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He pulled his small flashlight from his jacket pocket and wished he had the heavy-duty light West End provided him, but he’d turned that in with his other equipment. He shined the faint light around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
Still, one couldn’t be too careful.
He walked over to the boathouse. Though it was accessible from the water, the door from the dock should be locked.
He walked over to check just to make sure.
It was open.
Garrett reached into his pocket for his radio, but it wasn’t there. Right, he turned in his equipment when he clocked out.
“Security!” he called into the boathouse. “Who’s there?”
Silence. Well, shit, someone must have forgotten to lock up. The knocking was likely the door blowing in the breeze.
He didn’t have his keys, but he didn’t want to walk back to the security office. He pulled out his phone to call Bruce and alert him. He’d send someone over. They had at least two people patrolling the grounds at all times.
As he scrolled through his contacts, he saw movement to his right. He turned, saw someone—he thought it was a man, shorter than him, about five-ten and in a heavy coat—moving in the near-dark. Before he could react, a brick came down on his head and he fell to the ground.
He groaned, tried to reach up to protect his head, but the brick came down again even harder.
Garrett didn’t feel anything after that.
16
Though the end of June, the early morning was unusually brisk. Kara expected it—she’d lived outside Spokane for most of her teenage years. The Pacific Northwest could get hot in the summer, but the cool mornings—especially on the water—were her favorite time of the day.
She pulled on her running pants, a tank top, and a thin windbreaker. No one else was awake in the house. She drank a full water bottle, filled her Hydro Flask, then ate a piece of toast with half a banana. She wasn’t one for breakfast but knew from experience that she’d get a better workout if she had something in her stomach. She started a pot of coffee for when she returned and headed out to the harbor on foot. It was still dark, though the sky was lighting up to the east. As she walked the six blocks to the harbor, she enjoyed how the thin red line turned orange, the deep blue sky turning purple. The vast horizon, the reflection off the water, the peaks of Orcas Island across the bay, dark against the sky, all reminded Kara that she was just one small part of a bigger world. It was both inspiring and heady.
Three hours of sleep had left her sluggish, but the morning breeze and brisk walk helped invigorate her. She needed clarity about her life but didn’t expect it now or later. Where she stood with the FBI team. If there was any hope of her getting back to her job in LA. What was going on with her and Matt and if she should trust her feelings—something she did in the job, but rarely in a relationship. For her entire life, sex had been about sex. Pleasure was pleasure, and as long as the guy knew what he was doing and wasn’t an asshole, that was all that mattered to her.
Until Matt.
She didn’t want to think about that.
She wouldn’t get clarity about her professional or personal life, so the next best thing was clarity about this case: something she could control, something she could turn around in her head and solve.
And shewouldsolve it, whether Catherine Jones thought she was competent or not.
The Friday Harbor port was tiny. There were two primary piers—one for the ferries that went out to the islands as well as the mainland, and one that was part of the yacht club, reserved for private boats. West End Charter was to the south, only partly visible from the main harbor, partly hidden as a wide cove cut inland. They, too, had a club, but the boats on their pier were all charters of the company.
Marcy was waiting for her in front of the main harbor across from the ferry dock, stretching against a metal railing. The streetlights were still on, even as the sun crept over the harbor. A smattering of high clouds made the morning picture-perfect.
The island was growing on Kara—the water, the fresh air, the trees—but it had a population similar to tiny Liberty Lake, where she’d lived with her grandmother during high school. One thing Kara didn’t like was when everyone knew everyone else’s business—especially hers. There were few secrets in small towns, which gave her the confidence that they’d solve this case quickly. Someone knew something.
“Morning,” Kara said when she approached. She did a couple of squats, then stretched her hamstrings. “We went to the Fish & Brew last night. You were right, amazing. I could eat there every night.”
Marcy laughed. “When it comes to food, I’m never wrong. Ready?”
“Lead the way.”
They started off at a slow jog, heading north, past the yacht club. “The run is just over five miles. I do it at least three times a week. Down the main street, then we turn off on a road that leads to a broken dock at the edge of the water. A few houses out there, not many. I usually take a water break, stretch, head back. Good?”
“Good.”
Kara wasn’t a die-hard runner. She worked out mostly to release energy. She preferred more physical and competitive exercise routines—she and her old partner Colton used to spar together. That was a great workout, and fun to boot. Some of the cops at her precinct would put together racquetball tournaments that tended to be cutthroat near the end. She rarely won, but almost always made it to the final round.
When Kara ran, she preferred to be alone, but making friends among local law enforcement was one of her unspoken job descriptions. After the case down in Arizona, Matt and Tony had sat her down and said that she had a knack for getting people to trust her—not just because she worked undercover, but because she’d been a local cop, too. Local cops tended to gravitate to her.
