The right tool always makes the job easier.
—HAMMER GIRL BLOG
The barn looked empty as Grayson, Sig Sauer in hand, crouched behind a line of bushes with other members of the Coast Guard team. His bum leg didn’t allow him to go in during the takedown, but he helped man the perimeter. His fatigue had dropped off the moment he landed and found out his team had a lead on Tarek Nasser’s whereabouts. His adrenaline was as high as the moon beaming down. In a perfect world, clouds would have obscured any light from the heavens, and he hoped the clear night sky wasn’t an omen of failure.
Cuffing Nasser tonight was all he cared about. He saw a hand signal to move and crept forward past the cover and into the moonbeams. Not a glimmer of light showed through the barn’s windows. Several dark man-shaped shadows crept forward and opened the barn door. He was on their heels and bit back a sneeze from the scent of old hay and straw.
The team swept what appeared to be an empty building while Grayson walked the perimeter of the yard and the attached fenced area. When he first saw someone clambering over the fence in the back paddock, he thought it was one of the team, but this figure wore a hoodie and jeans. The soles of the guy’s sneakers gleamed in the moonlight.
He yelled for backup and took off after the guy. Shoving his gun in the holster, he put on all the speed he could muster with his bum leg and climbed the fence after him. The guy was fast, though, and all Grayson could reach was the side of the backpack the guy had slung over his shoulder.
Grayson’s fingers tangled in the back loop of the shoulder strap, and the bag slid off the guy and into Grayson’s hands. He started to drop it while he ran after the fleeing terrorist, but common sense told him he’d never catch him, not with his leg.
Which was why he spent most of his time at a desk. He didn’t have to like it, but he had to recognize facts.
He’d started to turn back toward the barn when a bullet whistled close to his left ear. He ducked down behind a fallen log and drew his weapon. The muzzle flash showed him the guy’s position, and Grayson returned fire. Two Coasties joined him, and he motioned for them to circle around to each side of the shooter.
A bullet splintered the tree by his head, and he shot toward the flash of fire he’d seen. The guy yelled and toppled over. Grayson crawled over the fallen log, and crouching low, he hurried to where he’d seen the man tumble into the tall weeds. The sharp scent of gunpowder stung his nostrils, and he slowed his pace as he neared the fallen figure.
One of the Coasties reached the guy first and touched his neck. “Dead.” He rolled him over, and moonlight illuminated the man’s face.
Grayson shouldered the bag. “Nasser’s second in command, Omar. Our intel was spot-on. We just didn’t get here in time to nab Nasser. Losing Omar won’t make him happy, though. I’ll leave you guys to finish up here. I want to see if we got anything of value in this bag.”
He carried the backpack to his SUV and opened the passenger door. Under the glare of the dome light, he pulled out the contents: a half-full bottle of Evian, a tube of ChapStick, several notepads with Arabic scribbles, a MacBook Air with its silver edges battered, an army-green jacket, two pens, a GPS unit, a USB drive, and a satellite phone.
He grabbed the phone and pulled up the last call. He’d let the tech department check it out. They might be able to get a GPS fix on whatever numbers had been dialed on this phone, though it was anyone’s guess whether Nasser had moved on. He had probably been here with Omar and not at the number this phone had called, but it was worth a try.
Grayson’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out. The number was blocked, but he answered it. “Bradshaw.”
Someone clapping on the other end filled his head. “Very good, Bradshaw. Doesn’t it tick you off that you can never get me? I’m the phantom you’ll never catch.”
“Omar’s dead, you know.”
Nasser went silent for a long moment, and his voice vibrated with anger when he finally spoke. “You’re lying.”
“Want me to send you a picture?” Grayson straightened and turned to look back at where the team was scouring the grounds. “I’m going to get you, Nasser. You can’t run fast enough or hide well enough to get away from me. Sooner or later it’s going to happen.”
Nasser didn’t answer, and Grayson realized the terrorist had hung up. The tech team would discover what goodies they’d acquired. He’d receive a video and other files while he was in the air. At least Grayson had a lead to follow up on the cocaine theft, and with any luck, it would direct him to Tarek.
The courthouse had been built in the late eighteen hundreds and sat atop a small hillside overlooking the downtown area of Lavender Tides. The food trucks were doing a brisk business, and the aroma of shrimp and crab lingered in the air. Ellie parked on the street and looked at the small group of people waiting on the lawn. She had a few minutes before the Robb house auction was scheduled to start, so she called Sheriff Burchell’s number.
He answered on the second ring. “Sheriff Burchell.”
“It’s Ellie Blackmore, Sheriff. Is there anything new on my sister’s disappearance?” It had been several days—surely there was something.
“I was going to call you, Ellie. We had a tip that Mackenzie was spotted in Hamhung, North Korea, yesterday. According to the caller, the ship was staged to look like she’d been killed, but she was actually spying for North Korea.”
A stone formed in Ellie’s stomach. “That’s a lie! Mac would never do that to her family. You don’t believe it, do you? It’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. A spy! Good grief, she’s a college professor.”
“The caller sent over a picture. It’s being evaluated for authenticity, but it appears to be real.”
“I don’t believe it.” She thought she’d shouted the words, but they came out as a whisper.
