when you’re done here. You can interview me and my dive buddy from last night at the same time.” He looked over toward the two boats guarding the scene. “I’ll even tell the cook to put on a big pot of stew in case your guys get hungry. Students can eat it tomorrow if you don’t.”
Her brows hitched in surprise. People rarely defied her, but this plan made sense. She grabbed her bag and started down the steps.
“Guys like that always cheat. You know that, right?”
She froze.
“You should pity his wife.” He’d spotted the ring Jimmy Furlong hadn’t been wearing the week they’d met during a FBI Academy training session.
Her fingers curled tight around the banister. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I hope you nailed his balls to the wall when you figured it out.”
She stood frozen on that top step as if it were a hundred-foot drop beneath her. She looked over her shoulder, but she kept her mouth shut tight. A hint of sympathy twisted his lips, but she didn’t want pity. She’d rather get a punch in the face. She nodded and headed for the shower.
She’d been played for a fool, and it had been a hell of a lesson. In truth, she was grateful to Staff Sgt. Jimmy Furlong. He’d taught her one of the most important lessons in life. Trust no one, not even her fellow cops.
Finn tied up the boat. His jaw ached because it had been clenched ever since he’d gotten a look at the knife sticking out of the dead man’s chest. He needed to refill cylinders, check seals, and hose down the equipment to prevent salt damage. He needed to pack up the equipment they’d used on the dive last night so the cops could test it for god knew what. To log in, check nothing important had happened in the last few hours, and make sure everything was ready for tomorrow’s rescheduled dives. As he’d told Holly, he had work to do.
A black cormorant sat in judgment on the end of the pier. Gulls were curiously absent.
The smell of brine washed through the air, a constant in this damp, temperate region. His feet pounded the wooden boards as he scanned the surroundings. It was quiet. No one was around. They were running two courses, but both had switched to lectures and labs today as opposed to scheduled fieldwork. Seeing no one, he went inside the dive shed and straight to Thom’s locker. He checked rapidly through his stuff. His hand lingered on the brand-new dive knife on the top shelf of the locker. Fuck .
“Finn, you in here?”
He turned slowly.
Mike Toben, whose family owned the hardware store, stepped through the open doorway, eyes sharp. “Got the RCMP cruiser outside. Thought I might leave the keys with you?” The cops kept a vehicle stored in town in case the West Coast Marine Service needed to do land-based inquiries. The Tobens rented them storage space in their warehouse.
Mike reached up above the desk that held a whiteboard full of the week’s dive schedules. There was a rack of keys on the wall.
“Leave ’em behind the sun visor.”
Mike’s eyebrows climbed halfway up his forehead as he held on to the keys. “How come? What’s going on?”
“I’m going to start locking the outside door.”
“Why? Something been stolen?” Unlike Finn, Mike had never left the area. They had beers occasionally, but that was as far as it went.
Finn wasn’t about to confide in the guy. “We’ve got a lot of expensive equipment here. I don’t want it walking.” He herded Mike outside.
The younger man eyed him narrowly. “Something’s going on. What is it?”
Finn strode down to the boat and started hauling equipment up to the shed.
“Need a hand?” Mike offered.
Finn stared unsmiling at the other guy. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. “I can manage.”
On cue, a car horn honked, and Mike turned to wave at his dad, who was waiting for him at the top of the hill.
“See you at O’Malley’s later?”
“Sure.” Finn turned on the hose and started washing down the