Farewell Seas

by Lily Harper Hart

  “He was lucid when he was brought in,” she replied with a mild accent. Her English was good so it was easy to understand her. “He wanted to remain that way, but his injuries were too serious to allow it. Are you Quinn?”

  He nodded, feeling sick to his stomach. “Yes.”

  “He had a message for you. He demanded I recite it back to him three times before he would let them take him.”

  Cool dread filled the pit of his stomach. “What was the message?”

  “They have Sally,” she replied. “I don’t know what it means.”

  Rowan gripped Quinn’s wrist so hard she caused him to yelp. “Sally? My Sally?”

  “He didn’t say which Sally. I’m sorry. That’s all he could say. He was in a great deal of pain.”

  Quinn rubbed his wrist as he absorbed the news. “Why would they take Sally? I don’t understand. Why was she even there?”

  Rowan’s reaction was cool. “It doesn’t matter, does it? All that matters is we get her back.”

  Quinn recognized the icy tone as dangerous territory. He couldn’t back down, though. “I’m trying to understand exactly what was going down when this occurred. I’m not talking smack about Sally. I wouldn’t do that.”

  Instead of lashing out in anger, Rowan’s voice broke. “We have to find her.”

  “We will.” He tugged her to him, frustration washing off him in waves. He couldn’t understand how this happened. It wasn’t like Fred to take Sally along when tailing dangerous individuals. That meant her arrival was most likely a surprise. “Someone has to have seen something. Where are the police?”

  The nurse pointed toward the rundown lobby. “Detective Gonzalez is waiting there. We weren’t sure who to even call, but Mr. Delmore insisted it be you. The detective has his personal belongings.”

  “Then I guess it’s the detective we need to talk to.” Quinn stroked Rowan’s hair. “What is Fred’s prognosis?” He hated asking the question, but he could hardly leave if he didn’t know.

  “He was gravely injured. If he survives the surgery, he’ll have a good chance.”

  Rowan jerked her head in the direction of the nurse. “If he survives? Does that mean he could die?”

  “He was stabbed, ma’am.” The nurse was matter-of-fact. “The blade slid between his ribs. We won’t know if any major arteries or organs were affected until the doctor gets inside and takes a look around. I’m sorry but ... that’s all the information I have to share with you.”

  “Just ... please keep us updated,” Quinn instructed. “I want to know the minute he’s out of surgery.”

  “I will do my best.”

  DETECTIVE RAFAEL GONZALEZ WAS A tall man. He had jet black hair, which was longer on top and shorter underneath, and it looked as if he’d had a busy time of it because his hair was standing on end, as if he’d swiped his hands through it so many times it decided to remain standing.

  “Detective Gonzalez?” Quinn took a tentative step toward him. “I’m Quinn Davenport.”

  “You’re Mr. Delmore’s emergency contact?” Gonzalez barely had an accent. “I was told you were en route. I have some questions for you.”

  “I’m sure you do. I have some questions for you, too.”

  “My questions first. What was the nature of Mr. Delmore’s business on this island?”

  Quinn managed to contain his temper, but just barely. He reminded himself that Gonzalez had a job to do. From the detective’s perspective, Quinn was a potential suspect. At least maybe, depending on whether there were witnesses. He didn’t have to cooperate with Quinn at all. If the security chief went off half-cocked, it could come back to bite him. He had to answer if he expected to get anywhere.

  “He’s working with the Conqueror dive team. It’s run by Nick Green. I haven’t been able to get him on the phone yet.” That was a lie. Quinn hadn’t even tried. He needed time to prepare Nick for questions first. “Fred was working for him.”

  “I didn’t realize.” Gonzalez looked thoughtful. “Could he have had artifacts from the ship on his person at the time of the attack?”

  Quinn vehemently shook his head. “We just arrived this morning. No one has even gotten wet yet. We were meeting this afternoon to discuss that. We were eating lunch first.”

  “Obviously not together.”

