by Lucy Quinn
Because she could also now see a lone, bright-white boat on the water. The ferry.
And it was already heading away from them.
“The ferry beat us here!” she cried out. “Stone’s getting away.”
Hunter slammed on the brakes, throwing all of them forward as the muscle car ground to a shuddering halt. They all stared out at the water, the departing ferry clearly visible, and the whine of the diesel engines barely audible. It was too far away for them to make out Stone’s car, but Cookie had no doubt it was on there.
Hunter pulled out his phone and scowled. “No service. We can’t even get the sheriff to intercept him.”
Cookie and Dylan both did the same and shook their heads. The cell tower obviously didn’t reach the artists’ colony.
“What now?” Hunter demanded. “He’s on the boat. We lost him.”
But Cookie wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “Is there any way we can get another boat?” she asked, twisting around to face Dylan. “One of the lobstermen, maybe? They could swing around here and get us then take off after the ferry.”
But Dylan was already shaking his head. “Even if you could convince one of them to leave his traps behind and come get you, they’re no faster than the ferry is. And he’s got a solid head start. By the time you got onto the boat, Stone’d practically be at Hancock already.”
Cookie sagged, dismayed at the answer. But Hunter had perked up. “Did you say ‘faster’?” he asked, grinning as he put the Mustang in drive and executed a squealing three-point turn before peeling off back the way they’d come. “Because I happen to know exactly where we can find a boat like that.”
Cookie stared at her ex-partner, shock and delight warring within her as she realized what he meant. “We can’t take that,” she insisted. “It’s not ours.”
“It’s not anyone’s right now,” he replied with a shrug. “And you know I can commandeer vehicles when in pursuit. That’s exactly what we’re doing.” His grin widened. “Besides, think of it as poetic justice. We’re going to use the victim’s own boat to catch his killer.”
Cookie glanced back at Dylan, who shrugged helplessly. Whether he knew what they were talking about or not, it was clear he figured he was just the hired help. The decision was up to Hunter—and Cookie.
And Cookie found herself agreeing with her ex-partner. Maybe there’d be a few hard questions later, but if Hunter was willing to face them, so was she. Besides, right now it was their only chance to catch Stone.
“One problem,” she offered as they finally screeched to a halt several minutes later, right back where they’d begun, at the very start of the island’s main dock. “I don’t suppose you know how to pilot one of those things?”
Hunter was already hopping from the car, and Cookie quickly followed, as did Dylan. “Me?” Hunter replied with a laugh as they sprinted toward slip number eight and the fancy speedboat sitting there waiting. “Not a clue. You?”
Cookie threw her own laugh back at him. “Yeah, right. I can swim just fine, but boating? That’s a little beyond me.”
Dylan, however, had lengthened his stride, and passed both of them. “Cast off the mooring lines,” he ordered as he hopped onto the Wins Low and headed straight for the pilot’s seat. “That’s the two lines holding us to the dock cleats.”
Cookie’s eyes widened as she watched him reach under the dash and yank out a handful of wires. With a knife in hand, he went to work, obviously an expert at hotwiring. There was no doubt about it, eventually she was going to get his backstory. One way or another, she had to uncover the secrets of Dylan-the-handyman.
“Get the lines,” he barked again, not even looking up.
“Roger that,” Cookie called back, pointing to Hunter. “You get that one. I’ve got this one.” And, stooping, she bent to pick up one of the boat’s ropes, which hung loose in her hand. It had been tied to a cleat before, but that was the one they’d taken to Dr. Delgado. The one they suspected had ended Chip Winslow’s life.
“Cheater,” Hunter accused but quickly took care of the other rope as she clambered aboard after Dylan. He already had the engine going, and as soon as Hunter’s feet thudded onto the deck he steered them away from the dock and out onto the open water. The throttle slammed down in its housing as Dylan opened it up to a high speed.
“We’ve got two things going for us,” he yelled over the wind as the speedboat raced across the water. “First, the ferry had to swing out of its normal path to get Stone. It’ll take them a little extra time to get back on course.”
“And the other?” Hunter asked as he joined them by the controls.
