Dangerous Waters (27 page)

Finn kept the marine lab’s dive program running despite the skeletal staff. He’d roped in a post-doc from the lab and Scotty Wolf, the hotel owner, both experienced divers, to partner some of his students. Paid them in cash and beer. He’d had a crap day, but he’d gotten everything done. He didn’t quit and he didn’t fail. Except when it came to a five-foot-ten-inch brunette with eyes of steel.

Now his brother was home. Released without charge.

They climbed into the boat, Brent, then Thom and Laura. Finn was so grateful to have Brent home he was willing to do anything to try to re-forge the bond they’d once shared. He cast off and buzzed them across the inlet, the sharp wind a welcome blast of ice that helped keep him awake after another near-as-damn-it sleepless night.

Brent wore the same clothes he’d worn yesterday morning. The lines around his eyes were grooves of fatigue edged with grief. Finn tied up the boat, watched Thom help Laura safely out.

“Time to go,” Finn ordered Brent, who hadn’t yet moved or spoken.

Instead of objecting the way he’d expected, Brent stepped out onto the dock and stood there. Shoulders stooped.

Lost.

“I’m going to see Laura home.” Thom touched her arm, and Finn’s eyes widened. It looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten lucky last night, but Thom might actually have gotten
lucky
.

Unlike him.

Don’t think about Holly.

He stepped closer to his brother. “You need to thank Laura for getting you out of that hellhole.”

Brent stared dully at the weatherworn planks of the dock.

“It’s OK.” Laura pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and smiled at him with tired eyes. It had been a long twenty-four hours. She adjusted her briefcase then Thom took her bag from her. “Astonishingly, I was actually glad to help.” She turned on her heel and strode away. Thom followed with a lightness in his step Finn hadn’t seen in years. Someone was coming out of this mess more intact than when they’d started, and for that he was glad. He’d even be content with his own fucked-up love life if he could ease the heartbreak that pummeled Brent like Pacific rollers.

Brent started up the gangplank with a weary tread. A couple of the guys were leaning on the railings watching them but saying nothing. Finn gave them a stare that told them to mind their own business. Thom and Laura veered left into the shop, but Brent ignored everyone, arrowed straight for home, slipping into the dense woods with the ease of a man long adjusted to the shadows.

“You should give her something for helping you. Most people would have let you rot,” Finn called out as he kept pace. He wasn’t letting him go this time.

Brent snapped off the top of a sapling as he snaked along the trail—the only indication he’d heard Finn bitching at him. He stumbled over a fallen pine—looking exhausted and worn. They’d come this way so many times as kids, Finn felt like he’d been catapulted back to simpler times. Grimmer times, when surviving a beating had been the only thing that mattered.

Given the current state of their lives, maybe he was mistaken to think they’d moved on. They got to the cove where they’d grown up and both stood looking at the small patch of wilderness that they could rightfully call their own. Brent’s log cabin sat up on the hill like a testament of resilience and strength against all the bad things that could happen in life.

A shiver passed over his shoulders when he saw how Brent was looking at the place. With loathing and revulsion.

“You gonna burn it down the way you burned down the shack?”

Flat eyes regarded him.

“Dad would enjoy that.” Finn got in Brent’s face. Shoved him, wanting a response. Got nothing. “Dad would have laughed his drunken ass off if he saw you burn this place to ashes and all your paintings with it.”

“What the hell do you know about my paintings?” The first flash of fire out of the embers of grief.

“I saw them when the cops searched the place.”

Brent’s eyes swung to the studio on the first floor.

“I recognized them from when we were kids. You were always good.” Emotion started to strangle his throat. “I can’t believe how great you’ve become.”

“I’m not great.” Brent’s lip curled. “People are just stupid enough to pay top dollar for a bit of paint splashed on a canvas.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Don’t tell me what I believe!” His voice rang off the ocean, angry and loud. At least he was feeling now, although that might not be such a good thing.

“Dad used to tell you they were a waste of paint. Even as a kid you knew better. You were smarter. Kinder. Better than he was.”

Brent swallowed. Finn watched him flex his fists and hoped he wasn’t about to get a meaty jaw sandwich. Although he’d take it. Hell, if it got his mind off Holly long enough to get some sleep, he’d welcome it.

The wind blasted them with a lick of fury.

“Whoever killed her put the knife on my bed.” Air crackled around them. The agony in his eyes intensified. “I met people like that in prison. They liked playing mind games. They liked hurting people—women—more than killing them.” Brent closed his eyes. “Did she suffer?” His voice broke.

