Deadly Engagement. Elle James
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Creed shook his head. “No. I checked all the cabins to make sure.”
“I’ll contact the state crime lab and see how they want to handle this investigation. Appreciate you bringing him up. Saves us a little time.”
Creed risked a glance at Emma’s face. “I didn’t know how long he’d last in the sea.”
“Unless they wash up quickly, we usually don’t get much back, if anything.” McGregor’s brows furrowed as he glanced at Emma. “You look a little pale. You okay?”
She nodded. “I’m fine. I’ve located bodies before. It was just that I wasn’t expecting it to float out at me.”
“Did you find the Anna Maria?” McGregor asked. “Kayla said you were pretty excited about this dive.”
Emma shook her head. “Not this time. Too busy bringing up a dead body to get too far into the rocks.” She shrugged. “I have a few more days off. If the weather holds, I’ll find her.”
Creed glanced at Emma. “I didn’t realize you were looking for anything in particular. I thought you were just diving.”
“I have tomorrow.” Emma slipped the strap of her bag over her shoulder and glanced up into Creed’s eyes. “The important thing was to do what you did and bring the body ashore.”
Creed found it interesting that she didn’t volunteer any further information on what she was looking for.
McGregor watched as the EMTs bagged the body and hefted it over the side of the boat and onto a gurney. “As it is, we had a report of a body found washed ashore a couple miles down from here. The current must have carried the others away from the boat.”
Creed’s head jerked up. “Have you had a chance to identify the body yet?”
“No. The coroner has him now. He’ll have his work cut out for him. He was pretty pecked over.” The officer turned to the woman. “Emma, any identification on the boat? That would help a great deal.”
She nodded. “The boat’s name was Pelageya. I don’t know if it means anything. Might be someone’s name.”
“It’s Russian for ‘of the sea,’” Creed offered.
Emma’s brows rose. “You’re a master diver and you speak Russian?”
Creed shrugged. “A little.” Fluently when necessary, as it had been just days earlier.
“Mr. Thomas, are you staying in Cape Churn?” Officer McGregor asked.
“Call me Creed.” He nodded. “I’ll be staying for a couple days, filing paperwork for the insurance company.”
“Good.” McGregor smiled briefly. “Where can I find you if we have any questions about the yacht?”
“I don’t know yet.” Creed hefted his bag, settling the strap over his shoulder. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Emma’s lips twitched. “Officer McGregor’s sister runs a B and B. You could stay there. She makes a mean clam chowder.”
Officer McGregor grinned. “That she does. Mom’s recipe. I’m not sure how full she is, with it being the start of summer season, but I could make a call and find out.”
Creed nodded. “I’d appreciate that.” On second thought, he almost changed his mind. If Phillip Macias arrived and discovered Creed had found the yacht first, he might come after him. The B and B could be the recipient of Phillip’s brand of collateral damage.
Before Creed could stop Officer McGregor and tell him never mind, the man had walked back to his cruiser. Emma met with the EMT crew, exchanging pleasantries like they were old friends.
Creed shouldn’t be surprised at how much each member of the community knew about the others. Small towns were like that. One of the main reasons he hadn’t stayed long in one of them. As usual, he was here on a mission, and once it was done, he’d be gone.
Frankly, he hadn’t expected to find what he was looking for as quickly as he had. When he’d been at the police station and asked who had a boat that could take divers out to the cape, he’d fully expected to run into difficulties. But like all small town police forces, they knew everyone and every place a person could go to get the services he needed.
Now that he’d located the Pelageya, he needed to move fast, before Macias learned of their find.
When the anonymous tip that Macias was dealing in large amounts of cash had reached SOS headquarters a week ago, Creed had been dispatched to Moscow, his assignment to follow Macias.
The high-powered businessman had met with Vladimir Zakharov, a Russian heavy in international trade of legal as well as black-market commodities, some stolen from the Russian government.
After the meeting, Macias stayed an additional week in Moscow enjoying Zakharov’s hospitality.
Creed had taken the opportunity to ask questions of some of Zakharov’s staff, discovering the purpose of the meeting between the two businessmen had more to do with terrorism than trade. Macias was awaiting the finalization of a shipment that would leave from the resort town of Vladivostok, off the east coast of Russia, carrying special cargo. Macias would take possession of the cargo off the western coast of the United States in four days.
Creed had met with one of the undercover CIA operatives he knew in Moscow. Royce had tagged him with the responsibility of reporting Macias’s movements to SOS headquarters. Then Creed had pulled in several markers to find swift transportation to Vladivostok, and crossed the vast expanse of Russia. The trip took two days.
There, his grasp of the Russian language had stood him well. The locals at the marinas had been more than willing to share what they knew, pointing to the empty berth where a yacht with English lettering was preparing for a trip to the American west coast.
Fortunately, the man had spoken to the yacht captain, who’d bragged about his upcoming trip to the American continent, to a place called Oregon.
Creed paid a midnight visit to the dock and stuck a waterproof GPS tracking device on the hull of the Pelageya.
Creed notified Royce of the shipment and caught the next flight out, landing in Anchorage, exhausted and jet-lagged. He found a hotel and slept for ten hours, conserving his energy while the gurus back in Washington pulled twenty-four-hour shifts scanning satellite feeds until they spotted a possible yacht approaching the western United States. Based on the boat’s vector, the shipment would have arrived on the Oregon coast the next night.
The evening had brought with it a fog so heavy, the locals called it the Devil’s Shroud. According to Royce, the last satellite image before the fog engulfed the yacht placed the boat at the tip of Cape Churn.
The ship had disappeared. Creed had come to find it before Macias, to discover what cargo the Russian and the American had arranged to be delivered.
Creed dragged in a deep breath of the salty air and let it out slowly. Thank God they’d found the boat on his first dive. It might buy him a little time to get back down there and locate the cargo.
With a dead man in tow, Creed doubted the discovery would fly below Phillip’s seemingly endless radar. An autopsy would be performed, the wreck becoming public record.
When Macias went looking for his yacht, he’d find it fairly easily.
If not for Emma, Creed could have spent days searching.
The woman foremost on his mind followed the emergency personnel to the ambulance and met with Officer McGregor.
Creed turned to Dave.
The dive boat captain had his head down in the engine compartment. Creed waited until Dave stood and dropped the door in place.
“Dave, since it looks as though I’ll be going out with you tomorrow, do I need to unload my gear?”
Dave