Dylan grinned. “This thing moves like a bat out of hell.” He gunned the engine, causing the boat to leap forward and send Hunter stumbling backward. “Might want to grab a seat.”
Hunter glared at him but did as instructed. Cookie had grabbed hold of a conveniently placed handle to one side of the dash, and after briefly considering, she opted to stay there rather than seek one of the comfortable chairs set farther back on the deck. She could sit later, on the way back. For now, she wanted to be on the lookout for Stone and the ferry.
It didn’t take long. Only a few minutes later, she stiffened and pointed off to the side. “There they are!”
Dylan nodded and brought the boat around with a deft flick of the wheel. He clearly knew what he was doing. “Do you want to wait until they reach Hancock?” he asked, “Or are we trying for an intercept?”
“What would that involve?” Hunter asked, rising from his seat to join them up front again.
“This boat doesn’t have any kind of grapple,” Dylan answered, “nor do we have a megaphone like the Coast Guard uses. So the best we could do is radio Captain Bob then pull alongside and jump across.”
Hunter was already nodding and reaching for the radio, “Let’s do it. Get me the ferry.”
Dylan twisted a dial by the radio. “You’re all set.”
“Island Ferry, this is the FBI, do you copy?” Hunter asked, speaking into the radio’s handheld. “Over.”
After a second of static, they got a reply. “This is Captain Bob of the Secret Seal Ferry. Did you say FBI? Over.”
“That’s right,” Hunter responded. “I’m Special Agent Hunter O’Neil of the FBI. We have reason to believe you have one Stone Harris aboard. He’s wanted for questioning. Requesting permission to come aboard and apprehend him.”
The pause was a little longer this time, but finally Captain Bob answered. “This is for real?” he asked. “You’re not just funning me?”
“One hundred percent real,” Hunter assured him.
“Well, all right, then,” the ferry captain said. “I’m guessing you’re in that fancy speedboat that’s racing toward me?”
“We are.”
“If you can pull up alongside, he’s all yours.”
“Thank you.” Hunter put the radio back on its holder and nodded to Dylan. “Let’s go get him.”
Dylan’s only response was to race the engine again. But this time Hunter had braced himself beforehand and didn’t move even an inch.
Catching the ferry proved to be the easy part. Jumping across to it from the speedboat was a bit more harrowing. “Can’t we get them to stop?” Cookie asked, contemplating the water rushing by beneath the narrow gap between the two boats.
Standing beside her, Hunter shrugged. “We could ask, but I think we’re testing the pilot’s patience as it is. Come on, it’s not that bad.” He smirked at her. “You could always stay here.”
“And let you make the collar on your own?” Cookie snorted. “Not a chance.” Then, before she could stop to think about it anymore, she climbed up onto the speedboat’s lip, balanced for a second, and jumped.
The impact of her landing radiated up her legs, but she kept her feet, straightening and turning to grin right back at Hunter. “Nothing to it,” she reported. “Come on, scaredy-cat.”
“You’re impossible,” he told her but followed her acro
ss easily. Then he surprised her by turning to look back at Dylan, who was still on the speedboat. “Thanks. We’ve got it from here.”
Dylan frowned. “You sure?” he asked, directing the question more at Cookie than Hunter. “You don’t need me to take all y’all back?”
But she shook her head. “He could have evidence in his car,” she pointed out. “We’ll need to bring that back as well. But thanks.” She sent him a wide smile, letting him know just how much she appreciated his help, and the smile he returned was warm enough to make her feel flush again.
No question about it, Cookie thought as Dylan tossed them a quick salute and pulled the Wins Low away from the ferry. Dylan Creed was dangerous. To her, anyway. But it was a good kind of danger. Shaking off such thoughts, at least for now, she glanced around her. And had to laugh.
There was only one car on the entire ferry. A battered old Subaru. And, standing in front of it, frozen in terror, was one Stone Harris.
“Stone Harris,” Hunter barked, crossing the distance quickly, his pistol in his hands and trained on the attempted fugitive. “I’m Special Agent Hunter O’Neil of the FBI. You are hereby under arrest for the murder of Chip Winslow. Get on your knees, and place your hands on your head.”
Stone stared at the gun for a split second, then at Hunter’s stony face, before doing exactly as he was told.
