Squall Line (The Inland Seas Series Book 1)

by Gwyn McNamee

  “Just tired.”

  “Well, you get some rest before you have that long haul home. Call me before you leave.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I end the call and sit with the phone in my hand, staring at the screen as if it will bring her back on the line.

  It’s better she doesn’t know the truth, doesn’t know what’s really happening. She just lost Dad. Knowing she could lose me too would kill her.

  I hold the phone out toward Warwick.

  He doesn’t say anything, just takes it from my hand and slips it back into his pocket as the highway sign for “Milwaukee 30 miles” passes us on the right.

  Almost there.

  Almost time to make the choice from all my shitty options.

  13

  War

  I don’t know what I expected to find when I pulled up to the Port of Milwaukee, but it wasn’t this.

  Through a light rain under an overcast sky, the place is practically deserted. It’s usually not busy this time of the week, but still.

  Where is everyone?

  The dozens of times we’ve docked here, I can’t remember it ever being this empty.

  A prickle of apprehension starts at the base of my neck and has my hair standing on end.

  Something’s not right.

  This feels like a setup. Grace’s mother didn’t seem to know or suspect anything amiss, but that doesn’t mean the crew didn’t alert the Coast Guard or police when they docked. The authorities could be waiting to see if we do just…if we’re stupid enough to return for what we didn’t get.

  With the Coast Guard building right across the street from the port administration, the chances of getting away if they are waiting for us is slim to none.

  I toss the car into park in front of the administration building and pull out my phone. The guys need to know what’s going on. “Cutter, where are you guys?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shift in my seat and scan the area down to the right, behind the chain-link fence, where the two huge piers sit. “We’re parked in front of the admin building. I don’t know, man, it’s just quiet. It’s making me uneasy.”

  “Should we abort?”

  Probably.

  I clench my jaw and glance at Grace who has been silent beside me since she called her mom.

  Going in will be a huge risk, but at this point, we don’t really have any choice.

  “No. We don’t have time to mess around with this anymore. Just don’t pull into the dock until you hear from me and I give the all clear. We may be coming back later tonight.”

  He hisses out a curse. “Shit. I sure hope not.”

  The line goes dead, and I shove my phone back in my pocket.

  This is so not where I thought I’d be today. The mysterious cargo should be to Chicago already, and I should be sitting back with a bourbon or a beer with the guys, celebrating another victory and another chunk of my debt repaid.

  Things got so fucked-up, so damn fast.

  Grace clears her throat. “Do you want me to go in?”

  Do I want her to go or does she have to? No, and…

  “Yes.”

  We really don’t have any other options. If the police have been alerted, I can’t show my face, and there’s no way of knowing what the crew said or did when we left with her.

  “Just go. Follow the plan. Come back out.”

  She nods, and her hand shakes as she grasps the handle of the door. It pops open, but she pauses and looks back at me. “I’ll be back.”

  Fuck.

  I hate how much I want that to be true. Hate how much my chest aches thinking about her not returning. If she betrays us, betrays me…

  Just fuck.

  Being surrounded by a swarm of police officers and jail wouldn’t be the worst part. It would be knowing it happened because of her, because she lied to us.

  I shouldn’t expect her loyalty. I’ve done nothing to deserve it—other than tell her the story of why we’re here. Yet, her betrayal would be almost as bad as one of the guys.

  And isn’t that a fucking bitch.

  She steps from the truck with a little bit of difficulty given her height. The door thunks shut behind her, and when she reaches the door of the port offices, she pauses and looks back at me.

  A tight half-smile tilts up the corners of her lips—those lips I’ve felt against mine. The lips I shouldn’t want. Shouldn’t care about.

  The door closes behind her.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Just sitting waiting in this truck might as well be torture. Having my hands tied right now fucking sucks.

  A car pulls in two spots down. My spine stiffens, and I hold my breath.

  Two guys climb from it and make their way across the lot to the front door of the admin building.

  They barely glance in my direction, and they don’t look familiar. Definitely not members of her crew, but I still clench my hands around the wheel and grit my teeth.

  Not recognizing them doesn’t mean they aren’t a threat.

  They could be undercover cops.

  They could be Coast Guard, or even FBI.

  Stop working yourself up, Warwick.

  They could be anybody.

  They could be fucking fishermen or fucking dockworkers.

  But I can’t help it.

  This is the first time shit has ever gone bad. What happened on Neptune’s Daughter, that’s not something we could have planned for.

  Maybe that’s my fault for not having some sort of backup plan in case something like that did ever occur, but how could I have ever anticipated it? Especially the drugs.

  Good God…the drugs.

  I drop my forehead against the steering wheel and release a shaky sigh. “Sorry, Dad. I wouldn’t have if I’d known…”

  Although, maybe it’s not him I should be apologizing to. Maybe it’s Mom. Maybe it’s the whole fucking world. Maybe it’s the people who are in Chicago for bringing this filth into their city, for letting it take their loved ones.

  I sure as hell owe an apology to Grace for everything I’ve already put her through.

