Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) (21 page)

“I can’t feature local fishermen being cozy with an
outsider. But if it’s true, he could’ve been the one who killed Frank Tyson. To
keep him from spilling who paid him to bungle things. Suppose Kevin went to his
dad for help and J.T. paid Tyson to call the fire accidental.”

She scraped her tongue against her teeth. “A big
motive for his murder, preventing Tyson from squealing on him.”

“I can’t see either J.T. or Kevin committing murder
directly. Brandon does work for Meagher. If J.T. knew about the drug dealing,
he could’ve held that over Brandon and forced him to carry out the attacks on
me and to kill Tyson.”

He reached for her hand, enveloping its softness. “Damn
smart. You could’ve been a detective.”

Her cheeks flushed. “But I don’t see how it ties to
the smugglers.”

“So far all we have is supposition. And only the C-4
to connect the arms smuggling and the arson.”

“When the fire marshal’s office re-opens the case,
they’ll connect it to Tyson’s death and ask the tough questions. People will
have to answer then. Including Kevin.”

“All our efforts wouldn’t be necessary if Frank Tyson
had asked the tough questions twelve years ago. I might not have the C-4 link
now. Small silver lining in a murky cloud.” And he wouldn’t have connected with
Lani. Another silver lining.

“God, Jake, I hate all this. I hate grilling my old
friends, alienating innocent people.”

He drew her up and into his arms, inhaled her scent
for comfort. “I know. I’m tired of it all too.” Lifting her chin, he examined
the crinkles fanning out by her eyes, fine lines more pronounced since this
began. “You’re scared. So am I. You could quit, leave town, and let me share
the rest of what we have with Robichaud. We’ve drawn out the bad guys enough.”

“Quit? Now? When we’re so close? Stuff it, Wescott. I
failed Gail twelve years ago. I won’t fail her now.”

He felt determination in her trembling shoulders. “You
didn’t fail her.
I
failed her. If I hadn’t left, she’d be alive. You
didn’t know what she was doing.”

She stepped out of his embrace. “Exactly. I should’ve
pushed her to open up. Whenever I ragged her about her moods, she just snarked
back or laughed away the issue.”

“Your parents and Gail kept her secret from you. Even
if you’d probed, she probably wouldn’t have told you.”

She flopped back into the deck chair and rocked. “You’re
right. But now I want justice for her. And evidence for you about the
smugglers.” She met his gaze, a fierceness in her hazel-gold eyes that pierced
his chest. “I wish the fire marshal would
move
.”

“The engines of officialdom crank up slowly. Being
patient is hard. Remember Ed Pascal avoided having his picture taken?”

“Ran away is more like it. So?”

“I snapped his picture with my cell and sent it to the
harbormaster on the Cape where he used to work. His office called me back and
said he was busy but he wanted to talk to me about the matter personally. Said
he’d call. I haven’t heard from him yet.”

That brought her head up, snapped her out of her funk.
“So our harbormaster might not be who he claims to be after all?”

“Something’s off somewhere. Damned easy for a
harbormaster to zip around all these little islands and inlets without
suspicion. And he has access to waterfront properties.”

“Are you thinking he’s connected to the smuggling?”

“Ka-ching! Brandon could be the link between the arson
and the drug-and-arms smuggling.”

“But if they were working together, why would Pascal
help bust Brandon?”

“I see a couple possibilities but nothing that makes
sense in a big picture.” He shook his head over the gaps in the puzzle. “When I
saw them meet, both men seemed damned familiar with the property. The place
belongs to some people from Pennsylvania who didn’t come this summer. House and
a couple outbuildings. Good place to stash contraband. “

“Or a pickup damaged in a hit and run.”

“I texted Donovan—he’s the Task Force Eagle agent I’ve
used as contact on all this—about the property but he hasn’t responded. I don’t
want to wait for them to search.”

“I get it. Because evidence could be lost. We could
take a boat ride this evening.” Anxiety and excitement animated her words. She
wanted answers as much or more than he did.

“Too dangerous for you if anyone’s there. Who knows
who else might be involved?” Protecting Lani while trying to search a dodgy
location? Just like the disastrous search in New Hampshire. Not Lani. A wire
twisted in his gut. “You’re not going. Not gonna happen.”

