Chapter 38
Braden ground his molars at the gruesome sight. This was their suspect. Deputies had shown up to apprehend him and now he was dead?
“Where’s Thatcher?” he asked, still facing the body. “I want the sheriff here.”
When he got no response from Trent, he glanced over his shoulder. The man remained standing with his back to the tent.
Braden’s heart might have stopped. “Where’s Cressida?”
Trent whirled around, grabbing his gun. “I don’t know! She was here a second ago. Maybe she had to use the ladies’ room.”
He thought she understood the dangerous situation. She wouldn’t have left without letting me know, would she?
“Stay with the body,” he said to Trent, then left the shadowed alley between the tents.
“Cressida!” he called into the thick, gawking crowd. They might even believe this was a show put on for the bash. But they couldn’t be more wrong.
Weaving through the mass of people, he looked for Cressida and called her name.
Tried her cell but got nowhere. Most onlookers held up their cell phones to take video.
He jogged around the structures and tents, finally spotting a temporary restroom fifteen yards away.
He approached and knocked on the door. “Cressida?”
“Nope!” a guy answered.
Great.
Panic set in, burning a line up his throat. Where had she gone? Lord, help me!
He headed toward the boardwalk and then the marina, all the slips packed with boats. Then rushed back around through the crowd to find Trent.
“Detective Sanders,” one of the deputies said. “We didn’t see her leave, but we were watching the crowd, trying to shut down videos. One woman got the video on her cell and showed me that no one left the alley.”
No one left the alley? Then where was she? “How’s that possible?”
Braden thanked the deputy, then rushed back into the alley where Trent was on his radio. He glanced at Braden. “Sheriff’s on his way.”
“Good. He’s got to take lead in this. I need to find Cressida.”
Trent lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “She was there, Braden. How was I supposed to know that she would just walk away?”
“She didn’t walk away.” He stared at the tent walls where he’d last seen her.
Stepping forward, he pressed his hand against the canvas and it flapped inward with little pressure.
He saw clearly now that someone had cut this opening.
His weapon at the ready, he stepped through and found the tent empty.
One look and he realized it was a weapons display tent, but it had been shut off from the public.
This had to be the way she’d gone. The big question was, why had she left?
He glanced to the ground and immediately saw signs of a struggle. She hadn’t left on her own. He bent down and lifted the chain from the ground—the chain minus the locket with the coordinates to some kind of dread on the ocean floor.
She’d been taken, definitely taken. Someone—possibly whoever had killed Derek Harlan—had the information they were after.
“Diggins.” He growled the name between clenched teeth. He was the one who wanted the “truth” from Evelyn Monroe.
Braden rushed out the back of the tent and eyed the boardwalk and the water. One boat headed out of the bay.
The Mariner’s Gambit.
Braden radioed Trent as he raced to the marina shop to get his hands on a rental boat, but that was going to be tough during the Pirates’ Bash. “I’m going after Cressida. I think she’s been abducted and someone’s taking her out to sea.”
“What? Why?”
“I need backup. Get the state police. Find a marine division willing to help. Call the Coast Guard. Anyone. Everyone. I’ll send you the coordinates when I have them. I believe we’re going after the Mariner’s Gambit, and I need everyone on this.” It could be a matter of national security.
“But what about Derek Harlan? He was murdered.”
“His troubles are over. We’ll learn the truth for him. Did you get the coroner?”
“I’ll take care of everything. I’ll get the resources moving. Go find her!”
Braden ended the radio call and was almost at the chandlery when his cell buzzed.
Octavia. He didn’t have time to mess with her, but neither could he ignore her. He answered. “Braden here. We have a problem.”
“You sound breathless.”
“Because I’m running. Cressida’s been taken.” And he couldn’t be sure it was out on the water. “I’ve called in the resources to help me search.”
“What?” Octavia continued to scream and berate him.
“I’m heading out to sea to find her.”
She swore under her breath, but he still heard it. “I’ll be there within the hour.”
