And I hoped I wouldn’t be, either.
I slid it into my jeans pocket, next to the Challenge Coin I now carried with me at all times. As I was about to close the safe, the hilt of a knife caught my eye. It was one of those Rambo-type blades, with a leather holder that strapped on to the leg under clothing. I pulled up my jeans, tied it above my boot for good measure, and heaved a big sigh of relief.
I finally had a lead.
CHAPTER 17
I could barely make out the faded address sign on the decaying post at the entrance of the marina. “Bayside Buccaneer Yacht Club” had seen better times. Half of the old-fashioned street lamps were burned out, and half cast a faint Halloween-orange glow that did nothing to illuminate their surroundings. The place was littered with garbage, and the bitter reek of fish seeping through my rolled-up windows made it feel more like a deserted shipyard than a yacht club.
Aside from a few old beater cars lining the street, several abandoned-looking RVs in the parking lot, and a small office near the docks, no other evidence of life existed. This place was totally isolated. Even half of the boat slips were empty.
Could Silver live on one of these eyesores? It seemed unlikely considering his profile. Yet, as I sat safely inside Big Black watching a lonely plastic bag blow down the planked walkway toward the water—which I told myself didn’t look like a ghost floating in the darkness—it started to make sense. This might be an ideal place for a criminal to hide. Nobody around except for the rotting fish.
The lights in the small office down the walkway flickered, catching my eye, and I toyed with the idea of jogging down there just to verify that D. Silver really did have a registered slip. But it was dark. And Halloween night. And logic told me to wait for Liam.
Except, logic also told me that I was fully capable of walking a hundred yards to ask one stupid question. Especially with the heat I was packing in my pocket. I grabbed my phone and quickly typed a message to Liam, telling him where I was and what I was doing, just in case. But as soon as I pressed “Send,” the message came back undelivered with a huge exclamation point indicating no service. Just perfect.
I turned off the engine and reached down to make sure the knife was secure under my boot-cut jeans. Reminding myself of all my dad’s training, I turned up all my senses as I walked across the parking lot and onto the creaking wooden causeway. I could do this.
The wicked wind picked up as I drew nearer to the office, and a tattered flag on a pole whipped and snapped at me. I knocked on the glass door of the small shack. Across the room, I saw the top of the guard’s unmoving sun-spotted head behind his chair.
I could tell he was watching TV, not only because of the flickering blue light dancing across the ceiling, but because the volume was vibrating the floorboards beneath me. He was watching the USC versus UCLA football game—it was late in the fourth quarter, all tied up.
I let myself in.
“Excuse me, sir,” I called over the front counter. The guy obviously had no peripheral vision left, because he didn’t budge except to scratch himself in some wish-I-hadn’t-seen-them places.
“Excuse me.” I raised my voice even louder. He took a sip of a dark liquid I was sure wasn’t Coke and adjusted his legs on the chair opposite him. Good gracious, was I going to have to give the guy a coronary just to get his attention?
I walked past the desk and rounded him so he could catch me in his peripheral vision. Instantly, his eyes bulged open, his legs and his drink went flying, and the old man overturned his folding chair and landed flat on his back.
“What the…!” he screamed. “Who the P-P-Pete are you?” he stuttered from the floor.
“I knocked,” I said while helping him up. “I’m really sorry—I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“What you d-d-doin’ here, girlie? Making me miss my damn game!” he barked. “We ain’t doin’ no trick-or-treatin’ round here!”
“I’m not here to trick-or-treat. If I could just get some information, I’ll be out of your hair.” Oops, he only had like five hairs left.
“Fine,” he groaned, holding his back as he went over to the desk, motioning for me to evacuate his personal space. “What you want?”
“Could you please tell me where Mr. D. Silver’s boat is docked?” I asked politely.
He blew out a stale-smelling breath and started poking at the computer keyboard with one finger. “What’s the first name, girlie?”
“I don’t know. Everyone calls him D. Silver,” I said casually, not wanting to raise any red flags. Legally, he shouldn’t be offering any information, but something told me this guy wasn’t exactly a stickler for the rules.
“If it will get you out of here sooner…” he muttered, pushing up his sagging bifocals and leaning in to the monitor. “B-16. That’s down the left side here—”
“Really?” I asked, craning my neck to sneak a glance at the monitor. “Do you know him?”
“Know who?” The old man tilted the screen away from me. So it was OK to tell me the info but not to let me see it?
“D. Silver,” I said pointing at the screen. “Have you seen him around? Do you know what he looks like?”
“What’s this about?” He took off his skinny reading glasses hanging for dear life off the end of his nose and gave me a see-here-young-lady look. I could tell he was gearing up to run me off when a staticky voice came to life from the ground. An ancient walkie-talkie.
“So B-16 is empty, then?” I asked as I backed out of the office, glancing out the window in the direction of the slip.
“I didn’t say that.” He bent over to pick up the walkie-talkie off the floor. “But ain’t nobody out there tonight, rest assured.”
“Thanks,” I said, almost out the door already. “Sorry about the fright.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbled as I left.
I turned left and made my way down to the B dock. I was operating on instinct now, not fear and certainly not logic. The guard said no one was out here tonight, so if I went and had a peek around the boat, it might pay off. And if he was wrong and I found any signs of life—lights, noise, or movement on the boat—I’d leave and come back later with backup. Lots of backup.
The wind was getting stronger, pushing me backward, but I was almost to the B dock when I heard a shriek.
A man’s.
My feet—and my heart—stopped.
“Help, help…I’m drowning…please help!” The voice and the splashing water weren’t far away, but I couldn’t see where in the darkness.
I pulled the gun from my pocket and made sure it was cocked and ready.
Damn it. This wasn’t good. I shouldn’t have ever gotten out of Big Black. Or more to the point, I shouldn’t have ever gotten in Big Black tonight. This was a setup. But how? How could he have known I’d come tonight? Was he watching Sammy?
“I can’t…stay up…please!” The voice cut through my thoughts.
I grabbed my cell out of The Cleave. I had a choice to make:
A. Call 911 and go back to the security office, hoping the drunk and feeble old man could move fast enough to help me save whoever was out there;
B. Call 911, go back to Big Black and leave, knowing the police would trace my number and I’d have to explain myself;
C. Call 911 and go save the man myself; or
D. Don’t call 911 at all, because I just remembered I have no effin’ service! I held up my phone to the night, willing the phone gods to send me some little bars of mobile coverage. Curse words I’d never used before came flowing out of my mouth.