Hunter kept the gun pointed at Stone as Cookie sidled around the stoner and grabbed the zip tie Hunter handed her. The tie hummed as she secured Stone’s hands behind his back. She nodded to her ex-partner once it was done and couldn’t help grinning as he lowered the gun. It was just like old times.
After Hunter read him his rights, she hauled Stone to his feet, propelling him in front of her as she followed Hunter to the ferry’s cabin. She’d seen Captain Bob a few times—most recently on their trips to the medical examiner’s office—and the short, stout, graying ferry pilot looked the same as always, if a little confused by the recent events.
“Captain,” Hunter started, pulling out his badge and ID and showing them to the man. “I’m Agent O’Neil. Thank you for your assistance.” He frowned then glanced at Cookie. “What do you think? Take him back to the island, or just question him in Hancock?”
Cookie considered it. “Might as well just do it in Hancock,” she said finally. “We’re already most of the way there. I’m sure the sheriff can accommodate us, and this way Captain Bob doesn’t have to turn back around.”
Hunter nodded. “All right. I’ll call the sheriff and let her know we’re coming. We can have her meet us on the docks to bring Stone in, and then one of us can drive his car over, or have a deputy do it.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Cookie agreed. She studied Stone, who was slumped in a corner of the cabin, the very picture of dejection. At last they would get some real answers.
22
The sheriff’s station in Hancock was very similar to the one on Secret Seal Isle except that it was bigger and had more staff—Sheriff Watkins herself, two deputies, and a woman who worked the front desk and answered the phones. “Make yourself at home,” the sheriff told them when they arrived on her doorstep, Stone in tow. “Always happy to cooperate with our fellow agencies.”
“Thank you,” Hunter told her, ignoring the blatant look of lust the sheriff was giving him. Cookie hid her smile of amusement. Watkins seemed like a nice lady, and organized, but she was short, stocky, and middle-aged, with a bun of graying brown hair and features more appropriate to a kindly but firm grandmother than a sheriff. Not exactly Hunter’s type.
Hunter had explained Cookie’s presence as his employee once again, and no one had batted an eye. But the fact that she was FBI, even if on leave, meant that there wouldn’t be any issues with the paperwork should it come into question later.
The office boasted several interrogation rooms, and she and Hunter hauled Stone into one of them, setting him down in a chair and claiming seats across from him. Stale smoke seemed to breathe from the walls as if they were thrilled to have an occupant. The dust on the table told Cookie it had been a while.
Hunter and Cookie shared a glance and mentally debated whether to leave him bound, Cookie urging leniency with soft eyes and Hunter pressing for sterner measures through his lowered brow. When he finally sighed and nodded, Cookie knew that she’d won, and she tried not to smirk as she freed Stone’s hands. The used zip tie landed with a metallic clunk in the empty trash can.
“Thanks,” Stone muttered, massaging each wrist in turn. “I was starting to lose the feeling in my hands.”
“Sorry about that.” Cookie leaned across the table. “Now that we’re all here and unencumbered, let’s talk. About Chip Winslow.”
But apparently her act of mercy only earned her so much, because Stone huffed and looked away. “I’ve got nothing to say,” he replied.
Cookie glanced over at Hunter, inviting him to step in through a single raised eyebrow.
Her ex-partner nodded and rose to his feet. “Listen, Mr. Harris,” he began, pacing behind Cookie. Stone’s eyes were drawn to the motion. “Let’s put all our cards on the table, all right? Chip Winslow is dead. We know that he died from a blow to the back of the head.”
Stone winced.
“We know that the fatal blow came from a dock cleat right by his speedboat, the Wins Low, on the island’s main dock.”
Another wince.
Hunter continued to pace, never taking his eyes off Stone. “We know that whoever killed him tossed his body into the water, hoping it would sink and disappear forever.”
Stone was practically squinting now.
“And we know that the bricks used to weight the body down came from your family’s lobster boat.”
That one made his eyes widen instead, as all the remaining color drained from Stone’s face.
“We also know,” Cookie jumped in, “that Chip had an altercation with whoever killed him, late Saturday night or Sunday morning. And that Chip landed a punch but didn’t take one himself.” She studied Stone, particularly his face. Was that shadowing on the right side of his jaw the remains of a bruise? It was hard to tell.
