Chapter 4 #2
“You just did.” He turned off the burner and set two plates on the table. “Eat. You’ll need it.”
“Because?”
“Because you need your strength for our plan.”
She frowned. “You think Dan’ll tell you anything?”
“He’ll tell me something,” Blake said, sitting opposite her. “People always do if you listen right.”
Vivian arched a brow. “And I’m supposed to hear something when I drive to the lighthouse?”
He hesitated, not liking the answer but knowing she’d ask anyway. “No, stick to the plan. You do a drive-by while I keep Dan busy. A look—windows, approach, who’s watching. Don’t get out. Don’t draw attention.”
She sipped her coffee, eyes over the rim, assessing him like she always did. “You think I can’t charm the truth from someone without blowing my cover?”
“Let’s face it, you’re the best shot with a gun, I’m the best with my winning personality.”
Her mouth quirked, but her eyes stayed wary. “Be careful, Blake. Dan could be playing you.”
“I’m always careful,” he said, grabbing his coat from the hook.
She face-palmed then winced at the pain in her hand. He had a sudden urge to kiss it, so he threw open the back door and stepped out for the cold to bite against his face, because Vivian wanted nothing from him except to leave him for a promotion.
The docks stretched quiet and gray, the water still. Too still.
As he made his way toward Dan’s shack at the end of the pier, Blake couldn’t shake the thought that Vivian was right about one thing: leads always seemed to fall into his lap. But not without a cost.
And the way last night went, he had a feeling they were already paying it.
The wind off the harbor cut sharp, carrying the bite of salt and old fuel. Blake shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked the dock, boots crunching ice against wet planks. Seagulls wheeled overhead, their cries echoing through the still morning.
Dan’s shack sat at the far end, a weather-beaten box with a rusted stove pipe and peeling blue paint. Inside, the air smelled like coffee grounds, oil, and the faint sourness of bait. Dan sat behind a small counter, tightening a valve on a propane heater.
“Morning,” Blake said easily, stepping in. “Thought I’d check in on the shackle and see if you might have time to work on the Lady today with me.”
Dan looked up, squinting against the gray light filtering through the small window. “Ah, the honeymooner. Sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday, my other appointment ran too long. Wife talking to you yet?”
Blake chuckled. “I sent her out to explore the island, go drive around a bit while I get some work done.” He leaned against the counter, adopting that loose, open posture that always made people talk.
“It’s gonna take more than a drive to make up for living on that boat,” Dan teased.
“Yeah, I was thinking you might be able to help with that. I need something good to tell her about the Windward Lady.” Blake waved a hand dismissively. “She’s sentimental like that.”
Dan chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, don’t think you want her asking around then.” He wiped his hands on a rag, eyes narrowing as he studied Blake.
His stomach tightened, though his face stayed casual. “Why?”
Dan leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. “You want the truth?”
“Sure.”
“Remember me telling you about that guy that worked on your boat?”
“Yeah?” Blake swallowed, waiting for more information.
“Before the broker sold her off to you, that guy who worked on the boat also lived on her. Not officially. Kind of a drifter type. Handy with engines, though. Hired to do repairs, then just… stayed. Guess he was working off what he owed. Nice enough, but jumpy. Didn’t talk much.
Looked like he’d had a rough life. Couple tattoos up his arm and even one on his neck.
It looked like it had been inked on to cover a nasty scar. ”
Blake’s pulse picked up, a dull thud in his ears. Jenson.
The idea hit like a sucker punch to the gut.
Blake kept his posture loose, his tone even. “How long ago was that?”
“Couple months, maybe less. He stopped showing up. Heard he was headed out to the lighthouse for a job, but that’s just dock talk. Nobody’s seen him since.”
Blake’s throat went winter dry. He turned toward the window, pretending to watch the gulls circle the bay, hiding the shift in his expression.
Jenson. The same Jenson they’d lost in the last op.
The same man Maddox had sworn was gone—no trace, no body, just gone.
But he’d been stationed in another location.
Not here. He’d been the one to identify the lead to this place, but he’d never made it to the location. So they’d been told.
If Jenson had been living on the Windward Lady… Maddox had to have known.
And he’d sent Blake and Vivian here anyway.
He swallowed the anger that rose hot in his chest. Not here. Not yet.
Dan set the shackle on the counter, bent back to a perfect shape.
“Thanks.” Blake forced the word from his mouth despite his brain wheeling so fast it was making him dizzy.
“You okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Blake managed a tight smile. “Just didn’t expect to have screwed up this bad my first week of marriage. Promise me you won’t tell Viv this story.”
Dan took a sip, gaze drifting toward the window. “Sure man, but you might want to stay off the lighthouse end of the harbor. Locals say it’s bad luck.”
“I think I want to get our boat moving,” Blake said, pulling a few bills from his pocket and setting them on the counter. “For the shackle. I think I’m going to check on Viv.”
“Sure thing.”
Blake stepped back into the cold, the door creaking shut behind him. The sky had thickened, the light flattening to a dull, gray weight. He stood still for a moment, letting the air burn through his lungs.
Jenson had been here.
Which meant Laurel Tide had identified and killed him. And if the trap on the boat hadn’t been meant for some random buyer, it was meant for them. But not the way he’d thought originally. Jenson had left that for them under the trap. It was a clue to what got him killed.
He started back toward the Windward Lady, boots striking faster, his mind already running ahead. Maddox had sent him into this blind. And Viv—she’d trusted him, believed this was just another lead.
He hated the thought clawing up his throat.
If Maddox knew about Jenson, he’d also know what happened to anyone who got too close to Laurel Tide.
And if history had a way of repeating itself—Vivian.