by Mark Stone
"You weren't responsible for it the first time, Anchor," she said, biting her lower lip. "I'm very sorry about what you went through, about what Andy's family went through, but it's not on you."
"The hell it isn't," he answered. "He was only there because I asked him to be."
"And you're only in this room because I asked you to be," Kate responded. "If the damned roof caved in, would that make it my fault?" She leaned forward. "We don't control the world, Anchor. Trust me, I understand the need to, but we don't. Not everything that happens is your fault and, as scary as it might be to imagine, not everything that happens is under your control either. Your friend died, and you were there. A boy got kidnapped, and you were there. Blame the water and the damned guild, but don't blame yourself. All that would serve to do is make you useless and that would be a shame. You want to atone for Andy's death, I get that. Trust me, I get it more than you could imagine." She squeezed his hand anew. "So, do it, Anchor. Push past the guilt, push past the grieving, and make sure that the horrible things that have happened didn't happen in vain."
The words rattled around Anchor's head.
"Cross, I—”
The door swung open. Marcus was on the other side.
"Come on," he said, nodding. "We have a lot to talk about."
Chapter 19
Kate followed Marcus into his office, doing her best to keep her attention turned from Anchor. The man had surprised her back there in the break room. This morning, he had come off as a brash and arrogant man with no regard for rules or how much work people do to make sure they're followed. But as the day had worn on, he'd shown himself to be brave. Sure, he was still brash, still unwilling to listen to reason, but the man did take this seriously, even if he had a weird way of showing it.
Of course, just because Kate now understood the man had a desire to be here and an inkling of how serious all of it was didn't mean she believed he had any business being involved with the case. Russell Anchorage was a civilian, and the first thing any good cop learned was that you just don't put civilian lives in harm's way, regardless of how intricate and confusing the case might be.
It wasn't her call though. She reminded herself of that as she and Anchor sat down across from Marcus, who had just shut his door tightly, rounded his desk, and plopped himself across from the pair.
"What have we got, Chief?" Anchor asked. His knee had gotten to shaking again, revving up even more intensely than it had back in the break room. It struck Kate strangely, the way Anchor said the word “chief”. It sort of stuck in his throat a little, as though he wasn't used to deferring to people.
"A lot," he answered. "First among them being the fact that you refused medical attention back at the scene."
"You did what?" Kate asked, looking over Anchor. Her mouth had tightened and her eyes narrowed. "You were in the back of an ambulance. You had a damned cold compress on your head."
"That rag?" Anchor asked.
"I'm not doing this with you again," Kate answered. "The point is, I assumed you had been treated. You said that was the only way they wouldn't take you to the hospital."
"They didn't take him to the hospital because he refused treatment," Marcus answered.
"I'm fine," he answered, looking first at Kate and then turning his attention to Marcus. "I was fine. There was too much going on, and I didn't need to waste an entire day getting a boatload of tests run that would come back clear."
"That's not for you to say, Anchor," Marcus said, a surprising amount of anger in his voice. "I pulled a lot of strings to get you onto this case."
"And I want to make good on all that effort," he answered. "I want to help you crack it, and I can't do that from a hospital bed."
"You can't do it if you're dead either," Marcus shot back.
"Do I look like I'm dying?" Anchor retorted, scoffing in a way that royally pissed Kate off.
"You look like you've seen better days," Marcus said. "You also look like you might have a concussion. Lord knows the bruise on your head is nasty enough for it."
"I can work through a concussion," Anchor said confidently.
"The hell you can," Kate answered, no longer able to contain herself. "A concussion could cause you to pass out in the field. It could give you memory problems, issues with communication. Hell, it could even impair your judgment, and we both know that's a little suspect to begin with."
"You have a responsibility to take care of yourself," Marcus cut in. "Not just for yourself, but for your partner too."
"I can hold my own," Kate answered, shooting Anchor a wilting look.
