Chapter 7
Seven
RIOS
The docks were more than half asleep by the time I got down to Home Port.
Not surprising, considering it was past midnight.
A couple of trawlers still had their work lights on, halos glowing faint in the mist that clung to the water.
Somewhere out on the sound, an engine droned low and steady, the hum carrying across the black expanse.
Home Port sat back from the marina, its faded sign lit by a single buzzing bulb.
The wood underfoot was damp and soft in places, the air thick with brine, diesel, and the faint metallic tang of fish scales that never quite washed away.
This was the working man’s bar on the island, where tourists seldom wandered.
Out of habit, I made a slow circuit around the building, looking for anything out of place.
There were only two exits. The main front door and one at the rear by the kitchen that led out to the dumpster.
Unless they’d changed the layout since I’d haunted this place in my younger years, that rear door connected to the short hall beside the restrooms. Nobody but staff had reason to use it, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t.
So I took my time, scanning the area for any telltale signs of a struggle or anything else out of place.
But there was no discarded phone. No dropped bag.
No drag marks. If Priya Shah had made it here last night, as the grad students I’d spoken to earlier had claimed she intended, the docks had already swallowed the evidence.
Inside, the place was running on the low hum of late-night regulars.
The air conditioner rattled but did its job, cutting through the humidity.
Classic rock played on the jukebox, half drowned by the clink of bottles and quiet conversation.
The pervasive scent of grease had saliva pooling in my mouth, reminding me that dinner had been hours ago.
If the kitchen was still open, I’d grab a burger.
I’d been away from Sutter’s Ferry long enough that the faces had changed, but the atmosphere hadn’t.
Dockhands, boat mechanics, a few locals finishing the night’s beers.
The kind of people who generally kept to themselves.
There were some fishermen gathered around the pool table, blowing off steam after what was probably a multi-day trip out on the water. Nothing unusual.
And then I saw her.
Madden Reilly.
She stood near the far end of the bar, dark brown hair pulled back into a braid that even Outer Banks humidity hadn’t teased into a mess. Something about all that neatness made me want to muss her up, just to see what she’d look like with wild curls and kiss-swollen lips.
I blinked.
Where the hell had that thought come from?
Shoving it far into the depths of what the fuck, I focused on the rest of the scene.
While Madden wasn’t wearing a suit, her posture was straight and formal, shoulders squared, as if she were arguing a case in front of a jury.
The three men she spoke to seemed amused more than offended.
Their eyes scanned the length of her and saw only a pretty girl on her own.
I watched their body language shift from amused to predatory.
The big guy in front of Madden leaned closer, smiling in that way that was all teeth and no warmth.
One of his buddies said something I couldn’t catch, and the third laughed the kind of laugh that made every muscle in my body wake up and pay attention, even before the first guy reached a hand out to touch her.
I was moving before I’d even consciously decided. I caught the meaty guy’s wrist in my grip before he could reach her, my hand wrapping around the thick bones with enough pressure to make my point clear without breaking anything.
“I don’t believe the lady issued an invitation.”
The big one’s frown deepened as he turned to face me, his alcohol-glazed eyes taking a moment to focus. I released his wrist with deliberate slowness, letting my hand fall to my side but keeping my stance loose and ready.
“We was just talking.” The words were slightly slurred around the edges.
“Looked like she wasn’t enjoying the conversation.” I kept my voice level. Better to diffuse the situation than turn this into a brawl.
“She didn’t say that.” His buddies had moved closer now, flanking him in that instinctive way men did when they sensed trouble brewing.
“She’s saying it now.”
I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t need to.
Years in the Navy had taught me that calm was what people feared most—the kind of steady control that suggested violence was always an option, just not the first one.
I shifted my weight just enough that he had to either back up a step or bump chest-first into me, and I could see the calculation running behind his eyes as he weighed his options.
The standoff lasted only two seconds before he broke eye contact, his gaze sliding away to focus on something over my shoulder.
His bravado deflated like a punctured balloon. “No harm meant.” His friends echoed the same sentiment in mumbled agreement, already peeling off toward the other end of the bar where the pool table promised safer entertainment.
Madden’s exhale was slow and controlled, the kind you use to tamp down adrenaline. Or temper. Her gaze flicked up to mine, all sharp edges and barely contained irritation. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Stopping that from turning ugly.”
“I had it handled.”
“Uh-huh. That’s why that asshole was about to lay hands on you.”
“I can take care of myself.” Her chin lifted slightly, no doubt intended to punctuate her point. Instead, it drew my attention to her lips, unpainted but still rosy. Would they be soft as a counterpoint to that sharp tongue?
Focus, Carrera.
“I’m sure you can. But that’s not what was about to happen, and we both know it.
” I gestured toward the retreating figures.
“Three drunk fishermen who’ve been at sea for God knows how long, and you standing here looking like some pretty little citified thing without a lick of sense to know where you actually are and the kind of men who frequent this place. The math doesn’t work in your favor.”
Her expression hardened. “Are you always this patronizing, or is that a new skill you picked up?”
“I’m not patronizing. I’m observant. And I’m not about to watch a woman get cornered and pretend it’s none of my business. Not even you.”
Something flickered in her expression—hurt, maybe, or just surprise at the venom I’d managed to pack into those last three words. “Not even me,” she repeated quietly, and I heard the way her voice caught just slightly on the words.
