Page 92 of Untamed Coast

A fishing boat pulled into the cove, and the flat-black RIB pulled alongside. Orange beanie guy climbed aboard the fishing boat, with the unmistakable silhouette of a rifle over his shoulder.

They could take him out anytime they wanted. But if that was their plan, why wait until now? Who was this woman? Why was she here?

Marco tried to look stern. “What do you want from me?”

The woman took a cigarette from her bag, lit it, and blew a column of smoke over her shoulder. “I’m not a bad person, Mr. Franco. Are you?”

The question caught Marco off guard. “Would you like to sit down?”

She looked toward the fishing boat and stepped aside, leaving a clear line of sight from the boat to Marco. “We’re probably both safer if we stay as we are.”

“I was just…” Marco could almost feel the crosshairs from a high-powered rifle centered on his chest. “…trying to be a gentleman.”

Marco could make out two men on the fishing boat that appeared to have rifles trained on him. They wouldn’t both miss.

The woman’s forehead smoothed and her tone took on an air of calm confidence. “Mr. Franco…Would you prefer Marconi?”

A tingle ran up Marco’s spine, as if her very presence deflated him. “It’s Marco. Have we met?”

The woman tapped her ash on top of the stump. “Not personally. But we’ve been watching you for several weeks.”

Rage built in Marco’s shoulders. “Watching? You almost killed me.” He clenched his fists. “I’m not after the damn gold.”

“At first I thought you might be working for the Pyke family,” she continued. “But that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

“I heard a distress call on the radio,” Marco replied. “She asked to be rescued.”

“The gold is long gone,” the woman said. “I dug it up thirty years ago.”

Marco shrugged. “So you tried to kill me because you thought I was after your gold?”

“We never tried to kill you, Marco,” the woman replied. “It was supposed to be harmless, just keep you in Juneau and away from here.”

“I was helping search for the Pykes’ daughter,” Marco said. “I don’t care about the damn gold.”

“She’s not their daughter,” the woman replied. “The Pykes are her in-laws. They are the ones she needed rescuing from.”

“Sounded like they were pretty bad folks, from what I read,” Marco said.

“What possessed you to work so hard to find one missing woman you never met?” Anya asked. “Hundreds of women go missing out here every year, and nobody seems to care much. I’m guessing it has something to do with losing your wife, Michelle?”

A lump caught in Marco’s throat. He didn’t owe this stranger his grief. “That your fishing boat anchored out there?”

She moved her cigarette to the other hand, away from him, and replied without turning to look at him. “Yes. That’s one of my boats.”

Marco was a bit taken aback. Most fishing boats were crewed by strong younger men. “You have more than one boat?”

The woman slowly looked him up and down. “I own a lot of them, Mr. Franco. I own Baranof Marine.”

She crushed out her cigarette on the stump.

It must have been a signal.

Behind her, there was movement on the fishing boat. Orange beanie guy was climbing back into the RIB, his rifle back over his shoulder. The second man had put down his rifle and moved into the pilothouse.

“Let’s take a walk, Marco.” She put her bag back over her shoulder. “I want you to see something.” She walked past him toward the tree line, moving with determination. She wore a Carhartt jacket and pants with the legs tucked into XTRATUF boots. “Haven’t used this fishing cabin since…the eighties maybe? Looks like it’s given up the ghost. We’ll have to tear it down.”

“You dug up Joe Baxter’s gold?” Marco got up to follow her. “I’m really not—”