"Everyone thinks they can until they can't," Marcus said, not bothering to turn from Anchor as he spoke. "The point is, there will come a time when the two of you are forced to rely on each other. In order to do that, you first have to trust each other. You can't expect Detective Cross to trust you if you refuse to take the steps necessary to insure you're of sound mind and body." The bald man shook his head. "And you can't expect me to allow you to continue with this case if you insist on putting this department in financial danger."
"Financial danger?" Anchor asked, his eyebrows shooting upward. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about insurance, Anchor," Marcus said. "I'm talking about public opinion and the firestorm of negative publicity that would come if you ended up dying as a result of a breach of protocol." He let out a huge sigh. "It would be catastrophic. You might not be as popular as you once were—”
"Totally a matter of opinion," Anchor said, looking over at Kate.
"But it would definitely be enough of a blowback to force a change in administration."
"Are you saying I'd get you canceled too?" Anchor asked, his mouth turning downward.
"More or less," Marcus conceded.
"Which is all the more reason to put an end to this nonsense right now," Kate shot back. "Look, everyone has had their fun, but this is real life, Marcus. No one has been hurt yet. At least not severely. We can still salvage this. You can still send Anchor on his way. No one has to be any the wiser that any of this has even happened."
"Are you for real right now?" Anchor asked, looking over at the woman.
"Look," Kate said, blinking hard as she turned her attention to her unorthodox partner. "I don't mean to—”
"Literally five minutes ago," Anchor said, cutting her off with his hands balled into fists on the arms of the chair and his leg having stopped its nervous movements. "That's how long ago it was when you told me this wasn't my fault."
"It's not your fault," Kate shot back. "That's not what this is about."
"Two hours ago," he continued. "That's how long ago it was when you told me it was my job to see this through."
"That was—” Kate stopped shot, pursing her lips together.
"Go ahead. Say it," Anchor demanded, obviously sensing that whatever was about to come out of the woman's mouth wasn't something she was keen on saying.
"That was when I thought I couldn't get rid of you," Kate answered hesitantly. Anchor had been right in assuming she hadn't wanted to finish that sentence. She knew how it would sound, how horribly insensitive those words would seem floating out in the air like that. She had no choice though. If this was what it took to make him see things clearly, to make both of them see things clearly, then so be it. It didn't mean she couldn't explain herself though. "It's not personal, Anchor."
"Is that right?" the man asked, pain plain on his features. "It sure as hell feels personal."
"I'm sure it does," Kate answered. "The truth is, I've actually been impressed with you." She shook her head. "Not so much in your actions, and definitely not in the way you refuse to follow orders." She shrugged. "Not really in your attitude either."
"Just get to the good part please," Anchor broke in.
"Your heart," she said flatly. "You have a good heart, a deep heart. You feel for people. You want to help them. You want them to be okay, and that's a beautiful thing. It's a valuable and a rare thing, like o
ne of those artifacts you and my father spent your lives seeking."
"You're saying my heart is a treasure?" He swallowed hard and looking at her.
Kate looked at the man, seeing him a little differently than she had before. He was deep. He was thoughtful. He was beautiful, in a way.
"I am," she admitted. "But I'm also saying it's not enough." She let out a deep sigh. "Wanting to help someone doesn't mean that you should, Anchor, especially if you have to put yourself in danger to do so."
Anchor stood, looking down at Kate. "That's the biggest load of bull I've ever heard." His face was red, nearly on fire with anger.
"Mr. Anchorage," Marcus cut in.
"Is that what your father would have said, Cross?" he asked. "Would he have forbidden you from puttin’ yourself in harm's way if it meant doing what was right? Something tells me if that was the case, you wouldn't be where you are today."
"You think you know me?" Kate asked, standing herself. "You think because you used to watch him on television, and because you had his poster on your bedroom wall, that you know anything about who my father really was or what our relationship was like?" She sneered at the man. "If you do, then you're even stupider than I thought."
