A Killing Tide (16 page)

Did Sykes want him out of the way? And if so, why? Simple territorial jealousy? Career aspirations? Given what the mayor had told Michael, the career angle made sense.

"I know you're aware that Jorgensen has a police record," Michael said conversationally, not commenting on Sykes' suggestion.

Michael had pulled Jorgensen's police record earlier that afternoon—Gary had a lot of arrests, but the only conviction was for the one assault, and it hadn't carried any jail time. Kaz might've been right about that arrest—there was something that didn't smell kosher about it. And when Michael had asked the bartender at the Redemption about it, he'd clammed up. Fast.

Sykes nodded. "There were a couple of fights on the waterfront, run-ins with my guys on several occasions, and, of course, the assault charge. My opinion? Jorgensen's a tinder keg waiting to blow."

"Still, it's quite a leap from a bar fight to murder and arson. Are you convinced he did it?"

"We found a tire iron with blood on it and a pile of gasoline-soaked rags under a stack of crab pots in the back of his pickup truck. I've got what I need to charge him with first degree murder and first degree arson, and I'll be drawing up the warrant as soon as the lab reports come back."

Michael was silent while he digested this new information. "Do you think that's wise?" he asked finally. "The investigation isn't complete, in terms of the fire or the crime scene."

"We've got enough to move forward." Sykes exhaled an acrid cloud of blue-tinted smoke, and then leaned forward, his expression turning less amiable. "Jorgensen's been a danger to this community for years, and I want him off the streets. If I hadn't pulled him off that fisherman six months ago, he'd have killed him."

Zeke whined. Sykes raised an eyebrow.

"He doesn't like smoke." Michael placed a hand on Zeke's neck to soothe him. "You had any success locating Jorgensen?"

"Not yet, but we will," the police chief said, his tone confident. "He can't hide forever in a community this small. And he'll get in touch with Kaz eventually—he won't be able to help himself. Those two are like peas in a pod."

"I'm new to the community, admittedly, but it was my impression that folks around here like the Jorgensen twins. Wouldn't you be better off, in terms of community relations, waiting until all the evidence is in before arresting him?"

Sykes waved off that suggestion. "Kaz and Gary got a lot of sympathy when their parents drowned, but that doesn't make them saints. In my opinion, this town has been going too easy on them for a long time. Kaz's always been a little too loose with her favors, you know what I mean? She had quite the reputation in high school."

Michael managed to not react, and to stay seated. He'd always disliked men who talked about women as if they were lower-class citizens. But this was the first time he'd had to restrain himself from smashing in a guy's face. "I don't imagine that has much bearing on the case," was all he said, but someone who knew him well would've been wary of the change in his tone.

"Maybe, maybe not. I've always figured that someone with loose morals is capable of anything. There's no doubt in my mind that she'd help that brother of hers get away with this, if we give her the chance."

Sykes's reasoning sucked, but his conclusion was unfortunately valid. Michael started to tell the police chief about the inconsistencies that were cropping up, but for some reason, he stopped himself. He didn't mention the shooting, or that he was worried about Kaz's safety. He realized that he didn't want Sykes anywhere near Kaz, even if he was the chief of police, and even if he had the reputation of being the town's savior. He'd take his concerns to McGuire and her partner.

"I heard that you and Gary Jorgensen have some personal history," Michael mentioned, interested to see if he could get a rise out of the guy.

Sykes' eyes went flat. "You wouldn't, by any chance, be suggesting that I'm letting personal feelings get in the way of doing my job."

"Of course not."

The tension in the room was thicker than the fog that was rolling in off the water. Zeke growled, and Michael tightened his grip on the shepherd's collar.

Sykes' cell phone rang, breaking the silence. Without taking his eyes off Michael, he reached two thick fingers into his pocket and pulled out the phone, flipping it open. "Yeah." He listened for a minute. "I'll be right there," he said, then pocketed the instrument. "You want to be real careful about suggesting things you don't know much about," he told Michael, his tone deceptively soft.

Michael didn't respond. If Sykes was merely another small-town cop acting aggressively for the sake of his career, then Michael was making an enemy he could ill afford. But the remark about Kaz had set him off, and he found it hard to regret his actions.

Sykes leaned over, deliberately dropping his cigar into Michael's coffee. "You're new in town, Chapman, so I'll cut you some slack. This time. But don't ask me something like that ever again."

"Is that a threat?" Michael asked calmly.

"Count on it." Sykes stood, forcing Michael to rise from his chair. "I'll make sure Detective McGuire provides you with a copy of the paperwork on the warrant. In the meantime, I expect to see your report on my desk in the morning."

Michael shook his head. "I don't turn over results of any investigation I'm working on until I'm finished. And I take my orders from Mayor Forbes, not you." He walked toward the door of his office. "McGuire will get a copy of my paperwork when it's ready, and not before."

Sykes followed, stopping at the door. Michael noticed that the police chief was sweating more than when he'd come in, enough to ruin that pretty silk shirt he was wearing. "Jurisdiction over this case rests with the police department, Chapman. I know what goes on around here—I've lived here all my life. If someone sneezes inside a house out on Youngs Bay, I hear about it. And I take murder in my town real personally. You'd be wise to take that into account before you go mouthing off."

Michael smiled pleasantly. "I'll be sure and give that some careful thought."

After the police chief left, Michael pulled out a plastic baggy and carefully dropped the half-smoked cigar into it. He'd send it to the lab to have Sykes' saliva checked against the DNA found on the boat, just in case the guy had been traipsing all over Michael's fire scene. Besides, it'd give him no small amount of satisfaction when it became known that he'd had Sykes checked out.

