Against the Tide (5 page)

Rafe's gaze returned to her. “Woman couldn't have much better protection than a dog like that.”

Except for the Glock 18 she kept upstairs next to her bed, and the million-volt stun gun she carried when she went jogging.

“Khan would protect me with his life.”

Rafe's mouth edged up. “I'll remember that should I ever decide to turn caveman and carry you off over my shoulder.”

Heat flashed through her and her stomach muscles clenched at the image. Dear God, Rafe Brodie carrying her off over a powerful shoulder, doing things to her she refused to imagine. “Have you considered it?”

“Off and on,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips and no way for her to tell if he was kidding.

“We'd better get going,” she said, opting for a quick change of subject, and turned back to Khan. “Go play. I'll take you for a walk when I get back.”

The dog barked as if he understood, which he did. Though he had his own large, private yard behind the café, Liv took him for a walk every morning no matter the weather, and whenever she could break away. Khan looked forward to it and so did she.

Moving past Rafe, she went back inside, darted into the office, and grabbed her black wool pea coat off the rack beside the door.

“I'll be back in time to help you get things ready for the dinner crowd,” she said to Nell as she walked past.

“You just do what needs to be done,” Nell said, casting a glance from her to Rafe.

Wondering if she'd caught a hopeful gleam in Nell's pale blue eyes, Liv headed for the door.

Chapter Five

A light mist was falling as Rafe walked Olivia down the street.

“So where are we with the investigation?” she asked. “Have the police come up with anything?”

“Not since I saw you last. Rusty's promised to call if something new turns up. I haven't heard from him since our last conversation.”

“Did you find anything missing on the boat?”

“Not a damn thing. Scotty never made it aboard. Everything was exactly the way I left it yesterday afternoon. Whoever did it must have followed him, taken him out right there on the dock.”

“If the guy was a robber, you'd think he'd at least have gone aboard and taken a look around, seen if he could find something valuable.”

“It was locked.”

“Wouldn't Scotty have a key?”

“He had one. His keys were missing just like his wallet, but no one went aboard.” And the
why not
was something he'd thought about himself.

“Interesting. So who are we talking to first?”

“The
Orca
wasn't in its slip. Probably a full-day charter. Grossman's part of the crew, which means we won't be able to talk to him until the boat gets back.”

“What about King and Reed?”

“Sam'll be at work this time of day. He's a packer over at the Easy Breezy fish-processing plant.”

Olivia looked up at him and grinned, and that same shot of awareness hit him. “‘You reel 'em, we seal 'em.'” she said.

Rafe laughed. “That's their motto, all right. We do a lot of work with those guys.”

“Sometimes tourists bring in some of the fish they've caught that Easy Breezy has flash-frozen for them. They ask us to cook it, then rave about how good it is. But then, what fisherman doesn't brag about his catch?”

“True enough. But the company does a good job, ships the fish all the way home for the customer. In those commercial-grade bags, it'll stay fresh for more than a year.”

She smiled. “You sound like a walking commercial.”

He chuckled. “Fishing's my business.”

Olivia's smile slowly faded. “You'll be fishing most days from now on. Who are you going to hire to replace Scotty?”

A grim memory of the kid lying dead on the wooden dock next to the
Scorpion
flashed in his head. “I don't know. Scotty was great with the customers, efficient, trustworthy, reliable. Finding someone won't be easy.” Though he was thinking he might already have the problem solved. He'd give it a little more thought, then move forward.

It didn't take long to reach the single-story wooden building with the
EASY BREEZY FISH PACKING
sign on top. With its false front, double doors, shingled porch, and wooden boardwalk, it looked like something out of an old Western movie.

Rafe pushed open one of the doors and they walked inside. A big bald Russian named Ivan Petrov came out of the back, a white apron tied around his substantial girth. There were lots of Russians up here since they'd once claimed the territory that was now Alaska, and Russia was just across the Bering Strait.

“Hey, Rafe,” Ivan said. “Sorry to hear about Scotty. Sam told me he was killed last night.”

