Dangerous Waters (7 page)

He swigged back a mouthful of beer, hoping to cool off his imagination. “For what it’s worth, I was impressed this morning. I’d rather dive with a novice with grit than an experienced diver with no spine.”

“Are you giving me a compliment, Mr. Carver?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to get into your pants.”

She laughed, but her gaze slid away. “That’s not going to happen. You’ll just have to fantasize. I’m a cop and you are part of this inquiry.”

“Is that the only reason?” His voice came out gruff.

She didn’t answer. The night air was cool around them, but he wasn’t feeling the chill.

“Am I a suspect?”

“I told you earlier. Everyone’s a suspect. Did you find out anything about the ship? What she was called or how long she’s been down there? What she might have been carrying?”

He shook his head. “Coast Guard will probably figure it out in five minutes, but I couldn’t find anything.”

“So you did inquire?”

“I searched online databases and checked out a bunch of maps at the local library and some historical references. I did
not
ask around.”

She pulled a face. That had been her next question.

He wasn’t about to tell her that Gina might have seen what he was up to. No way would a sweet woman like Gina skewer a guy with a big-ass dive knife. And if she had been going to murder anyone it would have been his brother, years ago.

“Did you recognize anything about the equipment the dead man wore?”

Finn tipped back his beer and took another icy swallow. “No.”

She was eyeing him sharply. “Could his equipment have come from the marine station?”

“Sure.” Finn shrugged. “But his tanks were missing, which would be the main thing I’d recognize.” He was very careful about tanks and regulators, not so particular about all the rest. “I’ll do an inventory tomorrow if you want, but we have a lot of equipment and a lost-and-found people dip into. I didn’t recognize the weight belt, but the suit was something I’d have used to make patches.”

“What about the knife?”

“Looked like a thousand other dive knifes.” He got to his feet and took a step toward her. “How was Thom when you left him?”

Her eyes tracked him carefully. “Upset.”

“He ask you to reopen the investigation into his wife’s murder?”

She nodded. Bit her lip.

“I figured.” The silence stretched for a few moments. “He’ll get over it. Believe me, he’s used to disappointment.”

“The professor said you went to live with him after your dad died. When was that?”

Tension crackled between them. Her lower lip looked wide and bee-stung. His gaze hooked there and he couldn’t look away. “Is that part of the investigation, or personal?”

She straightened her shoulders. “There is no
personal
, Mr. Carver.”

He leaned against the railing beside her, not touching, but close enough to unnerve anyone with half a brain. Holly was firing on all neurons and swung around to face him. “When did your father die?”

Old familiar anger made his chest tighten. “Nineteen eighty-nine. I was thirteen.”

Busy eyes watched his face. He didn’t kid himself she was besotted. “You must miss him.”

“I hated the sonofabitch.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“We don’t all get to grow up in happy families, Holly.” He clenched his fist against his side. “Count your blessings.”

“I do.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” He wanted to know more about her. Wanted to figure out what made her tick. Wanted to distract her.

She shook her head. “I’m an only child.” Her mouth pulled down as she looked up into the night sky. “Spoiled rotten by loving parents. My dad’s a cop too. Mom died, almost two years ago now.” She looked a little lost when she mentioned her mother.

“You miss her.”

She nodded. Then she looked pissed, as if she hadn’t meant to tell him a damn thing. He took another swallow of beer to stop himself doing anything stupid, like trying to find out how that plump lower lip of hers tasted.

She switched the subject. “Has the professor always been so…”

“Messed up?” Finn nodded. “Ever since he found his wife and child with their heads smashed in, he’s clung to the slippery edge of sanity. The only things that keep him going are his research, searching for the killer, and maybe finding out what happened to his little girl.” His eyes swept her features. “You really
do
look like Bianca Edgefield, you know.”

“You knew her?”

“I was six when she was murdered, but she was one of those women who always made a fuss over us kids. Bought us bags of candy and ruffled our hair.”

He’d liked her. Everyone else had treated him like he was stupid. Thom had fixed that.

“What did your mother think of her?”

“My mother?” A strand of her hair had come loose in the breeze, and he tucked it carefully behind her ear. She looked like she was thinking about removing his balls with nail clippers, but she held still. “My mother wasn’t around.”

“Where was she?”

“I have no idea. She took off when I was little and never came back.”

He watched as another note was added to her mental to-do list. Did she think his mom hadn’t really run away from her dickhead alcoholic prick of a husband, leaving her kids to his nonexistent mercy? “She mailed a postcard a few weeks after she left. Postmarked Florida.”

