Chapter 21
In her room at the lodge, Cressida stared out at the endless darkness of a cloudy night over the Pacific.
The aged frame creaked as she opened the window, letting in the salty breeze, so she could better hear the unending sound of the ocean.
Some waves crashed against the rocks while others swept up the sandy beach, then slid back out to sea—all of it with a rhythm that soothed her bleeding soul.
And she desperately needed that comfort. Hard enough to accept her father was gone, but to think that he could have been murdered over what he’d discovered in Hidden Bay? Diggins could have shared more with her, but he chose to keep it from her.
She almost wanted to ask Braden to haul Diggins into the sheriff’s office and interrogate him.
But with no evidence that her father might have been murdered—that she knew about—it wasn’t like Braden could officially interrogate him.
No. She’d get Diggins what he wanted, and maybe she could also get answers of her own.
What had her father learned? What did her mother know about it, if anything?
Cressida opened up her laptop and emailed a law enforcement friend in DC.
Maybe he could look into it and find out more, and she could avoid calling her mother.
Even if she did go groveling back—and that’s what it would take—her mother wouldn’t tell her anything.
Secrets. Her mother always had them.
And her father’s secrets? He told her that he learned early on that a sunken shipwreck might tell a story, but the rest of its secrets sank deeper than the wreckage.
She closed her eyes and once again listened to the ocean .
. . and yes . . . she could hear the thrum of the ocean as if it whispered secrets only it could know.
A strong gust sent rain straight through the window to hit her face, startling her like the good, cold slap that she needed. Cressida shut the window and stepped away.
Time to get busy and find the truth before it was too late.
Sorry, Dad.
Things had escalated. Her research here had an expiration date.
She couldn’t take the time to interview multiple people or spend a day or two or three at the museum to learn more.
She couldn’t take the time to feel and enjoy the reminders of her father.
She couldn’t just hang out at the local coffee shop and listen to the chatter, ask about the lore, or even stop to join in singing sea shanties if someone were to suddenly break out with “Blow the Man Down.” Everything she’d done over the last year, following Dad’s path, revisiting the places he walked so she could see and feel for herself, had come down to this one last ghost ship story.
After ten shipwrecks for his book, researching them had never led her to danger.
And with the risk factor, Cressida had lost her freedom. She wanted to walk on the beach right now, even in the rain, and be alone with her thoughts. Maybe she still could. After all, she now had two bodyguards.
No one had actually told her they were standing guard.
She wasn’t a prisoner locked in her room.
But she knew those two bulky guys belonging to Remi and Jo were watching over her.
Maybe in the past she would have felt incredulous at the intrusion.
But in the past, not once had she ever felt like she’d been in danger or targeted like she was now.
So she appreciated this extra protection while she uncovered the mystery behind her attack, Diggins’s and Braden’s attacks, and now Evelyn Monroe’s attack.
Cressida needed to read through her journal and Dad’s notes with fresh eyes, if only Dad’s notes on the Specter’s Bounty weren’t so sparse. If only his journal wasn’t missing pages—which she now found utterly suspicious.
She toyed with her cell phone. She could use her portable satellite to get a signal for her cell.
And she could call her mother. Distaste quickly rose in her mouth, and she drank from her soda can as if to wash the thought away. She’d emailed her friend and would wait for an answer from him.
I know I’m wrong to have walked away from her, Lord, but how in the world can I face her, talk to her, after what she’s done?
Even knowing that God expected her to forgive her mother, she didn’t know how to make that happen. Cressida had labored for years, and her mother had destroyed all her hard work in one fell swoop. One or two phone calls and her career was dead and gone forever.
Why, Mom? Why?
And deep down, she suspected there was a story there, a reason behind her mother’s behavior. Cressida dreaded that reason. She suspected that with her mother’s connections, digging would uncover a truth that put her mother’s life and career at risk.
But for Dad—to find out more about what happened to him—she could talk to her mother. She could call and find out if Octavia knew anything about Alaric Dane’s death. Had any suspicions. And for all Cressida knew, her mother was connected to it somehow or even in danger herself.
And then . . . then she knew.
Or she suspected. That guy . . . her stalker.