"Enough!" Marcus said, slamming his hand against the top of his desk and standing to meet the pair. "I won't hear any more of this. It doesn't matter anyway."
"What do you mean?" Kate asked, looking over at her boss.
"The Seaside Gazette,” Marcus said. "They got pictures of the two of you at the crime scene. The story broke. They know Anchor is working with us. If he stopped now—”
"It would only serve to bring your fears to life," Anchor said. "It would cast you as a failure."
"It would cast us both as failures," Marcus said, looking from Anchor to Kate. "And I don't have to remind you why neither of us want that."
Kate blanched. She remembered that she was on thin ice. More bad publicity could very well spell the end of her tenure as a detective in the beautiful coastal paradise of Vero Beach.
"He's in this, Kate," Marcus said. "You and he are in this together, at least until the end of this case." He glared at both of them. "I suggest the two of you find a way to make it work. And you," he said, pointing to Anchor. "Get your stubborn ass to the hospital and come back here with a clean bill of health. Until then, you're on desk duty."
"But the blood," Anchor balked. "You got a match."
"I did," Marcus said. "And you'll hear all about it after you get me a doctor's approval."
Anchor looked over at Kate, hurt and anger mixing in his sea blue eyes. "Fine," he muttered, and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Jackass," Kate said to the closed door.
"Funny," Marcus answered. "I was about to say the same thing about you."
"Listen," Kate said. "I can't wait until that idiot gets a head scan to get back on this case. A boy is—”
"I wasn't expecting you to," Marcus lamented. "Sit back down. The hospital wasn't the only reason I wanted him gone for this."
Staring at her boss, Kate lowered herself onto the seat, a sense of dread filling her chest. "Marcus, what's going on here?'
"The blood," he said. "I had it ran three times, Kate. The results are definitive." He leaned forward. "It belongs to Albert, Kate. The blood on the knife, the man who tried to kill you back at the bakery was Albert Kane."
The world fell out from under Kate. That couldn't be. Albert Kane was her father's best friend in the entire world. He was his right-hand man, and he died with him on that ill-fated trip to find the damned Jewels of Pascal. How could he be alive now? How could he be back? And why on earth would he want to kill the daughter of a man who treated him like a brother?
"Tell me," Kate said, her mouth dry and her heart racing. "Tell me everything."
Chapter 20
Kate's head spun as memories filled her mind. Albert Kane had been the closest thing Kate had ever had to an uncle. Almost every memory she had from her childhood either had Albert in it or somewhere around it. He was her damned godfather for God’s sake. She mourned the loss of him nearly as deeply as the loss of her own father. When she had a memorial service for her father, she had a moment of silence for Albert as well. When she prayed for her father's soul, Albert's name was on her lips right after it.
And now it was all a lie.
He was alive somehow. He had survived where her father had perished and instead of coming back to her, instead of rushing to her side and sparing a little of her pain, he tried to kill her. It was mind boggling. It was insane. It was...it was just wrong.
"I know this is probably very difficult for you," Marcus said. The mixture of pity and compassion in his voice irked her. There was no place for it today not with Patrick still missing. She would work her way through the torrent of emotions flooding her system now, but she wouldn't do it today. Today was reserved for work, for making sure no more innocent people were hurt, physically, emotionally, or financially.
"That doesn't matter," Kate said, swallowing hard. "Tell me what we know."
Marcus stopped for a beat, just for a beat. She wasn't Anchor. He knew she could handle this. She wouldn't go flying off the hinges or start making poor decisions because her feelings were hurt or she was confused by the sheer craziness of what was happening here. She was a professional, and he was going to treat her as such.
"Not nearly enough," he admitted, sighing loudly. "We have the blood but, as you know, Albert Kane hasn't been seen since your father's ship was lost in that storm all those years ago. Like your old man, he was presumed dead."
