Dangerous Waters (13 page)

“But a hell of a lot better than you should, considering.”

Someone
had
tried to kill her. When she considered the shape the SUV was in, that person hadn’t been too far from succeeding. “Did I remember to thank you for getting me to the hospital?”

“You promised me sexual favors for life.” His grin was wicked.

“Ha, ha. Funny man.” But her heart thumped crazily in her chest. She didn’t want to like Finn. She certainly didn’t want to want him. “I like what you’ve done with this place.” Avoiding the thoughts that swirled inside her like an unhealthy cocktail, she checked out her surroundings. The walls were wood. Two desks set into the walls. One single bed, which she was lying in, another set of bunks pushed against the opposite wall. He seemed to care little about material things. There were no pictures on the walls. Nothing but plain utilitarian space. She wondered what his bedroom looked like and put a rapid halt on those thoughts. Blood filled her cheeks, but she doubted he’d notice considering the mess that was her face. Both eyes were swollen. Her nose throbbed like a beacon. “Exactly how bad do I look?”

“Like you’ve gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champ.” He grimaced, and the towel slipped an inch. Mesmerized by the dark blond hair that arrowed down from his navel she couldn’t look away.

“I guess I’m going to have to cancel the photo shoot with French
Vogue
.”

He laughed. Relaxed and ridiculously at ease. Almost naked with her in bed.

Great
. Just
great
.

She felt the heat building in her cheeks and tried to shift up the bed, ignoring her protesting ribs. This guy was still involved with this case. She could not be having carnal thoughts about his incredibly ripped, smooth-skinned, and definitely hot body.

“The cabins are set up for grad students and visiting profs. I’m here all year round, but I let people stay in here if the lab is short on space.” He kicked up those wide shoulders, and muscles flexed beneath taut skin. Her mouth went dry, and it had nothing to do with pain meds or whiplash. “I guess I could get somewhere better, but I spend most of my life working so I don’t see the point. It’s cheap, convenient, and beats the hell out of what I had in the military.”

“You were in the army for sixteen years.” She latched on to this tidbit.

He raised a brow and waited.

He did that, she’d noticed. Kept his silence and waited for the actual question rather than fill the expectant quiet. Not many people had the nerve for silence.

“You weren’t that far from a full military pension. Why’d you quit?”

His lips twitched, barely. “I’m not quite ready for retirement.”

“
Was
it because Thom got beat up?”

He shrugged and distracted her with the sort of smile that got women in serious trouble. Even smart women. “Not everything in life is about money.”

Finn Carver had a knack for avoiding answering her questions. As a cop and a woman, it put her on edge.

Annoyed, she tried to throw off the covers to get out of bed and away from the effect he had on her, but they were tucked in so tightly she could barely move. There was so much to do. The last thing she needed was to be in bed, ogling man candy when there was a murder to solve.

Jimmy Furlong was going to love this.

“I have to go,” she said.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Where’s my gun? If I shoot you, you’ll have to let me up.”

From the determined look in his eyes, he was ready for a fight, which suited her perfectly. But every movement she made shot streaks of pain into her ribs and up her side. Her neck felt like she’d been unsuccessfully lynched. He sat down on the edge of the bed, trapping her.

With a snarl of frustration she lay back against the pillows, breathing hard. She tried not to notice his flat abs or smell his clean, soapy scent. The man was totally gorgeous and
she
was a primary investigator in a homicide. She didn’t have time for distractions.

“I could arrest you,” she growled.

“I thought you owed me a favor?”

For the dive, she remembered. “
This
is your favor?” She gestured to the bed.

“Getting you into bed was definitely on the list.” His eyes heated, then he looked away. Broke the connection. “I set up an oh eight hundred meeting here for your team.”

Her eyes widened a fraction. Even that hurt like a bitch.

He reached for the bottle of tablets and shook out two, handed them to her. “I have to be at the dive shed by quarter after eight, so you’ll have the place to yourselves.” Steam billowed through the open doorway behind him. The shower was still running. “You can search the place if you like, eliminate me from your inquiries.”

