She felt good in his arms. He held her with one hand, retrieved an ice pack from the freezer and went into the living room. He sat in an easy chair and removed his shoes, socks and the ankle wrap without setting the child down. Then he rested the bag of ice on the ottoman, nestled his swollen ankle into it, and reclined.
The little darling was swaddled and asleep in his arms. Speers felt himself drifting, too. He didn’t fight it. He rather enjoyed the sensation of letting go for the first time all day.
His phone buzzed. And just like that, his state of bliss was gone. Speers sometimes fantasized about having the kind of job where you could turn off your phone.
He glanced at the screen. It was Blake Carver. He answered.
“Blake?” he whispered.
“I can barely hear you,” Carver said.
“I’m holding Isabella.” He looked at his watch. It was nearly two in the morning.
“Must be nice,” Carver said. “I’m visiting morgues, and you’re playing house.”
The DNI didn’t need Carver’s judgment right now. The Eden search had turned up nothing. He had three bodies on his hands, a tiny team stretched across the globe and a president that needed results right away.
“You called for a reason?” Speers said.
“I’m trying to get hold of Ellis. She left a weird message saying she was at the Mayflower Hotel. Is it just me, or are you guys just living it up over there while I’m busting my butt?”
Speers swore and told Carver to hold on. He used his crutch to get to his feet, gently setting the baby down onto the soft leather where he had been sitting, balancing her in the cradle of the seat cushion so she could not roll out. Then he hobbled into the next room.
“Had you bothered to read Ellis’ update on the mission cloud,” he barked, “You’d know that we almost got killed last night!”
He provided Carver with a brief summary and, once he had cooled down, told him about the notes and manuscript they had fished out of Drucker’s now-incinerated apartment. “That’s why she’s locked down at the hotel,” he added. “I’ve got Jack McClellan leading security there.”
“That’s weird,” Carver said. “I just talked to her sister, Jenna. Apparently Haley left the hotel a couple hours ago.”
Puget Sound
The boat traced the contours of the West Seattle coastline. Its stern finally pointed southwest. It was getting colder. Ellis was losing the feeling in her hands. The dampness was seeping into her bones. It wasn’t too cold — about 40 degrees — but on the water, it felt frosty. She envied Captain Zack’s coat.
“There’s a fuzzy blanket under your seat,” he said. “No charge.”
No charge for the business advice either, Ellis thought. She got to her feet, lifted the seat cushion and found a silver and blue stadium blanket emblazoned with the Seattle Seahawks logo. She wrapped it around her shoulders and stood next to the captain.
“I reckon this must be pretty important,” Captain Zack said. “Anything you can talk about?”
“Missing person,” she said, and there was some truth to it. Her original objective had been to connect the dots between Preston and Gish and, if possible, find out who their common enemy was. Now that Mary Borst had gone missing, however, she was more intrigued by the role the Borsts themselves played in all of this. According to Drucker’s notes, Vera Borst, Gish and Preston were all high-ranking Fellowship members. What, if anything, was Mary’s role? Had she simply witnessed a murder and freaked out, or had she had a role in either Preston’s death or the fire?
The fog seemed to lift some. The boat picked up speed. Captain Zack pointed to a black silhouette in the distance that was peppered by a few residential lights.
“That’s Vashon. Which side of the island we headed to?”
Ellis reached into her pack, retrieved the piece of hotel stationary with the address written on it, and handed it to him. “Don’t guess that’s of any help.”
He held it under the light for a moment “Sure is.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, that’s Dane Mitchell’s place. One of the big gated homes on the west side of the island. Dane’s got his own little dock out there. We can motor right up to it.”
Bingo. Mitchell had been listed as Borst’s life partner on her Wikipedia page. Ellis asked the captain if he knew Mitchell, raising her voice above the grinding drone of the Harbercraft’s 90-horsepower Yamaha engine.
“It’s not like everyone’s got their own boat out here. And it’s a pretty tight community among those that do.”
“Have you met his partner?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s got a funny name. Is it Worst?”
“Borst. Vera Borst.”
“Ah yeah. Met her just once or twice. Nice lady, seems like. Said Seattle reminded her of her hometown. Oslo, ain’t it?”
“Amsterdam, I think.”
“Ah yeah. Amsterdam. Dane used to be a lot more chatty before she came along. He’d stop and talk boating. For a while he was into crabbin’, and he’d pick my brain on it. Other times he might come and share what he caught. But he’s kept more to himself since she came here.”
“Why is that?”
He shrugged. “People change. And a lot of times, they get changed by other people.”
“You think she changed him?”
Captain Zack nodded certainly. “I got the impression from someone on the island that Vera is a real religious lady. And a politician too. That surprises me, you know, with him being a man of science an’ that.”
Just like Drucker said, Ellis thought. Scientists and politicians. A match made only at Eden.
They went faster now, making good time across the still waters. As they came nearer, Ellis saw that the island was much larger than she had imagined. The shoreline did not appear to be heavily developed. Captain Zack took them to the north side, and then slowed, pointing to a three-story Cape Cod-style home built into a densely foliated hillside.
“That big’un there. They’ve pretty much got this stretch of shoreline to themselves. Real private.”
The Borst place was fully aglow with orange light. Windows on every floor were lit up. Ellis had the unnerving feeling that she was being watched.
The Harbercraft crawled toward a jetty that extended about 40 feet out from the shore. There were already boats on either side of it. “That’s a little peculiar,” Captain Zack said.
“What?”
“That one there is Dane’s boat.” He pointed to a 22-foot boat of the type Ellis associated with recreational sea fishing. He motioned at the other, which was nothing but an aluminum skiff. “Don’t recognize that other’n. That registration sticker on the front is about rubbed off. It’s not like Dane to be out of compliance.”
He piloted the boat to the end of the jetty, cut the motor and lassoed a rope around one of the boat anchors.
Ellis stowed the Seahawks blanket in its storage compartment. “I appreciate you coming out here. I know most people wouldn’t have gotten out of bed for this.”
“I needed the money.” He climbed out onto the jetty and offered Ellis a hand. “All the same, I’d feel much better if I could see you to the door.”
Me too, Ellis thought.
Vera Borst Residence
Vashon Island
The front door of the three-story home was ajar. A heavy coat rack was overturned in the foyer. Captain Zack extended his hands to both sides of his body as he stepped back, as if to shield his high-paying customer from harm. “We should call the cops and get out of here,” he suggested quietly.
Ellis pulled her Beretta M9 from her shoulder holster. She had become competent with the weapon during her service in the Army. Although Glocks were favored among her coworkers in the intelligence community, Ellis had stuck with the Beretta for familiarity’s sake. The sight of the weapon startled Captain Zack. He took a step back, as if deferring the situation to her.