  “No. I was eating with Rowan.” He gestured toward his girlfriend, who was silent and still. “It was supposed to be a quiet thing, just her and me.”

  “I guess I don’t understand.” Gonzalez’s gaze momentarily landed on the photographer. “Do you usually bring your girlfriend on work trips?”

  “She’s working, too.”

  Rowan stirred. “He doesn’t understand about The Bounding Storm. You have to explain that part.”

  Of course he did. Quinn felt like an idiot. “We’re here for two reasons. I’m head of security on The Bounding Storm. Rowan is the ship photographer. We’re regular employees. We were part of the initial dive at the Conqueror’s site. At that time, we met Nick Green and became close.

  “When he was looking for other divers, I recommended Fred,” he continued. “We served in the military together, were tight. I knew he was a good worker and he was looking for something new. Nick jumped at the chance. Then, when it was announced we were going back to El Demonio, Nick arranged to catch a ride with us again and it was just a coincidence that I got to spend time with Fred. He’s part of Nick’s crew, but we still got to hang out.”

  “Ah.” Some of the confusion on Gonzalez’s face cleared. “I understand. That makes more sense. Were you going to dive at the Conqueror site?”

  “I was, but it was more of a favor to me. I was going to work with Nick’s crew without pay only because I’m excited about the find. Rowan was going to go down in the submersible and take photos. So, we were part of the team but not an official part, if that makes sense.”

  “It does. Do you know what Mr. Delmore was doing right before the incident?”

  That question was harder to answer. “We saw him at the market,” Quinn replied. “He was just goofing around. He was going to grab lunch before heading over to the docks himself.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “He was when we saw him.”

  “I only ask because we have two witnesses to the event,” Gonzalez volunteered. “Apparently Mr. Delmore was with a woman at the time. She was blond, described as having frizzy hair, and she was reportedly hysterical when being dragged away.”

  “See, that’s the part of the story we haven’t heard yet.” Quinn chose his words carefully. “We believe the woman with him was the head chef on The Bounding Storm. Her name is Sally Jenkins. She’s a good friend of ours.”

  “What is her relationship with Mr. Delmore?”

  “To be honest, I don’t think she has a relationship. I mean ... they know one another. Sally is Rowan’s best friend. Fred is my best friend. They’ve met through us several times. They were friendly but had no relationship outside us.”

  “Is it possible they did and chose not to tell you?”

  “I guess anything is possible, but I think we would’ve noticed if they were both sneaking off to spend time together. Fred’s apartment is in the same city where we dock. We’re with him quite often. Rowan spends time with Sally almost every day. It wouldn’t exactly be the sort of relationship that was easy to hide.”

  “Fair enough.” Gonzalez looked troubled. “The thing is, witnesses said Mr. Delmore was screaming for her to run before he was attacked. She didn’t, for the record. She stayed and tried to help. He was attacked quickly, though. If there’d only been one assailant, he probably would’ve been able to take her.”

  Rowan’s stomach rolled. “Her? He was attacked by a woman?”

  “He was attacked by two individuals,” Gonzalez corrected. “The first assailant was most definitely a woman.”

  “Can you describe her?” Quinn interjected.

  “Her hair was hidden under a scarf. We just know that she was slim, ab
out five-foot-five, and had a knife. She attacked him right away. They didn’t exchange words.”

  Quinn rubbed the back of his neck, considering. The description could’ve been correct for either Julia or Darcy. There was no way to know which woman was involved. “What about the other assailant? Was that a woman, too?”

  “No. That was a man. He’s described as having a medium build, wearing khaki shorts and a blue shirt, with brown hair that showed graying here.” He gestured toward his temples. “That’s it.”

  Spencer. That one was easy. Who did he have with him, though? Were both women present? It was possible one was acting as a lookout for the other two. Quinn mentally kicked himself for not realizing that the women were likely watching him and Rowan while they were watching Spencer.