  But not until I know we’re in the clear, until I know she’s walking away from this unscathed and so are we.

  The minutes tick by agonizingly slowly. I shift and constantly scan the parking lot and what I can see of the dock area for anything suspicious. The actual piers are so far down the road in the port, it’s impossible to see much of anything, and there’s no way to know what she’s doing inside.

  Rain continues to fall, increasing from a drizzle to a steady fall.

  And I wait…

  And I watch…

  Nothing.

  And no sign of her.

  What the fuck is she doing in there?

  Calling the police? Asking for help?

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Maybe I should go in after her.

  I unbuckle my seatbelt, and my hand wraps around the door handle.

  No.

  I can’t go in. Not if there’s a possibility this is a setup.

  Though, if it is, wouldn’t they have come for me by now? Maybe they’re waiting to get eyes on the rest of the guys before taking us down. Or maybe no one has said anything at all.

  The front door of the port admin building swings open, and Grace steps out casually. She shivers slightly in the cool, damp air and walks toward the truck.

  Relief washes over me, air rushes from my lungs, and I settle back in my seat as she climbs in.

  She came back, and there were no police, no Coast Guard, no sign of anyone she might have told what was happening.

  “Well?”

  Her hooded brows and slight frown have me clenching my fists.

  She waves a hand toward the building. “I spoke with someone in the admin office. Neptune’s Daughter is still docked down by the cargo terminal. It doesn’t sound like my crew is there, but I couldn’t find out much without telling her w
ho I was. I don’t have ID and didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention. I think they have security. There were a few guys in uniforms inside talking to someone.”

  Shit.

  “We need to get closer.”

  The port area is so huge, it’s almost a half-mile drive from the admin building down to the piers. If we can get close enough to see the ship and what’s around it, we may have a better idea of what’s happening.

  I start up the truck and turn left out of the lot toward the piers. There’s no reason for any vehicles to be down this way unless they’re picking up cargo or working. If anyone questions us, we’ll have to leave. Fast.

  We make our way north down Lincoln Memorial Drive, and the piers come into view on our right.

  Grace points. “There she is.”

  Neptune’s Daughter sits right where she should be, but our view is obscured by the support structure for the highway above us and the small buildings and pallets stored under it.

  “Shit. I can’t see anything from here.”

  She shakes her head. “Me either. Should we get out and try to get closer?”

  “No.”

  There’s too much of a chance of being questioned. We shouldn’t be back here, and if she were questioned, we would be in deep shit.

  “We’ll have to come back tonight.”

  She gives me a sharp nod. “I think so. Even though it looks dead out here, there are actually some men farther down near the boats working. I can just barely make them out from here.”

  Shit.

  I pull out my cell phone.

  It rings while I make a U-turn and head out past the port offices.

  “You guys need to drop anchor and hang out for a couple hours. We need to wait until dark to go in.”

  “Fuck.” Cutter groans. “What’s the situation like.”

  “Handful of security now, we think, but who knows once it’s dark. Hopefully less. The crew is gone now as far as we can tell, and Grace says they normally stay at a hotel nearby rather than on the ship to get a little taste of luxury for a couple days. So, they may come back, but there’s no telling when or for how long. They aren’t scheduled to leave for a few more days.”

  “Well, that’s vague and unhelpful.”

  No shit.

  We usually spend days and sometimes weeks planning jobs, ensuring every scenario and detail is covered. This winging it shit certainly isn’t fucking ideal. Even though we had prepared for our raid on Neptune’s Daughter, it still went wrong. This will be played by ear—something none of us want to do.

  But it isn’t totally Grace’s fault she doesn’t know more.

  “This was her first time traveling with them so she’s not totally sure how things go. She’s just going off what her father told her and what the receipts she processes for the books show.”

  Cutter sighs. “Then, I guess we wait.”

  “We wait. Call Preacher and update him on what’s going on. Try to get an update from E. You and Rion get ready.”

  “We’re not making Arturo’s deadline.”

  I scrub a hand over my face. “I know.”

  “You need to call him.”

  “I know, asshole. I am very well aware.”

  It’s the last thing I want to do, but it’s necessary all the same. If we don’t show, he will send his men after us. There’s no doubt. But a call may buy us some time to sort this out.

  Might.

  I stop just past the entrance to the port and barely catch the look Grace gives me.

  “What?”

  A tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Rion. Is that Hulk’s real name?”

  “Hulk?” A thick chuckle rumbles from my lips. I still can’t believe that’s how she’s been thinking of him. “Yeah, but I think you should keep calling him Hulk. It fits him a lot better.”

  Tinkling laughter fills the truck cab and releases some of the tension in my shoulders, but it will just be right back. There’s no way we’ll get out of this without some bloodshed tonight, and that’s the last thing we need.

  I sober quickly, and Grace’s laugh stops abruptly when she sees my face.

  “I need to call Arturo.”

  She chews on her bottom lip. “What are you going to tell him?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  Fast.

  I dial the number and wait.

  “Mr. Pike. I hope you’re calling to tell me you’re almost here with my cargo.”

