P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

She raised an eyebrow. "And you'll keep me informed as to the progress you're making, right?"

"As much as possible, I will."

She shook her head. "If I can't expect Lucy to do that for me, why would I expect you to?"

"Maybe because, at some point, you have to trust someone. Otherwise, you're on your own. I could be wrong, but I don't see any evidence that your friends are rallying around you, eager to help."

"That's unfair," she protested. "Lucy and Ivar have jobs to do."

"And the fishermen? I don't see them acting any too supportive."

"They have their own worries. Besides, it's possible…" She stopped, realizing what she' d been about to reveal.

"—that they're helping by hiding your brother," he finished for her.

She didn't respond.

He shook his head, reached out, ran a thumb gently down her cheek. "I don't want you to get hurt," he said softly.

Her eyes locked with his, and she saw the truth there. He cared about her, cared about her safety. She started to lean toward him, then straightened when she realized what she was doing. She drew a steadying breath. "I'm okay," she assured him. "The phone calls have stopped, and I seem to have an official escort." She gestured at the police cruiser.

Michael glanced in Jackson's direction and frowned. For some reason she couldn't fathom, he didn't seem to be reassured. He shook his head, rubbing his thumb across her lower lip in a brief caress, as was becoming his habit. "Think about letting me help. Please." He pulled back and opened the door to get out. "I'll drop off Zeke this evening, and you can give me your answer then."

She watched him walk down the dock ramp, her lip tingling where he'd touched it. She shivered. Maybe he was right about the investigation. And maybe, just maybe she really wanted to believe him, to lean on him, if only for a few minutes. But she couldn't take the chance of trusting him.

For Gary's sake, she had to handle things by herself. Which would be easier if she got some sleep. After three visitors in one night, following on the heels of the night of the fire, she was running on empty. She needed a little refueling, maybe a short nap. It wasn't like her to feel sorry for herself. Maybe inhaling all that smoke on the boat had temporarily zapped her drive.

She'd go home, soak in a hot bath. Let her mind wander for a half hour. Maybe something would occur to her, some idea of what to do next.

Then again, maybe she should just go soak her head.

~~~~

Chapter 16

When Kaz came downstairs at dawn the next morning, Michael was standing in her kitchen, watching coffee drip, and tending an omelet. He'd dropped by late the night before, staying long enough to leave Zeke and bump up her blood pressure, even though he hadn't come within ten feet of her. He was the last person she'd seen before falling asleep, and now he was the first person she was seeing after awakening. Which didn't feel as awkward as it should've.

This morning he wore snug-fitting jeans and another sweater that did illegal things to the width of his shoulders. He looked annoyingly well rested—an effect she had yet to achieve, between her nightmares and her doggy-breath bed companion. She considered snarling.

He glanced at her as he expertly moved the two halves of the omelet onto plates. "Morning."

She grabbed a mug. "Don't you have a kitchen of your own?"

"Still packed."

"How'd you get in?"

"Zeke let me in." She narrowed her eyes at him, and he cocked his head toward the kitchen door. "It was unlocked." He pointed the spatula at her, his expression stern. "That was careless."

"But I locked it," she protested, confused. "I checked all the doors and windows before I went to bed. Zeke got restless around midnight and started pacing. But after a few minutes, he settled down. And no one was in the house or he would've gone crazy."

"Maybe he scared someone off before they got inside. Who has keys to this place?"

"Lucy and Gary, that's it." She prayed that he wouldn't ask the next obvious question—whether Gary had been there. She didn't know if he'd come back, and she didn't want to lie to Michael any more than she was forced to.

"You keep a spare key hidden outside?" Michael asked.

"No."

"Would Lucy come in and not tell you?"

She shook her head.

"What about what's-his-name—Chuck?"

An interesting question. Had Chuck come back last night to keep watch? She shivered. "Maybe, I don't know. He's been hanging around."

Michael's expression turned grim. "You didn't tell me that."

She shrugged. "When I confronted him, he said he was looking out for me."

Michael seemed dissatisfied with her answer, but he didn't press her. He brought the plates over to the table, sat down, and nodded at hers. "Eat."

She sampled the omelet and was pleasantly surprised. Okay, so he could cook. She didn't have much luck with omelets, but this one was cooked to perfection, lightly browned on the outside and filled with a fragrant mixture of grilled vegetables and some kind of creamy, tangy cheese. She dug in.

He sipped his coffee, seemingly content to watch her. "Where's Zeke?"

"In my bed," she answered between mouthfuls of food. She shot him a dark look. "Your dog has as much nerve as you do."

One side of his mouth quirked.

"Hey." She pointed her fork at him, irritated. "I didn't ask you or your dog to invade my life. And I sure as hell didn't ask you to stop by and fix me breakfast, or to—to—"

"Show you what you might've been missing all these years?" At her snort, he grinned. "Have you forgotten? I'm going out with you this morning."

She hadn't forgotten. Just what she needed—hours of nerve-wracking work in close quarters with a man whose very presence had her on pins and needles.

"What about Zeke? You can't bring him with you."

"The guys at the station agreed to babysit him. As soon as we drop him off, we're good to go."

Just great. It was going to be a long day.

#

With Michael's help, Kaz had the crab pots loaded on board the Kasmira B, the diesel engines warmed up, and the routine check completed in little more than a half hour. She put the trawler in reverse and backed away from the dock while Michael cast off the lines and pulled in the rubber bumpers that protected the trawler from damage when she was moored. Kaz steered toward the fuel pumps and pulled alongside.

While the computerized pump verified her credit card, a new thought occurred to her. If she were looking for the perfect place to hide something, she knew right where she'd put it. And Gary and she thought uncannily alike—at least, they always had in the past.

She handed the fuel nozzle to Michael and leapt onto the dock. "I'll be back in five. Once the tanks are topped off, go below and change. Use Gary's long johns, the cotton and wool socks, the float coat, and the fur-lined gloves."

Climbing the ramp up to the wharf, she jogged along the east side of it back toward land. Off to her left stood a warehouse containing cold storage units used by the fishermen. She and Gary kept their own unit, using it to hold halibut and tuna until they could negotiate a favorable price.

She fished the key out of her front jeans pocket, unlocked the padlock on the steel door, then yanked on the heavy handle. After checking to make sure the soles of her shoes were dry so that she wouldn't stick to the icy floor, she stepped inside. The cooler was essentially a large freezer with steel walls and a concrete floor, and it was kept precisely at zero degrees Fahrenheit, the optimum temperature for storing frozen fish. Overhead, the compressor hummed loudly, doing its job. On her right, a stack of large tuna lay in a slatted, wooden tray, cleaned and ready for market.