36. Delaney
DELANEY
After Samson goes upstairs and then returns fully dressed with a leather jacket, he hands me a leather duster. “It’ll be brisk.”
I take it as we leave and get into his car.
We end up at the marina.
The wind hits first, and then the smell—salt, sea creatures, old wood. The scent settles into my lungs before I can stop it.
Samson moves like he belongs here. Not at the safehouse…or safe castle, whatever it is. Not in rooms with walls and locks and rules.
Here.
Out in the open.
His body changes as we walk. His stride lengthens. His shoulders tighten. Every movement becomes more cautious. Like he’s preparing for something.
Something dangerous.
It shouldn’t do anything to me.
It does.
I fall into step beside him. “You’ve been here since that night,” I say.
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Enough.”
That tells me nothing.
And everything.
We don’t speak again until the dock comes into view. The same one. The same stretch of weathered wood. The same private access point just off to the side.
The same place where—
I stop that thought.
“Show me,” I say instead.
He doesn’t ask what I mean. He walks straight to the access point. The chain is different. Newer and cleaner. Locked.
This is where it was.
This is where it opened.
I step closer.
The wind shifts, pushing my hair back and exposing my neck.
“That’s not the original,” I say.
“No.”
“You replaced it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the original shouldn’t have been open.”
I crouch slightly, examining the latch, the connection point, the way the chain sits. “This wouldn’t just come undone,” I say.
“No.”
“So someone opened it.”
“Yes.”
Is this the lock replacement I found during my research? Seems too simple, but then again, simple is often overlooked.
I stand and move past him onto the dock itself. The boards creak under my weight.
I don’t look back. I don’t need to. I know he’s following me.
I step farther out toward the edge. Toward the place where it happened.
Where everything changed.
I stop. The water below is dark and restless. The wind is brisker here. I wrap my arms around myself without thinking.
He steps in behind me. Close enough that I feel the heat of him through the cold air.
“Right here,” he says.
His voice is lower now.
Different.
Not the controlled tone from the house.
Something closer to memory.
To truth.
I don’t turn. “Walk me through it,” I say.
Nothing for a moment.
Then—
“It was raining. And he was already here.”
“You mean Halstead.”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Waiting?”
A pause.
“No.”
“Then why was he here?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. The wind fills the silence. Water slaps against the dock.
Then—
“I thought he was the target,” he says.
My pulse jumps.
That again.
That same fracture in the story.
“Thought?” I ask.
He exhales slowly. “I didn’t question it.”
Something settles in my chest. Not grief. Not exactly. More like a flicker of anger.
“You don’t seem like a man who doesn’t question things.”
“I didn’t question that.”
“Why not?”
“Because everything around it said I didn’t have to.”
I turn then, face him. “Like what?”
“The access point, the timing, the position. Everything was already in place.” He walks closer to me.
Too close.
The wind doesn’t matter anymore.
The cold doesn’t matter.
Just him.
Just this.
“You think it was set up,” I say.
“I know it was.”
The certainty in his voice does something to me. Something dangerous. Something that makes me want to believe him.
I shouldn’t.
I do anyway.
“Then who set it up?” I ask.
His gaze hardens. “That’s what I want to find out.”
A voice cuts through the wind. “You shouldn’t be here.”
We both turn.
An older man stands near the edge of the dock. He looks like he works here. His face is weathered and his eyes… They look like they’ve seen too much.
He’s watching us.
Samson shifts. He’s ready. Ready to take on an old man if he has to.
“We’re just looking,” I say.
The man snorts. “People always say that. Then they end up at the bottom of the water.” He steps closer and looks at me. Then at Samson. “You’ve been here before.”
Samson doesn’t reply.
The man nods once. Like that’s enough. Then he looks at me. “You’re asking the wrong questions.”
My heart races. “Then tell me the right ones.”
A pause. I expect Samson to grab me and haul me away. Or to tell the man to shut the fuck up. To my surprise, he does neither.
The old man coughs. “That man wasn’t the only one expected that night.”
Everything in me stills. “What do you mean?” I ask.
The man shrugs. “Just what I said.”
“Expected by whom?”
Another shrug. “I don’t get paid to know that part.”
“But you saw something.”
“I saw enough to know it wasn’t random.”
Not random. Just what the bartender said. My mind races. Halstead wasn’t supposed to be there alone.
Or…
He wasn’t supposed to be there at all.
The thought hits hard.
Too hard.
Too close to something I don’t want to touch yet.
“Was he—” My voice catches. I push through it. “Was Halstead meeting someone?”
“You’re asking like you knew him,” he says.
I gulp, my nerves on edge, but I push through. “I’m investigating his death.”
Not a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
He nods. “Yeah, he was meeting someone.”
My pulse pounds. “Who?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t see his face.”
“Was he already here?”
“No.”
“Then where was he?”
The man jerks his chin toward the far end of the dock. “He came in from the other side.”
That doesn’t make sense.
This is the private access point.
This is where—
Shit.
“There’s another way in,” I say.
Samson goes rigid.
The man nods again. “Hidden if you don’t know where to look.”
He studies me for one more second and then shifts his gaze to Samson.
Something changes in his posture.
I feel it before I see it.
Samson moves at the same time. “Someone’s here,” he says quietly.
I turn.
A figure is watching us.
Just watching.
Until—
Whoever it is begins to run toward us.
Samson’s already moving.
Fast.
Gone from my side.
The wind surges around me.
The dock creaks under the sudden absence.
And just like that…we’re not alone anymore.