Chapter 13
Thursday morning, Cressida slept late because her brain hadn’t shut off last night.
At some point she’d finally fallen asleep in the early morning hours—right when the dawn brightened her room.
Thoughts of the museum visit kept her tossing and turning and thinking about the Endeavor Spirit, aka Specter’s Bounty.
Then her mind had drifted to Detective Braden Sanders.
He wasn’t like any investigator she’d ever known—and that wasn’t saying much since she hadn’t known that many.
Still, she’d interacted with them on occasion during her journalistic investigations and usually irritated them.
They were matter-of-fact and never forthcoming or talkative.
Then again, his investigation was about her and not about her attempt to pry information from him, which was a completely different situation.
Braden had gone out of his way to stick close to her.
Yes, to protect her, but she sensed there was more going on.
After getting dressed, she went downstairs to the lobby and grabbed coffee and a breakfast sandwich. Sitting at one of the tables, she enjoyed the panoramic view of crashing waves while she waited for the rental car to be delivered.
Journal in hand, she flipped through the pages and reread her notes from yesterday, comparing them to Dad’s notes.
One question continued to dig at her—why had Dad cut his trip here short and gone to DC?
She hadn’t been on speaking terms with Mom at the time and had only seen Mom at Dad’s funeral.
They shared niceties for the public eye—a place Cressida had lived far too long, and she was done with it.
Just like Dad had finally been done with it.
Mom and Dad had been divorced since Cressida was twelve.
But Mom might know why Dad had come back to see her.
Cressida had learned that much. He’d flown directly to DC and taken a cab to talk to her but had been hit by a taxi while walking across the street.
Did it really matter why? Still, something that could pull him from his research had to be important, and Cressida found herself growing curious about it.
She should have questioned this all along.
I need to call her.
But I don’t want to talk to her. Her heart ached. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother, but the woman had put her job and her own life ahead of Cressida for the last time, betraying Cressida. Destroying her hard-earned career.
She’d enjoyed writing for The Pinnacle because the editors had considered her an elite investigative reporter and gave her room to explore and expand her horizons.
Mom had demanded that Cressida stop digging into a story about environmental damage from sunken vessels without telling her why, and she’d refused.
The next thing Cressida knew, she was let go from The Pinnacle.
She hadn’t been told in so many words why, but she knew.
Oh, she knew. Mom had pulled strings to get her way like she’d always done.
Cressida was an award-winning journalist and liked to believe she had earned her way into the upper echelon of journalistic venues.
And it was pure torture to think for even one moment that her mother might have influenced those doors that opened for her long ago.
Regardless, after she was let go, with her accolades Cressida could have gone to any other magazine—The New Yorker, The Atlantic, Vanity Fair—so she’d tried, but editors who once sought her now ghosted her.
Those doors had all closed. She didn’t bother confronting her mother. What was the point?
Cressida shut the journal. She hadn’t been looking at it anyway.
Finally, the car arrived. A blue Nissan Versa.
The rental driver entered—a guy in a red shirt and cap—and pulled her from her morbid thoughts.
She should put them completely behind her.
Except . . . that nagging feeling at the base of her skull that Mom knew something about Dad that she hadn’t shared with Cressida.
But she would worry about that later, after she was done here in Hidden Bay—her last stop before compiling, editing, and polishing the book for publication with Anchor Point Books.
In the rental car, Cressida drove south, steering through two small towns until she finally landed at a big-box store, and that had taken her a good hour and a half of driving.
Maybe she could get a laptop there. Just something to keep her in business.
She preferred to spend as much time as she could out in the community. People were so interesting, and she loved to observe, to talk and get their stories first, but she needed to get online too. She could transfer her notes and do some research to dig deeper into what she’d learned at the museum.
Cedar Trails Lodge had no cell service or internet and therefore no Wi-Fi.
Even BYOIS—bring your own internet service, such as Starlink Mini portable—was frowned upon.
After all, it destroyed the whole theme of getting back to nature.
Still, she’d taken the time to stop and smell the proverbial roses in each place of the globe she’d visited to finish up Dad’s book.
She wasn’t at Cedar Trails to unplug, and so she traveled with her own mini satellite. However, she still needed a laptop to make things work.
After purchasing the most powerful laptop they sold—which wasn’t that great—she stepped out of the store and made her way over to her vehicle.
She’d go back to her room at the lodge, set up the laptop, and connect to her notes in the cloud.
