“I’d like to know if there’s something you haven’t told me.”
“Braden?” She wanted to make sure she had his full attention. That he could steer a small boat and talk at the same time.
“Yeah?” He kept his eyes on their destination.
“You need to know that in his text, Diggins didn’t want to meet because he thinks it’s too dangerous.”
She expected Braden to react. But he remained focused.
“Well? Aren’t you going to say something?”
“I figured,” he said.
“How could you possibly figure that?” And really, she should ask if there was something he hadn’t toldher.
“Not to be cliché, but this isn’t my first rodeo.”
“About that. What did you do before?” She should look him up. Research him. Find out more. But her father’s old-school methods had grown on her. She actuallyenjoyedlearning about someone naturally and organically withoutany preconceived information she pulled from an internet search. She’d never used that strategy before in her journalism. But there was something to this method, she now saw after reviewing Dad’s work, that offered a better perspective.
They neared the collection of liveaboard boats, and Braden still hadn’t answered.
“Do you know which one is Diggins’s? TheSea Reaper?” she asked. “I don’t see it anchored where he told me he would be.”
“I know the boat. I’ve interviewed him before,” he said, and steered them around the clustered boats until he found just the one.
He navigated until theSea Reaper—clearly painted on the stern—appeared, and then slowly piloted to the lee side of the trawler. That would protect them from the wind and minimize drift. As if he practiced this maneuver every day, he floated up next to the trawler. She could reach out and touch it.
“All this trouble and he might not even be here,” he said.
“I had to try,” she said.
“And you’re not concerned it’s dangerous?” he asked.
“I have you with me, so ... no.” She hadn’t expected the look he gave her. He liked what she’d said. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t turn us around. Or, if you suspected the text I got, that you even agreed to this.”
“I know that you would have gone without me,” he said.
“I’m not stupid.” She wouldn’t have come under these circumstances without Braden, or someone of equal authority and ability.
“I know that too.”
“Text him and let him know you’re here,” Braden said. “Tell him that I’m with you, in case he doesn’t already know.”
She texted Diggins. “Now what?”
“We wait.”
“It’s darker out here on the water than I would have thought.”
Beautiful and yet creepy, and the wind had picked up. She was glad for the windbreaker. Cressida glanced at the wide Hidden Bay beach. She wasn’t exactly sure where she’d nearly been murdered. The fog had truly disoriented her that morning, and the images were now beginning to blur. That was a good thing. And here she was, pressing onward and forward. She must have nerves of steel.
Like mother like daughter.
A figure appeared at the railing and let down a ladder. Cressida and Braden climbed up, and Braden secured the boat to a cleat on the trawler. “That’ll have to do for now.”
Then he turned to the man Cressida could only assume was Diggins—with his white hair and weathered face. With a genuine smile, Braden shook the man’s hand.
“It’s nice to see you again, Diggins,” Braden said. “Thanks for agreeing to see Cressida.”
