Out of the Storm (26 page)

Eric was no sexist but it was hard to reconcile this slim young woman with the tough job and responsibilities he assumed went with it. His mind would have conjured up a grizzled forty-five-year-old. But he’d grown a sixth sense in his previous life. It told him Stacy had her shit wired tight.

“Hi.” Eric volunteered his hand. Stacy’s shake was firm, her hand rough and calloused. She didn’t spend her days baking cookies. He gestured toward the docks. “I hope you can figure out what happened here.” He shrugged, words trailing off as he watched the men spraying pungent, burning wood and collecting debris that drifted to shore. The images he stared at brought back bitter memories—eerie similarities to dozens he’d witnessed in Iraq and Afghanistan.

“Chief.” Stacy nodded toward the water. He turned. “Tell your men to leave that alone. My team will take care of it.”

He nodded, yelling and using hand signals to tell his men and the marina staff not to touch anything.

Stacy concentrated on the accident site, putting her lips together tightly. “We’ll find out what happened.” She looked at Eric as she gestured toward the waterfront. “You’ve got my word on it.”

“Stacy’s the best. Ex-military.” The chief nodded at her. “She’ll get to the bottom of what went on here if anyone can.”

“The report said there was one casualty and several injuries?” Stacy asked as she watched the smoke plume working skyward from the wreckage. She pulled out a small notepad from her uniform shirt and made an entry.

Eric watched her.

“Every combustible or compound has a signature,” she explained.

“What do you see in this one?” asked Eric.

She nodded, putting the notebook away as she watched him. Her face wore a neutral expression. Stacy was the consummate professional. “Not sure. Too early to tell, sir. Can you give us your version of what happened?”

“Well, I was gone. Showing a boat on the Sound. And I just heard about Rocco—the boy who died. I’m sorry.” Eric motioned toward Bobby. “Chief Elliot, Inspector, this is Bobby Cochran, chief mechanic and yard foreman. He’s an old friend. Been with me for years.”

Bobby stood, putting on his game face as he rubbed his eyes quickly, holding out his hand.

“Bobby was here and saw everything,” Eric explained. “You should talk to him.”

Stacy and the chief shook Bobby’s hand.

“May I, Chief?” Stacy asked the older man.

“Sure.” He deferred to her. “I’m gonna go see how things are going. I’ll leave you in Stacy’s hands.” He nodded and headed to the dock area.

“Look, Mr. Cochran…”

Bobby sighed. “Please, call me Bobby.”

“Okay. If you call me Stacy.” She gave Bobby a studied look, then scanned the grounds. “Is there a place we can talk?”

Bobby gestured to the ship store. “Okay, boss?”

“Sure,” Eric agreed.

“My K-9 team will be here in a few minutes. We use dogs trained to detect C-4, T-4, nitro—any synthetic explosive residue,” she told them.

Stacy looked toward the street and waved. “There they are now.”

Eric followed her glance. A spotless black van with a State Police logo and K-9 Unit
emblazoned on its side pulled into the parking lot.

“I’ll meet you at the office, Bobby. I want to get them started and then change out of these class As.” She smiled self-consciously. “I was down the street doing a show-and-tell for the Yarmouth Police and Fire.”

Bobby agreed and limped off in the direction of the office.

“When I’m done I’d like to talk with you.” She found Eric’s eyes again.

“I think I’ll be here for a while.” Eric shrugged.

Stacy took a few steps toward the van, then stopped, looking over her shoulder. Eric was confused. She kept staring at him and there was something—something very familiar about her he couldn’t place. But a good kid was dead, Ashley was headed to the hospital and Bobby was covered in bandages.

“Sounds good.” She broke his concentration and headed to the office. “I’ll talk to you later. I expect to be here a while, too.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Dusk. The fires were out. Smoldering wood cooled in the damp air as the marina staff struggled to make order from the crowded tangle of boats. They’d doubled up, rafting some of the orphaned cruisers on the remaining docks while the harbormaster’s men helped by dropping half a dozen temporary moorings to handle the overflow. A deputy fire chief and two men stayed to supervise safety as the cleanup continued under the spotlights.