“Murdered,” Rafe corrected, since there was a helluva lot of difference between dying and having your life stolen from you. He flicked a glance at the woman beside him. “Ivan Petrov, this is Olivia Chandler. She's the new owner of the Pelican.” Here
new
could be anything from a week to five years.

The Russian nodded. “I've seen you around. Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Ivan.”

“I need to talk to Sam,” Rafe said. “If you can spare him for a couple of minutes.”

“Sure. No problem. I'll go get him.” Ivan sauntered toward a door leading to the back of the building and disappeared. A few minutes later, Sam King walked up behind the service counter.

Half Alaska Native, half Russian, Sam was only a couple of inches shorter than Rafe, with thick arms and a muscular body. At twenty-five, with his gleaming black hair and handsome face, he was a favorite of the ladies, pretty much had his pick during tourist season.

Spotting Olivia, he removed the bloodstained white apron he wore, a sign of the job he did in the fish-packing operation.

The first words out of his mouth were, “Have they caught the bastard yet?”

“Not the last time I called the station, which was about half an hour ago.” Rafe tipped his head toward the slender woman in black standing beside him. “Sam, this is Olivia Chandler. She owns the Pelican Café.”

“Hi, Sam,” she said. “We've spoken a couple of times in the restaurant.”

Sam, being the ladies' man he was, let his gaze travel over Olivia in a far-from-subtle appraisal that made Rafe's jaw go tight.

“I remember.” His eyes dropped to those long dancer's legs. “Hard for a guy to miss. Or maybe I should say you just make it har—”

“Sam—” Rafe warned, cutting off the rest of the sexual innuendo the kid was about to deliver.

Olivia said nothing, but Rafe didn't miss the faint thinning of those amazing X-rated lips. Apparently Rafe wasn't the only guy who got the cold treatment from Liv Chandler. He almost smiled.

“So what's going on with the case?” Sam asked.

“From what I know, Chief Rosen has officers out knocking on doors all over the area. They're checking the RV parks, the harbor, and the roads leading out of town. Ben Friedman called the cops and told them Scott was at the poker game last night.”

“He was there. When he left, I thought he was going home. What was he doing at the harbor?”

“I was hoping maybe you'd know. You were one of the last people to see him alive.”

Sam blanched, his face going pale beneath his dark skin.

“Scotty didn't say anything about going back to the boat?” Olivia asked.

“No, never mentioned it.”

“The police haven't talked to you yet?” she asked.

“Actually, Lieutenant Scarborough was here about an hour ago. He asked me about the poker game. I told him we wound things up about midnight.”

“Did the lieutenant ask where you were between midnight and two?” Olivia asked. “That's when Scotty's body was found.”

Sam's black eyes darted away then sharpened on her face. “I went home and went to bed. That's what I told Scarborough.”

“Did anyone see you there?” she pressed. “Can anyone verify your alibi?”

Sam's jaw subtly tightened. “Why would I need an alibi? I was home in bed when he was killed. You aren't trying to pin this on me?”

“Olivia didn't say that,” Rafe soothed. “We're just doing a little digging, seeing what we might turn up. If you were home, then you were home.”

Sam tossed a hard glance at Olivia. “That's right.”

“If you think of anything that might help us catch this guy,” Rafe said, “I'd really appreciate a call, Sam.”

“Hey, no problem.” Sam turned to Olivia. “You know, you really need to work on your pancakes. They're too thin. A man wants his cakes nice and thick.”

One of Olivia's dark eyebrows arched up. “I'll look into it,” she said dryly, clearly not meaning it.

Since Rafe liked her pancakes just the way they were, he bit back a smile, walked to the door and pulled it open. “Time to go,” he said, figuring he was doing Sam a favor getting her out of there.

Olivia cast the kid a final disapproving glance and sailed past Rafe out the door.

 

 

As soon as Liv was out on the walkway, she flashed Rafe a look. “That guy is flat-out lying. Surely you could see that. You must have noticed the way he cut his eyes—”

“I noticed. You're right. Sam didn't go home after the poker game. Doesn't mean he killed Scotty.”