“She died quick.” A hell of a lot quicker than their father had. Finn curved his hand over his brother’s shoulder and squeezed. “One stab wound to the heart. She died instantly.” Finn didn’t want to think of her naked or dead. She’d been his friend, and his last memory of her was savage. Brent didn’t need any of that in his head. He had nightmares enough.

His brother’s eyes flashed open, so like his own but with a darkness deep inside. “I never wanted to hurt her. I told her over and over to move on, to find someone else.” He released a quiet snarl. “She waited for me, but I wasn’t the same boy she’d loved. I tried to make it work, but the demons…” He shrugged out of Finn’s reach. “They never let go.” He faced the ocean. Their ocean. “She deserved better than a two-bit convict who couldn’t stand the sight of his own face in the mirror.” His features twisted. “But if I hadn’t pushed her away she might still be alive.”

“If I hadn’t fallen asleep when we were kids, if I hadn’t told him to go fuck himself, things might have been different, and she’d probably still be alive, and you wouldn’t have spent years in prison.”

Brent blew out a breath through his nose. And shook his head. “I was always gonna kill the sonofabitch. If I’d been smarter, I’d have just made sure no one found the body.”

Finn didn’t correct him. Saying that was easier than admitting the truth. Brent had loved their dad. In a perverse way, Finn had loved him too. That was the power of being a parent. Didn’t matter what shit they did to you, you still loved them.

It was a sick evolutionary joke.

A figure stood on the road behind the house. Thomas. Waiting for Finn.

Finn put his hand across his brother’s back, half expecting that punch in the jaw. “You going to be all right?”

Brent gave a choked laugh. “I doubt it.”

“You gonna do anything stupid?”

“Probably.” But Brent smiled, and Finn forced back the emotions that threatened.

“Don’t forget to thank Laura.”

Brent said nothing.

“The biggest painting you have should do it.”

Brent ground out a reluctant laugh. “If I find out who killed Gina, she can have them all.”

Finn wanted to tell him not to be stupid, not to throw away his life. But what would he do in Brent’s place? He knew exactly what he’d do.

He left Brent standing there and went to meet Thom on the gravel road. “You not staying with Laura?” Finn asked pointedly.

Thom’s back stiffened, but there was a glint in his eyes. “I was just escorting a lady home.”

“Sure you were.” At least Thom was giving the thought of a relationship with Laura a shot. Finn should be ecstatic. Thom and Brent were both clear of the investigation despite someone—presumably Rob—trying to implicate them. And that had been his objective ever since he’d found Len Milbank’s rotting corpse. But inside, he felt as if someone had stolen his heart and replaced it with a clockwork toy that didn’t really work properly.

“I can’t believe Rob Fitzgerald had anything to do with this.” He’d worked with the guy pretty much every day for a year and a half and he hadn’t had a clue.

“You OK?” Thom asked him suddenly, a worried look in his intelligent gray eyes.

“Yeah,” he lied. “Let’s go get a drink.”

They walked silently as the dusk settled. Shoes crunching gravel. They got to the hotel just in time to see the cops trailing up the front steps. Finn braced himself to face Holly, but as he scanned the group, he realized she wasn’t there. Where was she? Chasing a lead alone? The thought made him crazy.

Malone jumped down the steps and approached him, eyes flashing rage. He got right in his face. Finn stood his ground.

“What the hell were you
thinking
?” Malone yelled.

Finn held up his hands in front of him, eyeing the other man warily. He liked cops—one in particular—but he knew it didn’t take much to provoke an arrest when they were pissed. Malone was red-mist pissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Malone smacked his arm. Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Touch me again and it’ll be the last time.” He held Malone’s gaze. Frowned. “Where’s Holly?”

The punch to the gut caught him unexpectedly. Next thing he knew he was on his front in the dirt, Malone trying to get the cuffs on him. He flipped the guy on his back and had him pinned in under a second. “Where the fuck is Holly?”

The other officers rushed over. None of them looked happy. He climbed off Malone, figuring he’d just earned himself a night in the lockup.

Holly’s boss, the fucker, stood there with something like empathy in his gaze.

What the hell?

Malone got to his feet, looking like he wanted to punch him again, but Finn kept his eye on the man. He’d made a vow when he was thirteen that he wasn’t letting any asshole lay a hand on him. Not without a fight.