But she knew from the intelligence in his eyes that all his secrets were hidden inside that finely packaged mind of his. And suddenly she wanted inside—inside that mind, and closer still. She swallowed the pain pills with another gulp of water.

Her phone rang. He picked it up, looked at the display, and handed it over. “Your father.”

She recoiled and her head started screaming. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“He already knows about the accident.” Those blue eyes of his were cool now. Dark and cool, like the deep ocean. “He called earlier, and I apprised him of the situation.”

“You had no right.” Her fist clenched around the cell. She had to answer it. But she didn’t want to be yanked off the case.

“I told him you were a bit beat up, but the doctor said you’d be ready to return to work first thing in the morning.”

Her mind whirled. She’d assumed Finn would have done his best to get her off the case, and she didn’t know why the fact he hadn’t made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She pressed the answer button, never dropping his gaze. “Hi, Dad. No, I’m fine. Sore, but fine.”

She covered the mouthpiece as Finn turned to leave the room, that damp towel clinging to his butt in an erotic display. “Hey,” she called. He glanced over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

He nodded and she heard him going back into the bathroom.

She turned her attention to her father.

“How are you really feeling?” Her father’s voice was deep and rich as hot chocolate and always filled her with warmth.

“I ache all over, but nothing’s seriously damaged except my pride.”

“Well, we all have to deal with that at some point or other.” There was a pause. Her dad was good at saying a lot with his silences too. “We’ve got people working the scene, trying to catch this person. Do you think it’s related to the homicide you’re working?”

Holly squinted out the windows into the solid darkness. “It seems the obvious thing, but you’re the one who taught me to look at the facts and not jump to conclusions.”

He blew out a gusty sigh. “I’m not happy about this, Hobbit. Not only has one of my officers been attacked, but the fact you’re my daughter makes it hard to sit back and follow procedure. It was bad enough you getting stabbed last month…” Her father had always been the most honest person she knew. “I want to fly over there and rip off someone’s head. Instead, I have to sit behind a desk and let others do the job for me.”

“Dad, I know how to handle myself—”

“I know that. But,” there was a thick swallow, “after losing your mother, you’re all I’ve got left, and I’m damned if some joker is going to take you away from me.”

“Never gonna happen.”

“Staff Sergeant Furlong suggested you step back from the case until you’re feeling better.”

I just bet he did.
Holly swallowed the instinctive retort. “There’s nothing wrong with me that a few hours’ sleep won’t fix.”

“Humph.” Thankfully he changed the subject. “Who’s the guy playing nursemaid?” As if he hadn’t already run a zillion background checks.

“Finn Carver is a former Special Forces soldier who found me minutes after the crash happened and drove me to the hospital. Only way they’d release me was if I had someone on call if I needed help. The command group has work to do. He volunteered.”

“He’s the one who found Len Milbank’s body.”

“Correct. And he took me down to the shipwreck to look at the crime scene too.”

“Alone?”

“That’s right, Dad. Alone. And I’m still alive and breathing.”

“Any chance he’s the person who ran you off the road?”

“None.”

“You’re sure?”

“Actually, Dad, I am totally one hundred percent sure, and you can tell the deputy commissioner the same thing.”

“Smart-ass.” But he laughed.

“I learned it from you.”

That silence again. Holly decided to wait it out in case she blurted something stupid.

“I spoke to his former commanding officer.”

Of course he had.

“Guy said he was an excellent soldier, one of his best. You know I have a great deal of respect for our armed forces, right?”

There was a “but” in there. “Of course.”

The silence took on a cautious quality. “Just make sure you’re both on the same side before you trust him too much—understand?”

A quiver of embarrassment rolled over her skin. “I would never do anything unethical, sir.”

“Hell, Holly, I’m not talking about sleeping with the guy—although, jeez, that’s not what a father wants to think about. He’s a former Special Forces soldier. He can do things most cops can’t even contemplate. Remember that. Until you know more about him, keep your guard up.”

She didn’t tell her father she trusted Finn—it sounded foolish and naive on such short acquaintance. If she was wrong she didn’t want to look like an idiot, and she’d been wrong before. These were dangerous waters, and she had no intention of drowning in them.

