“Braden?” Octavia sounded groggy.
He’d woken her. “Yes.”
“You wouldn’t call without a reason,” she said.
“I called you earlier today. Why didn’t you call me back?”
“You didn’t leave a message.”
“You told me not to. That you’d call me back. What’s the reason you sent me here? I want to hear it from you.”
She grumbled, then gasped as though finally waking up to the realization. “You’ve seen her, then.”
“Your daughter is here, yes.” Maybe he should have held back to hear what more she might have told him, but he wasn’t going to play games. “She was attacked on the beach.”
“Oh no. Braden. Please, tell me my baby is all right.”
“Yes. Someone left her for dead and stole from her.” With the words, the pent-up anger boiled to the surface, but hereined it in ... to a point. This woman had saved his niece’s life. “Why not tell me so I could be prepared? Why not talk to her so she could know she’s in danger? Because she is, and I have a feeling you know what it’s about. Now I need you to tell me.”
9
Cressida opened her eyes to strange surroundings.
Memories rushed at her, and for a heartbeat, panic set in. Her pulse soared.
Oh, that’s right.Last night she’d moved into Cedar Trails Lodge instead of the cabin. She was safe here. Nothing to fear. She took in a few long breaths to let her heart rate slow, then rolled over to stare out the open window that faced west. She felt rested, which surprised her after the last couple of days she’d had. Unfortunately, her body still ached, and she was sure she’d find a few new bruises this morning.
But she wouldn’t let the pain stop her.
She listened to the mesmerizing lull of waves lapping the beach, some crashing on the rocks. Maybe the soothing sounds of the ocean were the reason she’d slept. Pulling herself from the bed, she looked out over the vast blue water. How had she ended up in such a beautiful place? The original cabin was great but couldn’t beat this.
Thank you, God.
He was looking out for her. She just had to trust that. To believe it.
She grabbed her camera and peered through, using the zoom feature. She searched the horizon but couldn’t get beyond the thick cloud of marine fog rolling in again. Did this happen every morning, then burn off in the afternoon?
Just once she’d like to see theSpecter’s Bounty, but given that was a rare event, she was holding on to false hope. She’d been able to secure a guided scuba dive tour down to a couple of shipwrecks for Dad’s book and could adequately write the details and experiences. But theSpecter’s Bountyremained floating, lost in an endless cycle of currents that carried it around the Pacific, so it wasn’t a wreck she could dive down to see. Still, it must have a history—that included both truth and lore—the stories people built around the mystery. Cressida was here to learn more.
She put her camera away and got ready. After breakfast, she was supposed to meet Remi in her office. If her laptop wasn’t retrieved soon, she would need to get a new one at the nearest store so she could work. She would use her digital wallet on her cell to buy it. She’d never much appreciated that feature until this moment.
She hadn’t heard the exact time she would meet with the forensic artist, but she would remain here at Cedar Trails Lodge for the morning, and Braden could track her down. The rental car company had left her an email informing her about a delay in getting the rental car to her, so it might be tomorrow before she got one. Not a problem. Having Braden take her to the museum or show her around could be productive. She could learn more about the area and feel safe with him.
In researching shipwrecks or ghost ships for Dad’s book, she followed his travels and also used his tactics. Instead of trusting she could find all the answers online, she interviewedthe locals. Visited marine history museums. Cressida had a list of local places, but often once she got out and looked around, she found shops or pictures that weren’t listed online. Visiting in person was always best. All in all, there was much information to gather. Notes to keep. Thoughts to get on the page. The journal was important, but she still needed a computer.
After dressing, Cressida headed downstairs, then stood in line to order her coffee and a breakfast sandwich. While waiting, she moseyed over to the photographs and sketches on the wall near the panoramic window.
The photographs of the ocean were breathtaking. Someone had actually caught what resembled a monster’s face, maw wide open and menacing. In another shot, the waves formed a woman’s face, or at least that’s how it appeared. How long had the photographer had to sit and wait to capture these phenomenal images? How many photographs were taken before these few incredible shots were captured? This photographer really stood out to Cressida, and she should know. As an investigative journalist, she’d spent plenty of time with incredible photojournalists.
Her breath caught when her gaze landed on one specific photograph. Thick marine fog ... and there, just inside the fog, a rusted vessel appeared. Though blurry—barely there, really—she could still make out the shape, and it looked much like the image in the sketch that Dad had stuck in his journal. She searched for the credits, the photographer’s name, but found nothing.
The barista approached and handed her a coffee cup.
“Who took these?” Cressida asked.
“You’d have to ask the manager, and there she is. Hey, Remi...”
Cressida turned as Remi approached with a smile.
