Against the Tide (6 page)

This was her personal space, the interior gutted when she'd bought the building, newly remodeled and modernized, though the breathtaking view over Prince William Sound couldn't possibly be improved upon.

The place was all clean lines, white walls, and dark wood, a compact, state-of-the-art kitchen with stainless appliances, a powder room off the entry, guest bedroom with bath, and a spare room she used as an office and gym. The master suite had a king-size bed and dark furniture, a bathroom with black granite countertops, a separate shower and tub. The fluffy white designer towels she had ordered online from Neiman Marcus were to die for.

She might have had to give up her expensive Manhattan lifestyle, but during the years she'd been working, she had saved plenty of money. She could afford to bring some of the better parts of her old life all the way up here.

There were drawbacks, of course. Since the apartment hinted at a different side of herself from the one she showed the people in the restaurant, few were invited upstairs. She told those few the same story. Her husband, a wealthy older man, had died and left her a large inheritance. She had decided to change her life, bought the café, and moved to Valdez.

It was total fiction, of course, but it seemed to be accepted. There were hundreds of reasons people came to Alaska, so no one pressed for more information. Privacy was respected here. It was one of the reasons she liked it so much.

She checked her wristwatch. The days were already eighteen hours long, which meant the sun wouldn't be setting till after eleven p.m.

Rafe would be arriving at eight. Olivia went downstairs to check on Khan, played with him for a while, practiced commands, then went back up and did some work on the café ledgers.

As she sat in front of her laptop, she tried not to think of Scotty or Cassie.

But it was a difficult thing to do.

Chapter Six

It was seven forty-five p.m. when Rafe's cell phone rang. He had just angled the Expedition into a parking space in front of the Pelican Café and turned off the engine. Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he pressed it against his ear. “Brodie.”

“Chief Rosen, here. I know how close you were to Scott, Rafe. I thought I'd touch base, bring you up to speed on the investigation.”

“Appreciate it, Chief.”

“I gather you know Ferris went to a poker game last night.”

“Cassie told me.”

“So far our people have talked to three of the men at the card game. None of them know why Ferris went down to the dock after he left the motel. All of them have explanations for their whereabouts at the time of the murder. Sam King and Ben Friedman are bachelors. They say they were home by themselves. Can't be verified, but at this point, no reason not to believe them. They'll stay on our suspect list, though, until this is over.”

“What about Grossman?”

“Home with his wife. She verified he came right home after the game. We haven't talked to Reed. According to his boss, he's out of town on a job. Won't be back for a couple of days, but to tell you the truth, I don't think any of Scotty's friends were involved.”

Neither did Rafe, even though he was pretty sure Sam King wasn't telling the truth. Whatever King was up to, it probably involved a woman, not murdering Scotty. Eventually, he'd run the story down.

“So you're thinking it's someone passing through,” Rafe said.

“That's right. We posted a man at the ferry terminal. Checked the passenger list for those who were boarding. A number of locals with round-trip tickets. If anyone doesn't return when he's supposed to, we'll have his name. Still early in the season, so there weren't many folks traveling one way. Lieutenant Scarborough questioned them. Didn't turn up anything suspicious.”

“Anyone down at the harbor see anything last night?”

“A guy staying on a transient boat in a slip in another area says he heard something a little after one o'clock. Got up and took a look, saw a man walking away from the area.”

Rafe's interest sharpened. “Did he give you a description?”

“Tall, thick-shouldered, wearing a hooded sweatshirt, boots, and gloves. White guy, he thinks, but it was raining and by then it was dark. He's definitely a person of interest, though.”

“What about the security cameras? Did the guy show up there?”

“None of them were aimed in exactly the right direction. Got a shadowy glimpse of someone matching our suspect's description walking away from the crime scene. Timing's about right. One thirty-three a.m. Couldn't see the face, though.”

“What about boats leaving the area after the murder?”

“We're talking to as many people as we can. Far as we know, no private boats left the harbor till this morning. The charters have all gone out, but they'll be back. I take it you didn't have a group this morning.”

“No. Not till tomorrow. What about the roads? Guy could have hitched out of town.”

“Troopers have been covering the highways since last night. We're doing everything we can, Rafe, I promise you.”

Rafe scrubbed a hand over his face. “Anything else?”