Michael stood there, rubbing the back of his neck while his gut screamed at him. On his way home, he'd drive by the Jorgensen house, just to make sure everything looked okay. He wouldn't stop, and he sure as hell wouldn't let himself touch Kaz. Touching would be bad, given the state he was in. But he wouldn't be able to sleep, he knew, if he didn't at least drive by.

He needed to know she was all right.

#

Kaz awoke with a jolt. Even before she was even fully alert, she was reaching for the baseball bat she'd put next to her bed an hour ago. What had awakened her? She lay still and listened, her heart pounding.

There. A rustle, a floorboard creaking—the one in the living room that they'd never been able to fix.

Someone was in the house.

She slipped out of bed and pulled on her sweats, trying to make as little noise as possible. Then she picked up the bat and crept into the hallway. The moon had come out, its bright light streaming in the window high over the stairs.

She crept forward. At the top of the stairs, she stopped to listen again. The sounds were louder now—intermittent thumps, then the slight
screech
of a piece of furniture as it was shoved across the hardwood floor. Whoever it was, they were opening drawers, pulling books off the built-in shelves…the shelves that her grandfather had built. The shelves that she and Gary had sanded and varnished last week—one of the few projects that she and Gary had worked on together, in harmony, since she'd come back. The bastard had better not be putting any scratches on those shelves.

She gripped the bat tightly and started down the stairs. He'd be able to see her in the moonlight, but who cared? He'd come into their house, was going through their belongings.

Halfway down the stairs, she paused on the triangular landing where the stairway took a ninety-degree turn. The front door was standing wide open. On top of everything else, the jerk was running up her heating bill.

"Hey!" she yelled.

~~~~

Chapter 13

The intruder exploded out of the living room, running for the front door. Kaz leaped, clearing the last several steps and landing on the area rug in the entry. She swung the bat at his midsection, but her aim was off. It glanced off his shoulder and hit the wall. Plaster rained down.

The intruder rounded on her. A black ski mask covered his face, and he was huge—outweighing her by as much as seventy-five pounds.

She swung the bat again, but he stepped inside the arc and used both hands to shove her, hard. She went flying backwards.

The stair railing broke her fall, but the weight of the bat overbalanced her. She crashed down hard on the risers, her hands flying up to keep the bat from falling in her face. Pain lanced through her, stealing her breath.

Scrambling to her feet, she retrieved the bat, but he was gone—out the door and off the front porch in a single leap. By the time she ran down the porch steps, he'd vanished.

She came to a halt on the front sidewalk, swearing and gulping in the cool night air. Then she made a quick trip around the house, her bare feet turning numb from contact with the cold, damp ground.

He was gone.

Back on the front sidewalk, she searched up and down the street, hopping from one foot to the other. Then she saw him, slouched against the pole of a burned-out streetlight on the opposite side of the street, smoking a cigarette.

She stalked across the pavement, barely feeling the odd bit of gravel digging into the souls of her feet, the bat tightly clenched in both hands. But as she neared, she realized he wasn't who she'd expected.

"Careful with that thing," Chuck said as she reached him. If he thought her state of undress was odd, he didn't comment.

Glancing beyond him, she searched the alley between two of her neighbors' houses. Empty. She lowered the bat. Her hair hung in disheveled ropes over her eyes, making it hard to see. She shoved it back with an impatient hand. "Why didn't you stop him?" she asked.

"Stop who?"

"The man who came running out my front door. Black clothes, ski mask?"

Chuck's gaze sharpened, his expression becoming less remote. "Someone was in your house just now?"

"I woke up, he was in the house, and I chased him out." She glared at him. "I can't believe you didn't see anything. What good is all that Super Spy training if you don't even notice a bad guy right under your nose?"

"I just got here," he replied. Grasping her elbow, he half-dragged her back across the street to her own front yard. She had to jog to keep up. "Stay here while I check things out."

"I've already done that…" her voice trailed off as he disappeared around the corner of the house.

He was back in less time than it took for her to complete a few yoga deep-breathing exercises. "No one there."

"I could've told you that." A suspicion formed in her mind. "What are you doing here?"

"Figured I'd keep an eye out, in case there was any trouble."

"Gee, now why would you think there'd be trouble?"

"There's trouble just about everywhere these days. Read the paper."

She narrowed her eyes. "I could do without any of your cryptic remarks right now."

He glanced down at the bat and raised one eyebrow. "Going after him with that was stupid—he could've had a gun."

"Funny, but I didn't seem to have a gun handy—Gary has it with him."

Chuck didn't even blink. "Can you call Lucy, get her over here to stay with you?"

"I'm doing just fine by myself." Kaz folded her arms. "And you still haven't answered my question about what you were doing here. For all I know, you're the person I chased." Although, she admitted silently, he would've had to pull off the world's fastest change of clothes.

Chuck shook his head.

"Your timing is awfully coincidental."

"Leave it alone."

"Where's Gary?"

At the sound of an approaching car, he whipped his head around. "Cavalry," he said, then melted into the night.

Kaz muttered several choice words and then turned toward the vehicle that pulled up at her curb. Michael Chapman. Her heart rate sped back up. Just great.

Chapman got out of his car, walked around to the passenger side, and unbuckled the seat belt around Zeke. They both strolled over to where she stood, their pace unhurried. Chapman's sharp gaze took in the baseball bat, the sweats she'd pulled on with Gary's Seahawks jersey, her bare feet. She could only imagine the impression she made. "Interesting getup for a late-night stroll."

"I had an intruder, and I took care of him." Her tone was short. "What are you doing here this late at night?"

"Checking up on you, which appears to have been a good idea." He frowned. "You used a baseball bat? That was stupid."