“Oh.” Although she and Corey chatted about the weather whenever they crossed paths, this sudden interest in helping her came as a surprise. Thoughtful, but out of left field. “Thank you,” she added quickly. “I might take you up on that.”
Surely she had enough discards in the storage areas here and at home to keep her inspired in the meantime.
“Sure. Good. Do that.” His earnestness was so sweet she nearly hugged him anyway. As if he sensed her intention, he backed up. “Bye.” With a wave, he hurried off.
She carried the box of nuts and bolts inside, adding it to the stash of supplies for the festival booth. As she closed the flaps, the shipping invoice caught her eye. She pulled out the slip of paper. Reading it over, she opened the box again. Every item on the packing list matched the small baggies of parts in the box. Corey had said it was a mistake, but the business information and address matched the marina. That made no sense. Why would Corey order parts he didn’t need?
Unless he was fabricating a reason to come visit her. A grand gesture, considering the quantity, variety, and prices listed on the invoice.
Choosing to be flattered and grateful for his contribution rather than weirded out by the odd visit, she got back to work.
CHAPTER 9
At the Hideaway, Trent was up at first light. He went for a run through the neighborhood, deliberately passing the construction zone twice, and finished with some yoga down near the beach. He wasn’t deliberately looking for another body in the surf—Royer’s body—but a man could hope. Whatever neutralized the threat worked for Trent. The grand-theft, extortion, and drug deals were bad enough. Add in murder? In Trent’s opinion that removed any second-chance options.
His body charged up, he headed inside for a shower and breakfast. Over coffee, eggs, and a cookie, he started digging into the many names Natalie had mentioned over dinner. Some popped up easily with clear connections to various businesses around the island. Others were more elusive. A couple folks had criminal incidents on record. So far, nothing too problematic and nothing that screamed they would escalate to stealing watercraft of any size or shape.
He had to find an in at the marina. It only made sense that Royer would recruit or extort help from the people with easy access.
And Trent was convinced someone was helping him hide down there.
Not the owner of the marina. He and his family were squeaky clean according to Jess as well as the agency’s top forensic accountant.
Once he’d narrowed his list of likely Royer-conspirators, he sent the names back to the main office in Chicago for financial review and thorough background checks. He’d barely had time to pour a second cup of coffee before his cell phone rang with the tone he’d assigned to his boss, Nolan Swann.
One of the two attorneys who managed the Guardian Agency, Swann handled the bulk of oversight for the field operatives. “How are things in the Lowcountry?” Swann asked as soon as Trent picked up.
“One gorgeous day after another,” he replied, carrying his coffee outside. It was too beautiful to stay in. “This house is one of the best things going out here.”
“I believe it. Jess raves about that place. For the views and the strong security profile.”
“Definitely has that in spades.” Next door, machinery screeched.
“What the hell is that?”
“Developer on the adjoining property. They’re expanding. I’m sure it’ll be luxury condos crammed in as close as they can get them.”
“The Hargraves can’t be happy about that,” Swann muttered.
“Unfortunately, I’m not sure they can do much about it.” Trent walked down toward the beach, away from the noise, refusing to get distracted by the fire pit where he hoped to kiss Natalie again. “The Hideaway is still the only rental on the island with a private beach and the tree line offers some good privacy.”
“Glad to hear it. That should keep business humming for them. I’m calling to let you know the evidence links Frank Royer to both the body recovered on the boat and the body that washed up there in Brookwell.”
“Tommy will be so relieved.” The fourth man on the crew, Tommy Crenshaw, had surrendered, but had yet to give the authorities any helpful information on Royer.
Swann gave a bark of laughter. “Got that right. Have you found any signs that Royer made it to Brookwell?”
“Not yet.”
Swann muttered an oath. “I don’t like loose ends. Maybe he didn’t make it.”
Trent understood the hope in his boss’s voice. “Royer’s not the type to make things easy. Not even dying. He’s got a reputation for being crafty and believing he’s the smartest guy in any room.”
“Or boat,” Swann interjected. “But man versus ocean rarely goes well for man.”
Trent scrubbed at his face. “Maybe Tommy’s telling the truth and Royer turned on them before going overboard on purpose. The weather was clear, the sea calm. Maybe he intended to sink the crew with the boat and restart the operation as soon as he vetted another crew.”
“That makes just as much sense as anything else,” Swann agreed with a heavy sigh. “Especially with a new report of a boat stolen from a marina on Jekyll Island.”
