Obsidian (15 page)

“It’s okay.” He forced a smile onto his face and willed his breathing to slow. Being attracted to Shelby was one thing, letting her know he was attracted to her was a whole other affair. He needed to put some distance between them, fast.

“I guess I’d better hit the hay. I’d suggest you do the same.”

She shook her head. “I think I’ll sit up for a while. I don’t think I can sleep.”

She turned her back on him and walked back to the window seat. He stood there, watching her. More than anything he wanted to touch her, to know what it was like to hold her in his arms. Just for tonight, he wanted to forget everything else and kiss her. But he couldn’t.

He wasn’t meant to care for this woman. It was the wrong time and the wrong place. He was here for a reason and when it was done he’d be leaving Chandler.

She settled back into her corner of the window seat and pulled a crocheted throw around her legs.

Hell, he knew what she was going through. The waiting and hoping was enough to shatter the strongest person. He’d been through the hell himself and it had made him the man he was. It was also the reason he knew he’d have to leave once this was over. He wasn’t the kind of man Shelby needed. She needed someone who could be there every day, supporting her, comforting her and taking care of her. He wasn’t that man.

Once the Coast Guard had called off the search for the night, Caruso and Taimon were free to leave the old Cannery and head back to where they’d stashed the boat on the point.

In front of him, Taimon muttered a curse as his foot slipped on a clump of seaweed that was invisible in the darkness. They had stashed the boat in a vacant boathouse near the cove. Most of the summer people had left, which made it a great place to go about their business unnoticed.

The storm was intensifying now. The wind was scattering the leaves from the trees and beating against them. Caruso pulled his jacket tighter around him, as he followed Taimon. Once at the boat, they’d be able to make it out to the island and warm up, but for now they still needed to stay low and out of sight.

The old man wasn’t going to be happy with them. They’d botched things up today, royally. First, the young guy on the fishing boat and then with that Rivard guy.

Their orders were to take care of Rivard and they hadn’t. Between the screw ups and the weather he could only speculate on what that would mean for their operation now.

They were supposed to have a drop going down tonight. He looked up at the fast moving clouds silhouetted against the blue-black sky. The forecast was bad. A hurricane was moving fast up the Atlantic, heading straight for them. They were so close to end of the operation that he was beginning to get nervous. Mistakes were being made. People were being careless. It would only take one sighting to put them out of business and behind bars for a very long time.

Caruso squinted into the darkness looking for the landmarks he’d put to memory. They’d reached the gray shingled house high up on the ledges, which meant that they were close to the boathouse. Warm light spilled from the wall of windows lining the waterside of the house. Whoever lived there was keeping late hours.

Caruso grabbed at the back of Taimon’s jacket, pulling him down with him as a figure walked by the windows. They crouched there, hidden against the rocks as they waited for what felt like hours. The wind, water and darkness should be enough to hide them, but he wasn’t taking any more chances tonight. The figure stopped at the window and raised a pair of binoculars.

Damn, what could they be looking for at this hour? What could they be looking for in the darkness? Unless?

He cursed again. He didn’t need the complication of another nosy person adding to their already tough situation. If they were using binoculars at night that meant that they were looking for someone or something. And that could only mean trouble.

Jamie had done what he was asked of him. As promised, he’d made sure that Shelby was as okay as she could be under the circumstances.

It was easy for him to understand the emotions running through her. He understood the helplessness and the desperation. But more than his experiences with his job, he knew what the pain was like on a personal level.

He’d spent the weeks after David’s death trying to figure out how to deal with his own feelings of helplessness and loss. McAlvey had been right about one thing. He’d been out of control; unable or unwilling to deal with David's death, but losing David had been the last in a very long line of losses. And he hadn’t handled any of them very well.

Jamie vaulted off the bed and went to the closet, rummaging through his bag. The house was quiet enough now and he’d put it off long enough. He needed to know just what was in the package he'd found at the point.

Pulling his jackknife from his belt, he cut through the gauged plastic and covered wire to the heavy paper. He used the edge of the knife to slit the tape holding it in place and peeled back the paper and plastic.

Damn. Now he knew at least part of why he was in Chandler.

Pulling a bandana out of his pack, he reached into the package and pried the foam packing material away. He picked up one of the small, black objects. Draping the bandanna over his hand, he held it up. The sleek design glinted in the light from the single light bulb left dangling overhead.

Guns. He should have guessed. It was a logical choice. After all, they were small, neat, easy to conceal, and profitable to smuggle. They were also fairly easy to obtain.  He looked into the compact package. There were four more of the guns tucked inside. It was a small amount, enough not to garner too much attention if anyone bothered to look. He tested the weight and held it up to the light again. Whoever had packed the guns had taken the precaution of making sure there was nothing incriminating on them. He turned it over, searching for the serial numbers. There weren’t any, not that he was surprised. Gun traffickers weren't about to leave anything behind that might lead investigators straight to them. And if the market for the guns was overseas then they weren’t going to risk bringing international attention to what they were doing.

He set the gun back in the box and picked up a folded sheet of white paper at the bottom of the package. There were six words were scribbled on the paper.

Filleann an feall ar an bhfeallaire.

He didn’t know what it meant, but with his limited knowledge of languages it looked like it might be Irish.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pack. He needed to know what the note said and if anyone could translate it would be Kearsage.

He punched in the number and waited for the connection. Within minutes he had an answer. Eager to stretch his linguistic skills, Kearsage had been excited to offer his translation of the Irish proverb.

