Rios’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly—alert, open, not threatening. “What’d you hear?”
“Some of the guys at the docks were talking last week,” she said. “Said one of the deckhands—Willie Sanders, works night shifts mostly—claimed he saw some girl get jumped behind this place. Back alley by the dumpsters. Said she fought the guy off and took off. I didn’t think much about it at the time—drunk stories, you know? But then someone said the police were looking into a missing student, and…” She shrugged, uncomfortable. “I figured maybe it mattered.”
My heart gave a little kick. “Do you know Willie personally?” I asked. “Could you point him out to us?”
“Sure.” She nodded quickly. “He runs with the crew down at Slip B, works on the Sea Breeze when she’s in. Tall guy, sunburned, dark hair. Usually high as a kite, if we’re being honest.” Her mouth twisted. “But I don’t think he was lying about seeing something. He looked… rattled.”
I exchanged a look with Rios. There it was. A new thread.
“Thank you,” I said to Lacey. “You did the right thing coming over.”
“If it were me, or my sister…” She trailed off, then shook her head. “Anyway. Good luck.”
She moved away, back to her table, shoulders tight.
Rios leaned in, eyes on mine, sandwich forgotten. “Looks like we’ve got a dock to visit,” he said.
I felt the familiar burn of purpose flare in my chest, sharp enough to cut through the doubt and fear for a moment. “Let’s go see what Willie Sanders really saw.”
Thirteen
RIOS
The Sea Breeze was an old boat who showed her age in the rust spots along her mostly white hull. The green trim might’ve been bright once, back when I was young enough to be something other than a cynic. Now it was a pale imitation that hit somewhere between mint and seasick. A few guys were working onboard, hosing decks, checking lines, doing the million small chores that kept things afloat. Nobody paid me much attention. Another guy on the dock didn’t mean much.
But they noticed Madden.
Of course they did. Pretty woman, all neat and tidy and smelling, inexplicably, of fresh flowers. She’d look like temptation personified to guys who’d been out on the water for days or weeks at a time. Hell, she’d been occupying way the hell too much of my brain today, when it should’ve been fully on the case. It wasn’t her looks—though she was unquestionably attractive, even winnowed down by stress and poor sleep. It was the whole package. I loved a puzzle, and the more time I spent with her, the more it became clear that Madden Reilly was a big one.
Which didn’t matter one good damn because we were only allies in the name of running an investigation the cops were ignoring. Once this was over, we’d go our separate ways. So I shoved my reluctant fascination down deep into the mental what-the-fuck locker and shut the door.
If she was aware of the attention, she didn’t show it. She simply strode down the dock as if she owned it, head held high, shoulders back. Somehow, it wasn’t the kind of entitled strut I associated with her parents. This felt like confidence rather than privilege. As if it never occurred to her that there was anywhere she didn’t belong.
I couldn’t decide if that was bone stupid or envy inducing.
Either way, I edged just a little closer. It was unlikely anyone would bother her with me around, but I wasn’t taking the chance.
At the gangplank, she hesitated, and I noted the unconscious flex and clench of her fingers. Maybe she wasn’t quite as confident as she appeared.
“How do we handle this?” she murmured.
“We ask.” I curved one hand at my mouth and hollered, “Ahoy!”
Two guys on deck glanced my way.
“Willie Sanders around?”
The closer of the two men jerked his head toward the end of the pier and continued coiling line. I followed the direction of his nod and spotted a man slumped on an overturned five-gallon bucket, elbows on knees, phone in his hands. I moved in his direction, noting the messy, overgrown brown hair and peeling sunburn on the back of his neck.
“Willie,” I called.
His head whipped up. For a second, he froze, and even from a distance I spotted the too bright eyes and semi-glazed expression. Then he saw Madden, clocked both of us together, and bolted.
He came off the bucket fast, phone nearly flying out of his hand, heading for the narrow slot of dock between boats like he was going to sprint up the ramp and pretend he’d never seen us.
I moved without thinking, stepping sideways into his path.
He tried to dodge around me. I caught him by the upper arm. Not hard enough to hurt. Enough that he knew he wasn’t getting loose unless I wanted him to.