“Given all that,” Hunter said, “our top suspect is one Daisy Harris. Your sister.” Now Stone was wincing again. The bricks were the only thing so far to have thrown him. Was that because he hadn’t known about that detail or because he hadn’t expected them to figure that out?
Hunter had stopped pacing and turned toward Stone, planting his hands palms-down in order to lean in. “Unless you want to see your sister go down for his murder, you need to talk to us. Now.”
Stone stared up at him for a few seconds, his mouth working as if he was trying to speak or to cry but couldn’t manage either. Finally, though, he turned away with a small sob. “Leave me alone,” he whimpered.
“We can’t do that, Stone,” Cookie warned him, keeping her tone gentle. “Look, we’re just trying to figure out what really happened here. I’d hate to see Daisy go to prison for something she didn’t even do.”
“She had nothing to do with this,” Stone insisted, his voice shaking. He dragged one arm across his face. “It was an accident.”
“An accident?” Both Cookie and Hunter moved closer to hear. “So Daisy didn’t mean to kill him?”
“Daisy wasn’t there.” Stone lowered his arm to glare at them both. “It was me, okay? I’m the one who did it!” He’d half-risen from his seat during this declaration but now slumped back down, all defiance drained away. “I killed him.”
Cookie met Hunter’s eyes and inclined her head toward the defeated stoner. Hunter nodded and took a step back, giving her room to work. She’d always had the lighter touch of the two of them.
“Okay,” she said, sitting back a little to give Stone some breathing room. “Walk me through it, then, all right?” She waited, but when he didn’t reply she continued. “Look, Stone, just help us out here. We don’t want to put you in jail. You said it was an accident, right?”
“It was,” S
tone insisted. He sighed and scrubbed at his face with one hand. “He’d been at the Salty Dog again, okay? Trying to bully my dad into selling the place. Dad said no, obviously. He loves that place like it was another kid. Daisy was working, and Chip hit on her. Like usual. The guy was pure slime.”
Cookie nodded. “Daisy told us he hit on her all the time,” she confirmed. “She also said she just blew him off whenever he did.”
“Yeah.” Stone studied his hands. “But it still pissed me off, you know? This is my sister we’re talking about, and here’s Chip oozing all over her. Gross.” He shrugged. “So I gave him a piece of my mind. Told him to stay away from her, or else.”
“Or else?” Cookie considered. Chip had been a decent-sized guy, and well built. Stone was a skinny little dude, no muscle to speak of. “Let me guess,” she said. “That didn’t go the way you’d thought?”
In the harsh light of the interrogation room it was impossible to miss Stone’s sudden flush. “Jerk slugged me,” he admitted without looking up. “Knocked me on my ass. Then he kept coming, rambling about how my whole family kept getting in his way and he was going to teach us some manners, starting with me.” Stone was bright red as he continued. “I ran, or tried to, but I tripped over the bowline. It was dark. I couldn’t see it. I was still trying to get my foot free when he came at me again.”
Stone glanced up at Cookie, meeting her gaze. “I guess he hit the line too, ’cause next thing I know he’s toppling toward me. I twisted and managed to get clear. He tried to grab at me as I rolled to my feet, but just missed me as he turned. He hit the dock hard, back of the head first. It made this sound like… like a watermelon hitting the floor and shattering.” He shuddered. “I can still hear it.”
Cookie felt for the guy, she did, but she knew it was important to maintain momentum, so she kept going. “So you guys tussled, Chip fell, he hit his head. Then what?”
“I was just going to get out of there,” Stone continued, now staring off into space as he remembered. “But then I realized he wasn’t moving. I thought he’d knocked himself out when he hit, you know? But his eyes were open. So I looked, and he wasn’t breathing.” He shook his head. “I—I knew he was dead. And I freaked.” He raised his hands in defeat. “I mean, look at me. I’ve got ‘lead suspect’ written all over me. So I figured, he’s dead anyway, but if I get rid of the body at least he won’t take me with him.” A small laugh escaped Stone then. “Guess I was wrong, huh?”