“Nora’s not speaking to me. If the arsonist isn’t
Brandon, he could still be hunting me. The farm is as isolated as ever. You
sure you want to leave me behind?” she said sweetly.

Chapter 23

At dusk, Lani stood beside Jake at the wheel of the
Amy
Jo
as he chugged out of the harbor. Moored craft around them were deserted
since most people were wending their way back to the school grounds for the
fireworks display. Wind smelling of fish and dampness herded in clouds,
bringing a weather change. She hoped the rain would hold off until after the
fireworks.

She zipped her hoodie against the cool night air and
jammed her hands in her pockets. She shouldn’t be nervous. They weren’t
planning to do anything illegal. Or dangerous.

Out of the harbor, Jake steered around the lighthouse
and Dragon Rocks, then north along the peninsula in the growing gloom. No moon
shone to point out the colorful lobster buoys dotting the pitch-black waters.

Lighted houses among thinned trees alternated with
thick stands of spruce and birch clumped near the rocks defining the shoreline.
A fog bank, tall and wide as a cloud, crept in from the bay, muffling running
lights—if anyone else dared venture out on the water. She had confidence in
Jake’s navigation skills, and they weren’t far enough from shore to get lost in
the murk. Still, the fog’s eerie effect slid shivers over her back.

“How far up the peninsula is this place?” She raised
her voice to be heard above the engine’s growl.

“Not much farther,” he replied. “Uncle Joe removed
most of the electronics to install in his new boat but I checked a map against
the chart. I’ll head out toward the Mobcap. The island’s directly offshore.
Once I spot it, I’ll turn toward shore.”

“I know the Mobcap.” Barely the size of the town
baseball field, the windswept island was deserted except for a few scraggly
trees and a tumbledown shack. “We used to sail around it. The water’s plenty
deep. No dangerous rocks either. Dad would let Gail and me swim ashore and look
for shells on the little beach.”

“You must be mellowing. You’ve called him
Dad
twice now.”

Whoa, so she had. She blinked, not at Jake’s
perception but at her slip. “Maybe. I phoned him the day we went to see Tyson’s
wife. We talked about repairs to the house, a little about Gail’s troubles that
spring and summer. Our phone conversation wasn’t easy but it made me realize
how much I miss him.”

“Long time to hold a grudge. Didn’t your mom say the
marriage was in trouble before the fire? You could sign a peace pact.”

She was yielding to what her heart knew was right, to
what her heart wanted. “How did you get to be so wise?”

The dim light of the control panel limned his strong
profile. He flashed his crooked grin. “Had time to think since Mom’s illness.
Family’s too important to blow off. So?”

“One thing at a time. After this is over. When the
murderer is brought to justice.” The weight of it seemed to lift, and she
peered into the fog. Lace curtains of the swirling curtain dimmed the on-shore
lights. “Houses look so different from the water. How will you recognize it?”

“The boat house has a distinctive roof line like a
Chinese pagoda.” His gaze swept her hunched stance. “You cold?”

She straightened her shoulders. “Hey, think I can’t
take a little Maine night outing? I’m nearly a native, you know. I even swim in
the bay.” Once a summer in the sixty-five degree water, just to make that
claim. But she’d never admit the plunge turned her skin blue.

He laughed and curved an arm around her shoulders. “Nearly
a native? No such thing here. You either go back several generations or you’re
from
away
.”

She snuggled closer. A rough outline of humped land
loomed just ahead. “There’s the Mobcap.”

A massive whomp from below pitched the boat askew.

She jerked sideways out of his arms. She slammed
against the side of the wheelhouse and the safety rail dug into her back.

He spread his legs to steady himself and gripped the
wheel with both hands. “What the hell?”

Another jolt and the running lights died as well as
the instrument lights. The old lobster boat tipped steeply to port. Heart
racing, she held on. “What’s happening?”

“Not sure.” She couldn’t see him but knew his grim
face from the tightness in his voice. “Get to the companionway if you can. Take
a look below.” He handed her a flashlight.

Staggering as the boat did another carnival-ride
maneuver, she hand-held her way around him to the companionway. One look below
with the flashlight had her gasping. “We’re taking on water. Below deck is
flooding.”

