, something she had refused to do just moments ago.

  "I know you can," he said, letting go and standing up. "But like you said, you're trained, and Chloe still hasn't come out of the backroom." Kate blinked, and Anchor knew she understood what he meant. A loud boom had just sounded through this bakery, and yet the woman who owned it hadn't come out to investigate. That could only mean that sh
e couldn't come out, and the reason for that had to be sinister.

  Kate stood, glaring at Anchor.

  "Anchor, if that guy—”

  "You're not the only one who can hold their own, Cross," he answered. "I've been in enough bar fights to attest to that." He nodded at the woman. "Go get her. I got this."

  Anchor spun as soon as he saw Kate turn toward the back room. His head was spinning and his breaths were still faster and more panicked than he would have liked. Still, he had to do what she'd said. He had to pull himself together and pull his own weight. This was what he wanted, to be involved in this investigation, to be right there on the front lines, to hopefully atone for all the wrongs he had done.

  Besides, this wasn't his first time in a dangerous situation, not even close. He had swum with sharks. He had been trapped in the bottom of the wreckage of a ship with his oxygen quickly running out. He had even been party to a mishap that led to one of his boats exploding just seconds after he and his crew jumped off of it.

  This was different though. Sharks didn't want to kill you, not unless you provoked them. Shipwrecks couldn't shoot at you and boats only exploded if you did something stupid that led to it. There was very likely someone in that car who wanted him dead though, who would shoot at him the second he came closer, if not to take him out specifically then just to clear the way to take Chloe for their own means.

  The differences didn't end there either. Back then, when he faced those things, he had his team. He had his crew. The crew was gone now though. They were scattered when the show was canceled, and the most important member of that crew, his best friend Andy, was gone too, and in a much more permanent manner. That was his fault, he knew that. It was the reason he was here. It was the reason that, even though the idea shook him more than he cared to admit, Anchor wouldn't stop rushing toward this car. He had hurt too many people in his life, Andy chief among them. It was time he started helping.

  Blinking through the haze of what had just happened, Anchor took in the car. It was a red Honda, the same color as his convertible, but nothing nearly as nice. Biting his lower lip, he reached to his hip and pulled out the switchblade his uncle had given him for his seventeenth birthday. He had kept it on him nearly every day since that one, and it would come in handy today.