Stacy’s team had made a thorough examination of every inch around docks two and three. She’d personally interviewed everyone who’d been close to or witnessed the explosion—except Ashley. Eric’s initial impression had been on target. Stacy was no hothouse flower. After changing into a set of faded fatigues, she’d donned hip boots and waded into the water, scraping material and gathering residue from the burned pilings her canines had shown interest in.

“Headin’ home, boss.” Bobby waved as Eric hit speed dial for the sixth time. The calls were evenly divided between his house and the Cape Cod Hospital to get an update on Ashley.

Bobby stopped at the picnic bench. “But I can stay or do anything you need me to.” He gestured toward the remaining staff. “We all can.”

“I think everything’s under control, but thanks.” Eric nodded. “How’d it go?” Eric hadn’t seen his friend since the interview with Stacy.

“Okay. Man, that girl knows her shit.” He looked back toward the office with what Eric thought was admiration. Not an emotion Bobby shared lightly.

He approached, still favoring his right leg. “You gonna see Ashley?”

Eric nodded. “Not sure.” He shrugged, unwilling to acknowledge the emptiness he felt knowing she lay alone, in pain, and probably terrified. “Gotta talk to Stacy first.” Eric made the excuse. “Besides, I just heard from Lu. She took Kylie to the hospital. Ashley’s talking ragtime. Probably the concussion. So they sedated her. Lu took Kylie home.”

“Level with me, boss. This has something to do with that business you were talking about.” It was a statement.

“I’m thinking it did,” Eric acknowledged. “We’re dealing with some bad guys, here, Bob. Real bad, so stay alert.”

“I can go to your house, the hospital, anywhere you need me.”

“I think we’re okay for now.” Eric looked toward the dark sedan and the large Tahoe flanking the entryway. He patted his friend on the shoulder. “Thanks, Bob. I mean it. You’re the best.”

Bobby nodded slightly with a half-smile, acknowledging his friend’s show of gratitude. “Those guys. On the boat. They weren’t really buyers, were they?”

Bobby was a quick study.

“Let’s say they’re here to help us.”

Bobby nodded again and grabbed his friend’s hand, giving him a high five. “Hang in there, man. We’ve been through some bad shit before.” His friend headed to his pickup, then turned. “Maybe sometime you’ll tell me what the hell’s going on!”

Maybe.
Eric waved to Bobby.
Not sure you really want to know.

A pile of plastic bags and Rubbermaid containers rested in the back of Stacy’s truck. Her team had labeled them as to location and substance. A team member stood watch over the collection.

Eric closed his eyes for just a moment. His head dipped and his mind shut down for an instant as the sounds and smells brought back a bitter memory.

Two weeks left on his tour in Afghanistan. A pristine village on the banks of the Amu Darya, a river in the north. Intel promised a cakewalk. Eric’s team and one other were sent on the Afghan war’s version of a meet-and-greet. Twenty-four good men walked into a nest of more than seventy Taliban. The enemy body count was forty-two when they were extracted. The villagers weren’t so lucky. Their elders were hung in the village square, women raped then split up the middle like cattle, their men and children cut in half by ritual swords and Kalashnikovs. The two teams held out for fourteen hours until the Blackhawks arrived and swept the insurgents into the river. Ten men came out alive: Eric and five from his team, four from the other.

He jumped as a hand landed lightly on his shoulder. “What is it?”

“Bad memories?” Stacy came around the picnic bench, finding his eyes. “I did two tours as a warrant officer. I get ’em too.” She smiled softly. “Especially when you see something like this.” She nodded toward the dock area.

Eric came to attention and cleared his throat. “Yeah. You can’t relate to someone who’s never been there.” He sighed. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good, I guess. Depends.” She looked toward the men still mooring boats and cleaning up. “I think we’ve got some good evidence.”

“Evidence?” Eric arched his eyebrows. “Sounds like you’re leaning toward something intentional. Can you give me a hint?”

“You know better than that.” She shook her head as her penetrating eyes focused on his again. She made a poor attempt at hiding a smile. “You don’t remember me?” Stacy asked, pushing her lips into a crooked grin.

He shrugged. “There’s something there, but it’s foggy.”

Eric’s mind was far from Stacy. It was on the damage in front of him, Rocco’s death, Ashley, Kylie, Lu, now Ralph. No matter how good Carson and company were, Eric was frightened. Not for himself. For everyone who’d stumbled into this nightmare. The kind of people who would wreak this kind of havoc to instill fear in an innocent girl were more than dangerous. They were downright crazy.