Her father let out a low rumble of frustration. “If I could get over there and nurse you myself I would. I’m in the middle of a meeting with a bunch of feds from across the border—I just slipped out for a moment. I could try to find someone from the agency that looked after your mother…” The words brought the usual pang of loss, a thousand different memories stretching between them.

“No.” She ran her fingers over the cold metal of her gun. “Finn Carver has the eyes of the entire RCMP watching him tonight and he knows it. I’ll be fine.”

“If I hadn’t had at least fifteen different reports that he was a trustworthy guy, I wouldn’t contemplate leaving you there, you know that, right?”

“I’m not a kid.” She smiled. “I love you, Daddy.”

Another big sigh blew into the phone. “I love you too, Hobbit.”

They said good-bye, and she clicked off thoughtfully. There was another good reason to stay here tonight. Gaining Finn’s trust was a good way to dig deeper into this town’s secrets. She wasn’t about to fall for the golden boy good looks or protective charm. She was disciplined enough to admire the beauty without succumbing to temptation—wasn’t she?

Only one thing mattered to her, and that was the quest for justice, even when the victim was a two-bit thug who’d probably got exactly what he deserved. But there was a reason justice was blind and cops didn’t try cases. It was all to do with men like Len Milbank and Finn Carver.

Jeff Winslow knocked on the bedroom door just as she was pulling on her equipment belt. “Come in.”

All her belongings—complete with a new uniform—had turned up sometime during the night. As she’d slept like the dead, she assumed one of the guys had brought them over, and she didn’t want to ask who’d seen her snoring. She had to move with extreme caution so as not to jar her sore ribs. Thankfully, the pain meds made her feel less like she’d been sawn in half.

She could do this.

“Thanks for meeting me here. I just needed a solid sleep to get back on my feet.”

“You shouldn’t even be on the job.” Jeff’s eyes crinkled in sympathy as he took in her bruises. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“It looks worse than it is.”
If only
. “Let’s go into the living room and set up.”

Finn—fully clothed,
thank god
—had left a pot of coffee, which dripped and sizzled, releasing a mouth-watering aroma. She’d seen him briefly before he headed out the door and had managed to pin down her hormones so she could view him with a little more detachment this morning. Sure, he was gorgeous and brave, but she dealt with that sort of alpha male every day. Normally it didn’t affect her.

The chivalry was an unexpected turn-on.

Mentally she kicked herself.

The car accident must have shaken her up, made her a little extra vulnerable, but everything was back under control today. He’d left out the makings for toast, so she made herself some while Jeff set up his laptop and screen projector. Corporals Messenger, Chastain, and Malone rolled in, their booted feet shaking the floor as they climbed the stairs and pushed in the door. Tiredness edged everyone’s features.

She felt them all weighing her abilities by her battered features and determinedly held her hand up. “I know I look like crap, but I’m perfectly fine. Just a few colorful bruises and a hell of an incentive to bring this guy in. Where’s Steffie?”

“Still in Port Alberni.” Freddy Chastain helped himself to coffee and so did the others. She used the opportunity to sneak into one of the chairs. She didn’t want to bump against anyone and let them know how fragile she was really feeling.

“A separate team is investigating the crash incident,” Jeff commented.

Holly nodded and sipped her coffee. She’d already sent them a statement, but one of the officers would be tracking her down later today.

“Steffie stayed to cross-reference any evidence they came up with. They’ve already figured out a black Ram truck was stolen yesterday afternoon. They’re checking surveillance cameras and are looking for it, but if someone dumped it in the woods—well, there’s a lot of area to cover.”

She swore under her breath. “Let’s get on with finding Len Milbank’s killer. What do we have that we didn’t know yesterday?”

“We’ve interviewed most of the local residents, although we’ve still got a few key people to get around. Most people knew who Len Milbank was, and not one of them looked sorry he was dead.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I got that impression yesterday too.”

“And no one remembers seeing him around here the last few weeks.”

Holly thought about Thomas Edgefield’s assertion that people had lied about their whereabouts the day of his wife’s murder. He’d been chasing the truth for nearly thirty years and still hadn’t found it. People here did not want to talk to the cops.

“What else do we have?”

