A Killing Tide (20 page)

"I ain't talkin'. It wouldn't be healthy."

Lucy snorted. "Since when do you care about anything but your next fix?"

Sammy threw up two filthy hands, his eyes wild. "Hey, this one's too hot. I tell you what's goin' down, and no one's gonna sell to me ever again."

Even more interesting. She leaned closer, unfortunately close enough that she could smell how long it'd been since he'd had a bath. The rain wasn't even making a dent in the state of his personal hygiene, and if that odor transferred to her angora sweater, she'd make it her personal goal to put him away for a long, long time. "So maybe we'll get a little something out of the evidence lock-up, Sammy, to keep you going while we have our little chat."

The addict's eyes lit up. "Really? You can do that?"

"Sure," Lucy said easily. She ignored Ivar's frown.

But Sammy caught it, and his expression turned angry. "You're lying to me." He spat at her feet. "Cops. You think you're above the law, that you can do anything, get away with anything."

She shot a glare at Ivar, then patted Sammy down, removing a small baggie of grass from his inside pocket. "Look what we have here."

"Hey! That's personal use only."

"Yeah, but Sammy, you've already got two convictions. This little ole bit of weed is going to send you up the river for the rest of your life."

"What? No way, man! I'll get me a lawyer."

"It's called three strikes, Sammy. Maybe you've heard of it?"

"You
bitch!"

Lucy turned and nodded to Jackson. "Put him in lock-up for now. I'll deal with him later."

As Jackson dragged him away, he yelled, "I ain't telling you nothin', you hear?"

After he was out of hearing distance, she turned to Ivar. "That went well."

Ivar shrugged. "Probably won't tell you anything for a couple more hours. Needs to start really hurting first."

"What do you want to bet that he saw what went down? But he looked more scared about talking to us than he was about being sent up for life."

"Yeah. Wonder why."

Troubled, she turned back to Ewald. "So, preliminary cause of death?"

The medical examiner stood and stripped off his latex gloves. "Unofficially, someone stabbed the life out of him. And enjoyed it."

She shivered.

#

Kaz had always loved the mooring basin. In some ways, the maze of docks with their neatly aligned fishing boats felt more like home than the bungalow in town did. But what she'd missed most of all, when she was down in California, were the smells—the unique, pungent blend of stagnant water, fish, and diesel, contrasted by the clean, crisp smell of the wind as it blew off the ocean. Cities had their own intriguing odors—the corner deli, the bakery down the block. If she moved away from San Francisco, she would miss that. But up here, the air carried the scents of her past, providing her with a strong reminder of who she was.

She sat in the Jeep on the wharf, staring at the tableaux below her while rain drummed on the canvas roof. Bjorn was on his boat, repairing a net under a hastily rigged tarp that probably wasn't keeping much of the rain out. The rest of the marina looked deserted—not that many people wanted to work in a storm. She told herself to quit woolgathering and hopped out of the Jeep, locking it.

As she walked down the dock, Bjorn motioned to her to join him under the tarp. She climbed on board and sat down on the stern bench, shoving aside a block and tackle. "I appreciate that you told me what you did yesterday, Bjorn."

He shook his head. "I never said anything."

"I had a visitor last night."

His head came up sharply. "You okay?"

"Yeah. He wasn't after me, he was searching for something." She watched Bjorn's face immediately close up. "And I'm betting you know what they wanted."

"If I did, I'd tell the cops."

"Would you?"

He shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not, okay? I've got a family to think about."

He was right. She felt like pond scum for pressing him. "I'm sorry. I'll go." When she stood, he looked relieved. She couldn't stop herself from asking one more question. "Gary paid me a visit. He thinks I'm safer out on the water than in town. Is that what you think?"

Bjorn hesitated, then nodded. "Maybe. Gary okay?"

"He's strung pretty tight. I'm worried about him."

Bjorn glanced around the marina before speaking. "No matter what Karl said yesterday, Gary's got friends around here."

"That's good to hear," she admitted. "But there's a warrant out for his arrest, and unless you guys start telling me or the cops what you know, he's still in danger."

"And if we
do
talk, we'll end up like Ken."

She hesitated. "Bjorn, is this about drugs?"

He shook his head. "No more."

She gave up and turned to leave. "If this lets up, I'll be taking Michael Chapman out with me tomorrow." She tried to dispel the tension in the air. "When he get a good look the river bar, the guy will probably puke all over my running shoes."

As she'd hoped, Bjorn chuckled, then his expression turned serious. "Most of us don't trust Chapman, Kaz. And the fact that you're letting him on the
Kasmira B
won't help matters for you."

"I'll have to take that chance." She jumped onto the dock. "Safe passage tomorrow."

"You too, Kaz."

She was ten yards away when she heard him call her name. She turned.

"Better not come down here again, Kaz, unless it's to take the boat out."

She nodded to indicate she'd heard his warning, then continued up the ramp. Standing next to the Jeep, she let the rain wash over her, so tired she had to hold herself upright with a hand against the hood.

Clint Jackson was parked a block away, watching her. He was probably hoping she'd lead him to Gary. She almost laughed out loud. Fat chance of that.

Ignoring him, she opened the door of the Jeep and climbed in, then put her arms on the wheel and rested her forehead against them. Karl Svensen was standing on the deck of Bjorn's boat, his face set, his gestures angry as he talked. He must've been on his boat, watching while she talked to Bjorn. She closed her eyes, unable to care at the moment.

She had no idea what, if anything, she'd uncovered that could help Gary, and no clue where to go next. Never had she felt so alone. It was as if people were going out of their way to make her feel like an outsider. She straightened. Well, it wouldn't work. After allowing herself this little two-minute pity party, she'd figure out what to do next. She'd be damned if she'd let Gary down.

