After a long moment, he reluctantly nodded.
Relief flooded through her. "Then you'll need to go to the men's room after all that water Kaz just let you drink." She stood up and took hold of his elbow. "Let's go. Now. There's no time."
#
He shuffled along beside her docilely enough. To anyone glancing her way, it looked like it was supposed to look—that she was escorting the prisoner to the restroom. Once inside, she quickly checked the rest of the stalls, then took a key out of her pocket and unlocked his hand and leg cuffs.
"Okay," she said, standing back and assuming a fighting stance. "Make it look good."
Gary shook his head. "Can't…hurt you."
She rolled her eyes. "It has to look like you overpowered me. That is, if I'm going to stand a chance of keeping my job when this is all over."
He shook his head again, and glanced at the closed door. "Find…another way."
She blew out an exasperated breath and angled her chin at him. "Just knock me out, dammit. I've taken worse on the mat at the gym. Do you want to live, or not?" She glared at him, then went for the taunt that might make him angry enough to do what was necessary. "Or is that it? Wouldn't want you acting out of self-interest, now would we?"
He growled and reached for her, placing his hands on her shoulders, cupping the curve of her neck. His thumbs caressed the sensitive skin behind her ears. She tried to control the shiver that went through her at his warm touch but wasn't quite fast enough.
One corner of his mouth quirked. "So I…still…get…to you."
"Oh, just shut up—"
His hands tightened just slightly. The darkness came quickly, swamping her.
The last thing she remembered was being gently lowered to the floor and the whispered words, "Sorry, love."
#
"Like you thought, the accelerant was gasoline," the lab technician confirmed.
Michael stood in the basement lab at the State Police facility in Warrenton, glancing through the paperwork the technician handed him.
"And it matches what was found on the rags in the back of Jorgensen's car." The tech pulled out the report, then pointed at the two gas chromatograph readings. "That's not definitive, since most of the gas around here comes from the same refinery, but along with everything else…"
Michael glanced at his watch, worried about the passing time. He needed to get back to the station and pick up Kaz. He wouldn't put it past her to get impatient and strike out on her own. The woman needed a keeper. And so far, the tech hadn't given him any reason for his demand that Michael drop everything and drive out there. "Why the hell—"
"And I've got a match on the DNA," the tech interrupted. He rummaged around on his desk, then held up two DNA diagrams which, sure enough, looked identical. He was shifting from one foot to the other, acting nervous.
Michael's heart sank. It had to be either Gary or Kaz. Which didn't prove that either one of them had committed the murder, but it left him with no way to prove that they hadn't, either. When would he catch a break on this damn case? "Whose sample matched?" he asked, resigned.
The tech shuffled his feet again. "That's just it. I re-tested two times, because I thought I'd made a mistake. Then I checked your labels again, and I was wondering if you'd mismarked the samples—"
Michael ground his teeth. "I didn't screw up the fucking samples! Just spit it out. Which one matched?"
"The cigar."
Michael froze. "Pardon?"
"The cigar's a match to the hair follicle. Where'd you find the cigar, anyway? We didn't find anything like that on the boat, or…hey!"
The paperwork fluttered to the floor as Michael sprinted for the door, taking the basement steps three at a time.
Sonofabitch! Sykes had been playing him all along. And Kaz was at the police station. Surely Sykes wouldn't try anything in front of the other cops—he wouldn't be that brazen. But who knew how many of them were working with him?
Racing across the parking lot to his car, he used his cell phone to dial the station. Ivar answered Lucy's phone. "Where is she?" Michael shouted.
"In the interrogation room with Gary," Ivar answered. "Why?"
"No time to explain. Tell Kaz not to move. I'll be right there."
"Kaz isn't here." Ivar sounded confused.
Michael skidded to a stop at the car door, one hand in his pocket, reaching for his keys. Zeke barked at him from inside the car, jumping up and down. "What?"
"Yeah, she left about half an hour ago."
"Fuck! Where was she headed?"
"She said something to Lucy about heading to the mooring basin and then to the tavern."
"Is Sykes there?" Michael asked, terror's grip making it hard for him to form the words.
"Hold on." Ivar put the phone down for a few seconds, then came back online. "He must've gone home already, I don't see him in his office."
"Keep me posted." Michael disconnected and yanked open the car door. He started to toss the cell phone on the front seat when he saw that he had a message. Why hadn't it come through? Because he'd been in the basement at the time, dammit. No coverage. He started the car and pulled on his and Zeke's seatbelts, listening to the message from Kaz. Then checked the time stamp.
#
Kaz cut the Kasmira B's running lights and stayed back so that Karl wouldn't notice her in the approaching darkness. With the wind picking up and conditions becoming choppier, she found it hard to keep him in sight. If he crossed the river bar faster than she did, or if she made any navigational mistakes, she could easily lose him on the ocean side. Then her only option would be to head for the location he'd given out over the radio the day before and pray that she was right.
Once out of the Redemption, she'd driven along Marine Drive, keeping Karl's small skiff in sight as he took it upriver to the mooring basin. By the time she'd gotten there and parked, he was fueling up at the pumps and hadn't seen her sneak down the docks and onto her own boat.
The Kasmira B bounced harder than usual, sending alarm skittering along her nerves. The weather report coming across the marine channel wasn't good—a storm surge of up to fifteen feet was predicted just offshore, with more than thirty feet out at sea. Add to that winds up to thirty knots, and it would be a hell coming back across.
If she made it at all.
Being caught out for the night wasn't an option. Whatever she learned out here she had to be able to communicate back to Lucy—she didn't believe Gary would survive until morning. And that scared her far more than crossing the river bar under the wrong conditions.
Keeping closer to shore, she paralleled Karl, staying as far back as she dared off his port stern. Only half an hour after turning south, he cut his engines to an idle and ran alongside a buoy. His location matched the position he'd given out on the radio yesterday. He'd employed the fishermen's habit of broadcasting false locations, but his intent all along had been to inform the drug suppliers which crab pots he'd used as the drop location. She had to admit, it was a clever idea. Someone had once said that the best place to hide something valuable was right in plain sight. This was just a fisherman's variation on that theme.
Karl's running lights provided just enough illumination so that with binoculars, she could watch him pull the crab pot out of the water, open it up, take out a package, and then drop in the plastic wrapped package he'd taken from the office back. He lowered the cage back into the water.
Grabbing a pen and paper, Kaz noted the longitude and latitude, as evidence for later. Karl had brought himself down by following every ship captain's habit—writing down everything in the ship's log. With her notes as corroboration, they had him. Now all she had to do was follow him back to port and then on to his meeting with his in-town contact.