Jeff opened another file. “The eyeball is definitely Len Milbank’s. They found no DNA or prints on the knife except from the victim. We now have photos we can circulate.” He handed them each a picture of a ten-inch dive knife with a six-inch blade. He also handed them a picture of Len Milbank before he’d become fish food.

“Anything on the suit?” she asked.

“Nothing yet.”

“Vehicle?”

“Nada.”

“Boat?”

“Nyet. West Coast Marine Service is starting a search of all the coves and inlets, but it’s going to take some time.” Jeff raised a brow. In this light, she saw his light brown hair was starting to thread with gray. Why was a smart guy like Jeff still a corporal but she was a sergeant?

“So what
do
we know?” She grabbed a piece of chalk, grateful there was a blackboard on the wall. “Victim: Len Milbank. Stabbed in the heart and found inside a supposedly undiscovered shipwreck at a depth of thirty meters.

“He couldn’t have been stabbed during the dive itself because the tank harness would have gotten in the way of the blade.” She went through each point. “The killer must have stabbed him just before or after a dive because there’s no way you can wrestle a corpse into neoprene. And unless he had some weird rubber fetish, there’s no reason for him to be wearing a dry suit unless he was diving. Whoever killed him was his dive buddy.”

“So the killer is a diver, probably has a boat, or access to one, or used Milbank’s,” said Chastain.

“Which rules out exactly no one in this region,” Malone added with a scowl.

“Whoever it is must be physically strong and a good enough diver to drag that body into the heart of the shipwreck and get out again alive. Corporals Messenger and Malone—I want you compiling a list of all the scuba divers between here and Port Alberni.”

Malone groaned.

“I thought no one knew about the shipwreck,” Messenger said quietly.

“Someone sure as hell knew about it. Did you find out anything yesterday?”

The officer slumped, defeated. “Nobody knows anything for sure. Coast Guard got pretty excited because they
think
she might be a windjammer.” She read from her notes, “‘An iron-hulled sailing ship made in the late nineteenth century.’ But they said there’s a wreck for every mile of coast around here. They’re going to try to measure and identify it as soon as they get clearance to dive.”

“Should be soon,” said Holly.

“Maybe there’s someone with an old family connection who knew about the wreck and kept it secret?” Jeff suggested.

“It’s a hell of a coincidence that a few days after the scientist finds his shiny new sea slug some guy’s body gets dumped there.”

Cops were never big on coincidence. Holly pinched her lips together. “There are two possible reasons why the killer would hide the body down there. One,” she ticked the number off on her fingers, “they didn’t know the wreck had been found and didn’t want Milbank washing up unexpectedly. Two, they knew the wreck had been discovered and wanted Carver and Edgefield to be in the spotlight for finding the body.”

“They got their wish.” Chastain tapped his pen on the arm of the sofa. His phone rang, but he ignored it. He saw her looking. Pulled a face. “Fiancée, probably wanting to know what color ribbons I want on the flower girls’ dresses.”

Malone laughed.

“So we’re essentially back to square one?” Corporal Messenger said quietly.

“Not exactly. We’ve got Milbank’s associates in Port Alberni acting suspiciously, and someone tossed his place. I’m thinking Milbank might have been involved in drug or alcohol smuggling for Dryzek, which is why he got so antsy when he didn’t show up.”

These small coastal communities were rife for exploitation by criminal organizations, Holly knew. They also served as distribution centers for smugglers. Maybe Milbank’s death was just a drug deal gone wrong. “Jeff, can you talk to the guys from West Coast Marine Services and see if they’ve heard any whispers along the coast?”

Jeff nodded.

“I think we’re making someone nervous. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have tried to run me off the road yesterday.” She touched her nose, which was sore as hell.

“Unless that was personal?” Malone ventured.

“No one hates me that much,” Holly said. But she couldn’t silence the whisper of disquiet that ran through her mind. Something didn’t feel right. She needed more information, and the quiet, secretive nature of the village made it unlikely she was going to get it.

Jeff was reading files on his laptop. “Len Milbank was in VIRCC in the early nineties. Served two years for armed robbery with violence.”

“Two years?” Holly shook her head. Some days she wondered why they bothered to turn up.