Could it be true? She didn’t want to consider the possibility. “What about Dylan Trafford? Did you check him out?”
Ellie had never liked the guy, who was full of himself and ordered Mac around. If Mac was afraid of Dylan, at least it was some kind of clue.
The sheriff broke into her thoughts. “Not yet. He’s been out at sea, which makes him less of a suspect anyway. Listen, I have another call coming in. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Ellie put her phone into her purse, then exited her pickup and headed up the walkway to the courthouse. She saw several other possible buyers milling around. She didn’t want this house to slip away, but this was the last place she wanted to be. It didn’t seem important with Mac missing and likely dead. She understood now what people went through without closure. Stuck in limbo, she found it impossible to concentrate on much of anything else.
The auctioneer, a portly man Ellie didn’t recognize, stepped forward. “We’re going to get started, folks. The opening bid is one hundred thousand.”
Ellie raised her hand, and the war was on. After fifteen minutes, she had purchased the home for two hundred thousand dollars—a steal for sure, but more than she’d hoped to pay. The place was in serious disrepair and would take several months to restore. She wasn’t sure she could afford to keep it after the remodel, but she had to try.
She made payment arrangements and took the house key, then went back to her truck. She texted Jason to let him know she’d bought the house, then started the pickup and headed to their new purchase.
Sunshine sparkled on her window, and she rolled it down to breathe in the scent of pine and sea. As she perched her elbow on the door, she saw a black Taurus approaching at too fast a speed. Was it the same one she’d noticed after her tires were slashed? This stretch of road had a forty-miles-per-hour speed limit, and the guy had to be doing at least seventy.
She frowned and slowed so the car could pass her, but it did the same and stayed on her bumper. The sun glaring on her back window prevented her from making out more than a vague outline of the person driving.
When the first tap came on her bumper, she managed to keep her truck on the road and steered toward the shoulder. The driver probably didn’t even know she’d been hit. Then the next blow came, hard enough that it pitched her head back, then forward. The steering wheel lurched under her hands, and her vehicle headed for the deep ditch along the side of the road. She fought the truck and managed to bring it to a stop before it rolled over into the ditch.
Her chest was tight, and she could barely catch her breath. She had to force herself to release her grip on the wheel. The Taurus was nowhere to be seen. She got out and checked for damage—nothing but a small dent in a bumper that had already seen its fair share of accidents over the years.
Still shaken, she got back into her vehicle and carefully drove back onto the road and headed for her destination. That felt like a deliberate attack, and she resolved to call the sheriff as soon as she was safely parked in the driveway.
She reached the Saltwater Point house and parked, then called the sheriff’s office. He wasn’t in, so she told the deputy handling the call what had happened. He took down all the information, but she didn’t have any real details to tell him. That make of car was common, and she had no license plate number.
She exhaled and dropped the phone back into her purse. She got out of the truck and looked over the Saltwater Point house. It was the only house on Saltwater Point, and the land alone was worth what she’d paid. Her practiced eye noted the cracks in the circular driveway. More work.
A fog blew in from the Strait of Juan de Fuca and swirled around the smooth cedar facade of the home she’d purchased. Her taste normally ran to contemporary coastal properties, but this traditional cedar house had been one she’d admired from the first moment she’d seen it when she was a girl. She’d already named it the House at Saltwater Point. If she didn’t get to keep it, the name would play well in ads.
An unfamiliar SUV parked in the driveway caught her eye. Who was here? She pushed her glasses up on her nose and got out. Maybe someone else interested in the property? If so, he was out of luck. The black SUV was empty as she passed it, and no one was at the front door. As she neared the entrance, she saw the door standing open, and the back of her neck prickled.
She pushed it open the rest of the way. “Who’s there? You’re trespassing.” The musty odor of an empty house wafted toward her.
Footsteps came her way, and she held the key in her hand like a weapon as a tall man with blondish hair came into view. He had shoulders as broad as a linebacker, but the bulk narrowed at his hips. His slight limp looked out of place with his muscles.
His blue eyes narrowed when he saw her standing on the portico. “Ellie Blackmore?”
She took a tighter grip on her key. Big men always made her feel smaller and more diminished. Her father had been a big guy prone to using his fists when she or Mac misbehaved. “I’m Ellie Blackmore. Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”
He quirked a brow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Your partner told me I’d find you here.”
The tenseness eased from her shoulders. A new client? “What can I do for you?”
“I’m trying to find the cocaine your sister stole.” He slid a large hand into his breast pocket and retrieved a badge. “Grayson Bradshaw with the Coast Guard. CGIS.”
Cocaine? Stole? She retreated several steps as she translated what he’d said. The CGIS was the Coast Guard Investigative Service. She glanced at his badge.
“Step aside.” She backed up on the portico. “My sister didn’t steal any cocaine. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Mac would hardly take an aspirin, let alone drugs. She’s a professor.”
He returned his badge to his pocket. “You talked to her about the cocaine?”
“I can’t talk to her. She’s missing, probably even dead.” Tears burned her eyes at the admission. She’d been clinging to hope as best as she could, but this big bear of a man had flustered her with his wild accusations.
No matter what the sheriff said about Mac being in another country, Ellie was sure her sister’s body was floating in the sea somewhere waiting to be found and brought home.