She nodded, but he could tell she was going to check it out anyway. What did he care?

“Did you see anyone on the way to the dive site last night?”

“Nope.”

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?” Back to rigid cop mode.

“No.” He frowned. “But I
did
write our coordinates on the dive sheets in case we didn’t come back. It’s SOP.”

“You wrote them down that first time too?”

“Sure. There was a sea otter sighting, which was unusual in that bay. We checked it out but didn’t find anything. Decided to do a quick dive while we were out there so the trip wasn’t a total bust.”

“No surface crew?”

“No surface crew either time. Thomas was emphatic the ship-wreck remain a secret. Nudibranchs are more active at night—hence the night dive.” He wished she was watching him so closely because she wanted him, not because she wanted to catch him lying. Heat spread through his body. Muscles tensing with unwanted attraction. Plenty of good-looking women came through the marine lab, but he didn’t believe in abusing his authority. He’d be quite happy for Holly to abuse hers, though. He wanted her. But he had to make sure she stayed far, far away from them all.

“Do you have any theories about who the victim might be?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.

“Right. Thanks for the information.” She stepped away from him as if he’d given her some big clue in this investigation.

“Holly?”

She paused on the top step.

“Are you involved with anyone now?”

“No.” Her eyes glinted suspiciously at the reminder he’d overheard her earlier conversation with her boss. Too bad.

He raised his bottle. “Well, if you ever want to go diving when you’re off duty, let me know.”

“I’m not looking for a relationship, Mr. Carver. I’m here to solve a murder.”

He opened his front door to go inside. “Who said anything about a relationship? I’m just offering a no-strings recreational dive.”

A light came on from the next cabin and an icy glow washed over her features. “Good night, Mr. Carver,” she said with remarkable composure for a woman who was angry enough to spit nails.

He grinned. “’Night, Sergeant.”

Bianca Edgefield’s body was rotting beneath rich prairie grass, but the woman who strode to the police 4x4 parked on the side of the road was her doppelganger. The gossips had been right, and a shot of unholy fear stabbed through muscle to bone.

How many times did the bitch have to die?

Hatred stirred for that pretty face, those long, graceful limbs that liked to open wide and tempt the weak. Edging closer, silently weighing the possibility of killing her now, again. It was quiet. There were few people around. This might be the only chance. Another inch closer as the woman spoke into her police radio. Eyes shot to the cabin where Finn Carver lived and found the man watching from the window. Too close. That big bastard was sneaky and dangerous and couldn’t be trusted.

Easing back into the shadows, one with the night. Patience was a virtue. Good things came to those who wait. The cop drove away, and a branch cracked in the deep, dark wood.

Maybe the cop would be gone by tomorrow. Maybe she wouldn’t dig. But
if
she stayed,
if
she started to dig, she was dead.

Lights from the houses across the inlet glistened in the water. It was full dark now, twenty-four hours since they’d found that body. Exhaustion grated along Finn’s nerves, but he couldn’t put this off any longer. He headed down to the dock and climbed into the rowboat. He wanted to figure out who the victim was before the cops did—only one person to ask. Trouble was that person hadn’t spoken to him in years.

The dip of oars in the water was the only sound even though it wasn’t late. Bamfield-west was quiet, and unless there was a poker game tonight, most people would be tucked up in front of their satellite TVs, nursing a cold one.

The sea was calm, saving her energy for her next blast of destruction. A whale surfaced only a few feet away, releasing a blast of spray that showered Finn with fine droplets of water.

“Son of a—” He held his breath until it dove beneath him and the boat again. Wasn’t much that could creep up on him, and it was ironic that something so large did it effortlessly. He carried on rowing, glad for the adrenaline rush that fired up his nerves.

He tied up to the public dock but kept his face in the shadows as he moved swiftly along the village boardwalk. Up the road, past the Coast Guard station. The ship wasn’t back yet. He figured they’d be out at Crow Point for another day or so, protecting the wreck, making sure they got all their evidence—evidence and information he didn’t have access to.

He started jogging along the gravel road, not needing lights or signposts to guide his way. He knew it, the way a salmon recognized home.

There was nothing but forest around him, with the occasional house buried deep in the woods. There were hidden trails, but tonight it felt necessary to use the road. Five minutes later he came to a massive two-story log cabin topped with cedar shingles.

It was a house no ex-con should be able to afford.

No law-abiding ex-con.

A shiver of unease stroked his spine.