“I’m not waiting for you. I think someone’s taking her to coordinates that we’ve found, we just don’t know exactly what this is about. We have some theories, but if you know, now would be the time to tell me.”
“It’s about a Cold War Russian nuclear submarine, Braden. Now do you get it? Now do you understand why I shut down her article? The world was supposed to believe it was lost and never found.”
“And these coordinates?” He spilled them out to her.
“Not the sub. The missing Vanguard that was on a CIA-funded covert mission to salvage the nukes and anything else that could be taken from that submarine—but it was all lost at sea.”
“Obviously it isn’t lost. Someone knows where to find it. And the Vanguard? What does that have to do with the Specter’s Bounty?”
“It’s complicated. Do you really want me to tell you everything now?”
“No.” Braden stood at the door to the marina. “Anything else before I end this call and go find your daughter?”
“You go out there, you might not come back, Braden. You know that, right?”
He ended the call. No more time to waste. He rushed inside to find both Mavis and Kit working hard, seeing to customers. He forced his way to the front of the line. “We have an emergency. I need a boat. Cressida has been taken.”
Kit paused while packaging an item, her eyes wide. “What?”
“No time to explain. I need a boat.”
“I got nothing for you. Maybe see if one of the people at the bash can help.”
He paced and rubbed his jaw. God, I need your help. Cressida needs your help.
“What about the pirates? You could get one of them to help.” She gestured toward the liveaboards, who had moved their boats in for the bash. “Diggins, maybe.”
Braden struggled to keep his expression neutral. Diggins was nowhere to be found. He had assumed that Diggins had taken Cressida, then he’d seen the Mariner’s Gambit—Malloy already on his list to be questioned—leaving the bay.
At that moment, Diggins himself stepped into the chandlery, surprising Braden. “Detective.” He nodded. “What’s going on? I thought I would find Ms. Dane with you.”
And I thought you’d found her and taken her. Clearly Braden was wrong. “I can’t be sure, but I’m concerned that Malloy has her on the Mariner’s Gambit. It’s heading out of the bay. I can’t know. All I know is someone took her. I’ve got my deputy calling in resources.”
“Did he get the Kraken on it? The USCG cutter?”
“I hope so,” Braden said. “I can’t wait for resources. Cressida might not have that time.”
“Let’s go.” Diggins led Braden out of the shop, and they rushed toward a skiff at the very end of the pier.
His old trawler, the Sea Reaper, was floating not too far out in the crowded bay. Either it had just arrived, or Braden and Cressida had missed it before. They hopped in without a second to waste and Diggins ramped up the motor and sped across the chop to his vessel.
They climbed aboard. Braden took in the older boat. Clearly Diggins had worked hard to repair it, but he had much work left to do. “Are you sure this is going to make it?”
“Oh, she’s good for it. But a bigger question is where are we going? I don’t see Malloy.”
“I think I know,” Braden said. “Just get us out of the bay, then I’ll tell you.”
Diggins was at the helm, slowly maneuvering out of the marina, and then he steered out of the bay, well away from other boaters, before picking up speed. Braden peered through binoculars, searching the horizon for the Mariner’s Gambit.
He didn’t get it. If Malloy had wanted Cressida, he had her to begin with. Then again, Cressida didn’t have the information then. How did Malloy know that she finally knew the location? Had Derek Harlan worked that out somehow and told Malloy? Had Malloy killed Derek, or had it been someone else?
“What are you after, Diggins? You wanted the truth from Evelyn. What are you looking for? Cressida said you knew why her father was killed. Tell me everything I need to know and tell me now. Cressida got what you needed, and that got her into trouble. Into this mess. You owe her. You owe me.”
Diggins handled his vessel with skill and experience as he grumbled under his breath, nodding and grimacing.
“The Specter’s Bounty, aka Endeavor Spirit, went out in search of the lost Vanguard. The crew was a few treasure hunters.”
