“That’s what they call her—theKraken.” The ghost of a grin tugged at the corner of Malloy’s mouth. “And she’s on our side.”
Cressida clutched the railing on the wall as the cutter closed in, chasing their pursuers into the eerie fog. Over the last year, she’d traveled the world to research and finish her deceased father’s book about shipwrecks, ghost ships, and the maritime folklore surrounding them.
Dad had been on theMariner’s Gambittoo, with Captain Malloy at the helm giving him a tour of the Washington coast. That’s why Cressida had been willing to pay Malloy the ridiculous amount to charter her out of Port Angeles, through the Strait of Juan de Fuca, then down the stunningrocky coast to Hidden Bay. She’d wanted to take the same path Dad had taken before he suddenly cut his research trip short. He’d traveled to DC for an alleged emergency, the details of which he conveniently left out of his journal notes. He hadn’t returned to finish his research.
Or his book.
With thoughts of her father’s untimely death, her heart edged into a dark place, which she couldn’t afford if she was going to finish Dad’s manuscript.
“Captain Malloy. I paid you well for this service. I need to know what is really going on. Your pursuers were obviously known by the authorities or else they wouldn’t have chased them.”
He grunted in reply. A nonanswer. Fine. She got up and took in the scene with his binoculars again, searching for the Coast Guard cutter, but both vessels had disappeared into the fog, which was now rapidly gaining on theMariner’s Gambit.
By tomorrow, she’d be in Hidden Bay. Her maritime historian father had already completed most of the research, but Cressida had to go to each place and look for herself because she couldn’t write the book that he’d wanted to write without personally experiencing the atmosphere of each location where various sunken shipwrecks remained. Of the three million sunken ships, her father had chosen a select few. In his manuscript, he’d focused, too, on ghost ships—those vessels that had floated aimlessly on the ocean, the crew mysteriously lost.
All the vessels had one thing in common—maritime legend that fascinated her father.
This last vessel was a more recent abandoned, crewless boat—Specter’s Bounty. Dad had come to Hidden Bay for his research.
For this charter, she’d requested that Captain Malloy takeher to Cape Disappointment at the mouth of the Columbia River—which was around a hundred nautical miles south of Hidden Bay—then return to Hidden Bay, where she would release the charter. Her trip on theMariner’s Gambitwas almost over. On one hand, she would be relieved to finally be at her last destination. On the other hand, she hadn’t gotten much out of this man who had spent time with her father.
The threat of the chase over, she relaxed, though maybe she shouldn’t have. “Now that’s out of the way, we can get back to the tour.”
Another grunt. “I’m cutting the trip short.”
“What? Why?” She looked out the window and realized they were approaching the bay, not just traveling past on their way south.
“It’s not safe. Told you I didn’t want to take more than two days from the start. I agreed to this for your father’s sake. I was sorry to learn that he died.” His ominous tone left her confused.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the wheelhouse had shifted.
“And I had hoped you could tell me more.”
“I told you all I could.”
What did that mean? That he knew more and was holding back? Or that he’d told her everything? She’d learned that too many questions shut him down.
He continued navigating toward the marina but stopped and dropped anchor out in the bay. “The pier isn’t going to work. We’ll take the skiff.”
“So that’s it?” she asked. “You’re dropping me off here?”
“This is Hidden Bay. Your destination.” He squinted. “I’m not leaving you empty-handed.”
“How’s that?”
“See that bunch of boats out in the middle of the bay? They call themselves pirates.”
He couldn’t be serious. “And why would I want to talk to pirates?”
He snorted a laugh. “They’re notrealpirates. That’s just what they call themselves. They’re liveaboards.” Again, he gestured at a group of vessels sprawled in the bay, far from the actual marina and dock. “You’ll want to talk to Diggins, specifically.”
Diggins?
“Just a heads-up in case you were expecting to see fancy yachts instead of derelict boats. This particular group can’t afford to live on land, so they live in the water. They were anchored in Puget Sound, but some of them got run off and moved to Hidden Bay, where they’re welcome to stay.”
“Why are you referring me to this Diggins?”
“You asked about theSpecter’s Bounty.”