"Presumed incorrectly, it seems," Kate answered, moving her hand to the surface of the desk and drumming her fingers against the wood. It seemed that Anchor wasn't the only one with a nervous tic. "How is this possible?" she continued. "They found that boat. The entire thing had been abandoned, and there were no signs of life for fifty nautical miles in any direction. How the hell could Albert have survived?"
Kate cursed under her breath, remembering the masked man in the bakery, the way he looked, the way he sounded. That northern accent. Albert had come from Minnesota and never lost the lilt in his voice that came with it. How had she not recognized it? Even now, thinking he was dead, she still should have known that voice. She should have known it anywhere.
"I have no idea," Marcus answered. "But I'm going to find out."
"How?" Kate asked. "We don't know where the guild is? Even if we did, there's no guarantee they would have stayed there. They know we're onto them now."
"But they don't know that we know who one of them is," Marcus said.
"So what?" Kate balked. "You want me to go back to Albert's old house? I went through the entire place when he died...or, when I thought he died, I suppose. Either way, I got rid of everything, donated it all to charity, just like my father's stuff. I just couldn't bear to have it around, just sitting there unused and collecting dust."
"I remember," Marcus said, pursing his lips.
Kate blinked. Of course, he remembered. Marcus had been there every step of the way. He'd helped her clean out Albert's house. He'd helped her box up her father's things as well. He knew how hard it was for her. He watched what it did to her.
"That's not what I want," Marcus said. "That's a dead end if I ever heard one."
"Then what, Marcus?" Kate asked impatiently. Though she wanted more than anything to be professional and unaffected by this, it was starting to get to her.
"When they disappeared, when your father disappeared, we got a lot of calls," Marcus said, opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a sheet of paper. "People saying they saw your dad alive in different places."
"Yeah," Kate said, still tapping her fingers against the table top as she looked down and pushed the thoughts of that horrible time out of her mind. "I remember those. None of them were reliable though, which I told you."
"Of course, you did," Marcus answered.
"Right," Kate answered. "And it
still is Marcus. Even if Albert is alive, I can tell you, with all certainty, my father is dead. He'd have to be because, if he wasn't, he would be here." She shuddered. There was a time when she would have said the same thing about Albert Kane. She now knew that wasn't true though. Still, her father was different. She knew the man. There would be no mountain tall enough, no wave fierce enough, and no tragedy (sans death) severe enough to keep him from her. If that man was alive, he would be here. There was no doubt in her mind about it.
"We got a nearly a hundred sightings of your father the year after he died, Kate," Marcus said. "He was famous though. People were seeing your father everywhere. We only got one sighting of Albert Kane though, and it was last year."
"Last year?" Kate said, her eyes narrowing. "The leads dried up years ago."
"I know that," Marcus said. "Which makes this even more curious." He shook his head. "The truth is: this was brought to me. I remember it. I didn't give it much thought though. They were dead, Kate. Both of them were, and I had no reason to think otherwise, but now—”
"You didn't do anything wrong," Kate said. "You did your job. Besides, those kinds of leads are notoriously unreliable. Even knowing what we know about Albert, we can't—”
"There's a picture," Marcus said, and tossed the paper, which Kate now saw was a black and white photograph, across the table. "This came with the call." Marcus swallowed hard. "He's thinner, Kate, but—”
"It's him," Kate said, looking at the photo and seeing a man she never believed she'd see again. "It's Albert Kane."
"The picture isn't all," Marcus said. "The call also came with an address. Are you ready for a road trip?"
Chapter 21
"I'm surprised you waited for me," Anchor said, climbing into Kate's car and giving the woman a long look. With his own ride completely totaled, the pair had to resort to riding around in Kate's black Buick. It was decidedly less flashy than the cherry red Corvette Anchor had loved ever since he had laid eyes on it at the dealership. The black Buick seemed to fit the woman as he'd come to know her though. Like Kate herself, the car was sleek and pretty, but absolutely no nonsense. There were no bells or whistles, and none of the frills that Anchor had come to look for - not only in his cars - but also in his choice of female companionship.