"So they had the advantage of using two different types of drops, which would confuse anyone who was on to them."
"Yeah."
"And," Kaz realized, "right after the fight, the season ended and they switched over to meeting in international waters, so it was awhile before Ken could steal the money. Meanwhile the medical bills probably piled up…"
Lucy nodded. "There you go."
"What about Steve?"
"Jackson says Sykes had something on him from the time of his divorce, but he didn't know what it was, and Steve isn't talking. I'm not going to push it—other than turning a blind eye, Steve wasn't involved. And he did call the station last night, worried about you."
Kaz was relieved. She liked Steve; she hadn't wanted to hear he was under arrest.
Lucy stood. Her demeanor was subdued—not at all like her. "I'm going home to get a few hours' sleep, then I have to return to the station. Morale is real low in the squad room—two of our own involved in a drug ring and one man dead. And Ken—a good family man—murdered because he was just trying to keep his head above water but making bad decisions." She took a deep breath. "But we'll get over it."
They were all silent for a moment.
Lucy seemed to shake herself out of her brooding. "I left Ivar with all the paperwork, which means he's in hog heaven. I still have the murder of the drug dealer to handle—but my snitch is finally talking. It looks like Sykes took the dealer out in a fit of rage when the guy threatened to expose him after the drug supply was cut off. But there are a few more details to nail down." She headed for the door, avoiding Gary's eyes, then cocked her head at Kaz. "Six o'clock at the tavern. If I don't get a chance to cream you at pool tonight, I might just slit my wrists."
Kaz smiled. "Deal." Lucy left, and Kaz turned toward Gary, her eyebrows raised.
Gary grunted and stood. "Looks like I have some explaining to do."
"I think there's more to it than that." She watched the panic come and go in his eyes.
"Maybe." He started down the hallway after Lucy, then hesitated, hanging his head. After a moment, he squared his shoulders and headed in a different direction.
So Gary brother was back in martyr mode, unwilling to take a chance. This was one battle Kaz couldn't help him with—he was on his own. But she hurt for both of them, and she hoped they could work it out.
She sat down in the chair he'd vacated and reached for Chuck's hand. She held it for a long moment, trying to will some of her strength into him. Was it her imagination, or was his color better than it had been when she'd come in? She hoped so.
She used both hands to warm his. "Thank you," she whispered.
For a brief moment, his hand tightened on hers.
#
Zeke burst through the door of Michael's room with Kaz in tow, scrabbling on the linoleum as he leapt across the room. He launched himself at the bed. Monitors jerked and beeped, and the IV line swung wildly, almost ripping out of Michael's hand. With both paws on the bed, Zeke slathered Michael's face with dog saliva.
Michael laughed and scratched his ruff with his free hand. "Easy there, boy. I'm okay."
"Mawrooo, rooo."
Zeke then tried to climb into the hospital bed, and Kaz grabbed his collar, hauling him back. "Sit," she told him firmly, trying to avert disaster.
He grumbled, his expression accusing, but sat. He slapped a giant paw against the edge of the covers and grinned, his tongue hanging sideways out of his mouth.
"Zeke hasn't slept a wink, worrying about you," she told Michael. "I promised him I'd sneak him up here as soon as I could."
Michael grunted. "Good. Maybe the hospital staff will discover him and it'll get both of us expelled."
"Fat chance," Kaz said, but she secretly commiserated. "You're in here for awhile, at least until the pin they put in your leg starts to knit with the bone."
She could see that he didn't like the sound of that. "So," he said, his voice casual. "Since we've now slept together—"
"I beg your pardon?" Kaz interrupted, her eyebrows arched, a slight smile on her face. "I don't remember getting a lot of sleep."
"—how about, when I get out of here, I take you out on a date?"
She made a production out of hesitating. "A real date, huh? Like dinner, and maybe a movie?"
"Yeah," he said. "I could put the moves on you after the lights go down."
"That's appealing." Her heart turned over. "I haven't necked in a movie theater since high school."
"Then you've been missing out," he said firmly. He reached out, took one of her hands and kissed the inside of her wrist. A small jolt of desire ran through her. "You'll stick around?"
"Of course. I've got the work on the Anna Marie, and Gary still needs help with the business. We'll have to recoup from our losses—" She shivered, heat flashing through her when he used his teeth on her palm. The man knew how to turn her into mush, thank God.
"I meant," he growled, "will you stay around for us? Because otherwise, we're trying out a long-distance relationship. I'm not letting go of you anytime soon."
A feeling of contentment washed over her. She smiled tremulously. "Yes."
She'd work out whatever she needed to with her business partner. She'd probably have to commute back and forth, but it would be worth it. There was no way she was going back to California on a permanent basis. This was where she belonged now.
"Yes, what?" he demanded.
"Yes, I'm sticking around." She leaned down and kissed him, placing her hand on his cheek. "For us."
The End
About the Author
RITA nominee and award-winning author P.J. Alderman has lived in the Pacific Northwest for more than twenty-five years, where she pursues her life-long passions of writing and native gardening. A Killing Tide was originally published in mass paperback format in December, 2006, and was nominated for the RITA for Best First Book.
Alderman also writes the Port Chatham Mystery Series, published by Bantam Books, which blends the fascinating history of Pacific Northwest port towns with present-day supernatural sleuthery.
Coming soon, the exciting sequel to A Killing Tide:
Phantom River
River bar pilot Jo Henderson knows all the myths and legends of her native Astoria, but her knowledge of the undercurrents in local events proves more deadly than she thought possible when an explosion dumps her into the Columbia's icy winter waters. On the heels of another co-worker's death and uncovered suspicious shipping activity, these "accidents" have gained the attention of the authorities. Now, the only thing Jo has to fear more than someone trying to kill her is the someone who's trying to protect her.
When Bostonian John MacFallon took the job of Astoria's police chief, he left evil behind—he thought for good. But with the suspicious "accidents" piling up, he uncovers a bioterrorist threat that threatens to cripple the regional economy and kill thousands. However, nothing could prepare him to deal with the growing feelings he has for the one special woman who's put her life on the line. He'll do whatever is necessary to protect her, even risk his damaged heart.
In Phantom River, mysteries of the past will resurface to haunt them both.
~~~~
Prologue
Tuesday, 12:00 AM
Astoria, Oregon
John MacFallon wrenched the steering wheel to avoid the sudden drop-off into howling black at the bottom of the hairpin curve. The pickup's rear wheels spun on the waterlogged shoulder, then found purchase. He kept his grip at white-knuckle level, focusing on the narrow ribbon of pavement that ran along the bluffs of the Columbia River. Not for the first time during the drive down from Portland, Oregon's Highway 30 struck him as an irresistible temptation for anyone looking to commit suicide.