The driveway was level and graveled, not pitted and overgrown the way it had been when they were boys. The shack had burned down years ago—a pyre of childhood memories. He ignored the ripple of antipathy that rose up inside him and the bombardment of images that flashed through his mind as he walked down that driveway. It was all ancient history now.

There were no lights shining on the property; Brent might not even be here.

He circled to the back of the house through the woods, watching for signs of movement. A flicker of red glowed on the porch that faced the Pacific in a head-on dare.

That was how his brother faced every challenge in his troubled, rage-filled life.

Finn stepped out of the woods and approached the bottom of the steps. The red glow burned brighter for a second. A cigarette.

“Figured you’d turn up sooner or later.”

Two years later to be exact. They hadn’t spoken since he quit the military. The day Brent had been released from prison, Finn and Thom had turned up to bring him home. Brent had wanted nothing to do with them. Finn had tried to talk to him a few times since but had been constantly rebuffed. It had gotten to the stage where it simply hurt too much to try to repair their tattered relationship, even if he’d known how.

“How’ve you been, Brent?”

A harsh laugh cracked the shadows. “I’ve been great, Finn. Fucking great. How was the army? Kill anyone?”

Anger simmered too close to the surface. “I did what I had to do.”

“What you were ordered to do.” Bitterness laced his brother’s tone.

“We
both
did what we had to do.”

The scrape of a chair grated across the deck as his brother climbed to his feet. “Is that your version of forgiveness? I don’t need your fucking forgiveness.”

“My
forgiveness
? You
saved
me.” Their father had beaten Finn unconscious with an iron bar. If it hadn’t been for Brent, he’d be dead. Worse, because Finn had been unconscious for much of the attack, the prosecuting attorney at Brent’s trial had created enough doubt in the jurors’ minds to suggest Brent might have been responsible for Finn’s injuries too. But Finn knew exactly who’d hurt him, and guilt expanded in his chest every time he saw his brother. Most days it almost suffocated him.

Waves washed against the nearby beach—the sound so reminiscent of childhood, he choked. “You’re the one who wouldn’t let me visit you in prison. You’re the one who shut me out.” Finn stood, breathing hard. Thirty seconds of togetherness and they’d said everything that needed to be said.

“I should’ve just let him hammer away at you, you runty little bastard.” The red glow settled malevolently back into the shadows.

“Maybe you should have.” He wasn’t a runty little bastard anymore.

“Get lost. I don’t want you here. I haven’t seen you for half a goddamned lifetime and you turn up like the prodigal son? Get off my fucking land.”

Brent had made it more than clear over the years he wanted nothing to do with him, but he wasn’t running away this time. “Our land,” Finn reminded him grimly. Not that he wanted it. Brent had earned that and more over the years. “I didn’t come here to fight. I am sorry for screwing up your life.”

There was a long, taut silence as shared memories connected them. They didn’t need to say the words; they’d lived through good and bad times by relying on each other. Then Finn had let them both down.

“You had that asshole professor looking out for you. It worked out all right for you in the end.” Brent sounded snide and bitter, just like their old man. His resentment toward Thom had been palpable from the start, and Finn didn’t know if it was because Thom had given him the life they’d both craved or if Brent just didn’t like the man.

“He taught me how to read.” Dyslexia had made him an easy target for bullies at school. Brent had tried to help but hadn’t been much better at reading himself. Finn doubted that had improved in prison.

“And I killed for you. You’re a hell of a lucky guy.”

“Lucky?” His voice cracked and an old embarrassment welled up inside him.

Emotion finally penetrated his brother’s ex-con hide, and Brent let out a deep breath. “You were just a kid. I didn’t want you coming to the prison and seeing that…filth, that ugliness. And by the time I got out, you’d joined the army. And after you came home…” His brother swallowed audibly. “I’m not good to be around, Finn.”

Finn took a step forward.

“Come any closer and I’ll blow your head off.”

Finn’s night vision had kicked in, and the moon had risen over the water. His brother’s face was lined with age and experience. Lean and mean. Beloved and familiar.

“You wouldn’t shoot me.”

A bullet scored the earth to his right.

“I’m not the same stupid asshole who protected you from that fucker. I don’t want you here.” It was the desperation rather than the anger that had Finn backing down.

Finn swallowed the razor blades that lodged in his throat. “I don’t need protecting. Not anymore.”

The harsh breathing eased. “Good.” The cigarette bobbed as he nodded and exhaled. “Good.”

“I found a dead guy in a wreck at Crow Point last night.”

Brent sneered out a laugh. “Should’ve known.”

“Known what?”

“That you’d only come here because you wanted something.”

