Obsidian (7 page)

If Josh were in need of fast cash, then he’d be an easy mark for someone trying to enlist a local to help move whatever merchandise they were transporting. Usually, it only took a flash of green in just the right direction to make someone question their long-held beliefs and morals, and trash them. He’d seen it too many times to count.

McAlvey was right. Shelby’s wharf offered the perfect place for someone wanting to smuggle something without calling attention to them. Bait trucks and cold storage trailers were moving in and out of the area daily. What was one more truck? And no one would be the wiser. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the traffic in the area of the wharf.

He got up from the bed and went to the door, swinging it open an inch or two until he had a clear view of the hallway and part of the dining room. No one in sight. He stepped out into the hall and made his way toward the kitchen, listening for any noise that would alert him that others were about. Through the floorboards above he heard Josh’s heavy footfall and the creak of bedsprings. He must be settling in for the night.

Jamie let himself out the back door, taking care not to let it bang. He picked his way across the lawn, being careful to stick to the shadows while still looking as if he were just out for a walk.

If anyone did spot him he’d just tell them he was restless, but what he was really looking for was a safe place to make phone call.

Following the same path Shelby had taken; he skirted the rocks along the shore. Here the lawn dipped toward the ledges and green grass became rocks and seaweed. Settling himself on an oversized rock he sat still for a moment, listening. It was so very quiet, here with no traffic noises, no hum of civilization, only the sound of the ocean coming ashore.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched out a number, waiting until he heard the sleepy response on the other end.

“Damn it, Rivard! You never heard of calling at a decent hour? I’m on my first time off in thirty-six hours and the next thing I know I have to get out of bed to listen to you ramble on about how you got your sorry butt into another mess.”

Jamie let out a chuckle. “Nice to hear your sweet voice again, too, Kearsage.”

“I suppose you need me to bail you out? What did you do this time? Did your talent for sweet-talking land you on the wrong side of some lady’s husband?”

“Nothing that mild. I need help with something in your own backyard.” He could hear shuffling on the other end. Sounded like he’d managed to get Kearsage wide-awake now.

“You bastard. You’re in Maine and you didn’t even let me know you were coming?”

“As far as you or anyone else is concerned, I’m not in Maine. Got it?”

“Okay. Okay. Got it. But the way I figure it, I still owe you a few for bailing my butt out on that overblown investigation two years ago. So, what do you need?”

“I need to know what you have on two known traffickers sitting off Chandler, Maine. How far the investigation has gone?”

There was silence on the other end for a long moment. “Man, what have you gotten yourself into this time, Rivard? I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about. The only thing I can share is that we’ve been ordered to keep an eye for two known Miami operatives. Two guys by the name of Taimon and Caruso. We’ve checked on it, but if they're around they're keeping a low profile.” Gone was the sarcastic flip in his voice and replaced with a quiet undercurrent of tension.

“You mean you can’t tell me what is going on. I understand. I’ll handle it on my own here.” The last thing he wanted to do was get Kearsage nailed for giving out classified information. He owed him that much. Kearsage had done his own fair share of bailing him out a time or two.

“I wish there was more I could tell you, but I can’t.” Again, he hesitated. “If something changes I’ll let you know.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Kearsage’s lack of information didn’t settle too well with him. He trusted him enough to know that unless it was something huge, he wouldn’t let him walk into it without enough information to cover him. But it appeared that Kearsage either didn’t know what was going on or he was under orders not to say. Either way, it didn’t look very good for him.

He hung up the phone, feeling more confused than he had before. He had way too few answers to the questions at hand.

Jamie rubbed at the piercing sensation climbing up his neck and numbing his brain.

They were looking for two known operatives in Casco Bay? What were the chances of them being here when he was looking for a connection with David's investigation? That was just too big of a what-if for him.

He’d heard enough about Caruso and Taimon to know they had ties to any number of smuggling operations along the Atlantic seaboard with varying loyalties. Caruso was the brain of the two; smart enough to carry out the details, but not quite smart enough to set them up. Taimon was the brawn. What he lacked in logical thinking, he made up for in sheer size.

Neither of them were the friendly types. They had a history of trafficking in anything from artifacts to drugs and they especially didn’t like it when someone got in their way. If Taimon and Caruso had ventured this far north, then they had to have a very good reason for being here. They were more the warm weather types; sharks that used the Key’s warm waters and the hidden outlaw mentality to make it easy for them to disappear when needed.

He sighed. Aside from those two, all he had to go on were unconfirmed reports of large amounts of money surfacing in the area within the last six months. Whatever it was that they were moving, it was most likely being transported by boat to the harbor and then moved inland for distribution.

Still, he had no hard information on the drops and how they were being made and transported. They could have been coming in by seagull for all he knew. He was flying blind here. He had less to go on than those TV detectives who were able to solve a crime in thirty minutes.

He didn’t know who or what, or even, where or when. All he had were unconfirmed reports and the speculation McAlvey had gathered from an unreliable source, a petty criminal being held on burglary charges in the Cumberland County Jail in Portland.

He had nothing except the discussion he’d just overheard and Kearsage’s reluctance to talk.

He’d solved cases with less.

Preliminary information told him very little about what to expect, but when money suddenly started surfacing in a small town it usually meant something big. He’d hate to suspect Shelby or her brother, but for now he couldn’t rule out anyone or anything. At least not until he had more information.

