He made almost no noise and stayed within a few yards of shore, half rowing, half paddling. He went right past Luke Castellane's yacht. It'd be alarmed and locked up tight. Teddy considered lobbing a flash-bang over the bow. That'd serve the bastard right for firing him. Scare the hell out of him.
But that'd happen soon enough.
His boat leaked. The cold water oozed over his shoes, but he was sitting up on the seat. His ass wouldn't get wet. He kept rowing.
It was cold and dark, just the hint of dawn, a paler gray light far out on the horizon. A Maine sunrise was something to see, but with the rain, it wouldn't be much this morning. He'd be out of here by then, anyway.
The FBI agent's boat, the one Bruce'd rented him, was tied up down by Christina West's café. Teddy managed to steer his boat up to its bow, right at the end of the slip.
The leak was worse. Water was pouring into his rowboat.
He was glad he had his weapons and ammo wrapped in a waterproof tarp. He pulled them onto the seat next to him, then heaved them onto the dock without making a sound.
Kyle Castellane's BMW was parked next to the café. Teddy had a key. He'd swiped the spare when he'd gone over to the yacht last week to discuss keeping an eye on Agent McGrath with Luke. He'd had a feeling he might need a BMW before this job was over.
Christina West was up already, getting the coffee on and making muffins. That could be a complication. The lobstermen would be rolling in soon, too.
He carried his stuff up to the parking lot and set it down, fairly certain Christina couldn't see him at this angle. He put on earplugs and goggles and got out one of his flash-bang stun hand grenades. He was excited, nervous. This had to work.
He walked back down to the docks as calm as anything. His rowboat was sinking fast. At least it hadn't sunk with him in it.
Holding his breath, he pulled the pin in the grenade and lobbed it perfectly into the stern of the G-man's lobster boat.
Then he turned and ran like hell.
One second, and boom. A 175-decibel explosion and searing, blinding light. It was doing just what it was supposed to do. Make a lot of noise, disorient, distract, confuse and basically scare the hell out of people.
That'd wake up Gooseshit Harbor.
Teddy didn't linger to admire his handiwork. He climbed into the BMW, started it up and pulled out his earplugs as he backed out.
Twenty-Nine
"Get down here." Bruce Young's voice was intense but under control on the other end of the phone. "Someone just torched your boat. My boat."
J.B. had heard the explosion and was halfway out of bed. "Anyone hurt?"
"No. The marine patrol and local cops are already here. They think it was a flash-bang stun grenade. A lot of noise and light."
Zoe, wide awake, held the blanket up to her chin as she sat up, whether because she was cold or had just come to her senses and realized where she'd spent the night, J.B. didn't know. "Is that Bruce? What's he saying? What was that explosion?"
"McGrath? You there?" "I'm here. Flash-bangs are intended to cause confusion and disorientation, not damage-" "Yeah, so maybe that was the point."
J.B. rolled out of bed. He was stark naked and cold and had meant to spend a gray, drizzly morning in bed with a troubled hothead of a woman he didn't know if he'd ever get enough of.
He saw that her bandage hadn't come off her wrist during the night. There was no sign of fresh bleeding. She was watching him impatiently, as if she should be the one talking to Bruce. J.B. thought of last night. Lovemaking in the attic. Dinner. More lovemaking.
Life could be good. Definitely. "McGrath-" "I'm on my way." He hung up, and Zoe frowned at him. "Someone tossed a flash-bang into your boat?" He nodded. "I'm meeting Bruce on the docks." "I'm coming with you." Still holding the covers in place, she kicked her legs off the side of the bed and reached onto the floor for her clothes. After their lovemaking in the attic, she'd showered and put on fresh clothes. They hadn't lasted, J.B. remembered. He'd carried her up here and removed them piece by piece.
She found her bra and shirt. Her curls were tousled, her skin luminous, the blue flecks in her eyes standing out against the gray early dawn light.
J.B. had on his pants and boat shoes and headed forthe door, his shirt in one hand, his gun and holster in the other. "I'm not waiting. Meet me down at the docks."
He saw the flash of her rose tattoo as she threw back the covers and reached for her pants. His chest muscles seemed to clamp down on his lungs and heart, constricting his breathing, and it was as if every moment of last night came at him as a whole.
It had been good, but insane.
He slipped out into the hall. Just as well he had a grenade explosion to deal with.
No one could ever say Olivia West was haunting the place. If she were, she'd have flung him onto the cliffs or struck him with a bolt of lightning before the night was over.
Maybe that was what the boat was. Maybe her aim was just off.
By the time he reached his Jeep, he was normal again. Making love to Zoe had been natural, perfect, what they both wanted. No need to feel guilty or worry about ghosts or any of it. His mind was focused, and he concentrated on the task at hand. Get to the docks. Talk to Bruce. Talk to law enforcement. Most likely he'd be explaining himself to the Boston FBI field office before the day was out. They covered Maine. They wouldn't like grenade explosions of any kind.
The dampness penetrated his shirt and jacket. He could taste salt on the drizzle. It was cold out, the air still and very quiet.
A marine patrol boat was down by the docks. Police and fire truck lights penetrated the gloom. It was a low ceiling, not that foggy-which wouldn't last. There was more fog and rain coming.
As he climbed into his Jeep, Zoe ran out of the house barefoot, carrying her shoes, and jumped in next to him. "Luckily all my clothes were right where you threw them."
"So were mine."
As he drove, she pulled on socks over her painted toes, then tucked her feet into her sneakers and tied them. Just over a week ago, he'd had to refer to a map to get here, and when he'd driven down Main Street, he'd thought…how quaint. He'd found the perfect place to do nothing for a couple of weeks. Boat, walk, look at gravestones, eat lobster and blueberry pie and let his demons depart out of sheer boredom, out of disgust with the cloying charm and beauty of Goose Harbor, Maine.
One murder in thirty years. J.B. couldn't pretend it wasn't part of what had drawn him here.
"A grenade explosion will bring on the feds," Zoe said. "Bruce must have told the police by now that you rented the boat. They'll love that. I worked with marine patrol on a boat explosion once. A guy tried to off his wife by blowing up his boat with her in it. Wanted to make it look like an accident."
"She survived?"
"Yes. Not a happy woman."
J.B. parked next to Christina's café. State and local police cars and a couple of fire engines had pulled in as close to the docks and his boat as they could get without going into the water themselves. If it'd been a destructive grenade of any kind, the entire area could have caught fire-the boats, the docks, the buildings. Bruce Young was standing by himself a few yards from a group of cops, his big arms crossed on his chest as he grimly surveyed the scene.
Zoe got out slowly, her Maine cop eyes taking in who all was down at the waterfront. She'd know people, names. J.B. didn't. He met her in front of his Jeep. Bruce spotted them and waved, and they walked down to the dock. He was still in the parking lot-the police weren't letting anyone on the docks.
"How do you like this?" he asked. "I was in my truck on my way here when-boom! Jesus, it scared the hell out of me."
Zoe shoved her hands into the pockets of her fleece vest. "You called it in?"
He shook his head. "Your sister did."