That wasn’t exactly the story told at the museum. “Treasure. What treasure were they hunting?”
“Black-market stuff.”
“And you know this because you previously dealt in the same?”
“You have me all wrong, son. I wasn’t there for the same reason. Regardless, everyone on board the Specter’s Bounty is dead, except me. I was there too, looking for treasure of a different kind.”
Braden stumbled back, and not because the waves knocked the hull around. “You were on the Specter’s Bounty? Why did you lie about it?”
“Too dangerous. I told Ms. Dane it was all too dangerous to talk about. Her father died because of it, after all, and I knew I was done after that. I thought she deserved answers, but then I realized that I would only be putting her in danger and changed my mind. I told her not to come that night, and you both showed up.”
So, sounded like Diggins had informed Alaric Dane, after all.
“What happened to the crew?”
Diggins spared him barely a glance. “Maybe if we get your girl out alive, and we both survive, I’ll tell you.”
“Is that why you don’t need the coordinates?”
“Oh, I need them. We never made it to the Vanguard. I wasn’t given the coordinates.”
“Then how did Alaric Dane learn the coordinates? Where did he get the information?”
Wait. Braden couldn’t move. This had been staring him in the face from the start.
Octavia Dane had known all along what was on the ocean floor.
That’s why she steered Cressida away. She’d known the coordinates of the Vanguard as well, and Alaric had somehow discovered the coordinates, or maybe he, too, had known all along.
Perhaps even Evelyn had suspected he could learn the truth because his wife—now ex-wife—had known.
He held on to the rail.
“You getting your sea legs, buddy? You okay?” Diggins asked.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever be “okay” again. Nor was he sure that giving the location of a sunken vessel holding who knew what to someone who had allegedly sold artifacts on the black market was the best idea. But to find Cressida, he’d do it.
He showed him the coordinates on his cell via the pictures Cressida had taken.
“I can’t be sure that Malloy took her. I could have it all wrong. She could be back at the Pirates’ Bash, but I found evidence to suggest that she’d been taken. Tell me, what do you know about Malloy?”
“Oh, he took her, all right.” Diggins dipped and bobbed his chin. “If she has the coordinates, he’s the one.”
“Care to shed some light on that statement?”
“Malloy has been working this angle for years. Waiting for the moment when he’d get his big payday.”
Braden hated how in the dark law enforcement was on all of this. He hadn’t learned anything about Malloy. But now he’d take a moment to look at the image that had finally loaded via the text he’d gotten from Thatcher just before he’d boarded with Diggins.
“Hold on. I got this before we left the chandlery. I’ve been waiting on the image to pop up.” He looked at his cell.
The text was from Thatcher. It read, Look closely.
Braden expanded the image of a group of sailors posing for the camera.
He didn’t know what he was looking at. All the men were young, and this appeared to be an old image.
Diggins shot Braden a squinty pirate eye. Right. Okay. But he might know something or have some input. Braden stood next to him at the wheel and showed him the image. Diggins nodded and focused back on steering.
“Do you recognize anyone?” Braden asked.
“That’s Malloy. Take a closer look at the guy standing to his right.”
Braden rubbed his eyes, then peered again. The man next to Malloy. Was that . . . Trent Riker? Deputy Trent Riker and Malloy?
Trent had been feeding Braden the information, including finding Harlan’s prints—was it all a lie? Braden had been relying on him too much. He slowly looked up.
Diggins shrugged. “Been there. I’ve trusted the wrong people too. Your deputy? He was former CIA. He was in on the original salvage that went wrong. Don’t know more than that, other than talking about it gets you killed.”
Incredulous, Braden stared at this man full of surprises that he couldn’t confirm as truth.
“Tell me why you wanted the coordinates from Evelyn,” Braden said while he texted a special request to Thatcher and hoped he got it.
“What are you talking about?”
“You wanted the truth from her, the coordinates.”
“What? No. The truth I wanted from her . . . was to know if she ever really loved her husband. She left me for dead, you know.”