Boone raised an eyebrow. “You have kids?”
“Not me, no.” Trent shook his head. “Just a big family. My youngest sister was born when I was fifteen. I have many less-than-fond memories of teething.” And everything else that went along with newborns. Looking back, he focused on the good stuff. The rough times had been so short-lived in comparison. He had a great family, and with the distance of maturity, he eagerly embraced the time with his youngest nieces and nephews when they were all together.
Boone snorted. “Bet that was effective birth control.”
“Pretty much, yeah.” Although he remembered being grossed out over the idea of his parents having regular sex. For fun. At their age. Couldn’t dwell on it even now. “Fatherhood looks good on you, man.” He and Boone had worked together on assignments in the past. “How’s it feel?”
“Good.” He shook his head. “Great, actually. Even on teething days. Makes a big difference having a partner like Nina. She’s amazing.”
“I look forward to meeting her.” During his visits, Trent had seen her around town, usually in her delivery van, but he’d had no reason to speak with her.
Nash returned to the table with a fresh beer for each of them. “Enjoy!” He lifted a glass of soda. “Proud designated driver here. And house chips are on the way.”
“Thanks.” Trent raised his glass in salute. “I walked over, just so y’know.”
“Just don’t walk into the ocean,” Nash cautioned. “It’s not as impossible as it sounds.”
Trent chuckled. “I’ll be careful.” He had no plans to dull his senses while he was working. “Have either of you heard anything recently about stolen boats?”
“Not a peep.” Nash did a double take. Scowled. “Is that why the body washed up? I assumed it was an accident or a drug deal gone bad.”
Trent glanced around, confirming no one was too interested in them. “I’ve got reason to believe that body was tied to the boat theft ring I’ve been working on,” he said. At Boone’s raised eyebrow he added, “No official connection, yet. And I’m hoping they don’t announce a connection too soon.”
“You think someone’s stealing boats and using them for smuggling drugs?” Boone asked.
“That’s my working theory. We’ve seen a rash of incidents up and down the Eastern seaboard,” he said. “I’m still looking for leads and ties to a few people capable of setting this kind of thing in motion.” Thinking of Frank Royer, convinced he was involved, Trent linked his hands around his beer mug and took a deep breath. “I’ve been on this a while now,” he admitted. “I’veshifted my viewpoint to the victims and I still can’t figure out how this crew is choosing their targets.”
“Victims?” Nash drummed his fingers on the table. “I haven’t heard of any losses out of our marina.”
“With luck, my investigation will keep it that way.” Trent clocked the folks around the bar again, not seeing any familiar faces or anyone who seemed concerned with his presence in the pub. It was a longshot that the local tie to Royer would be a Pelican patron. Then again, Trent hadn’t heard of much competition for the pub, though surely there was a dive bar somewhere close. “Is this the only bar in Brookwell?”
Boone nodded. “Officially, yeah. A few guys hang out on their boats or near the marina’s repair shop.”
“I didn’t realize.” And he should have. It would be tough to crash those private gatherings. Something like that would require a plan.
He’d been out on the water with the team, when everything had gone wrong just off the coast of Brookwell. The intercept had turned into a blood bath as the thieves fought like hell to escape seizure. The viciousness of the fight had shocked everyone involved. Nothing he had seen leading up to that arrest indicated the crew would fight so hard. Much less kill one of their own. They’d gotten zero intel when the last man on the boat forced authorities to use deadly measures.
But that man hadn’t possessed any weapon that could’ve created the wounds on his dead crewmate. Trent still wasn’t sure if the excessive violence had been a deliberate distraction or an inconvenient accident. Either way, he was hopeful that the autopsy would come up with some evidence to tie the most recent body to Royer.
“Speak of the devil,” Boone murmured. His gaze flicked to the door. “Not regulars.”
Trent recognized a couple guys walking in from the marina repair shop. Men he had on his radar to investigate more closely, but he hadn’t found a way in. If they were here, this could be a good opportunity to go through their shop for clues. Maybe his only chance.
“Do me a favor? If you hear any rumors, pass them on?”
Boone studied him before giving him an understanding nod. “You got it.”
“Thanks,” Trent slid out of the booth.
“You can’t leave,” Nash pointed at the beer sitting in front of Boone.
“No worries. I just need to get some air,” he explained. “I’ve been cooped up most of the day with meetings.” A small but valuable untruth.
“Fine. Don’t go walking into the ocean,” Nash warned one more time.
Trent chuckled. “I promise if my feet get wet, I’ll turn around.” He dropped some cash on the table and left the pub.
The fastest way toward the marina was likely down the beach. And the best explanation if he was intercepted. He’d been doing his best to get to know the area, but he still hadn’t identified the places where thieves wanting to lie low would hide out.