“We've put a BOLO out on the guy who was spotted at the harbor. But we don't have enough of a description for a sketch. As I said, troopers are keeping an eye out, but there isn't anything they can do here that isn't already being done.”

Rafe didn't argue. For the most part, he figured the chief was right. At least they had a lead. Someone had been seen in the area around the time of the murder. Law enforcement would be watching for him.

Didn't mean Rafe intended to stop searching for the bastard himself.

“We should have the autopsy report back tomorrow or the next day,” the chief continued. “If anything new turns up, I'll let you know.”

“Thanks, Chief. I appreciate everything you're doing.”

“Just doing my job.” Rosen hung up the phone.

Rafe had planned to pick Olivia up and go talk to Grossman. Was losing at poker, even if it was more than a normal amount, enough motivation for murder? Probably not, but he'd wanted to check it out.

Now he knew Marty had been home with his wife, a solid alibi that at least for the moment eliminated him as a suspect.

He glanced toward the café. Olivia would be waiting. She was as determined to find Scotty's killer as Rafe was. His conscience warned him he had to tell her there was no need to interview Grossman tonight. If he did, she wouldn't spend time with him. She would dodge him the way she'd been doing for weeks.

With a sigh of resignation, he cracked open the door and had started to get out of the SUV when the passenger door flew open and Olivia climbed into the vehicle.

She buckled her seat belt and turned toward him. “I'm ready. Let's go.”

Rafe's gaze ran over her slender curves, disguised completely in black, returned to those plump, dark red lips. He imagined those full lips parting under his, then burning against his skin as her mouth trailed hotly down his body.

His groin tightened. Until today, she'd avoided him. But today wasn't over.

His conscience be damned. Rafe started the engine.

 

 

Turning the key in the lock, Trent Doyle opened the door and stepped inside the rented house. In front of him, two men stood waiting, grim-faced, exactly where he'd told them to be.

“I hear you ran into a little trouble last night,” he said evenly, pulling off the expensive lambskin gloves he was wearing, tossing them down on a table in the entry. He shrugged out of his raincoat, opened the closet, very carefully hung up the coat and closed the door.

The first man cleared his throat. “I know it wasn't part of the plan, but it couldn't be helped.” Lee Heng was Asian-American, five-ten, slight, muscular build, with buzz-cut black hair combed straight up. “We did what we had to.”

“That's true,” the second man said. Mikal Nadir was bright, from a wealthy family, educated in England. He was tall, lean, and strong, with a narrow face, high cheekbones, and a dark complexion.

“The man must have heard us through the window,” Nadir said. “Cain was outside smoking when he spotted him. He had to kill him. One blow, very neat. We were lucky no one was around.”

“Where is Cain now?”

“Back at work,” Heng said. “He won't be making contact again.”

Trent's eyes fixed coldly on the Asian. “He wasn't supposed to make contact in the first place. Why did he?”

Lee shrugged his lean-muscled shoulders. “It was his night off. He's been working for weeks, staying in that trailer out at the RV park. He said he hadn't heard from anyone lately. He stopped by to check things out, make sure nothing had changed.”

“Cain has a job to do. He needs to remember that. So do you. From now on, I expect you all to do exactly what you're told. Nothing more. Nothing less. Is that understood?”

Both Nadir and Heng nodded.

“I asked if you understood.”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“Where's the body?” Trent asked.

“Cain dumped it,” Lee said. “Made it look like a robbery. We'd seen the guy before. We knew he worked on one of the boats at the harbor, so Cain took him there. It was late. Dark. No one was around.”

“You had better hope you're right.”

“So what do you want us to do?” Nadir asked. “Do you want us to change locations?”

“No. You stay right where you are. Hide in plain sight. If you made it look like a robbery, they'll be searching for a local or someone on the move, someone heading out of town. You won't be leaving. Not until this is over.”

Trent pinned each man with a long, pointed stare. They were expendable and both of them knew it. They wouldn't ignore his orders again.

“You can go,” he said. “I'll be in touch.” Trent watched the two men walk out of the house and close the door. He heard the motor start on their rented Jeep, then watched through the window as they backed up, turned around, and headed down the road the way they had come.

Trent glanced toward the bedroom. He had a friend waiting. And a very pleasant evening planned—the rest of which did not include disciplining his unruly men.