“Rob Fitzgerald’s been making some unsubstantiated accusations about witnessing Sergeant Rudd having a liaison with
someone
involved in the investigation.” Furlong’s gaze told him to put a lid on anything he wanted to say. “Sergeant Rudd took herself off the team so she didn’t jeopardize the case.”

Rob, the weasel, had been spying on them. The thought turned Finn’s stomach. He wanted to know what else Fitzgerald been involved in, but more importantly, he wanted to know about Holly. “What does that mean?” This case meant everything to her. Being primary meant everything. “Where is she?”

“She headed back to Victoria. Her stuff is gone.” This from Rachel Messenger, who bit her lip, looking upset.

Thom went white. “She promised to look at Bianca’s murder.”

“Well, she’ll have time to do that now, won’t she.” Furlong’s derision flicked like a whip.

Finn turned away. She’d warned him they couldn’t do what they’d done last night. Told him, and he’d done it anyway.

“Will she lose her job over this?” His voice was gruff. He felt hollow. She loved her job. She would never forgive him for this. He was nothing compared to her career. He was obviously nothing, period. It stung that she’d left without a word.

“Fitzgerald wants to make a deal with us, giving up Dryzek and Ferdinand’s drug running operation in exchange for immunity—”

“From murder?” Finn bit out. He could barely draw breath. Thom looked aghast. Rob had seemed like a decent guy. Neither of them had had a clue.

“He’s not copping to murder, yet. Just drug running.” Furlong shook his head. “I’ve made sure he understands the deal involves keeping his mouth shut about every other aspect of this investigation or the whole agreement is blown.”

“So that’s it? She’s just gone?” Finn didn’t know what he was supposed to do now, but he was wrong about the clockwork heart. This thing being ripped from his chest hurt too much not to be real.

The cops turned away. Malone looked like he wanted to punch him again.

“The first one was free, but the next one you have to pay for,” Finn warned him.

Thom put his hand on Finn’s shoulder. “This isn’t what you need right now.”

No, what he needed was Holly on his doorstep, or in his bed, and a week without interruption. “Let’s go.”

On the other side of the inlet, he told Thom he needed to check on something quickly. He sprinted to his cabin, blood pumping with hope as he burst into his bedroom. But the room was empty, the bed made. No note. No phones messages. No Holly.

He snagged a bottle of scotch off the shelf in the kitchen, trying not to remember what they’d done in this very space. But because of his weakness, she was gone for good, and unable to face the memories, he headed to Thom’s, determined to get completely and totally wasted.

Mike sat at the bar and stared into his beer. It was quiet. No one was laughing. Just grim and sober when all everyone really wanted to do was get drunk and forget. A week ago his biggest problem had been the frustration of not being able to get away from this boring little town and maybe finding the stamina to keep up with Gina in bed so he didn’t come across as a dud. Now Gina was dead. Dryzek was on the warpath looking for things that had fuck all to do with him, and cops were crawling over every inch of town. They should have made him feel safe. Didn’t.

He swigged back another mouthful of beer.

He needed to get out of town, but until Dryzek was dead or in prison, he daren’t leave his parents unprotected. He pushed the bottle away and shoved to his feet. He wasn’t doing them any favors sitting here. He headed for his truck across the road by the hardware store, but something caught his attention outside the motel. He found himself peeking around the side of the building just in time to see a jean-clad Holly Rudd walk into a room and close the door behind her.

He frowned. Why was she staying there? Were the cops doing some sort of undercover operation?

His phone rang. The burner.
Dryzek
. Uncertainty had him digging in his toes. He hovered on the verge of knocking on Holly’s door and confessing everything. That he’d been Gina’s lover. That Gina had told him about the supposed shipwreck and he’d foolishly told Milbank. That he’d stolen scuba gear from the lab so they could go take a look, but Milbank had never shown up. That he’d broken into Finn’s and Brent’s places, stolen Finn’s gun. But he hadn’t killed anyone. Hadn’t run the cop off the road.

Who’d believe him? It sounded insane. Like someone was setting him up. And no way did he want to lose possession of his gun until Dryzek was locked up.

Another option was to tell Dryzek there was a cop set up in the motel. And from what he could see, she was alone. The barkeep was in Remy’s pocket, so getting into the room would be a cinch. Maybe the gift of a cop would be enough to keep Dryzek off his back. Maybe a tip-off to the police about what was going down at exactly the right moment would result in Dryzek and Ferdinand going down for a long stretch of time. Or maybe Holly would do something he seemed incapable of and shoot the bastards dead. Either way, it didn’t seem as if he had a lot to lose by making her a sacrifice. Except maybe his soul.