“Fifteen years ago,” Stacy began, her tanned face flushing. “The senior prom. A lovesick sophomore who’d had too much to drink and cornered you to steal a kiss.”

Eric concentrated.
Sure.
A cute cheerleader with braces, long red hair, and a healthy figure. It could be. But that girl bore faint resemblance to the lean, tanned woman before him.

A smile crossed his face as he nodded. “It’s been a while.”

“Sure has. Never thought I’d see you again. Not like this anyway. I’m so sorry, Eric.”

She glanced down at his left hand, staring at the wedding ring he wore. “Looks like you and Elaine made it to the altar.”

He still struggled, imagining this lean, tough Stacy as the girl he knew in high school.

“Yeah,” he paused, his throat tightening. “We did.”

“I had such a crush on you,” Stacy admitted, face flushing again. “But I’m glad it turned out all right.” Stacy touched his hand lightly and looked away. When she faced him again, her eyes looked moist.

She stood and held out her hand. “Well, gotta cross the river. Meeting a detective over there.” She gestured to the Dennis side of the River. “PD got a report of some suspicious activity and there was another explosion right after this.” She gestured toward the dock and shook her head. “This is turning into a field day for the fire marshal’s office.”

Eric thought about Ashley, Lu, and Kylie. Ashley was sedated. Louise and Kylie had two world-class watchdogs with them. He was no good to any of them right now. Too much frustration, anger, and adrenaline. Eric was a warrior. And suddenly he was at war again.

“Can I come?” The words spilled out.

Stacy swallowed and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you want to get home to Elaine?”

Eric hesitated, not sure how to answer.

“She’s… not with me anymore,” he managed in a whisper.

Stacy let her hand fall. “Sorry. I didn’t know. You…you want to talk about it?” She stumbled over the words.

He sighed. “If you take me along.”

“Shit, Eric, this is an open investigation. I can’t. I don’t know what the hell’s going on here, but we both know this was no accident.” She tilted her head. “And if this wasn’t an accident, everyone’s under suspicion…” She hesitated and frowned. “Including you.”

He shook his head slowly. “Please.”

“I told you. I can’t,” Stacy repeated, throwing her hands in the air.

“For old time’s sake?” he asked in a soft voice as he found her eyes.

“I can’t do that. It violates every rule in the book.” She turned and headed toward her pickup.

“Stacy,” he called after her.

She stopped and turned, her face hard. “All right, damn you! Get in the fucking truck.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

They sat in Stacy’s truck next to a looming trophy house that faced the marina. Her eyes glistened in the fading sun as she took Eric’s hand gently and squeezed it. He let her.

“I’m so sorry. I...” She rubbed her eyes. “I had no idea. I went to NYU and then enlisted. Mom kept me up on everyone’s life. She was better than the
Cape Cod Times
, but she moved to Maine a while back. So I’ve been out of touch.”

“Don’t apologize. There’s no way you could have known.” He turned to watch her. The glow of the setting sun glistened on her tanned cheeks.

“NYU, then the Army?” he asked. “Interesting.”

“After 9/11 we were all patriots.” She shrugged with a wry expression. “My younger brother Gary joined up on the
twelfth. I come from a long line of soldiers. What could I do?” She sighed. “Besides, look at you. Williams, then the Special Forces. Anyway, I got my degree in psychology. They wanted to train me as a shrink. But I didn’t want a commission. I wanted to be where the action was not listening to some poor kid with PTSD.”

“Looks like you made warrant officer,” he said seeing the bars on her worn fatigue collars.

“Yep. My dad was the fire chief. I was a sparky. You know, followed fires like a Dalmatian.” She laughed softly. “Combustion was in my blood.” Stacy tilted her head and drew a deep breath. “I led a BDU—a bomb disposal unit. Learned my craft well enough to qualify for this job when I was discharged.”

Eric looked down and realized they were holding hands. He slowly took his away.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Guess I’m still the silly sophomore.”

“No.” He paused. “You’re a friend. I needed one tonight. But since we’re doing true confessions, where did the name Birch come from? You used to be Stacy Resnik.”

“That’s a story for another time.” Stacy looked in the mirror, brushed aside the trace of a tear and fiddled with her hair. “Right now, our detective’s here.”