Dangerous Waters (14 page)

An itch started at the nape of his neck. He stepped back and made sure everything looked the same as when he’d come in. He was just about to leave the bedroom when he heard the front door open. He eased behind the door. What the hell was he gonna say if Finn caught him in here? Come clean? Then Dryzek would kill him for sure. He was stuck between a rock and an erupting volcano.

Shit
.

He pressed himself tight to the wall behind the door and peered through the thin slice between it and the frame. It took him a moment to recognize the uniformed figure of Holly Rudd striding into the other room.
What the hell
?

Then he remembered what his mother had told him about Holly going home with Finn from the hospital. She grabbed something off her bed, turned, and went right back out the front door. Her face was a mess.
Christ
.

Mike counted to a hundred and then moved cautiously into the kitchen. He searched the cupboards rapidly, but there was no way Finn would keep contraband in the kitchen cupboard if he had the cop camping out.

The idea of Finn stealing didn’t fit with what Mike knew about the guy, but Remy had been adamant. His throat went dry because if Finn found out, he was going to look a lot like Holly Rudd. Worse, Finn wasn’t the only Carver residence Dryzek had ordered him to search. Chances of getting inside Brent Carver’s new place without the bastard catching him were slim to none, and he didn’t want to wind up like their dear old daddy. Mike needed a miracle, but heaven seemed a little short recently. Pausing, he went back to the suitcase in the bedroom and took the gun out of the case. It felt heavy in his palm. He slipped it into his waistband and covered it with his T-shirt, pocketed some ammo, and closed everything up the way it had been.

Finn was going to kill him if he found out. But at least the pistol gave him some hope of coming out of this mess alive.

He checked the windows and headed down the stairs with an easy grin stretching his mouth, just in case anyone was watching. Sweat soaked through his T-shirt under his arms. He’d done something foolish and gotten involved with some scary people. Now he was paying for it.

There was a knock on his door, and Thom looked up from his computer monitor. His secretary came in with a cup of coffee. Despite the massive difference in their salary, he was merely the figurehead and it was she who ran the inner mechanisms of the marine lab.

“What would I do without you, Gladys?” He smiled as she settled his favorite mug on the coaster on his desk. Even on those days when he slipped into obsessive mania, she made sure everyone else did what they were supposed to do.

“Laura Prescott called.”

His heart gave an involuntary flinch.

“She said she was going to be late for today’s lunch meeting.”

His throat constricted to the size of a straw. “We have a lunch meeting?” he squeaked.

Gladys smiled and went back to the door. “One o’clock. Your place. From the expression on your face, I’m guessing Finn set it up.”

He tugged at his shirt collar that suddenly felt way too tight. “I don’t want a meeting with Laura Prescott.”

“You need to think about your future. You’re so focused on the past. What if the police decide you did kill that diver you found? You need to be prepared.” Gladys stared at him from his office door. “Anyway, Laura’s a sweetheart.”

“She scares the crap out of me,” he admitted.

Her kind brown eyes softened. “Bianca died a long time ago. No one’s saying you have to forget her, but…”

Thirty years. Thirty years of grief and misery and bone-gnawing frustration. He stared up at Gladys and realized he’d spent most of his adult life chasing a fool’s errand. “I can’t.” He thought of the freckles on Holly’s forehead matching those on the photograph of his beautiful lost daughter, Leah. “Not yet.”

She didn’t look surprised by his answer. “We get one chance at this thing called life, Thom, and none of us knows how long we’ve got until it’s over. You think about that.”

Thom stared down at the trailing wisps of steam coming off his coffee. He didn’t want to think about it. Which meant he was stuck in that nightmare day from three decades ago. Reliving the panic of not being able to find his wife or children, the fear that she’d left him, the terror of knowing something was wrong, the despair at finding their bodies, and the endless search for his daughter.

He caught his gaunt reflection in the monitor as his screen went black and jolted as an old man looked back at him. Saliva pooled in his mouth and he almost choked on it.

Would Bianca have wasted her life searching for his killer had the tables been turned? He knew she wouldn’t. But in some ways it made it even more imperative he find the villain. She hadn’t loved him the way he’d loved her and she’d stayed with him anyway. She’d come to Bamfield because of him; therefore, she’d died because of him. And the thought of giving up on his children, of finally letting them go…

He flicked his monitor back on and stared at the only family portrait he had. Taken in the grass outside this very building, the day before they’d been stolen from him forever. How could any father give up on his family? He’d rather die.

“What the hell does this guy do for a living?” Holly and Malone looked at one another and then back at the enormous luxury cabin that overlooked the ocean. Malone’s face showed disgust. Holly’s expression should have shown surprised suspicion, except all her features were now padded by painful swelling and colorful bruises. She was going to have to rely on more than her friendly smile today.

She knocked on the door again, but no one answered. They shrugged at one another and tramped around the back.

