Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series)

by Kimberli A. Bindschatel

  Poor Dylan. The boy bit down hard on his lip, his eyes flicking back and forth from me to Michael.

  “She’s not going to hurt you, Dylan,” Michael said, his words dripping with hostility.

  Dylan remained where he stood, frozen in place while I debated what the hell to do.

  “Dammit, Dylan!” Michael shouted

  Dylan lurched back with a start.

  “What the hell?” It was Ray, coming to. He blinked a couple times, his eyes working to focus.

  “Fine, I’ll do it,” Michael said to Dylan and turned toward his father.

  I fired. The gunshot echoed across the water.

  Michael jerked upright, surprise and uncertainty in his expression.

  “Are you resisting arrest?” I said, aiming the weapon at his chest. “Because if you are, I’ve got just cause to shoot.”

  “Michael, sit down,” said Ray. “She’s all fluff. She’s got nothing. It don’t matter if she’s an agent. It’s still her word against ours.”

  Michael stared at his father, unsure.

  “That fish was dead when we pulled it out of the water. We was just curious, was all. Ain’t nobody gonna tell the difference.” He was nodding, urging Michael to understand. “So just sit down and don’t go making it worse.”

  Atta boy. Good old Ray.

  Michael stared at me as if trying to decide whether to charge me, see if I’d follow through on my threat to shoot. Finally, he slumped to the floor beside his father, a scowl on his face. Dylan hurried to tie him up.

  I checked both their wrists and told Dylan to also tie their ankles before I bounded up the stairs to the pilothouse.

  Dalton and April were probably in the water by now, hypothermic—if they were still alive. I crashed through the doorway, the weapon held in front of me. “Turn this boat around,” I demanded. “We need to go get them. Turn this boat around.”

  The two speedboats were circling the orcas. The airplane was back, flying low toward us. “Do it now!”

  Bjørn held up one hand in surrender as he reached for the microphone for the radio with the other and shouted orders in Norwegian. The only word I recognized was Svein. One of the speedboats changed its course and headed for the Sea Mist. Bjørn turned to me. “He can get there much faster.”

  I motioned with the gun. “Still, turn this boat around, too.”

  “I can’t. The nets are in the water.”

  I pointed at the winch controls. “Then get ‘em back on board.”

  Bjørn shook his head. “We can’t without a man on deck. If the nets get tangled, we’d have to cut them loose.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Dylan will do it.”

  “Svein’ll have them in the boat before we could move. Don’t worry.”

  My training would have me subdue Bjørn right now too, to be sure to neutralize any threat, but he was a Norwegian citizen. And he was cooperating. And my gut told me I could trust him. Right now, I needed him to stop this nightmare.

  “Just the same,” I said. “Get ‘em in.”

  I hollered down the stairs for Dylan to bring in the nets. Bjørn worked the controls while the winch tick-tick-ticked. I swear I could’ve hauled them in faster by hand.

  I found the binoculars. All I could do was watch out the back window, powerless to help Dalton. The speedboat slowed alongside a floating piece, what remained of the hull. Then something was hauled into the boat, but on the far side. I couldn’t see anything. Then a figure stood up. It was April.

  The boat was put into gear again, circling. Dalton’s there, too. He’s got to be there. Somewhere. My hands shook.

  Then the boat slowed again and they were reaching for something. Please let it be Dalton. Please.

  The crew of two hauled something up over the side. A man? Was it Dalton?

  A seal bomb exploded in the water in front of the Forseti. I spun around. The whales flipped and turned in a panicked frenzy. Dammit! “Stop that right now!”

  Bjørn held up his hand. “All right.” He went to the radio.

  I went back out on deck, tucked the weapon in the back of my jeans, and headed for the stern. The speedboat was pulling up alongside our vessel. I raced to the side. Besides the driver, two figures were on board, wool blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Dalton threw off the blanket and rose to toss a line to Dylan. My legs went weak. He was alive. Alive! I gripped the side of the boat, my whole body shaking with relief.

  “Are you all right?” I shouted over the engine.

