Chapter 2
LOCKE
Distantly, I recorded the height and weight of the man who sprinted away to memory.
Six-ish feet, give or take because of the distance.
Runner lean, but not quite as fluid as one.
Black on black clothing with a structured hood that hid most of the shape of his face.
Training urged me to follow—to take him out at the knees and pin him to the docks.
I locked it down.
Not your problem.
You’re no one’s savior.
Sure as fuck no one’s Good Samaritan.
I jumped off my boat and took a moment to hook a rope around the post so my boat wouldn’t drift.
Go back on the boat and call for the Coast Guard or the cops.
My gaze tripped over to the prone woman.
Just walk away.
Call for the real help.
Cops.
Civilized people.
The man thundered up the pier to the stairs leading to the parking lot. Every instinct screamed for me to follow.
To run and hunt—to kill him.
No.
Apprehend.
But the rage was always so close, and I couldn’t trust it not to end in bloodshed.
End with a stump of a head smashed into the wooden planks.
I shut my eyes tight against the violence humming under my skin.
I focused on the victim.
The woman.
My focus dropped to the slip.
“Fuck,” I muttered. She was tied down. Was she breathing?
Like a magnet, I was pulled into her vortex.
Blond.
Slim.
Helpless.
I crouched and checked her pulse, my training overriding my need to be anywhere but here. I calmed my breath, taking stock of the ropes around her neck, arms, wrists, and ankles.
I reached for my knife sheath at my hip. The rope was so tight around her slim neck. “Don’t be dead.” I pulled at the rope to make space for my knife and her arms stretched over her head.
The rage returned full throttle as I gave the ropes a quick once over. The sick fuck made a series of knots and ties that would pull depending on how she moved.
More like how she struggled.
I’d seen the worst of humanity in my time on this godforsaken planet, but there were always more to be found. I knelt beside her to reach for the ropes over her head and something wet soaked my jeans. I looked down, calm washing over my body as years of training slammed into me.
Blood.
Unable to be careful, I nicked her skin as I freed her neck. Her arms slumped onto the planks of wood like a doll.
I dug out my phone then set it on her bared stomach, punching in the emergency number before putting it on speaker. I peeled off my shirt and looked for the wound.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I’m at the wharf near Derby in Salem. A woman has been hurt—severely.
Possible attack.” If that was what you could call this.
I didn’t want to move her clothes, but there was no help for it.
The edges of her dress that was flipped up now soaked in blood.
“She’s been stabbed—probable artery based on the pool of blood. I’m at slip fourteen.”
I tried to give the dispatcher additional details, as I wadded my shirt up to hold it against her inner thigh. “She’s not looking good.”
“Is she conscious?”
“No.” I held my hand firm on the cut on her thigh and checked her neck with my other hand now that she was free of the ropes. “Thready pulse.”
“Are you medically trained?”
“Just for combat. I’m putting pressure on the wound, but the blood is coming fast.” She was insanely pale, and her blond hair was wild and caked with blood. Her bare legs were streaked with more blood and dotted with finger-sized marks.
She must have put up a helluva fight.
Maybe she had a little more fight left in her.
With my free hand I jerked at my belt. “Should I try a tourniquet?”
“If you can. It’s important to stop the bleeding.”
“Okay. I have you on speaker. Tell the EMTs that I’m helping not hurting her, yeah?”
“Of course.”
I slid the belt under her upper thigh and cinched it tight, but it was just below the line of her underwear and at a shitty angle. All the important parts seemed to be covered and intact. Maybe I’d gotten here in time for her not to get raped for fuck’s sake.
Not that it would matter if she bled out.
I cinched the leather tighter and she came around. Her big, dark eyes were blank with pain and shock. Her pupils blown out. Concussion perhaps?
“I’m here to help.” My voice was gritty with disuse.
She tried to move her arms, but intricate knots kept them high above her head. I gave her a quick once over, but there didn’t seem to be any other wounds to worry about. Then her head lolled to the side and her eyes fluttered shut.
“Hey!” I shook her, but she didn’t resurface. The bleeding slowed, but still dribbled between my fingers from under my shirt.
Fucker definitely hit an artery. I pushed down on the sopping wet shirt.