Somewhat mollified, she reined herself in, glad Rafe was as perceptive as she had hoped.

“So if King didn't kill Scotty, why was he lying?”

“I don't know, but we're going to find out. In the meantime, let's talk to Chip Reed.”

She dug her smartphone out of her pocket, pulled up the address and the other information she had found and dumped into a file she'd labeled
Scotty.

“Chip lives in an apartment on Jago Street.”

“Let's drive. It'll be faster.”

They walked back to the restaurant, climbed into Rafe's SUV, and he started the engine. Once they reached the apartment on Jago, which turned out to be unit A of a duplex, she let him guide her to the door.

No one answered the bell. “Chip works at C & J Trucking,” she said. “It's out on Richardson Highway.”

Rafe's gold-flecked eyes swung to her face and she felt a little hitch in her chest. “I didn't think you knew Chip,” he said.

“I don't. Reed's got a Facebook page. Posts all kinds of selfies. From the looks of it, he's got an ego the size of Mount McKinley.”

Rafe chuckled. “Maybe that's the reason Cassie dumped him.”

“If it is, I don't blame her.”

Rafe turned the big Ford onto the highway.

“Maybe we should call ahead,” Liv said, “see if he's there. Save us a trip.”

“I'd rather just drop in. If Reed isn't around, we'll catch him tonight after work.”

Alarm bells went off in her head. Sweet God, she hadn't imagined spending the evening with Rafe. Her gaze shot in his direction. With all that male virility wrapped up in such a gorgeous package, the man could make big money in the advertising business.

He caught her watching him, jarring her out of her Rafe-imposed coma. “What is it? You have to work?”

“Sorry, just thinking.” But the truth was, she hadn't thought past this afternoon. She and Nell alternated evening shifts. She would be available if she wanted to go with him.

Which she did.

And she didn't.

She was tempted to lie. But her entire life was a lie. She didn't want to add to the list unless she had to. “I don't have to work. Nell and I alternate evening shifts. I just . . . I guess in the back of my mind, I was hoping the police would catch the killer and we would be done with all this.”

“It may happen soon. Rusty says they've been knocking on doors all over town. Lots of tourists around. That seems to be where Chief Rosen is focusing the investigation.”

“If it's someone from out of town, he probably took Scotty's money and hit the road.”

“The troopers will be watching the highways, looking for anything out of the ordinary. They might get lucky, pull someone over on a traffic stop, find the murder weapon or something that connects to the murder. It happens.”

“Not that often.”

“No. Which is why, at the moment, I'm doing everything I can to help.”

So was she. It would be easier if she wasn't trying to do it while sitting next to Rafe Brodie. “And if the police don't find him?”

“If they don't—I will,” Rafe said, and the way his jaw settled into a hard, determined line, Olivia believed him.

When they arrived at C & J Trucking, they discovered Chip Reed had left that morning on a two-day run through Anchorage up to Fairbanks. Liv hoped if Reed had killed Scotty, he wouldn't just keep driving.

With the interview postponed, Rafe took her back to the restaurant, promising to return and pick her up for their conversation that evening with Marty Grossman.

Grossman was the big loser at the poker game. Maybe he wanted his money back. Maybe he was just mad at Scotty for beating him so badly. Mad enough, maybe, to kill him.

As Olivia headed into the restaurant, she didn't tell Rafe she wouldn't be downstairs working when he got back, that she would be upstairs in her apartment. She didn't want Rafe and all his masculinity invading her personal space. And she didn't want to give him any more insight into her life than he had already.

They were only working together for a very brief time. Surely the police would pick up a vagrant desperate for drug money or some runaway teenage psychopath who just wanted to find out what it felt like to murder someone. Once the killer was in custody, things could go back the way they were. Rafe would come into the restaurant to eat, and Liv would ignore him.

Which she hoped wouldn't goad him into turning caveman and carrying her off over his shoulder.

Her stomach muscles contracted at the thought. Damn, this wasn't good.

Once everything was set for supper, she turned the restaurant over to Nell and headed upstairs. Her apartment was completely different from the café's ocean theme and cozy atmosphere.