The passenger-side door opened and Michael Chapman slid inside, startling her. Raindrops glistened on his dark hair and black Gore-Tex jacket. His eyes gleamed, and his expression was sardonic, but he still managed to look sexy as hell.

"Amateur sleuthing not going as well as you'd like?" he asked.

She closed her eyes, bracing herself against the jolt of heat she experienced whenever he was near. "What are you, some kind of bad penny?"

"I was driving by when I saw you walk up from the dock." His tone turned gentle. "I see you didn't take my advice about staying home. You know, civilians always get hammered when they get in the way."

Was that a glimmer of sympathy she saw in his eyes? Or pity? She stiffened her spine and sent him the coolest look she could manage. "Are you bothering me for a reason?"

He regarded her with a slight smile, as if he were well aware of the double meaning behind her words. The interior of the jeep was suddenly too warm, the cramped space far too intimate. She edged around in her seat, propping her shoulders in the corner, so that she could face him. The last thing she needed was a repeat of last night's idiocy, especially since she now knew that he wasn't being entirely forthcoming with her about the investigation.

"Why don't you think about working with me on this?" he suggested, surprising her. "I could use your insight into the community."

She raised an eyebrow. "And you'll keep me informed as to the progress
you're
making, right?"

"As much as possible, I will."

She shook her head. "If I can't expect Lucy to do that for me, why would I expect you to?"

"Maybe because, at some point, you have to trust someone. Otherwise, you're on your own. I could be wrong, but I don't see any evidence that your friends are rallying around you, eager to help."

"That's unfair," she protested. "Lucy and Ivar have jobs to do."

"And the fishermen? I don't see them acting any too supportive."

"They have their own worries. Besides, it's possible…" She stopped, realizing what she' d been about to reveal.

"—that they're helping by hiding your brother," he finished for her.

She didn't respond.

He shook his head, reached out, ran a thumb gently down her cheek. "I don't want you to get hurt," he said softly.

Her eyes locked with his, and she saw the truth there. He cared about her, cared about her safety. She started to lean toward him, then straightened when she realized what she was doing. She drew a steadying breath. "I'm okay," she assured him. "The phone calls have stopped, and I seem to have an official escort." She gestured at the police cruiser.

Michael glanced in Jackson's direction and frowned. For some reason she couldn't fathom, he didn't seem to be reassured. He shook his head, rubbing his thumb across her lower lip in a brief caress, as was becoming his habit. "Think about letting me help. Please." He pulled back and opened the door to get out. "I'll drop off Zeke this evening, and you can give me your answer then."

She watched him walk down the dock ramp, her lip tingling where he'd touched it. She shivered. Maybe he was right about the investigation. And maybe, just maybe she really wanted to believe him, to lean on him, if only for a few minutes. But she couldn't take the chance of trusting him.

For Gary's sake, she had to handle things by herself. Which would be easier if she got some sleep. After three visitors in one night, following on the heels of the night of the fire, she was running on empty. She needed a little refueling, maybe a short nap. It wasn't like her to feel sorry for herself. Maybe inhaling all that smoke on the boat had temporarily zapped her drive.

She'd go home, soak in a hot bath. Let her mind wander for a half hour. Maybe something would occur to her, some idea of what to do next.

Then again, maybe she should just go soak her head.

~~~~

Chapter 16

When Kaz came downstairs at dawn the next morning, Michael was standing in her kitchen, watching coffee drip, and tending an omelet. He'd dropped by late the night before, staying long enough to leave Zeke and bump up her blood pressure, even though he hadn't come within ten feet of her. He was the last person she'd seen before falling asleep, and now he was the first person she was seeing after awakening. Which didn't feel as awkward as it should've.

This morning he wore snug-fitting jeans and another sweater that did illegal things to the width of his shoulders. He looked annoyingly well rested—an effect she had yet to achieve, between her nightmares and her doggy-breath bed companion. She considered snarling.

He glanced at her as he expertly moved the two halves of the omelet onto plates. "Morning."

She grabbed a mug. "Don't you have a kitchen of your own?"

"Still packed."

"How'd you get in?"

"Zeke let me in." She narrowed her eyes at him, and he cocked his head toward the kitchen door. "It was unlocked." He pointed the spatula at her, his expression stern. "That was careless."

"But I locked it," she protested, confused. "I checked
all
the doors and windows before I went to bed. Zeke got restless around midnight and started pacing. But after a few minutes, he settled down. And no one was in the house or he would've gone crazy."

"Maybe he scared someone off before they got inside. Who has keys to this place?"

"Lucy and Gary, that's it." She prayed that he wouldn't ask the next obvious question—whether Gary had been there. She didn't know if he'd come back, and she didn't want to lie to Michael any more than she was forced to.

"You keep a spare key hidden outside?" Michael asked.

"No."

"Would Lucy come in and not tell you?"

She shook her head.

"What about what's-his-name—Chuck?"

An interesting question. Had Chuck come back last night to keep watch? She shivered. "Maybe, I don't know. He's been hanging around."

Michael's expression turned grim. "You didn't tell me that."

She shrugged. "When I confronted him, he said he was looking out for me."

Michael seemed dissatisfied with her answer, but he didn't press her. He brought the plates over to the table, sat down, and nodded at hers. "Eat."

She sampled the omelet and was pleasantly surprised. Okay, so he could cook. She didn't have much luck with omelets, but this one was cooked to perfection, lightly browned on the outside and filled with a fragrant mixture of grilled vegetables and some kind of creamy, tangy cheese. She dug in.