He slipped the cell phone back onto his waistband and got up off the rock. His muscles ached as he headed back across the lawn toward the house. Shelby Teague had been an interesting surprise. He liked surprises.

Too bad she was off limits.

Every piece of the puzzle he’d managed to acquire told him that Shelby was also a possible suspect, at least until proven otherwise. He had to admit, though, she was convincing as a widow struggling to make a go of a business in an unpredictable market—a woman protective of her brother who was knee deep in his own motives and debt—with an uncle who was hiding his own secrets.

Slipping through the back door, he moved down the hall and let himself back into his room. There were bound to be endless scars under her cover. Even if he did find her interesting, he wasn’t willing to complicate it by giving in to a passing attraction. There was too much at stake. There was too much to lose for both of them.

If she was hiding was a hurtful past, he couldn’t be the one to help her with her deal with it. He had his own past he was fighting. Besides, he needed to stay focused for David’s sake.

His last words to McAlvey echoed in his brain. McAlvey could be damned certain he’d see him again once this was through. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be railroaded into giving up on finding out what had happened to David. If there was a connection between this case and David, then Jamie was going to do his damnedest to find out what the connection was.

But there was something about this whole case that raised the hairs on his neck. He wasn’t one to get spooked easily, but this was just too strange, even for him. He had too many personal connections to the case. There was David’s death and McAlvey's guarded request that he be the one to take it on, even though he was on medical leave. And then, there was his connection to Maine.

It wasn’t a secret. He just wasn’t in the habit of dragging up painful memories. If McAlvey had sent him here because of his connection to Maine, then maybe he knew the reason why he hadn’t been back in years. And if McAlvey did know about his past, then that was yet another unsolved piece to this puzzle.

Jamie lay down on the quilt, running his hand along the crevice where the blanket met the pillow. The 9mm gun he’d placed beneath his pillow was still safe and secure. The chances of his needing it were slim—probably not—but it was always best to be prepared.

He yawned as the events of the day caught up with him. His leg throbbed again, reminding him that it was not yet completely healed. The doctors had said it would be some time before the effects of the injury went away altogether. He propped the leg up on an extra pillow he’d found in the top of the closet and settled in. He had to get some rest.

He had a lot to do in the morning and the first thing was to get himself some new boots.

Caruso watched the lights in the distance coming on one-by-one in Chandler’s nestled little harbor.

The phone rang under the muffled confines of his coat. Caruso flipped the receiver and punched the button, holding it up to his ear.

“Yeah?”

“Rivard is there. You know what to do?” Caruso recognized the old man's voice.

“Yes, but why don’t—” But his words were cut short.

“I want him taken care of as quickly and quietly as possible. Do you understand?”

“Why don’t we just set him up? Let him take the blame and let the authorities catch him and deal with him? It’ll give us time to get away and no one will know a thing.”

The voice on the other end of the line was silent for a long moment.

“I want it done as planned. Do not change course. I want him gone, but I don’t want to make anyone more suspicious than they already are and risk having him figure out what’s going on. When this is done Rivard will find himself a casualty of a nasty accident.”

“Understood. We’ll take care of it. No problem.”

“See to it,” the old man said.

The line went dead leaving Caruso with the receiver buzzing in his ear. He punched the button to end the call and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. They were set now. They knew what they had to do. And there would be no mistakes.

Like the night before, the sky was deep black with little moon to light the way. She’d been here so many times she could have walked the path in her sleep. But even with her familiarity she was unsettled by the cloak of night surrounding her.

The air was warm and fragrant and the rich smell of juniper lent sweetness to the air. Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she walked down the twin-rutted lanes of the narrow dirt road. The normal chirp of the birds was eerily absent.

As she got closer to the beach she could hear the waves washing ashore. The rhythmic in and out of the water made her more at ease and she found herself thinking of Jamie Rivard.

Something about him was different than any other men she’d met. Maybe it was his upbringing. His manners and voice held the strains of southern genteel, even if his style of dress and transportation was more on the wild side.

The man was a contradiction. But more importantly, the man was distracting.

How he’d managed to get her uncle to hire him was beyond her. People around Chandler were known for distrusting outsiders. But her uncle knew that as well as any other. She tended to forget that it wasn’t that long ago her uncle had come to Maine to help them after her father’s death.

In the darkness, she let out a sigh as she pictured Jamie Rivard. She considered herself a good judge of character, but he didn’t fit any stereotype she’d ever seen. He was friendly, yet standoffish with a swaggering confidence that he countered with a boyish charm.

And then there was the question of the limp. That slight hesitation that he tried to hide hadn’t been noticeable during their first meeting. But since his arrival at the house she’d watched him. She’d seen the hitch in his stride and the uneasy hesitation when he stood up. He disguised his discomfort well, but she’d seen enough to know that something about his leg wasn’t right. Maybe it was tied to the scar? It was a new scar, still raised and discolored. Whatever had happened to him, hadn’t happened very long ago.

She didn’t consider herself naïve. She’d gone to college. There had been other relationships before her marriage. But there was something different about the way he looked at her. Somewhere beneath that cocky exterior was a man she might like to meet. She just wasn’t sure how to find him. She certainly wasn’t looking for a permanent romance, but it’d be nice to have someone interesting around for as long as it lasted.

Her feet hit soft beach sand and she trudged on, sinking into the loose coarse earth. She walked close to the shoreline until she came to the point where the ledges stuck out into the ocean like a darkened spear.