Dan shrugged, already turning back to his workbench. “Wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen him since.”
“I think we have. Man boarded early this morning saying as much. That he had someone interested in buying her. Kind of freaked the missus out a bit.”
“Made a boat call, huh?” Dan shrugged. “Not cool, but not surprising either.”
Blake gave a slow nod, tone casual. “Appreciate the info. I’ll tell the wife. She’ll probably want to sage the thing next.”
Dan barked a laugh, shaking his head. “By the way, might want to try to put that in the anvil and bend it.”
“Yeah, thinking the same thing.” If he knew where the anvil was and how to bend it right. “Need to get back to help Vivian with some cleaning.”
“I can do that on the cheap for you.” He perked up like a bird in spring.
“That’d be great. Thanks. Stop by when you’re done. I think there’s something wrong with the generator.”
Blake studied Dan’s response.
“Sure, I’ll be by in a couple hours, after I finish this and another job I have,” Dan said without so much as a twitch. The man didn’t know about the generator sabotage or was a really good actor.
Blake walked down the dock, each step heavy with thought. Someone had claimed ownership of theWindward Ladybefore the Bureau ever processed the sale. Someone confident enough to hire dockworkers under false pretenses—and then vanish.
He reached the end of the pier and paused, scanning the horizon. The fog was thinning, sunlight fighting its way through in pale streaks. Somewhere out there, someone had planted that matchhead bomb. Someone who still believed the boat belonged to them.
He flexed his hand, knuckles stiff from the cold, and looked back toward the warehouse where Dan had already disappeared inside.
If that mystery owner was coming back for theWindward Lady, they were already one step behind. And Laurel Tide didn’t strike him as the kind of organization that left unfinished business floating in a harbor.
As Blake reached the boat, he felt it—the weight of eyes again. A prickle at the base of his neck, sharp and certain. Someone was watching, not from the warehouse, but higher—farther inland, near the bluff.
He paused, adjusting his collar like a man warding off the cold, and scanned the rooftops without turning his head. Nothing. But the feeling didn’t fade.
Whatever Maddox had set in motion by pairing him with Vivian—Blake was starting to think they’d already walked straight into the center of it.
He turned toward the end of the pier, adjusting his collar against the cold. The gulls cried overhead, the wind slicing sharper off the water. For a moment, everything felt suspended—too still, too quiet.
Then the sound hit him.
A scream.
High, raw, and unmistakablyVivian’s.
It tore through him, echoing off the hulls and pilings and his gut.
Blake ran—boots hammering the slick boards, breath burning his lungs, and reachedWindward Ladyfull of smoke.
CHAPTER FOUR
Heat scorched Vivian’s throat.She dropped hard to her knees, instinct taking over before thought could catch up. The flare hissed from where it had ricocheted into the corner, a blinding spear of white fire spitting sparks across the floor. A blast of hot air slammed past her face. A scream tore out of her before she could swallow it. The sharp tang of burning varnish and melting plastic thickened the air.
She grabbed a canvas jacket from the bench, coughing as she swung it down over the flames. Each strike sent a searing heat wave against her face. The fire clawed at the fabric, refusing to die.
“Come on, come on?—”
She hit it again, and again, until the flare’s shriek dulled to a sputter. Smoke coiled up in slow, greasy tendrils. The last spark fizzled into darkness.
Her chest heaved. Ears rang. The jacket’s hem smoldered, a thin wisp of smoke rising between her shaking fingers. She tossed it aside, swiping the back of her sleeve across her mouth. Her heart hadn’t slowed. It pounded against her ribs, wild and uneven.
She blinked against the haze, eyes watering. A blackened hole marked the wall where the flare had struck, inches from where her head had been.
