Chapter 10 #2
Brooks peered around the corner. In dim emergency lighting, he could make out three figures—two men in rain gear and Melissa Clarkson, her hands still bound but now standing.
The men gathered equipment, shoving items into waterproof bags while consulting a tablet that displayed what looked like a map.
Sullivan moved up beside Brooks, his service weapon drawn but held low. With hand signals, he indicated his plan—Brooks would create a distraction while Sullivan flanked the men from the opposite side of the junction.
Brooks nodded and reached into his pocket for his badge. Taking a breath, he stepped into view, badge held high.
“Police! Freeze!”
The men whirled toward him, eyes wide. The taller one reached for something inside his jacket, but Sullivan’s voice rang out from the other side of the chamber.
“Don’t even think about it. Hands where I can see them.”
The men froze. Brooks moved forward, maintaining focus on the suspect who’d reached for what might be a weapon.
“On your knees, hands behind your heads.”
The men complied slowly, exchanging glances. Sullivan emerged from the shadows, his weapon trained steadily on them.
“Melissa Clarkson?”
She nodded, exhaustion visible in every line of her face. “Yes. Thank God you found us.”
Brooks moved to remove the zip ties binding her wrists. “We’re going to get you out of here. Are you injured?”
“No. Just dehydrated and tired. They kept me blindfolded until yesterday.”
Sullivan moved behind the suspects, securing handcuffs on the first man. “Jacob Simmons. Maintenance worker for the historical society. And Tyler Aldrich, the mayor’s nephew. You boys are in serious trouble.”
The sound of rushing currents from the direction of the hidden cove grew louder.
“Chief, we need to evacuate now.” Brooks supported Melissa who looked unsteady on her feet. “The southern passage they mentioned—which way?”
The younger of the two men, Tyler Aldrich, glared. “Why should we help you?”
“Because you’ll drown alongside us if you don’t. The charges against you won’t include suicide.”
The maintenance worker broke first. “That passage. It leads upward toward the old cemetery. There’s an exit through the Morgan family crypt.”
Brooks felt a chill at the mention of the name. The crypt belonging to Lily Morgan’s family would become their escape route.
“Move.” Sullivan prodded the handcuffed men forward. “Brooks, you lead with Clarkson. I’ll bring up the rear with these two.”
They entered the passage, each step treacherous. The corridor sloped upward, providing hope they might stay ahead of the rising tide. Brooks kept Melissa close, supporting her when she stumbled.
“Where is Vivienne Hawthorne?”
“The woman who created the distraction? She came through the grate in the ceiling. Threw some kind of smoke bomb that disoriented the guard. Helped me. Then she said she needed to find you and disappeared. That was maybe fifteen minutes ago.”
Brooks’s concern intensified. Vivienne was somewhere in these passages, alone, trying to reach him. The southern route offered the safest evacuation, but she wouldn’t know that. She’d return to where they’d separated, expecting to find him there.
“Chief, Vivienne went to find me. She’ll be heading toward the observation point.”
“Then she’ll see it’s empty and follow our tracks here.” Sullivan’s voice strained from managing two unwilling prisoners.
But Brooks knew better. Vivienne wouldn’t just follow tracks—she’d sense where they’d gone. And that sensitivity that had proven so valuable might now lead her into greater peril if she attempted to reach them through the wrong passages.
The corridor continued its upward slope, and gradually the moisture decreased. Brooks’s flashlight beam revealed carved steps ahead—the access to the Morgan crypt.
At the top of the stairs, an ornate iron gate blocked their path. Sullivan produced a set of lock picks and worked the ancient mechanism. The gate swung open.
They emerged into the Morgan family crypt, a small stone structure with names carved into marble plaques on every wall. LILY MORGAN, 1982-1999 stood out among them—a memorial to a girl whose body had never been recovered, whose death had remained a mystery for twenty-five years.
Sullivan’s radio crackled. “Chief, this is Daniels. We’ve got the entrance secure and transport standing by. What’s your status?”
“We have Clarkson and two suspects in custody. Evacuating through the cemetery. Send medical to meet us at the Morgan crypt.”
“Copy that. Paramedics request you come to the church. Ground is saturated.”
“Roger,” Sullivan said.
Brooks stepped outside into the storm, rain soaking him. Melissa leaned heavily against him, her adrenaline fading.
But his mind remained on Vivienne, somewhere in those passages, unaware that he’d already found Melissa and evacuated. She’d keep searching, keep putting herself at risk to help solve this case.
“Chief, I need to go back.”
Sullivan turned to him, rain streaming down his face. “It’s not safe.”
“Vivienne is still down there. She doesn’t know we have Clarkson. She’ll keep looking for me.”
“Then she’ll find the empty chamber and evacuate through one of the other exits.”
Brooks wanted to believe that. But something in his gut—the same instinct that had kept him alive through Austin—told him Vivienne was in trouble.
“The lower passages will be completely submerged within minutes. If she’s trapped in one of those chambers—”
“That’s speculation, Harrington. And a risk I can’t authorize.”
Brooks removed his badge and placed it in Sullivan’s hand. “Then I’ll go as a private citizen.”
Sullivan stared at the badge, then at Brooks. Rain pelted them both as lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the chief’s conflicted expression.
“You’re worried about her.”
Brooks met his eyes. “She’s been accurate on everything. Without her, we wouldn’t have found any of this.”
Sullivan nodded slowly. “My father was chief when Cordelia disappeared. He never accepted the suicide ruling, but Aldrich forced him to close the case. Before he vanished, he left me his notes—three other investigators dead, all digging into what was below.” His gaze met Brooks’s.
“I’ve lived with that for nineteen years.
Don’t let it cost us another Hawthorne.”
Sullivan sighed, then pressed the badge back into Brooks’s hand. “Thirty minutes. Then you’re back at the station for debriefing, no matter what. Take the radio. Stay in contact. If the lighthouse entrance is sealed, you abort. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Sullivan turned to the others. “Daniels will escort you all to the church. I’ll accompany Detective Harrington.”
Brooks nodded, turned up his collar against the rain, and began jogging across the cemetery toward the path that would take him back to the lighthouse. His mind raced with calculations of time and tides, of rising levels and air pockets, of underground currents and stone passageways.
The lighthouse loomed ahead through the rain, its beam cutting through the darkness in regular intervals. For decades, it had stood as both warning and guide.
Foam and spray erupted twenty feet into the air with each wave impact. Brooks fought his way through wind that threatened to knock him off his feet, each step a battle.
He reached the basement entrance to find the surge pouring down the stone steps.
The door hung partially open, torn from one hinge.
Inside, the basement level was already submerged in three feet of churning currents, swirling with debris—broken crates, papers, and items abandoned in hasty evacuation.
The storage rack that had concealed the entrance had been pushed aside, possibly by force of the surge. Beyond it, the stone door stood fully open, dark currents flowing freely into the passage. The pressure differential had triggered the emergency release, just as he’d speculated.
But what waited below was not just rising tides but decades of corruption that went far beyond smuggling—a criminal empire of trafficking and murder that had operated beneath Westerly Cove, protected by those meant to safeguard the town.
Winston Aldrich, his son Jeremy, his nephew Tyler, and how many others?
How many families had disappeared when they got too close to the truth?
The Morgans, the Hawthornes—all touched by the same darkness that now threatened Vivienne.
Those questions would have to wait. Right now, only one thing mattered: finding Vivienne before the sea claimed another witness to protect the Aldrichs’ secrets.
Brooks secured a waterproof flashlight and took a breath. Then he waded into the basement, one hand against the wall to steady himself against the current, and entered the darkness beyond.
He only hoped he wasn’t too late.