Cressida got up, pulled on her raincoat/windbreaker, and left her room. Downstairs, a fire blazed in the massive fireplace, and lodge guests gathered to enjoy it or mingled near the coffee station. Not far, two broad-shouldered males emerged from the shadows on opposite ends of the lodge.
Okay. Now she was definitely feeling their invasiveness. She bounded down the steps and approached the lumberjack guy—Hawk, wasn’t it?
“Hi, so, I need to talk to the guy,” she said.
He shrugged. “The guy?”
Then Cole approached. She was surrounded by these big men with extremely protective demeanors.
Kind of like the men who guarded her mother—DSS special agents.
A thought flitted through her mind and then escaped.
She couldn’t capture it again. Cole and Hawk stared at her even as they continued to project fierce protection.
Their behavior almost made Cressida appear like she was someone important, when she wanted to remain invisible and behind the scenes and be nobody who resembled her mother.
“People are staring,” she said. “Please . . . back down.”
“We’re helping a friend,” Hawk said. “Keeping you safe.”
“You want to keep me safe? Then help me find the guy. I need to talk to him.”
“Not sure that’s a good idea.” Hawk again. “Want one of us to talk to him?”
“Braden wants that chore.” This from Cole.
Braden had his chance to talk to the guy at the restaurant. “Look, I think I know who he is.” Sort of. “You can come too. It’s not like I can stop you. So where is he? And don’t tell me you don’t know.”
“Honestly, we don’t.” Hawk shared a look with Cole. “He left.”
“What? And you didn’t follow him? Seems like you would have.” Maybe they were somehow tracking him. “Whatever. So is it possible I could get some fresh air?”
“It’s dark and raining.” Cole crossed his arms.
“Right. Fine. Okay.” Cressida got some coffee and then went back upstairs to her room.
She opened the door and stepped out onto the small veranda this time.
The rain had settled to a light mist, but she would get wet all the same.
She closed her eyes and sighed. Once this was over .
. . Oh, Lord, please let it just be over .
. . she could actually live in a place that provided peace and quiet and was sparsely populated.
And . . . Braden . . .
Yeah, what had she been thinking, telling him that she liked him?
Her time in Hidden Bay was stirring up the worst of memories regarding her mother—Cressida’s career, and then being ghosted, or rather dumped, by the guy she’d been dating for six months because of her career.
Was she ready to put her heart on the line and trust someone, especially someone she barely knew, after what she’d been through already?
Not that their “like” of each other had gone anywhere or would go anywhere.
Before she got too soaked, Cressida moved back inside, and then on her laptop, she spotted the returned email.
Her friend’s email wasn’t working anymore.
Hmm. She blew out a defeated sigh and found Mom’s cell number.
This was a good number unless she’d changed it.
Her finger hovering over the number, Cressida fought the surging tears and the ache in her throat.
When and if she talked to Mom, she absolutely had to be in control of that conversation, and right now the emotions still ran too high.
A text came in from Braden, sending relief through her. She could put off her call to Mom.
If you’re still up, meet me downstairs.
On my way.
She downed the rest of her coffee, glad for the caffeine.
The day had worn her down, but a text from Braden gave her an adrenaline surge.
She traveled the stairwell, searching for him as she descended.
His two buddies didn’t emerge from the shadows.
Instead, Braden stood in the middle of the floor and stared up at her.
The look he gave her was a mix of admiration and, oddly, both fear and determination. Her pulse kicked up, and she took her time descending the stairs. When she finally approached and was close enough to see, his face looked haggard, but his eyes were as sharp as ever.
“Braden . . .” His name came out as a whisper, maybe telling him how glad she was to see him. Not what she’d intended.
And the slightest flinch in his features revealed his raw reaction. She hadn’t expected that, and something deep inside stirred. She could be reading him all wrong—he’d been through a lot tonight.
“Are you okay?” she asked. What a ridiculous question.
He pulled a hand from his leather jacket. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
She glanced around the space. “There’s a table over there.”
“I mean, let’s get out of here.”
“Okay. I just need to get my jacket.”
From her room, Cressida grabbed her windbreaker and stuffed her small wallet and cell in a pocket, then joined Braden at his vehicle.