  Dalton nodded. April looked shaken, but she was alive. Wet strands of hair stuck to the side of her face, her lips drained of color. Dylan helped her onto the Forseti.

  “He saved my life,” she said, shivering. “I’ve never seen anything like it. He was calm as could be.”

  Dalton stepped aboard behind her. I barreled into him, my arms wrapped around his shoulders. “You’re all right,” I cried. “You’re all right.” I squeezed until I was sure he was real.

  “I don’t know what I would have done,” April said, gazing at him as if he wore a cape and tights. “Suddenly, out of nowhere, kaboom, and the whole boat was on fire. It was…” She shook. “Dalton got it contained with the extinguishers, but then”—she squeezed her eyes shut—“the cabin starting filling with water.”

  “She’s in shock, but I kept her out of the water until our rescue boat came,” Dalton said, all business. “We got splashed then, but briefly. What happened here?”

  Svein, the driver, was right behind Dalton. The informant. “Yeah, what’s going on?” he asked.

  I shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for saving them, Svein.”

  He hesitated and I got the idea he didn’t like that I knew his name. His buggy eyes darted about, looking for Ray, I assumed.

  “It’s all right.” I gestured toward the men who were leaning against the bulkhead, their hands tied behind their backs. “They’re in custody now. We owe you our thanks.” And I’m sorry I called you Potato Head.

  “Are you all right?” Dalton asked me.

  “Yeah,” I said with a reassuring smile. “After Ray fired on you, Michael pulled a weapon on me. But I subdued them.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Subdued?”

  I gave him a what-can-I-say shrug.

  “Don’t say nothing,” Ray shouted to Svein.

  Svein looked to me, then back toward Ray. “You’re arresting them, then?” He moved toward Ray.

  I followed, talking to his backside. “Yes, we have the evidence we need.”

  He stood with his arms crossed, looking down at Ray. “So he won’t be coming back here? He’s going to prison?”

  “Yep.”

  “She’s lying,” Ray spat. “She’s got nothing.”

  “Not true.” I pointed to the crow’s nest. “I’ve got video of the whole thing.”

  His eyes traveled to the crow’s nest and back.

  “It don’t matter. You came under false pretenses.”

  “Bong. Wrong again,” I said. “You invited me on board. And I am not required to identify myself as an agent thanks to Hoffa v. United States, 1966. Oh, and the videotape, that’s admissible thanks to U.S. v. Wahchumwah, 2012.”

  Ray had his lips clamped together so tight I thought his head might blow off.

  “You lying bitch!” Michael said and leapt to his feet and charged me. Somehow, he’d gotten his hands untied. He plowed into to me, knocking me off my feet. We slammed to the deck. Blew the wind right out of me. Then Dalton was there, lifting Michael off of me, Michael’s arms flailing at him. It all happened so fast.

  “I took you once, I’ll do it again,” Michael threatened him, his face red.

  Dalton smirked. He looked to me as I got to my feet. “He needs a serious attitude adjustment.”

  “Well,” I said, brushing myself off. “I think you deserve the honors.”

  Dalton shook his head. “Wouldn’t be a fair contest.”

  “No, really,” I said. “You took the fall and all.”
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  “Both of you can shut up,” said Michael, raising the gun and pointing it at me.

  My hand went to my waistband. Crap!

  Dalton lunged, knocking the gun from Michael’s hand and slamming him to the floor. In an instant, Dalton had him pinned, bent over and moaning, his elbow twisted into an arm lock.

  Svein picked up the gun.

  “Nice move,” I said to Dalton, shaking.

  “Now apologize to the lady,” Dalton said.

  “Screw you,” Michael spat.

  Dalton twisted harder. “Nobody talks to Poppy like that.”

  Michael’s face flushed red.

  “Apologize”—he twisted harder—“or I’ll demonstrate my—”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he groaned.

  Dalton let up and Dylan scurried forward, the rope in his hand.

  Dalton tied Michael back up and shoved him to the floor. “Now stay,” he said.

  I took a quick glance around. April’s eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open.