Cassy called back five hours after they’d last spoken. She sounded out of breath. “Sorry it took me so long. I had a serial rapist come in who couldn’t wait. I’ve been waiting to get this guy for a long time and think we finally have his DNA.”

Holly couldn’t speak. She felt as if she’d been stuck in limbo since they’d last spoken, a thousand possible scenarios running through her head. She hadn’t called her father. She needed to talk to Cassy before she figured out how to deal with any of this.

“Finn and Brent Carver are full brothers and don’t share anything with you or the UNSUB except carnal relations, apparently. Well, only in the case of the former, unless you have something to tell me involving two hunky brothers and every woman’s fantasy threesome.”

“What?” Relief expanded inside her at the news. She lay on the bed and held back the tears that wanted to pour out and drown her.

“I’m disgusting, I know, but I want details. Is Finn as hot as his photo suggests? His brother is smokin’. And, honey, I’m getting desperate. I haven’t had a date in weeks, possibly months, and he looks gorgeous—”

“I think I’m in love. With Finn. Not his brother.” She sucked in a shocked breath as Cassy shut up. “I really messed this up. I’ve probably lost my job, and he’s never going talk to me again.” And really, that was the least of her problems even though it was the one that made her feel like a lead weight was pressed down on her chest. “And apparently I have a half brother in town.” She sat up. God, the implications. She pulled up the crime scene photos from the Edgefield case. “I think I might be a girl called Leah Edgefield.”

How weird was that
?

“What?” Cassy asked.

“Thirty years ago there was a double murder in this town. A woman, who looked so much like me her husband fainted when we met, and her infant son were bludgeoned to death.”
Or was he?
Holly thought suddenly
.
They had no DNA reference for the baby, just the assumption he was Bianca’s son because he was the correct age and had been found in her arms. But his features had been crushed by a hammer—
why
? Had it been a random act of violence or calculated illusion? She heard Cassy typing in details. “Her daughter, a little girl called Leah Edgefield, disappeared on the same day. Everyone assumed she was taken by a cougar or wolf.”

“Heck, you do look like her.”

Something was cracking open inside her chest. A wild and terrible theory. “I need to test their DNA. The woman and the baby.” Bianca Edgefield could be her mother. She looked at the image and tried to imagine that scenario. Tried to imagine Thomas as her father. Couldn’t.

“It’s possible the murder has nothing to do with you and your half brother,” Cassy stated.

But it was a hell of a coincidence.

She licked her dry lips. “I’m going to call Dad. Tell him what you found. Ask him to order exhumations of the bodies of Bianca and Tommy Edgefield.” Assuming they hadn’t been cremated.

She flicked through the files Edgefield had given her. “Jesus. He got his and the daughter’s DNA profiles worked up in the early nineties—from her umbilical cord. He listed it with the BC Coroners Service.” Her throat convulsed. She could imagine him, channeling his energy, trying to find his daughter, never giving up.

How would he feel if the daughter didn’t want to be found?

“I’m sending you the case file.” She looked at her watch. It was ten o’clock. “Go home. It’s waited thirty years. It’ll wait another day.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You must be tired.” And Holly wasn’t ready to face the answers to these questions.

There was an odd silence. “You don’t have to do this, Holly. I can send Furlong the DNA from the bed sheets, and we can do a voluntary sample collection and whittle down the candidates. He doesn’t need to know about the match. No one needs to know,” Cassy insisted.

“
I
need to know. Thomas Edgefield needs to know. I need the truth.” And if Bianca was her mother, she wanted to be the sort of daughter who cared enough to hunt down her killer. The sort of cop who sought justice, whatever the cost—the way her father had taught her. “Maybe Bianca Edgefield had another baby before she met Thomas, or maybe the whole thing was to cover up the death of that little baby boy.” She touched the photo of his poor, battered cheek.

“I’ll work on it, but it might not be as simple as it sounds. Techniques have changed. It might take time to match the profiles or I might need to retest.”

“Whatever you can get, Cass. I’ll talk to Dad and get to work on that angle.”

They said good-bye.

Her phone rang and she froze. The stupid girlish fool inside her hoped it was Finn, but it was her father, and she couldn’t put this off any longer.