  “What happened after he was stabbed?” Rowan asked, taking over the conversation when Quinn lapsed into silence. She could see his mind working. He was running a million different scenarios through his head. He needed time to come up with a plan, which meant she had to take over the questioning. “I mean ... how did it work?”

  “Mr. Delmore yelled for his companion to run. Witness accounts say she looked confused but held her ground. He held off the initial attack from the woman and looked to be getting the upper hand, but then the blonde screamed because a man came up behind her. He also had a knife.

  “Mr. Delmore became distracted by the scream,” he continued. “He turned to see what was happening and that’s when the woman pulled out a second knife. It was over before he could do anything.”

  Rowan could easily picture the scene and her frustration was overpowering. She wanted to scream, bitterly complain about the unfairness of it all, but she held it together. “Then what?”

  “Then the two individuals appeared to have a conversation. It was very brief, seconds. The man had already secured the woman thanks to the knife and multiple threats. Then the man and woman dragged your friend Sally from the scene. There was a car waiting around the corner. They got in and sped off.”

  “Did anyone get a license plate?” Quinn queried. “I mean ... did the car belong to a local? Maybe a taxi company or something.”

  “The witnesses didn’t get a license number. They decided to help Mr. Delmore instead.”

  Rowan looked to Quinn, curious about what he was thinking. His expression was unreadable. “Well, thank you for your time.”

  “I’ll be in touch when I know more,” he reassured them. “For now, all we can do is wait for Mr. Delmore to regain consciousness.”

  “If he regains consciousness,” Quinn replied bitterly. “There are no givens in this situation.”

  “Sadly, that’s true.”

  ROWAN INSISTED ON RETURNING TO the ship, a move that fired Quinn’s anger on just about every level. She told him to remain at the hospital, but he absolutely refused to be separated from her. He was at the end of his rope and Rowan sensed an explosion was about to occur. The inevitability wasn’t enough to cause her to back down.

  “I need to look at my photos.” She was firm as they entered into the employee corridor. “I need to see something.”

  “What?” Quinn’s agitation was on full display. “What do you need to see?”

  “I just told you.”

  “You didn’t tell me why.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from lashing out at him, reminding herself that he was only being surly because he blamed himself for what happened to Fred. If they’d remained with him, odds were likely the gregarious private investigator never would’ve been attacked. Sally certainly wouldn’t have been taken. Even if the confrontation went down in the same manner, Fred would’ve had backup in the form of Quinn. They would’ve been able to fight off a group attack rather than fall victim to it.

  He didn’t mean to be obnoxious, after all. His emotions were simply too much for him to contain.

  “I have photos of Sally,” Rowan reminded him. “Old photos. Sometimes ... sometimes the omen shows up in previous photos I’ve taken. I’ve never been able to make it happen all the time — it seems hit or miss depending on the circumstances — but I need to look.”

  Quinn watched her fumble in her pocket for her keycard. “They’re not going to kill Sally. They need her to barter for you.”

  Rowan had already come to the same conclusion. “I still need to see. Also ... I want to take another photo of myself.” What she didn’t say out loud was that she wanted a photo of Quinn, too. She was officially worried about what he would do. If Fred were to die ... well ... he would go on a rampage. That couldn’t possibly end well.

  “Fine.” Quinn made a growling sound deep in his throat. “Look at your photos. In fact ... I think that’s a good idea.” He perked up considerably as he rolled his neck. “I want you to stay in this room and look at your photos. I need to check on something else.”

  Rowan balked. That wasn’t what she had in mind. “Where are you going?”

  “To Fred’s room so I can look at his computer. He was running searches on Alexander Fletcher. He has access to a better search engine than me. I want to see if anything has come in.”

  It made sense on the surface. Still, Rowan couldn’t photograph him if he slipped away. “I don’t want you to go.” The words escaped before she thought better of them. “Can’t you just look at the photos with me and then we’ll go together to Fred’s room? That makes more sense.”