  I fucking wish.

  My palms sweat, and I wipe one on my jeans, then transfer my phone to the other ear so I can wipe off the second one too.

  “We’ve hit another delay. The weather and the damage to the boat from the storm was worse than I thought. It looks like it will be tomorrow sometime that we’ll get down there.”

  If this goes well and we get what we need. If we don’t…

  The silence he gives me as a response sends ice flooding my veins. I glance at Grace. Her wide green eyes watch me, and she waits for my reaction to however Arturo responds.

  “Mr. Pike, to say I’m disappointed would be an understatement. It seems my uncle may have misplaced his trust in you—”

  “No.” I need to end this train of thought. If he thinks this was an intentional betrayal, he’ll have his men up here for us in a matter of hours. “Please, I’ll have it to you late tomorrow. I promise.”

  He chuckles, dark, low, and menacing. “Your word means nothing to me, Mr. Pike, but I’ll give you one more day because my uncle seems to trust you, and I don’t know where you have the cargo. Otherwise, I would send my men up there right now to get it from you.”

  That’s the last thing we need or want.

  We’ve managed to keep the location of the warehouse private from the Marconis, and that’s the only thing saving us right now.

  “Tomorrow. I promise.”

  The line goes dead without another word from Arturo. His non-statement is statement enough.

  If we don’t get the stuff there, we’re fucking dead.

  14

  Grace

  Warwick slides his phone back in his pocket and merges back onto the road.

  That call with Arturo didn’t sound good, at least, the side of it I could hear didn’t.

  Which is exactly why I didn’t rat out Warwick when I was in the port offices.

  I kept picturing the words he wrote in his journal…

  He’s going to kill me one of these days. Kill us all. As soon as we’re of no use to him, we’re gone.

  I kept hearing the distress in his voice and those of his friends when they spoke about what would happen if they failed…

  This is life and death for them as much as it is for me. If they can pull this off, if they can get the rest of the drugs and get them to Chicago, it’s the best hope for everyone making it out of this alive.

  I couldn’t have Warwick’s life on my conscience. Not when he’s proven to me that he won’t hurt me. Not when he’s shown me there’s something more to him. A man who made a shitty choice for what he thought was a good reason.

  Maybe that makes me a sucker, someone who can’t help but see the good buried beneath all the bad in someone like him. But what would it make me if I sent him to his death, if I ensured he would end up dead…all because he wanted to save his family business?

  Not someone I could live with being.

  I just have to trust this will all work out.

  He pulls onto the highway.

  “Where are we going?”

  His dark eyes glance my way. “The hotel your crew is at.”

  “Why?”

  Isn’t that the last place we should be going? If they see me, if he lets me go and loses any bargaining chip…it’s over.

  Warwick doesn’t answer for what feels like miles. I squirm in my seat and watch the city fly by.

  “I’m letting you go.”

  I freeze. “What? Why?”

  He can’t be serious. If he lets me go, and if the crew or I tal
k, then all of this was for nothing.

  “Because the forty-eight hours is almost up, and if the crew hasn’t said anything yet, they sure as hell will if you aren’t freed.” He pauses for a moment, his dark eyes focused on the road ahead, his hands clenched tightly around the wheel. “It’s time for you to go, Grace. This has gone on too long.”

  The burn in my eyes isn’t because I’ll never see him again. It can’t be. It must be because I’m so damn happy this ordeal is over. So damn happy to get back to the crew, and in a few days, back at home in Michigan with Mom and my boring office life.

  That must be it. The alternative is just fucking crazy Stockholm Syndrome shit.

  We pull up outside the hotel, and I stare up at it.

  This is really it.

  Time to say goodbye.

  “I’m sorry, Grace. For everything.”

  That’s it? That’s all he’s going to say?

  I swallow through the lump in my throat and blink away the tears forming my eyes.

  The shrill ring of his phone breaks the tension in the truck cab.

  Warwick frowns and answers. “What?”

  His eyes drift over to me before he looks at the hotel then over his shoulder at something behind us. I glance in the same direction. A red pickup sits across the street, and the guy who must be E stares back at us.

  “I’m dropping her off with the crew.”

  I can’t make out the reply, but E’s anger is evident even from across the road. I turn back around to face forward.

  They don’t know he’s letting me go, that he’s giving their only bargaining chip against the crew revealing what they’ve done a chance to walk away.

  “We’ll talk about it later, E. It’s my fucking decision.” He turns back around and sighs. “I’m heading over to Annie’s Diner to eat and kill some time until it’s dark enough for us to go in. I’ll call you from there. Stay here and watch for any law enforcement or for the crew heading back toward the ship.”

  Because even though I didn’t rat him out at the port, he still doesn’t believe I won’t alert the police.

  It shouldn’t bother me, but my chest tightens all the same.

  “Goodbye, Warwick. Good luck.”

  My hand hovers over the door handle. There’s so much more that I want to say, that I want to ask, that I need to know. But all the words die on my lips, and I swing the door open and climb down from the truck.