“You just shot at me, which was exactly the welcome I was expecting. You know anything about that dead body or not?” Brent had connections in low places and, according to Gina, had received enough death threats over the years to pay attention to everything that went down on this part of the island, criminal or legit.

“I haven’t killed anyone recently, if that’s what you’re asking.” There was a feral flash of teeth. “I did get a phone call a couple of days ago asking if a guy called Len Milbank had been over to see me.”

Shit
. Finn didn’t like the direction this was going. “And?”

His brother’s eyes were hooded. “You know who he works for?”

Finn nodded. Len Milbank was an enforcer for Remy Dryzek, a scumbag who ran drugs and drink and anything else that paid, out of Port Alberni. Milbank was also Finn’s best candidate for the person who’d beaten Thom to a pulp two years ago.

“I haven’t seen the bastard in months. Last time Len visited, I broke his arm.”

“Social call?”

Brent’s lips curled up in a half smile. “Well, it wasn’t tea and biscuits.” His expression turned flat.

“You hear anything about a shipwreck out on Crow Point?”

“I haven’t heard anything about nothing.”

And wouldn’t say if he had. Finn looked at the moon and remembered staring at it as a child. That huge silver orb that hung over the midnight sea. He’d often thought about walking into that ocean when he’d been a scared little boy. Brent had saved him. No one had saved Brent.

“The cops are in town asking questions.”

Brent grunted.

“I gotta go.” He turned away.

“Finn.”

He hesitated and looked over his shoulder.

“It was good to see you.” His brother’s face softened for a moment. “Don’t come back.”

“What’ve we got so far?” asked Staff Sgt. Jimmy Furlong.

Full of nervous energy, Holly paced the floor. They’d set up shop in the local hotel on the west side of the inlet. It wasn’t open for the season, but somehow Furlong had persuaded the proprietor to put them up. Easy money because they’d barely see their beds.

“The body has been transported back to Vancouver for autopsy. Coroner figures the TOD is at least four or five days, but he hasn’t given us anything conclusive yet, except that the victim was a mature male Caucasian,” she told the officers clustered around the makeshift conference table.

“All those years of medical school weren’t wasted, then?” Freddy Chastain quipped.

Furlong laughed.

“Corporal Billings accompanied the body to Vancouver and should be back by lunchtime tomorrow,” said Holly. “A professor I know from SFU is going to observe the autopsy in the hopes she can help him identify marks caused by invertebrate predation.” Various faces were pulled.

“Evidence?”

“A weight belt was recovered from the floor of the shipwreck. Murder weapon we assume is the knife still protruding from his chest. Wet suit, knife, and vic’s body are the only evidence we have so far.”

“Witness statements?” Furlong pressed.

“I’ve interviewed the two divers who found the body. Shipped their equipment for a once-over by IFIS in Port Alberni. Professor Thom Edgefield is the director of the Bamfield Marine Science Center; he’s a leading figure in his field. The other guy, Finn Carver, is an ex-Special Forces soldier who is now the dive master for the marine lab. They say they came across the wreck ten days ago when they were looking into an otter sighting. Edgefield claims to have discovered a new species of sea slug while they were down there and that’s why they wanted to keep the site quiet.”

“You’re kidding me.” Furlong shook his head. “I thought I’d heard it all.”

“You believe them?” Jeff Winslow asked.

“It’s a pretty convoluted lie to construct—he even showed me the aquarium he’s set up for the creatures.” She shrugged. “But, like all witnesses, I don’t think they’re telling me everything. The professor is an odd character.” She didn’t want to analyze Finn Carver too much. She didn’t like being attracted to someone involved in an investigation.

“Professor Edgefield is the guy whose wife was murdered?” This from Corporal Messenger, who kept flashing Furlong idolized glances from beneath her lashes. Holly gritted her teeth.

“Yeah.” She forced a smile. “He freaked me out because he thinks I look just like her.”

“Really?” Furlong’s eyes gleamed with interest.

“You do look like her—more than a little.” Corporal Messenger was turning out to be an encyclopedia of knowledge on that particular case. She pulled up an old photo online and Holly blinked. It was like staring in a mirror, except Bianca Edgefield had brown eyes. They even wore their hair the same way.

“Wow.” Jeff Winslow shot glances back and forth.

“He must have had heart failure,” Chastain said seriously. “You’re like her twin.”

Holly felt a little embarrassed at being the center of attention. She knew who her family was and where she came from, but she tried not to remind everyone of it in case they thought she was getting special treatment. “Well, he did faint,” she admitted.