Fuck, I was a dick. I hadn’t needed to say that. The words had just slipped out, carrying more baggage than this moment deserved.
Before either of us could unpack that, Astrid appeared. “Jimmy said Priya was here last night. He said she came in after midnight, sat over there by the wall with her laptop. Never saw anyone with her.”
I followed the direction of her gesture to a small table by the window. Clean now, wiped down, nothing left but a faint ring where a coffee cup had sat. My brain started rearranging the timeline, narrowing down the window when the girl could have disappeared.
“We’ve been asking everyone else if they were here last night and if they saw her.” Madden’s words clipped with barely contained frustration.
“Obviously, you need to work on learning how to ask questions of people in a way that doesn’t put them on the stand.” Damn it, there went my mouth again.
She flushed, pink creeping up her throat in a way that should not be appealing. Her jaw worked like she wanted to fire back, but she didn’t argue the point. Because she knew I was right, or because she was too tired to fight anymore?
If Astrid noticed the tension crackling between us, she decided not to comment on it. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, exhaustion written in every line of her body. “Did you find anything else?”
Astrid deserved better than watching me and Madden tear strips off each other.
I turned my attention back to her. “Not much. I spoke to her landlord earlier. She wouldn’t let me inside without a warrant, but said everything looked normal when I pressed her to go check herself.
The bed was rumpled, and her stuff was still there.
No way to know if she’s a bedmaker or not. Plenty of people aren’t.”
“Hopefully Carson’s people will handle that now.” Astrid’s tone suggested she wasn’t holding her breath.
“He took the report?” I asked.
She nodded.
I grunted, the sound carrying more disgust than I’d meant to let slip. “Then we’re probably on our own.”
Astrid’s head jerked up, her eyes widening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that he’s predictable.” I chose my words carefully.
No point in destroying her faith in the system tonight.
“He’ll make a show of looking, fill out the paperwork, maybe even put a patrol car around her building once or twice.
But unless there’s a clear sign of trouble—blood, signs of struggle, something that screams foul play—he won’t rattle cages.
Not with the summer crowd on-island and the tourism season in full swing. ”
Madden folded her arms across her chest, her expression grim. “That’s pretty much my read on it, too. Politics over people. It’s why we’re here doing his job for him.”
“It’s unacceptable. I’m responsible for these kids!” Astrid scrubbed both hands over her face. “I’m going to have to contact her parents tomorrow if she doesn’t show up. What the hell am I going to say? That I lost one of my research assistants, and the police think it’s not worth their time?”
Face softening in an instant, Madden wrapped an arm around Astrid’s shoulders and pulled her close.
“That you’re doing everything you can. That you care enough to be out here at midnight asking questions when everyone else has given up.
She could turn up tomorrow morning with some perfectly reasonable explanation, and this will all be some huge misunderstanding. ”
She didn’t believe that. The words lacked conviction. I didn’t believe it either. Not after Carson’s failure with Gwen. But neither of us was going to destroy whatever lingering hope Astrid had left. Sometimes, hope was all that kept you moving forward.
“Look, there’s nothing else to be done tonight. You should both go home. Get some rest.”
Madden’s hazel eyes flashed gray in the low light of the bar, anger sparking there like flint against steel. “You think we’re supposed to just stop? Go home and pretend a girl isn’t missing?”
“I think fatigue makes mistakes.” I kept my voice level despite the challenge in hers. “You’ll help her more if you come at this fresh in the morning, with clear heads and steady hands.”
She huffed a humorless little laugh, the sound bitter. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of switching off. Some of us can’t just compartmentalize everything into neat little boxes and file it away.”
The words hit closer to home than she probably realized. “Trust me,” I met her gaze, “you don’t want to learn how.”
That earned me another look I couldn’t quite read—half anger, half curiosity, like she was trying to figure out what exactly I meant by that. Astrid tugged at her sleeve, breaking the moment. “Come on, Mads. He’s right. For tonight, anyway. We’re not going to find her stumbling around in the dark.”
I followed them out into the parking lot, crushed shells crunching under our feet.
The night air was cooler now, carrying the scent of low tide and rain building offshore.
I watched them cross the dock, shadows moving through the pool of yellow light cast by the bulb over the entrance.
Madden glanced back once, her expression unreadable in the darkness, then disappeared into a car with her friend.
They hadn’t been wrong to ask the questions, but I didn’t think either of them was the type to actually get the answers we needed. Could be I’d pick up a lot more by being a fly on the wall. So when their taillights faded, I went back inside.
The bartender looked up from drying a glass. “Carrera. Heard you were back.”
“Jimmy.” I nodded in greeting. “That girl Dr. Thompson was asking about—did you see her last night?”
“Yeah. Quiet girl. Sat over there.” He jerked his chin toward the corner table by the window, beneath a neon beer sign. “Coffee, laptop. Left after one, I think.”
“Alone?”
“Far as I saw. I was in and out of the back. Didn’t actually see her leave.”
“Anybody pay her undue attention?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t notice.”
“Thanks. Kitchen still open?”
“For a bit.”
I ordered that burger and took a seat at the far end of the bar, facing the window where Priya had last sat. The faint reflection of neon shimmered on the glass, the docks beyond swallowed by dark.
Somewhere out there, she’d vanished.
And I knew, deep down, that if the system was already dragging its feet, someone had to move faster.