  “Why?” Quinn’s frustration came out to play. He was short on temper. He knew he was being unkind, acting out of sorts, but he needed a few moments to decompress. He couldn’t do that if he was worried about trampling Rowan’s feelings. “You’ll be safe here. You’ll lock the door and wait for me to come back. I’ll be safe out there. They’re not going to attack me. Besides, the odds of them being on this ship are slim. I want to check the cameras by their rooms just to be on the safe side, though. You never know. We could luck out and find they brought Sally back here.”

  Oh, well, now he was just saying nonsense to make an escape, Rowan surmised. “You don’t think your men would’ve noticed if they brought Sally onboard via knifepoint? I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure they would’ve done something about that.”

  She was right, of course. Quinn still needed air. He hated hurting her, barking at her for no good reason. He needed a few minutes to regroup. “I won’t be gone long,” he promised. “I’m going to run to Fred’s room and my office. We’re talking thirty minutes here at the most. As long as you remain in this room, you’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “But ... .”

  “Please.” His eyes filled with an emotion that Rowan couldn’t easily read. “I need to do this. It’s important. We’re just waiting around for news on Fred right now. I can’t stand the waiting. I need to be proactive.”

  And there it was. He needed something she didn’t want to give but physically could. So, she would do it. “Fine. Don’t leave me here and run off to be a hero, though. We’re supposed to do this together. You’re the one always hammering that into my head. If you leave me behind, I’m going to be royally ticked.”

  “Fair enough.” He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I just need a bit of time. I don’t mean to snap at you.”

  Rowan had no doubt that was true. She wasn’t upset by his agitation. Oh, she was worried, but her feelings weren’t hurt. “I’ll be here when you get back. If I find something, I’ll text you.”

  “Great. I’ll do the same.” On impulse, he pulled her in for a hug. “We’re not going to lose either of them. I won’t let it happen. Fred is a tough guy. He’s been through way worse than this.”

  Rowan couldn’t decide if he was saying it for her benefit or his, but she agreed wholeheartedly. “They’re family,” she offered. “They’re going to be fine. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

  “We always do,” he agreed. “I’ll be back.” One more kiss, this one directly in the center of her forehead. “If we’re lucky, his search will have t
urned up something we can use. That’s really what we need right now, a break.”

  “We’ll get one.” Rowan squeezed his hand. “Hurry back.”

  “Count on it.”

  17

  Seventeen

  The first order of business was to find an old photo of Sally. Rowan had one in a frame on her nightstand — it was a gift from Sally, a gesture Rowan had been genuinely touched by because she’d never had a friend quite like the charismatic cook — but the omen never showed up out of the blue on prints. She needed a digital photo.

  She had a file on her desktop. Unfortunately, not all of the photos were taken by her. Some were snapped by Quinn, still others by Demarcus. She couldn’t remember which ones she’d taken. That meant she had to go through them all. It took her longer than she thought it would. When she was finished, she let out a shaky breath. The omen wasn’t present.

  That didn’t necessarily mean anything, of course. She had no proof the omen always showed up in old photos when new danger arrived. She’d noticed the phenomenon once or twice, but she’d never had the opportunity to test it. For now, she would simply have to be happy with what she had.

  On a whim, she opened another photo. This one contained snapshots of a lazy afternoon spent at Nick’s beach house. Fred was there, as was her father and uncle. Quinn was there, too. She’d taken a decent number of the photos, so she was reasonably sure everything would be okay for those she loved by the time she got to the end. Nick, Paul, and Quinn appeared to be free of the omen. Fred was only in four photos, but he was clear, too. She was hopeful that meant he would survive the surgery and be back to his skirt-chasing ways without much delay.

  That only left one thing to do.

  She gripped the camera and turned it upon herself. She didn’t smile. This wasn’t a happy moment to mark in her memory. She snapped three photos in quick succession, and then shifted the device so she could study the images on the back. Before she could even focus on the first one, though, there was a knock at the door.