  Svein looked annoyed more than anything. He stepped toward the fish hold. “What about the whale?”

  “I…” My eyes met Dalton’s. “I couldn’t save her.”

  Dalton gazed back at me, his eyes filled with sympathy. I wanted to fall into his arms and cry my eyes out.

  “What are you saying?” Svein said, holding me back from making a fool of myself.

  “The capture was too traumatic. She didn’t make it.”

  April pushed past me, rushing to the tank where the baby whale floated, motionless.

  Dalton followed.

  “There was nothing I could do,” I said, my tongue stuck in my throat.

  The airplane buzzed low overhead, blowing my hair around and into my face. “I told him to call them off!”

  “I’m on it,” Dylan volunteered and took the stairs two at a time.

  The pod of whales appeared off the starboard side, emitting squeaky calls in their panic. We all rushed to the side of the boat. One of the killer whales surfaced and let out a wail like I’d never heard.

  “That’s K-12,” April said. “The mother. That’s the calf’s mother.”

  From behind us came a tiny squeal in response. The baby. My eyes met Dalton’s. “She’s alive!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I spun around and raced back to the tank. “She’s alive! She’s alive!” Dylan, flying back down the stairs, grinned ear to ear and wrapped his arms around me.

  “We need to get her back in the water,” I said. “Get the winch cable. Get the winch cable!”

  Dylan leaped into action.

  I grabbed hold of the edge of the sling to hook it to the cable. “Dalton, help me with this.”

  April was there, taking hold of the other side.

  I couldn’t believe it. She’s alive!

  “Not so fast.”

  I whipped around.

  Svein held the gun pointed at me. “Back off.”

  “What?” I shook my head in disbelief. “No. We need to get her back in the water.”

  “She’s not going anywhere.” He pointed the gun at Dalton, then back to me. “That’s a million dollar whale, right there. Now step back.”

  I slowly lifted my hands into the air. “I don’t understand. You’re the one who called us here. You’re the informant.” How did I not see that coming? I let him pick up the gun. He should just take my badge, too.

  “What’s going on?” Bjørn hollered. He was coming down the stairs from the wheelhouse.

  “Mind your business, old man,” Svein called to him over his shoulder, his eyes on me and Dalton.

  Dalton took a step away from me. Then another step. He was trying to cause Svein to split his attention, put him at a greater disadvantage.

  “Americans. The world’s policemen. Always sticking your noses where they don’t belong. There was no doubt you’d come.” He smirked and his cheeks puffed out like a baked potato. I wanted to poke him right in the eye with a fork. “Now do your job. Take those two thieves back to America.” He gestured toward the speedboat. “Take them and go.”

  Dalton took another step. He was weighing the odds. If we were far enough apart and Svein fired the weapon, one or the other of us had a chance to take him down before he could turn and fire a second round.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” I said, trying to keep his attention on me and away from Dalton.

  Baby Kimmy wiggled and squealed for her mother.

  “And you’re not taking this whale.”

  Dalton shook his head. Subtle, but I saw it. He didn’t want me to provoke Svein. Just keep his attention. But I meant it, dammit. I wasn’t going anywhere until she was back in the water with her mother.

  “You have no authority here,” Svein said. “In fact, I’m quite sure you were told to go home, that you aren’t welcome by the Norwegian government.”

  “How’d you know about that?”

  He took a step forward, an amused grin on his spud face. “This is my land. My sea.”

  “That was your plan all along,” I said. “Let Ray do the dirty work, then take the fall, while you took off with the whale and cashed in.”

  “I knew you were sharp.” He winked his buggy, potato eye. “You go on home and throw them in jail and smile pretty when you get your award. The rest is none of your business.” He turned toward Dalton and raised the gun in warning. “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me. Now step back.”

  Dalton did as he commanded, his hands in the air.

  Thwack! Svein slumped to the floor. Bjørn stood behind him, a fire extinguisher in his hands, his eyes on the baby whale. “This isn’t right,” he said, shaking his head. “This isn’t right.”

  Dalton and I pounced on Svein. Dylan was there with some rope to tie his hands.