The peel of sirens and lights lit the parking lot above. “Cavalry, thank fuck.”
“Okay. I can wait until they arrive,” the dispatcher replied.
Hell, I almost forgot she was still there.
I checked her pulse again, glad to feel the pumping blood under the raw skin.
“She’s unconscious again, but still alive.
Thanks.” I stabbed the screen to hang up and tucked my phone into my back pocket.
It wasn’t an ideal spot, but coastal towns were built for creative rescues.
A cop, in full uniform, beat the EMTs down the stairs since they had to go more carefully thanks to a board.
“Shit.” The cop’s eyes went stony and flat before he raked his gaze over me. He was black with up-tilted eyes that spoke of mixed race. His uniform was ill fitting, a bit tight against muscles that bulged with intense gym time.
But there was no doubt his eyes were all veteran cop.
In my experience beat cops were a different bread. Tired and jaded most of the time. Not full of that kind of energy unless they were fresh out of the academy.
He scanned the scene, his face blanking the more he took in. When he walked onto the dock he tucked his hand into his pockets. Not for protection or nonchalance, more like a long held reaction to a crime scene.
Nope, no ordinary beat cop.
“How did you come upon...this?”
I nodded at my boat. “Was out on the water coming in to dock for the night.”
The EMTs hustled down the gangway to the slip.
I could tell the cop wanted to tell them not to touch anything—but he pressed his lips together.
The female EMT was stocky and muscular with dark hair pulled into a ponytail at the back of her neck. She glanced at the ropes then back to the cop then shot off rapid questions about what I’d done.
I relayed the steps I’d taken so far and she nodded tightly.
“You probably saved her life. Let us take over.” She ripped open a bag full of sterile cotton.
I leaned back on my feet, then pushed up to stand.
Blood soaked my jeans from the knee down and streaked across my midsection from trying to staunch the flow.
I wasn’t a cop, but I recognized a crime scene when I saw it. I’d seen plenty of fucked-up shit in war-torn countries. Killers lived everywhere and no doubt about it, this would have been a murder scene if I hadn’t pulled into the wharf.
If I’d been a few minutes earlier—
Hell.
Not my problem. I probably would have fucked it up more.
I gave one last glance at the woman who was being worked on by two professionals. They had her hooked up to an IV and were rolling her onto the board. Her skin took on a gray tone.
She needed blood and fast. It wasn’t something that most ambulances had at the ready.
Something made me want to follow her up the pier to the ambulance.
I locked it down. I gave her a chance—all I could do.
Before they got too far, I shouted, “What hospital?”
What the hell was my problem?
The female EMT looked back. “North Shore.” Then she transferred her to the gurney to push her to the top of the parking lot.
“Sir?”
I turned to the cop. “Yeah?”
His hands were still in his pockets as he glanced at the decimated crime scene. I could tell he was pissed, but he quickly masked it. “Can you tell me what you saw? Also your full name.” He pulled his phone out and hit record.
Resigned, I nodded. “Locke Jordan.”
“Address?”
I pointed at the boat with my finger. “Knot on Your Life—with a K-N. Slip fourteen here at the marina. I was out on the water enjoying the sunset and the quiet. I like quiet.”
His lips ticked up a bit. “Same. No actual address?”
I rattled off my Boston address. Which I was still avoiding.
Maybe I should just sail back out into the harbor tonight and head up to Maine.
Far away from this mess.
I cleared my throat. “This is my slip for the next week or so. I was coming in to dock when I saw the man standing on my slip. I flipped on my spotlight and then saw the woman prone on the dock.”
Prone, such an innocuous word for what she’d been. Pinned and the struggling to survive. Whatever that piece of shit had done to her pushed her closer to death as she tried to survive. Torture?
It threatened to dig into me. The need to puzzle it out. The need to know.
It had been so long since I’d felt even a kernel of interest in anything other than the sea.
I shoved it back down and let the facts roll over my tongue.
”At first I thought she was unconscious, then I noticed the ropes.
The guy took off. Tall, all dark clothing and gloves.
He had a hood up so I couldn’t see more than a flash of a face.
White guy if I had to guess, but there’re no facts there, just a feeling. ”
“Feelings mean jack all.”
I nodded. “Fair.”
Pockets cop nodded. “Anything else?”