He cursed and grabbed the radio mic. He clicked
buttons. “Dead. Dammit, my uncle said this thing was giving out. Of all the
rotten times.” He bent to look below the console and swore again. When the
engine coughed, he opened the locker in the cockpit and shoved a life vest at
her. “She’s sinking. We’ll have to abandon ship. Put this on. Clip the light to
it. It’s waterproof.”

Abandon ship?
She stood frozen with the vest
dangling in her arms. When she saw Jake whip into action, she shook the ice
from her brain. She tore off her hoodie, which would be dead weight once wet,
leaving her in a T-shirt. Her arms went through the vest’s arm slots. She
clipped the bulky garment’s clamps securely.

A gaze around the boat hit only a wall of gray. No
lights from houses or other boats. The dense fog cut them off from the rest of
the world.

Raindrops splatted on the windshield.

Jake shut off the dying engine and donned his life
vest. He opened his cell phone. “Shit. No connection. Fog and rain or we’re out
of range.”

Lani tried her cell. “No bars here. Why here? Why now?”
She drew in a shaky breath.

He staggered aft. The ever-steeper angle forced him to
hang on to whatever he could grab. Sea water sloshed over the low side onto the
deck. In seconds rain flattened his hair and plastered his T-shirt to his skin.
Her heart stumbled, but thank God for Jake. He looked so strong and in charge,
she felt a fraction better. He threw open a storage locker and dragged out a
yellow rubber blob.

“A lifeboat! Need help with it?” she called.

Muttered cursing. “Forget it. There’s a big rip in the
damn thing.” Then strangely, he threw the useless item back into the locker and
latched the lid before clawing his way back.

“Why—”

“Not now. We have to get off.” He grabbed a waterproof
plastic pack from a cubby behind the wheel. “My emergency kit.”

He sealed the flashlight, his pistol, and both cell
phones inside, then took her arm and helped her make it to the open deck. Icy
pellets stung her face and soaked her hair. She shivered.

“Jump off the starboard side, the high side. It’s a
straight shot to the Mobcap. Fifty yards. Maybe less.” He shouted above the
rain and the gurgle of the sinking craft. He pointed away from shore. At least
she thought it was away. “We have to swim for it. Lani, I wish—”

“Stifle it, Jake Wescott! Don’t you dare apologize. I
can swim that far with my eyes closed.” She started to climb onto the rail but
he pulled her back and kissed her soundly.

“Keep your eyes open, Cameron. Works better that way.”
His crooked grin buoyed her. With another kiss, he helped her over the side. “Jump
as far from the boat as you can. I’m right behind you.”

She pushed out and hit the water.

Her whole body stiffened at the shock of the frigid
water. Darkness closed over her head with the water. She braced herself not to
struggle, to let the life vest’s buoyancy lift her. When she bobbed to the
surface, she gasped for breath.

A splash beside told her Jake had jumped in. He tugged
on her vest to get her going as he struck out toward the tiny island.

Behind them, she heard the old
Amy Jo
give a
final heave and gurgle as she sank.

What if they’d been farther out, away from land? What
if they’d gone down with the boat? What if— Bile rose in her throat and she
forced it down.

She kicked and stroked but wasn’t sure she was making progress.
She could barely feel her feet. Sucking in air above the chop was a chore. Even
in the summer, hypothermia was a hazard in northern waters. Her heart bucked
like a panicked pony.

Stop it. Don’t panic. Swim.
She spat out salt
water and tried to capture the rhythm she’d developed swimming laps as part of
her therapy. She kept her head up, kept her eyes ahead on Jake’s yellow vest
and the white emergency kit bobbing along beside him as she silently chanted in
an even rhythm.
Stroke...stroke...stroke.

After a dozen hours—in reality only a few minutes—she
saw Jake standing in the water just off the Mobcap’s beach. When she reached
his side, he caught her arm. Lowering her feet to the rocky bottom, she managed
to balance on her toes.

“We made it.” He tugged her with him onto the shingle
beach, the pebbles churning from beneath their feet with every lap of wave.

She stumbled, caught herself, and dragged in breaths. “Never
thought...we wouldn’t.” But the mouth and whatever moxie she had were fading
with her strength.