She had completely written off her old laptop—it was gone forever, and she didn’t care. She had all she needed with her.
Now that she had the journal back.
And later this afternoon, she’d have to get ready for dinner. She smiled to herself. What had she been thinking to bring up dinner and then later agree to dinner with Detective Braden Sanders? And then she’d had the nerve to ask him to take her on his motorcycle?
Seriously.
At the thought of him, heat flooded her entire being as she paused to fumble for the fob and unlock her car. In the window reflection, she spotted a face she’d seen at the marina.
Not the man who’d attacked her. Someone else. Who knows? Maybe he’d come here to get a laptop too. Except he was watching her.
Definitely watching her.
I’m watching you too, dude. She lifted her cell to grab a selfie and made sure he was in the photo, then climbed into the vehicle.
She sent the photo to Braden, then sped away.
It wasn’t like she could escape the tail.
If he was watching her and he was following, he already knew which road she would travel back to Hidden Bay and Cedar Trails Lodge.
Before she’d been attacked, she might have approached him to ask what he was doing and get some answers. That was the old investigative journalist in her. In her experience, it took action to get answers.
Fortunately, she saw no one following her on the touristy two-way highway that was jammed with traffic driving up and down the coast and the only path through the Olympic Peninsula.
Almost two hours later, she was finally back at the Cedar Trails Lodge, and she stopped at the coffee kiosk to grab an iced coffee, then took a picture of the photograph of the Specter’s Bounty.
She lingered at the big panoramic window and asked lodge patrons hanging out if anyone had ever personally seen the ghost ship.
Negative.
She noticed a text had come through while she’d been driving. It was Braden asking about her safety. She sent him a quick text—hoping he’d get it—that she was at the lodge, safe and sound, and would see him at six tonight.
Coffee in hand, she made it to her room, unpacked the laptop and the mobile satellite, and set everything up. She’d laid out her journal and notes on the bed and desk.
She’d been to the museum and gotten the dark story of the Specter’s Bounty, but she had more questions than answers. What happened to the ship and the crew? And what did Evelyn Monroe know?
At five fifteen, she woke up sprawled on her bed next to the journal and notes and yawned.
I can’t believe I fell asleep!
She bolted from the bed. She had to get ready for her not-a-date with Braden. Did she want it to be a real date? Sure. Yeah. She’d admit it to herself. Did she think he wanted a date with her? Yeah, sure. She’d admit it for him.
Cressida hadn’t been on a date in three years, and that was well before Dad had died. Back then, she’d even been talking to Mom. Until her own mother had sabotaged her career, and as a result, that guy Cressida had dated, Gavin Ashford—someone her mother had introduced her to—ghosted her.
Fine, Gavin. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.
So, yeah, she was done, so done with dating. At least anyone in her world. But here she was as far as a person could get from DC, and Detective Sanders—Braden—was there on the beach.
Intense steel-blue eyes and just . . . looking good all the way to his bones and in every way that mattered.
She had a feeling he had a good heart. She could sense it.
After what she’d been through, dating a down-to-earth, middle-of-nowhere detective was the best idea she’d had in a long time.
Now, if she could just fully bring him into her investigation, her research, that could be an extra layer of protection for her.
She sounded like a manipulator even to herself.
And maybe in that way she was much more like her mother than she’d ever want to admit to anyone, especially herself. But she wasn’t harming anyone. Hiding the truth or taking down careers.
She could learn everything about the Specter’s Bounty and hopefully talk to Evelyn Monroe all while finding out who was behind the attack, and that would be a win-win for everyone.
Cressida cleaned up, putting on her least-wrinkled blouse and jeans. She’d be riding a motorcycle, so no point in wearing the one dress she’d packed. She brushed her crazy hair that she could never get under control, then finally gave up.
Staring in the mirror, she scrutinized her face. She’d never worn makeup and preferred her freckles to be in full view.
A text came through on her cell, surprising her. Like Braden had said—sometimes you got lucky. Cressida didn’t recognize the number, but she passed her card out frequently and expected unknown numbers.
8:30 at the Sea Reaper. Daughter of Alaric Dane deserves answers. I’ll give you half an hour. Captain Diggins.
I’ll be there.
Heart pounding, she smiled to herself. But it was strange.
Dad’s notes didn’t reflect that he’d spoken with Diggins.
How did this man know Alaric Dane was her father?
Though she was pleased with the news, the way he stated she deserved answers made her wonder if she even knew the right questions to ask.