Chapter Sixteen #2
“Very. I’m invested in the ‘you surviving’ outcome. I want to see what you do with a life where someone else isn’t writing the rules.”
Something in her eyes shifted. Softened. Lit from within even through the hurt.
“You say things like that,” she murmured, “and then expect me to form coherent sentences?”
“I’m not opposed to wordless communication.”
Her cheeks flushed.
Before the moment could tilt any further, the door banged open.
JT leaned in, a file tucked under his arm. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re heading to the docks.”
Will appeared behind him, already zipping up his jacket. “Malbern has come ashore and is making noise at the bait shop,” he said. “If we’re going to get eyes on him, now’s the time.”
“You want us along?” Asa asked.
“I want you close,” Will said. His gaze flicked to Maya. “That goes for both of you. We’re not poking the hornet’s nest today, just keeping an eye on it.”
Maya straightened. “What do you need me to do?”
“For the moment, watch and listen,” Will told her. “Tell me if anything about his voice or presence hits that part of your memory that hasn’t surfaced yet. We’re not putting you in his path alone.”
Her throat worked. “Okay.”
JT clapped his hand lightly on the doorframe. “This could be big. Malbern is important to this case in some way. We just have to figure out how.”
◆◆◆
The wind at the docks hit harder than in town, laced with salt and diesel and the faint, sour hint of bait.
Will parked his cruiser two blocks up, partly shielded by a row of stacked crab pots.
JT eased the SUV in behind a pile of pallets across the way, giving them a sliver of sightline without making them obvious.
Asa sat in the back beside Maya once more. From there, he could see the squat outline of the bait shop, its peeling blue paint and rusted metal awning hunched against the weather. Inside, a man paced in front of the counter, one arm chopping the air. Troy Malbern.
“You see him?” JT asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Asa said. “Big guy. Beard. Tan jacket. Looks like every guy who’s ever yelled at a ref on TV.”
Maya leaned just enough to catch a glimpse. Her breath went shallow.
“Anything?” Asa asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t . . . I don’t know him. But—”
“But what?” JT asked, looking back at her.
Maya seemed to search for the words. “The way he moves,” she said finally. “It’s not the same. The man in the barn—the one in my head—he was calm. Like he didn’t care how long anything took. This guy feels twitchy.”
Asa watched Troy slam his palm down on the counter and jab a finger at the clerk.
“Twitchy’s generous,” JT muttered. “I’ve seen more self-control at a toddler’s birthday party. Troy’s temper is the least suspicious thing about him. But body language is still useful. If you had said ‘that’s him’ without a doubt, we’d be in a different ball game.”
Maya exhaled a shaky breath. “I can’t say that. I don’t recognize him.”
Asa thought about what Maya remembered. The man in the barn had spoken with clinical calm. Someone who treated horror like paperwork. However, Troy Malbern, from all appearances, treated minor inconveniences like personal war crimes. Different flavors of broken.
Over the radio, JT conveyed what Maya had said.
“Copy,” Will said. “We keep watching.”
They did.
For the next twenty minutes, they watched Troy argue over a crate of bait, stomp outside to take a phone call, stomp back in to demand a discount, and finally stomp his way down the dock toward his boat, muttering under his breath.
Will joined them in the SUV. “Anybody else underwhelmed by our potential mastermind?” he asked dryly.
“Underwhelmed doesn’t mean uninvolved,” Asa said. “He had opportunity, history with the property, and a vehicle that matches the dispatcher’s memory.”
“That dispatcher’s memory is twenty-plus years old,” JT pointed out. “Half the island drove white SUVs back then.”
“Which is why we’re not cuffing him today,” Will said. “But I’m not crossing his name off either.”
Asa watched Troy’s back recede down the dock.
Maya’s fingers crept toward his on the seat between them, not quite touching. He turned his palm up. She let her hand settle into his, their fingers curling together in the shadowed back seat.
“You shaking?” he murmured, holding her gaze.
“A little.”
“Want to call it adrenaline?”
She let out a tiny breath that might have been a laugh. “Let’s pretend it’s that and not the part of me that keeps thinking you’re going to let go.”
He tightened his grip. “Not happening,” he said, low and sure.
Outside, Troy cursed at his mooring line.
Inside, the SUV felt like its own small world.
Will’s voice crackled over the radio again. “We’ll keep surveillance rotating,” he said. “No contact yet. I want to see what he does when he thinks nobody’s looking.”
Asa lifted their joined hands, just enough to press his lips against her knuckles. “We’re getting closer,” he said, looking into her eyes.
“To what?”
“To where he runs out of places to hide. Whoever he is. Whatever name he’s been wearing.”
She looked at him, really looked, and something in her gaze steadied. “You really believe that.”
“Yes, I do.”
She drew a slow breath. “Then I’ll try to believe it, too.”
For a moment, the harbor fell away. There was just the warmth of her hand in his, the flicker of stubborn hope in her eyes, and the quiet, unspoken promise in his chest. Whatever ghosts this man had tried to erase, they weren’t done speaking yet, and Asa intended to listen until the last lie fell silent.