He wrapped an arm around her quaking shoulders. Her
chilled body greedily absorbed his heat. The shack—dry shelter, whoo hoo!—was
only steps away. “Let’s get out of the rain. Then we’ll see about sending for
help.”

They trooped up the small beach onto solid land. Her
sneakers squelched with every tread on the weed-and-rock-strewn soil. In spite
of its rough board construction and sagging plank door, the rickety structure
looming in the fog was a welcome sight.

When they reached the shack, Jake tore away the
driftwood stick that functioned as a door latch. Once she was inside with him,
he pushed the door closed.

“F-feels b-better just to be out of the wind and rain.”
She unclipped her life vest and chafed her arms with her hands.

He opened the emergency kit and tossed her a small
towel. “Drying off will warm you up.” He extracted a flare gun. “I’ll shoot off
this baby. Hope it’s not a waste in this pea soup.”

She toed out of her sopping sneakers, then mopped her
hair and arms. The super-absorbent fabric dried her in no time. She wrung out
the towel and finger-combed her hair. Someone had stuffed seaweed and old
newspapers between the old barn boards to provide minimal insulation. Diffused
light filtered in through salt-and-spider-web encrusted panes in two old house
windows, showing her a nearly empty space little bigger than the farmhouse
bathroom. Faint odors of mold and cigarettes hung in the air.

Someone, probably teenagers, had built the shack years
ago as an overnight camping spot, a getaway from parent supervision. If an
empty coffee can, cigarette butts, a newish ace of spades, and the folded blue
tarp on the floor were any indication, the island still served that purpose.

Rain dripped through in the far corner but the floor
slanted enough that water drained between the floor boards there. Otherwise the
roof—which had new but mismatched shingles—offered the protection they needed.

She searched in the emergency kit and set to work
making herself useful.

*****

Jake fired off a flare but the red sizzle disappeared
in the gray curtain of rain and fog.

Useless damn thing.

He’d have to wait until the rain stopped to try again.
Hell fucking damn. He should’ve foreseen another attack, prepared for something
like this. Keeping Lani with him didn’t keep her safe, as he’d feared. His
belly roiled. The killer probably now had them both in his crosshairs.

His chest had tightened when he turned to see Lani
stroking steadily, like a Channel swimmer, with the tide and the cold water
depleting her strength. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks as he caught her
arm. Man, she was game, strong and determined. Braver than him. No wonder she’d
been able to drag Gail out of a burning barn.

He stumbled back to the shack in full darkness and
pounding rain. When he pushed open the door, he found Lani had made the best of
a worst-case scenario.

She was amazin. The battery lantern from his kit
spread a halo of light on her, sitting cross legged on a tarpaulin. On the
threadbare tarp were supplies from his kit—two of the energy bars, two bottles
of water, the flashlight, and the space blanket.

She tossed him the other super-towel.

“Thanks.” He shed his sneakers and dried off. Only
then realized he was shivering. “I have three more flares but they’re useless
in this weather. I’ll have to wait until the rain stops. You okay?”

“Sure, just big-time pissed. Again.” She folded her
arms and tilted her head. She was beautiful, dark hair loose and clinging to
her neck. “The poor
Amy Jo
. That wasn’t just an old tub springing a
leak, was it?”

Hunkering down beside her, he pinched the bridge of
his nose. “Not with that thumping noise. We didn’t hit anything. I’m guessing
our bad guy made use of his stash of C-4 again.”

“A bomb,” she whispered shakily. “On a timer?”

“Sounds about right. Maybe attached to the hull while
we were at the festivities.” Which was most of the day. “Padlock was still
intact. So were my other security measures. Any bomb on that part of the hull
had to be attached by a diver. The process would take too long without
breathing equipment.”

She absorbed that for a minute. “The life raft was no
good but you locked it back up.”

“The rip in it was no accident. A slice by a sharp
knife. When the boat’s raised, that slit will be evidence. The radio didn’t die
a natural death either. Son of a bitch yanked the wires loose.”

“But who knew we’d be going out in the boat tonight?”

“No one. We didn’t decide until after we left the
fair. On second thought, the device could’ve been there for a couple days. You
can do almost anything with electronics if you know what you’re doing. Whoever
did this could’ve watched and started the timer after we left the harbor. Or
set it up to be activated by the engine’s vibrations.”