The treachery returns to the betrayer.

Outside the wind picked up with a gust, rattling the panes of the old window. The night sky was almost black and the frontal clouds from the hurricane were moving in fast as the tension from the coming storm crackled around him.

Who was the betrayer? And just what was the treachery?

Of course, the obvious leap would be to make a connection from the obscure Irish phrase to John Case. After all, he knew next to nothing about the man.

Case had access to the wharf and to the harbor. Out on his boat, he could be running guns without calling any extra attention to himself. He had opportunity and if he had a motive it was most likely money. But there was one piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit. If it were Case that was smuggling guns, would he really put Shelby and her brother into danger by doing it near them?

CHAPTER EIGHT

The weather forecast was bad, worse than they had first expected. Hurricane Fenton had picked up speed and was headed straight at them. At six in the morning, the storm surge was predicted to be enough to keep even the biggest boats in for the day and the Coast Guard had suspended the search for another day due to rough seas and the advancing storm.

Case paced the confines of the cluttered store like a caged lion, wearing a path in the old wooden planking.

“Damn.” Case stopped pacing to look out the window. Outside the sky was getting grayer by the minute. They were running out of time and without more time, they’d be going on a recovery mission instead of a search and rescue.

Even the seagulls were coming ashore. Yet another bad sign.

Shelby fiddled with the inventory, readjusting a stack of twine that needed no readjusting. It was busywork to keep her mind off of what was going on outside.

“I don’t understand where that boy could be,” Case growled. “I can’t stand this. I don’t care if they are calling off the search. I’m going to look for him myself. He’s got to be out there somewhere.”

“Uncle,” Shelby yelled after him, but the door slammed behind him followed by a bang of a truck door and the starting whine of an engine. He could understand why Case was reacting the way he was. The worst part of a situation like this was the power of the unknown. Helplessness and fear conspire to make everything worse.

“I can’t believe he’s going to risk his neck to go looking for Josh. It’s bad enough that I may have lost my brother because of foolishness. He should know better.”

“Don’t worry.” Jamie said; moving to stand next to her and offering her a cup of the coffee he’d just brewed. “Your uncle can take care of himself.” The tension, worry and the coming storm were wearing heavy upon her. He looked at the deep lines etching her eyes and the sag of her shoulders.

“You really should try and get some sleep. There isn’t anything you can do for now. If you want, I can take care of the store for you?” It was the least he could do.

She looked up at him with large eyes. “I can’t do that to you. I can’t just leave you with the whole store to run when you don’t know anything about it. Besides, with so many of the fishermen in for the day and the storm coming, we’re bound to be busy with people stocking up.”

The bell above the door chimed as two old men walked into the store.

“Good morning, John Henry, Roe, how are you today?” Two old men came in with gray hair and saggy work pants that were held up with red suspenders.

John Henry just nodded at her and went in search of the coffeepot, but Roe stopped to place a withered, work-roughened hand upon her arm. “How are you holdin’ up, dear? I heard the news on the radio about them calling it off for the day.”

It was the same two old men from Callaway’s Pub. Shelby did her best to smile at the gesture of kindness. She was trying to hold onto hope, but he could see that her optimism was running out fast.

“I’m fine, really.” But she wasn’t. He’d lay in bed all night long, going over everything he’d managed to find out so far. But his thoughts kept coming back to Shelby. It didn't take much to remember the heat of her touch against his cheek and the honeyed smell of her, as she’d stood so close.

He’d never met anyone quite like Shelby. Then again, maybe he was wrong. Maybe he’d met someone like her before. Her gentle manner and her ability to carry on through any crisis reminded him of very much of his mother. Both women had a deep strength that came from within. Both of them had suffered losses and had managed to persevere. Despite losing her son, his mother had rallied her family, trying her best to pull together a family that was disintegrating before her eyes.

He’d turned away from his mother because of the guilt and because he hadn’t known how to comfort her. He was more like his father than he’d realized.

Shelby placed a hand on the old fisherman’s shoulder and bent over closer so she could hear his voice. She was so graceful in her gestures, so simplistic and genuine in her movements. She looked up and saw him watching her and offered him a smile.

He was beginning to think and feel too much about Shelby. It had been a long time since he’d stopped long enough to feel anything other than the simplest of emotions. Even when his brother had died he’d only felt anger. He’d never stopped to feel anything else.

There were ghosts here in Chandler that he’d never wanted to face, ghosts of his own past that he saw when he looked at Shelby. What he needed was time and distance and to find the answers he needed. “I’m going down to the wharf to make sure everything is secured.”

And without waiting for a response he headed out the door.

Jamie went out the door, pulling it closed behind him. The wind was picking up faster now, but the hurricane was stalled somewhere off of the coast of Cape Cod and Rhode Island. That meant that there was still some time left before the storm to get things settled, but the weather was a threatening reminder of what was to come.

The cackling sounds on the radio had lessened as one-by-one the fishermen got their boats ready to ride out the storm and had gone in search of shelter.

She put her hands over the old wood stove in the corner and let the warmth sink into her fingers. She was just one big raw nerve. Waiting had never been her strong point and it hadn’t changed much since Tommy’s death, only gotten worse. The only thing she had to hold onto right now was that they hadn’t found Josh’s body. There was still a chance he could be stranded out on one of the islands. But as the time passed it was getting harder to hold onto that hope.

She looked out the window as Jamie made his way down the gravel path to the wharf. The sky was turning an odd gray cast and the morning sky held a hint of orange red fire.