 

 

Sitting next to Rafe, Olivia settled back as the big Ford rolled down the road. To her surprise, the vehicle didn't go far, just turned and went around the block, then turned back onto North Harbor and pulled up in the lot in front of the Fishhook Grill. It was the nicest place in town with a great view out over the harbor.

Liv glanced at Rafe as he turned off the engine. “What are we doing here? Is Grossman meeting us or—”

“No.” Rafe got out of the Expedition, rounded the hood and opened the passenger door. “We don't need to talk to Grossman. The police say he was home with his wife at the time of the murder. His alibi checks out.”

He extended one big hand to help her down, and since she still didn't understand what was going on, she reluctantly accepted it, feeling his workingman's calluses as his fingers wrapped warmly around hers.

“So what are we doing?” she asked, ignoring a little shimmer of heat as she stepped down out of the vehicle.

“We're having dinner and I'm bringing you up to speed on the investigation.”

“Why do we have to do that here?”

“Because I'm hungry. You have to eat something, too, and I thought it would be a nice change from eating at the Pelican. Plus you won't be jumping up all the time to handle some problem.” Before she could argue, he set a hand at her waist and started walking, urging her toward the door.

With no real option short of making a scene, she walked inside the restaurant, into a big open room with lots of wood and glass. It was still full daylight and would be for three more hours, showing off the spectacular view of the boats in the harbor and the mountains heavily capped with snow along the distant shoreline across the water.

“So I guess you talked to the police,” Liv said as the waitress, a pretty little blonde, all goggly-eyed over Rafe, seated them at a table in front of a window. Probably the reason they got the best spot in the house.

“Would you like something to drink?” the girl asked, smiling all the while at Rafe.

He turned to Liv. “How about a glass of wine? I've seen you drink an occasional glass. Would you rather have red or white?”

She started to say she didn't want a drink, but it had been a long, exhausting day and a glass of wine sounded fabulous. Occasionally she enjoyed a glass in the Pelican at the end of the day. Obviously Rafe had noticed. She wondered what else he had noticed about her. “Red.”

He nodded. “Bring us a bottle of that Wild Horse cab you've got on the menu.”

“Sure.” The blonde grinned so big a dimple dug into her cheek. “I'll be right back.” She sashayed off, giving her hips a little extra wiggle for Rafe's benefit, but he didn't seem to notice.

“You must come here often,” Liv said.

“What makes you think so?”

“You didn't have to look at the wine list. And, of course, you knew the little blonde.”

He chuckled. “I come in once in a while. I never get tired of looking at the ocean, and the food's pretty good. As for the blonde . . . she's Mo Blanchard's daughter. He captains one of my boats. Even if she wasn't just a few years out of her teens, she'd be off-limits. Add to that, she isn't my type.”

Olivia felt an eyebrow creeping up. “What type is that?”

“Smart and sexy. The rest I leave pretty much open.”

She found herself smiling. “I heard through the grapevine you were seeing Sally Henderson for a couple of years. I guess that's over.”

“Been over for a while. What about you? You seeing anyone?”

She laughed. “I'm too busy for romance—even if I were interested, which I'm not.”

His eyes ran over her face. “That's too bad,” he said softly.

Her pulse gave a little leap. “Why? Are you looking for a replacement for Sally?”

“Sally's her own person. I'm not looking for someone to replace her. There isn't anyone quite like Sally. Just the way there's no one quite like you.”

She didn't know why his answer pleased her, but it did.

The wine arrived. The blonde opened and poured. It wasn't an expensive bottle. There wasn't a wine on the menu that cost as much as the cheapest bottle on a Manhattan wine list, but it tasted just fine to Liv.

The waitress took their orders. Both of them chose prime rib.

“A meat eater,” Rafe said, taking a drink of the dark red liquid in his glass. “Good to know.”

“Why is that?”

“I might want to cook you supper sometime, and I have a freezer full of game. Some of my friends trade meat for fish. You wouldn't mind eating a nice moose steak, would you?”

She grinned. “Never tried it, but my customers tell me it's very good.”

“Then we've got a date. After this is over, I'll make you supper. I'm a lousy cook, but I'm a helluva griller.”

She laughed before she could catch herself. “I don't think supper is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I told you, I'm not interested in dating.”

“Yes . . .” he said, those whiskey-brown eyes on her face. “So you did.”

She couldn't help a twinge of regret when he didn't pursue the subject.