P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

Zeke sat down beside her and leaned heavily against the back of her left knee, almost buckling it. While she waited for the water in the teakettle to boil, she rubbed the top of his head. The dog moaned and gurgled with pleasure. "This dog thinks he's a person."

"Shepherds have the intelligence of a five-year-old child. He's perfectly capable of reading your moods, reacting much the same as any other human being would. He just has trouble communicating in a language that we humans understand."

"So if he had vocal chords, he'd be telling me that everything's all right, now that he's here," Kaz said, her voice wry.

"Something like that." Chapman took a tea towel off the cupboard door in front of the sink, and then retrieved a handful of ice from the freezer, which he wrapped inside the towel. He held it out to her. "It'll help the swelling."

She held the ice up to her head, wincing at the cold.

He folded his arms and leaned against the edge of the counter. "So far, you've been lucky." When she started to protest, he gave her a hard look. "No, dammit. Let me finish. This morning you were shot at, now you've been attacked in your own home."

"He wouldn't have attacked me if I hadn't attacked him first," she mumbled, earning herself another glare.

"Next time, the guy might not be so polite. Now, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"I don't know." The look on his face was skeptical. "I don't."

The kitchen was silent except for the sound of Zeke's tail thumping on the floor. She reached down and rubbed his head some more.

"Why would someone break into this house?"

She chewed her lip. There had to be a connection between the Lundquists' place being tossed and her intruder. Which meant that someone thought either Ken or Gary had something they wanted. It also indicated that Gary might be more involved than she wanted to believe. The risk in telling Chapman her suspicions was that he would leap to the wrong conclusion about Gary. But she was running out of options—she had to tell him.

She filled Chapman in about the break-in earlier that day at the Lundquists' and about Julie's secretiveness. "I think there might be a connection."

His expression was both angry and incredulous. "You think?"

"Okay, there's a connection. But I refuse to believe that Gary's behind the break-ins. For one thing, he has no reason to break in here and toss his own home."

Chapman nodded. "All right, I'll grant you that. But what about a partner, a person he might've had a falling out with? Most burglars are hoping to score one of three things: drugs, guns, or cash. Are you sure Gary isn't involved in some kind of drug smuggling?"

She gave him incredulous look. "Yes , I'm sure! After seeing what drugs did to men in the military, Gary won't touch anything stronger than aspirin. And he isn't motivated by money—he'd never risk ending up in jail just to score some cash."

"What about the other fishermen?" Chapman asked. "Doesn't Astoria have a problem with heroin smuggling?"

Kaz tried to remember what Lucy might've told her about drug trafficking. "The cops have known for years that heroin is coming through here, going upriver to Portland. But there's never been even one rumor of anyone I know being involved with drugs, and no one in the fleet has ever been arrested."

The teakettle whistled, and she turned to deal with it, but Chapman waved her toward a chair. "Sykes dropped by my office a little while ago." He brought the kettle and two cups over to the table. "They're getting ready to swear out a warrant against Gary."

Kaz reached for the back of a chair, dropping into it, shaking from head to toe. "My God."

"They found what they think is the murder weapon in Gary's truck."

"But that makes no sense! Gary's not dumb enough to leave that kind of evidence lying around."

"He could've been in a hurry—or could've been scared off when you arrived."

She shook her head. "He wouldn't have run from me—he would've tried to protect me from whatever was happening." While Chapman poured tea into her cup, a piece of the puzzle fell into place. "Someone's trying to frame him."

"Possibly."

"It's obvious—" she broke off. "What did you say?"

"I said, you may be right."

Kaz stared at him. "Earlier this afternoon, you were hell-bent to convict my brother."

He slanted her a chiding look. "I was leaving open all possibilities," he corrected. "Too many things aren't adding up."

"Like what?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that. Let's just say that a few of the findings might be inconsistent with someone killing in a fit of rage, then panicking and setting a fire to cover it up. I'm having the rags from the truck tested to see if the accelerant matches what I found on the boat." He set the teapot down. "But you're right—finding the murder weapon in the truck is just too damn convenient."

His words brought her a huge measure of relief. To have someone agree with her, and to not have them think she was crazy or blinded by her loyalty to her brother…Michael Chapman still wasn't her ally, but he was proving to be open-minded.

But why was Gary hiding out, if he was innocent?

She tried to raise the mug to her lips, but her hands were shaking too badly. The hot liquid spilled, soaking through the bandage that covered her burn. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes watering from the pain.

Chapman leaned across the table and placed his hands on hers, helping her hold the mug steady while she took a sip. The warmth, both from his hands and from the tea, was a blessed relief. "Thanks," she said, her breath hitching alarmingly.

"It's the adrenaline," he said quietly. One corner of his mouth quirked. "You'll be fine in a couple of hours—back to your old, feisty self. Until then, you'll feel like you got flattened by an eighteen-wheeler."

She tried to smile back at him, but failed. Their gazes held for a long, silent moment, then he cleared his throat. Releasing her hands, he got up and rummage through drawers until he found the first aid kit. Sitting back down, he took her hand in his and proceeded to remove the soaked bandage.

Kaz let him, almost paralyzed by his gentleness. His touch was difficult to reconcile with the tough image he typically projected, and it added a new layer of complexity to his personality. If she'd been paying attention, she would've been able to predict that gentleness, based on how he treated Zeke. But she'd blocked out those kinds of observations, trying to convince herself that he was the enemy.

He's not acting like the enemy now, the voice inside her head whispered.

He examined the burn, a slight frown on his face. "It's healing well, but I don't think hot herbal tea is beneficial." His tone was wry as he dug through the jumble of packages in the kit to find some ointment. After spreading it with a light touch, he opened a package of gauze bandages and taped one over the blisters.

She hadn't said anything the whole time he'd worked, hadn't been able to while he had her hand in his. "Um, thanks," she muttered, pulling back and concentrating on her tea.

"No problem," he said, sounding amused. He watched her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I want you to take me with you when you go out on the water."

"What?" She jumped up to rinse out her cup. Just what she needed—twelve hours in close proximity to the most disturbing man she'd ever met, a man she was starting to feel a real connection with. And wasn't that a terrifying thought? "No way."

She had rules, ones that she hadn't broken for fifteen years. Never again was she going to be responsible for taking someone over that river bar. She couldn't take the chance.

"I know what I'm doing, and I won't be in your way," he said, his tone persuading. "I need to get a feel for what goes on out there, listen to the conversations on the radio."