“Dad.”

“What’s going on, Holly? I spoke to someone who said you’d taken yourself off the case because some guy made lewd accusations against you.”

“They weren’t lewd, Dad. He was right. I crossed the line. Got involved with someone who was a witness.” This had been her worst nightmare earlier. But she felt numb. And had bigger issues to deal with. “I messed up, Dad, but I need to talk to you about something else.”

She heard him splutter but ignored it. “We found DNA on the murdered woman’s sheet. Cassy did me a favor and ran it and came up with some odd results.”

“Why are we even talking about this if you’re off the case?” She could hear the fury in his voice. She’d let him down. Good cops did not sleep with witnesses. Well, she’d done it and now they had to deal.

“Cassy ran it against all the databases and,” she took a deep breath, “it turns out I have a maternal half brother out here in Bamfield. And you’re not actually my biological father.”

She heard a whoosh of air as if he’d collapsed onto a sofa. She hadn’t realized she’d been hoping for some sort of outraged bluster or flat-out miracle, that this was all a terrible misunderstanding and Cassy—brilliant Cassy—had actually made a mistake.

“Oh, god, Holly.” The silence stretched out with growing horror. “I never meant for you to find out like this.”

She felt as if she’d been shot. “I was adopted?”

“Oh, god. Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”

“Was I adopted?” Her voice was sharp, angry, but she didn’t know how to do this any other way.

“Yes. We adopted you from an orphanage in Calgary when you were little. Your mother…” She heard him crying and felt her own tears stream down her cheeks. “I wanted to tell you, but she wouldn’t let me. She just kept saying you were ours now.
Ours
.” Great wracking sobs wrenched her heart. “I wanted to tell you, but when she died, she made me promise I wouldn’t. She said we needed each other more than ever. She worried we’d drift apart.”

“Oh, Daddy, I would never drift away from you. You’re more likely to disown me because I have totally screwed up my life.”

“You always felt like my own. From the moment I held you in my arms, you were
mine
,” he said grimly.

“But you lied to me my whole life. The baby photos…”

“Your mother knew you’d need proof. She used photos from some obscure relative in France. She worried you were going to remember where you came from and start asking questions—the idea tore her up.”

“I don’t have any memories apart from us together as a family.” Emotions churned, swamping her, making her wish none of this had ever happened. But then she wouldn’t have met Finn, and although she wished they’d met under other circumstances, she wouldn’t miss knowing him for anything.

But her memories felt like a huge swindle, a massive con. How could she trust her dad again? Then she remembered exactly who she was dealing with. He was the most honest person she’d ever met. He’d never deceive her unless he thought it was for her own good. She just needed him to realize she was a grown-up now, not an abandoned child.

He cleared his throat. “This guy you got
involved
with, is it Finn Carver?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love him?”

She bit her lip. No more lies. “Yeah, I love him.” She braced herself for a lecture.

“Then don’t waste it. The job, that’s one thing. But love—” She was crying so much she couldn’t see, but her dad was speaking fiercely, “True love is rare. Don’t let him go. Not even for the job, not if he’s as special as people say he is.”

She nodded into the phone. “I won’t, but now I need you to do something for me, and it’s going to be hard. Really hard. I need you to order the exhumations of Bianca Edgefield and a baby who was found with her, believed murdered.”

“Why would I do this?” He was back in cop mode.

“I think she might be my birth mother. There’s someone else running around this town sharing my maternal DNA, and given how much I look like this woman who was murdered thirty years ago, I have to assume it’s a possibility, right? So she either had
another
kid who’s now living in Bamfield…” Looking at the timeline of when Bianca met and married Thomas Edgefield and when she died at age twenty-four, it wasn’t likely.

“Or…” the idea that had started to nag at the corners of her consciousness seemed so far-fetched, so outlandish she could barely put it into words, but she needed to say it out loud to hear her father’s reaction, “…someone killed her to steal her baby and replaced him with another dead infant.”

The silence was heavy. Not a good sign.

“Maybe their baby died of natural causes or maybe they killed it, but whatever happened, I was excess baggage. Or maybe they sold me, hell, maybe they sold us both. I don’t
know
.” She took a huge gulp of air to steady her nerves. “But my gut is telling me Bianca’s baby boy is still alive.”

“Oh, jeez.”

“I might be wrong.”

“But you’ve got good instincts. You get them from me.” He laughed, but it was forced and hollow. “You want her murder investigation reopened?”