“Now
that’s
a view.” Malone whistled.

There were some tree-topped rocky islands nearby, and far northeast were the mountains in the island’s interior. But stretched out west to the horizon were the deep indigo waters of the Pacific.

“They grew up here.” Holly looked around. There was nothing to suggest the grinding poverty or violent death of the past. Instead, the massive, million-dollar home with huge windows facing the sea sat in isolated splendor. She knocked on the door again, harder, and this time there was a noise from within.

The door opened abruptly, and there stood a tall, rangy man, blond hair sticking up on end, eyes bloodshot and blurry. Barefoot, in jeans and a ragged T-shirt, his face was drawn with deep crevices that carried a damn sight more experience than his years warranted.

“Mr. Carver? Brent Carver? Can we come in?”

His eyes took in her battered appearance, sparking with interest, but he said nothing, just shook his head. He turned and walked wearily away. She and Malone exchanged a look and followed him inside. The house was dazzling bright, skylights making the most of the morning sun. They ended up in a huge, open-plan kitchen that would have looked right at home in a magazine.

Brent Carver pointed to the coffeepot. “Help yourself.” Then he slumped into a navy couch, holding his head in one hand as he slugged back coffee.

He looked like a man who’d gone on a bender ten years ago and hadn’t stopped since.

Even though the coffee tempted her, Holly refrained from accepting a cup. “We’ve got some questions about a man named Len Milbank.”

“I heard they found his body out at Crow Point.”

The RCMP hadn’t released that the body had been found inside the shipwreck. In fact, they hadn’t even released details of the new shipwreck to the public yet, but this was a small town. They’d all know soon enough.

“We’re trying to figure out what Mr. Milbank was doing out there.”

Brent Carver opened his eyes and looked straight at her. She blinked because his eyes were the exact same color as Finn’s but his were bleak. Empty.

“Why would you ask me?”

“You were in Wilkinson prison at the same time as Mr. Milbank.”

“Me and three hundred–plus other inmates.”

“But you knew him?” Holly pushed.

“We weren’t friends.” He put his cup on the solid oak table beside the sofa.

“That’s not what I asked.”

A line creased his cheek as one side of his mouth twisted up. “I knew him.”

“When was the last time you saw Mr. Milbank?”

“I don’t rightly recall.”

“Have you seen him since you left prison?” Holly watched that face closely.

A shrug. “In passing.”

“Do you scuba dive?”

His face scrunched up, and he stretched out all his limbs in an all-body yawn. “Sometimes. Not often, though.”

“Can we see your equipment?”

“Get a warrant.”

“You got something to hide?” asked Malone.

He cracked out a sharp laugh. “Something to lose. Something I’ve grown attached to, this time around. My freedom.”

“You haven’t talked to Mr. Milbank during the last two weeks?”

His eyes watched her the way a tiger watched a bunny. It had been a long time since she’d felt like the bunny. “No.”

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Carver?”

“How’s that relevant?”

Holly tried to smile, but it tugged at all her bruises.
Ouch
. “Just trying to get a picture of your life, Mr. Carver. And figure out how you can afford all this.” She waved at the gleaming wood and sparkling new appliances and enormous original oil painting of the view outside that hung over the fireplace.

“You’re trying to take the easy route in your investigation and pin it on the ex-con.” His lips curled. There was no love for the police in those eyes.

“You did kill your father.” Malone paced around the kitchen island. “You must have known you’d be top of our list of suspects.”

“Oh, I knew. That’s the only reason I let you in the door. Lack of imagination has always been a problem for police officers.” Brent Carver unwound from the couch and climbed to his feet. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. I’ve got work to do.” His smile was fixed and cold and crept up Holly’s spine in a silky wave of unease.

Malone shook his head with a smile and turned to leave.

A frown touched Brent’s brow. “What happened to your face?”

Holly touched her nose. “Car wreck. Someone ran me off the road.”

He laughed, chilling her blood. “So your next question is where was I yesterday afternoon?”

“How did you know when the wreck occurred?”

He raised a hand as if to touch her face. She froze. He dropped it. “Let’s just say I have a lot of experience with bruises.”

She suddenly found herself on the back porch, standing beside Malone, staring up at the closed door of the luxury log cabin.

Malone rolled his shoulders. “I’d say we’ve found ourselves a potential suspect, Sergeant. Shall I see if I can get a warrant?”

She shook her head. “Right now we’ve got nothing on him, not even circumstantial. Let him sweat. We’ll keep digging.”

Finn stood outside the store, petting a local family’s English bulldog while waiting for Laura to put aside some groceries for her return trip home. The supply boat had come into port today and fresh stuff didn’t last long. She lived alone on the west side of the inlet, just down the road from where he’d grown up. Last summer he’d bumped into her in this store, and she’d asked if he knew anyone who could rebuild her dock for her. He’d volunteered because it kept him occupied in the little time he had off, plus it kept him fit.