  Bjørn set down the extinguisher. “No respect. Men like him…” His eyes traveled to Ray. “And men like him. No respect.”

  Dalton took the rope from Dylan with a quick thanks and wrapped it around Svein’s wrists.

  I took Dylan by the arm. “Get that winch going.”

  “Roi on,” he said.

  April, Dalton, and I held up the sides of the sling while Bjørn clamped on the hook.

  “Lift her up,” he hollered up to Dylan in the wheelhouse.

  The winch clanked into gear, the cable pulled taut, and it started to lift, then—snap! One of the ropes broke. Then—snap!—another.

  “Down! Bring her back down!” Bjørn shouted.

  The winch creaked to a halt.

  “Dammit!” I looked at Dalton, anger burning in my belly. “I cut the ropes. I tried to ruin the harness, but Michael caught me. I didn’t get it finished.”

  “Well, let’s see what we can do to fix it,” he said, his voice calm.

  The baby squealed. The whales in the water squeaked and called back.

  “That’s a support call,” said April. “I think they know we’re trying to help.”

  “We need to hurry,” I said.

  Bjørn pointed to a bin. “The tool chest is there. Extra lines and net over here.” He rushed to a lazarette.

  While we went to work, April poured buckets of sea water on the orca baby, trying to keep her cool.

  “This isn’t going to work,” Bjørn said, tangles of net in his hands.

  “It has to,” I said.

  “There’s plenty of net,” said Dalton. “We can get something rigged pretty easily to hold her. But how do we make sure she can get out once we’ve lowered her into the water? What if she gets tangled in it?”

  “Get it rigged. I’ll worry about that,” I said.

  Bjørn and Dalton cut lengths of rope and net and we shoved it under the baby whale and secured it to the harness while she chirped to her mother.

  “That should hold,” Bjørn said. “But—”

  “I got it,” I said.

  Dylan put the winch into motion and I crawled up the side of the holding tank, placed my feet on either side of th
e harness, and grabbed on tightly to the cable. I held out my hand to Dalton. “Give me your KA-BAR.”

  “Are you serious? That’s your plan?”

  “Gimme the knife!”

  He shook his head, a frown on his face. “You don’t know what those adult whales out there will do.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know.”

  “I’m telling you,” said April. “They know we’re trying to help.”

  “Yeah,” Dalton turned on her. “What if you’re wrong? We can’t risk it.”

  “I’m not wrong.” She held his gaze.

  “Dalton, gimme the knife!”

  His eyes flicked from her to me. “This is insane,” he said as he pulled the knife from its sheath on his belt and handed it to me.

  The winch arm turned and the whale and I swung sideways.

  Bjørn hollered. “You should have a life jacket on.”

  “No time!”

  Dalton watched, shaking his head, his hands on his hips.

  We hung there, suspended over the water. The baby chittered away, her voice getting higher in pitch. The adult whales circled, popping up to get a look at us, slapping fins and calling with a haunting fervor.

  The winch shuttered and clanked and the cable started to lower us.

  As soon as we were a few feet from the surface, I began to saw at the net with the knife.

  Killer whales circled, closer and closer. Heads popped up and submerged again, circling. Five, six, maybe more. I sawed and sawed.

  One surfaced right next to us and splashed. The frigid water hit me in the face and soaked my hair. It took my breath away. I shuddered, trying to breathe again.

  “Lift her up. Get her out of there!” Dalton yelled.

  “No, I’ve almost got it!”

  The net cut free and the baby started to roll out, but her pectoral fin got caught. I reached down into the water and shook it. She tugged against it, trying to get free, making it worse.

  I yanked the net, slipping it around her fin. She arched her back, flipped her tail, and she was free. With her weight gone, the harness shifted. I couldn’t stop it. I plunged into the sea.

  My muscles seized. I gasped, my body jerking with the reflex. Frigid water entered my lungs. Which way was up? Ice. Cold. Darkness. Something rammed me, bubbles everywhere. I burst to the surface, gasping for air, water coming out of my nose, my lungs on fire.