“And it turns out there was another local resident in prison with him at the same time.”

Her veins constricted as she held her breath in anticipation.

“Brent Carver. Finn Carver’s older brother.”

She remembered Dryzek and Ferdinand saying
Carver
yesterday. She’d assumed they meant Finn, but maybe she was mistaken. “Brent was serving time for killing their father, correct?”

Chastain nodded. “Hit him once over the head with a beer bottle. Must have had a hell of a swing. He was charged as an adult and convicted of second-degree murder. Served twenty years.”

Most days, criminals didn’t get sentenced to enough time, but given the extenuating circumstances, it seemed a little harsh. Holly didn’t like the pang of agitation that went through her thinking about the sort of childhood those kids must have endured. She couldn’t let it cloud her judgment.

“Brent Carver got out three years ago.” Chastain checked his notes. “He’s not even forty yet.”

“I think I’ll go and talk to him today,” said Holly.

“You?” Malone asked dubiously.

She gave him what was sure to be her ugliest smile. Damn, she could barely see through the slits of her eyelids. “That’s right, Malone. Me. You think I can’t do my job?”

“I’m not the one with the techno-colored face, Sarge.”

She grinned for what seemed the first time in days. “You should see the rest of me. OK, let’s get out of here. Malone, because you’re so worried, you’re with me. Messenger can work on the list of divers on her own. Let’s find this bastard and get out of here.”

Mike glanced up and down the road. Except for the bald eagle staring at him from the high branches of a fifty-foot pine tree, there was no one around. At this time of day, everyone would be in lectures or classes or at work. He headed purposely up the steps to Finn’s cabin, tapped the door, and walked inside.

“Hello. Anyone here?” he called. When no one answered, he cautiously opened both bedroom doors and peeked inside. No one here. With a glance at the front door, he went into Finn’s bedroom with its neatly made bed.

He dropped to his knees and checked under the bed. Nothing, not even dust motes. He opened the bedside table. Books. Lots of them. On top of the nightstand was a lamp, a clock radio, and a copy of
Invertebrate Identification in the Pacific Northwest
. Mike rolled his eyes. The guy never gave it a rest.

Nothing on the two desks except for a laptop and paperwork. Not what he was looking for. Sweat started to trickle down his spine. Remy Dryzek had asked a favor, and he had no illusions what would happen if he didn’t produce results.

For a long time, Milbank had been pressuring him to come on board with some smuggling activities, but Mike hadn’t been interested. Remy had helped him out with some trouble he’d got into with a bookie in Port Alberni, but it wasn’t enough of a debt to throw his life away. After a few weeks, Mike had paid back the money he owed. He’d assumed Milbank would stop hassling him, but if anything, things had gotten worse. Len had threatened to kill him if he didn’t start doing him a few favors.

Now the guy’s unexpected death had left Dryzek in a rage and Mike up shit creek, trying to paddle the depths with his little finger. Someone had killed Milbank and stolen Remy’s coke or money—the guy didn’t even know which because he didn’t know if Len had made the exchange or not. Dryzek was now a fire-breathing maelstrom of retribution.

What made Mike break out in a sweat was Gina had told him she thought Finn had found a shipwreck in that cove, and
while trying to avoid imminent death, in an attempt to get on the guy’s good side,
he’d
told Milbank. They’d planned to check it out together—and yes, Mike had been half hoping Milbank might suck in a lungful of water and maybe get lost on the way up. But Milbank had never shown, and the dive equipment Mike had borrowed from the dive shed had walked. The cops were asking a lot of questions that made him very nervous.

He opened the wardrobe doors, wincing at the noise, and pulled out a small case from the bottom beside a neat row of boots. The case was locked. He went back to the bedside cabinet and rifled through the drawer. Found a small key, and fitted it into the lock.
Bingo
. His heart drummed so fast there was a quiver in his chest as he unclipped the latches. But inside wasn’t a haul of coke. Instead there lay a matte-black semiautomatic pistol and a shitload of ammunition. Mike slammed the suitcase shut and thrust it back into the cupboard. Finn was a trained soldier. He knew how to protect himself if need be. Mike checked the top shelf, but there was nothing there.