There couldn’t be too many options in a town of this size. Trent went over it all in his head as he crossed the dunes that protected the beach. Only one man had been apprehended alive. With stolen equipment and a few kilos of cocaine for good measure. Of the two men who went overboard, one was still missing.
Convenient as it would be, Trent didn’t believe that Frank Royer had drowned. The ringleader had escaped and now someone nearby was surely helping him evade the authorities.
But who?
Well, that was why Gamble and Swann had sent him here. They hadn’t expected easy answers, though they always hoped for speedy results. This crew epitomized sneaky—a remarkable feat in itself considering the number of successful thefts they’d pulled off. They had stolen several boats outright from docking slips all along the East Coast. At big marinas and small, even high-ticket equipment was fair game. On some occasions, boats were taken, used for several days, and returned. Like a private rental agency for criminals.
The only explanation was an inside connection and yet no one had cracked or given Trent a whisper of being part of the operation.
The slower than glacial progress was like poking a raw nerve. Patience, usually his superpower, was wearing thin. How did this crew stay so organized? More unsettling—what kind of leverage was Royer applying to keep so many people quiet about it?
He was grateful for his boots as he trudged through the loose dry sand and made his way closer to the hard packed sand near the tide line. He walked just out of reach of the water, under a moody velvet sky sparkling with stars. Moonlight danced over the waves, lighting the foam that rolled up onto the sand. Minding Nash’s warning, he didn’t stray into the water as the drumming tide muted his racing thoughts.
Before long, he realized he wasn’t out here alone.
It wasn’t as if Brookwell had set hours for beach access. Guidelines, yes, but challenging to enforce. In addition to the moon’s soft glow over the water, taller lights marked the various boardwalks over the dunes. In between those points, the darkness made it impossible to recognize anyone from a distance.
He passed a group of friends laughing around a small campfire. Giving them a wide berth, he walked on, curious ifhe could reach the marina from here. According to his earlier explorations, the shape of the coastline prevented direct access. Unless he’d had something as convenient as a kayak. Maybe tomorrow he’d do that. It wasn’t uncommon for thieves to invade marinas that way. Completely unassuming, they could navigate in and around the boat slips with ease.
Despite the marina’s excellent security, courtesy of the local Guardian Agency presence, Trent refused to underestimate Royer’s tenacious crew.
They’d just had too much success. Deliberate. Not dumb luck.
From the background Trent had dug up, he assumed the crew’s persistence came from fear of the boss as much as greed. Royer was ruthless and the trail of bodies in his wake proved it.
Reaching the limit of easy beach walking, he turned around rather than attempt to find his way through the thick stand of marine forest. Lost in thought, adjusting his strategy for tomorrow and the following days, he was surprised to hear someone call his name.
He followed the sound toward the shadowy form walking his way.
“Hey.” He slowed his pace. “Nice night.” He hoped that would suffice.
Small towns often had that congenial vibe. He needed to lean into it because he was staying in one of the more popular locations on the island. It seemed as if everyone in Brookwell knew his name already. He hadn’t yet decided whether that was a perk or a problem when the source of the voice walked through the pool of light from the boardwalk.
Female, he noted as her skirt fluttered in the breeze, the light glowing behind the fabric. “Hey, Natalie.” He did his best to ignore the warmth that flooded his system whenever he was close to her.
“Is everything going well at the Hideaway?” she asked, falling into step beside him. “I only ask because you could be doing this on a private beach.”
But then he wouldn’t have bumped into her. He caught himself staring, taken aback. She seemed almost ethereal in the moonlight. He wanted to reach out and make sure she wasn’t an illusion. It seemed almost criminal that he didn’t know the taste of her lips.
“Trent?”
He shook off the wayward thoughts. “Everything’s perfect, thanks. I was,um, at the Pelican earlier and wanted some air.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Air and solitude. And I’m intruding.” Stepping back, she swept her arm out. “Enjoy.”
He marveled that she was able to be herself all the time. Who did that? It was kind of intimidating. He couldn’t imagine running at life wide open, no filters, the way Natalie did. He peered down at her bare feet. She wasn’t carrying shoes. He stopped short of asking about her footwear. “You’re welcome to come by and enjoy the private beach anytime,” he blurted. “It’s your house.”
Her lips tipped up at one corner and her fingers brushed his forearm. “Not during your stay. It’s all yours.”
“Right. Thanks.” He couldn’t drag his focus away from where she touched him.
“There haven’t been any more issues?” she asked. “No unfortunate souls washing up or other crimes?”
He chuckled. She was irrepressible. “No.”
“Good.” She turned toward the water. “I’d hate for another crime to wreck a beautiful night.”
He couldn’t agree more. “That would be a tragedy.” He started back toward the pub, ridiculously pleased when she fell into step beside him.
