P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

Forbes shrugged and turned to leave. "You think about it, son. In the end, I did you a hell of a favor."

Unfortunately, the bastard had a point.

#

Kaz entered Chuck's ICU unit and found Gary sitting in the chair beside the bed. One of the ER nurses had obviously convinced him to let them treat his injuries—his cuts had been cleaned and stitched, and through the open neckline of his shirt, she could see the edge of the white tape bandage around his ribs. The swelling over his left eye had gone down slightly. He turned and smiled slightly at her.

"How is he?" she asked softly, approaching the bed where Chuck lay still and silent, his face pale beneath the bruises.

"He made it through the night—the nurse says that's a good sign." Gary shook his head. "I figured I'd better hang around, though, just in case he wakes up. He'll try to drag himself out of here—he can't stand hospitals."

Kaz sympathized. "You okay?" she asked Gary softly.

He shrugged. "The bastards are either dead or behind bars. I figure that makes it a good day." He straightened and stretched, grimacing at the pain it caused. "But I'll be better when Chuck wakes up."

"I hear Lucy busted you loose at the station."

He grinned a little. "Yeah. Right about now, I don't think she's talking to me. I was pretty sneaky when I put her out."

"You sure as hell were."

They both turned toward the doorway where Lucy stood there, looking tired but calm.

"Everything under control?" Kaz asked.

Lucy nodded. "Svensen's crew is behind bars, along with Jackson. Clint is talking a mile a minute, hoping to use the information he has as a bargaining chip for a lighter sentence." She dragged another chair from the adjoining cubicle and fell into it. "Like Gary told you, the buyer was offshore—we'll probably never be able to lay a hand on him. I've notified the DEA, but…" She sighed. "Sykes was the in-town contact, running everything from behind the scenes and moving the drugs upriver. Svensen was making the drops and pickups for a cut of the profits. Jackson was the muscle, when needed. He's the one who beat up Ken."

"How did Ken find out about them?" Kaz asked.

"According to Jackson, by pure dumb luck. He saw Karl remove something from a crab pot, right after he'd spent that day baiting and laying pots in a different location. That didn't make sense to Ken, so he asked Karl about it. Karl reacted badly, which made him suspicious. He started watching more closely, put it all together, and confronted Karl that night six months ago in the tavern. Karl exploded." Lucy glared at Gary. "Which is where you came in."

Gary shrugged again. "I didn't know what it was about—just that Karl was threatening Ken for some reason. And I wasn't about to stand by and let that happen." He shook his head. "I should've been suspicious, though, when Karl didn't press charges. It wasn't like him to let something like that go. And he had no reason to be nice to me—he's never liked me. But I didn't have a clue until Ken turned up at the boat ten days ago, badly beaten. That's when I made him tell me what was going on."

Kaz pursed her lips. "So Karl broadcast a 'fake' location, which was the signal to the sellers that he was leaving the money in one of his pots with a buoy attached. He goes back out when no one is around and leaves the money, picking up the drugs. He probably figured that anyone who saw him would think he was either stealing some crabs for dinner, which happens all the time, or repairing a line." She frowned. "Why did it take six months for Ken to put it together?"

"I wondered the same thing," Lucy said. "But crab season only runs for six months—they had to have a strategy for the rest of the year. Karl said whenever he was drag-fishing off-season, they simply met in international waters when no one was around."

"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—"