Page 10 of Crosscurrent
“Got it. No story. Yet. Anyway, I’m not coming for your latest accident. Or whatever. We’ve got things to discuss.”
An electric charge zinged down Gabe’s spine. “Things,” could only mean one thing: new intel on Neptune.
On the other end, David laughed. “I thought that might get your attention.”
“Most definitely.” Gabe almost smiled. “Friday night. The Inn.”
“Don't get yourself killed before then. Sophie’s looking forward to seeing you.”
“I'll take that under advisement.”
He hung up.
He had not told David what they knew. He also had not lied about what he didn't know. He had walked a tightrope and David, who used to be the kid who couldn't get a baseball over the plate at age twelve and was now a Pulitzer-finalist Pacific Northwest investigative journalist — had walked the same tightrope back at him.
He headed back down the stairs.
“That was David.”
“We heard,” Reagan said.
“I didn't tell him.”
“We heard that too.”
Tom was gone. The middle two screens of the rig had cycled back to the Coastal Heritage filings. He had not pulled the Coast Guard incident report.
Gabe sat down. He picked up the espresso. He took another sip.
Vega didn't ask me to consult because she likes me, he thought, watching the room. She asked because the body was too clean. No ID. No nothing, so not an accident or a jumper.
Tom would hate him for a while, but David would be here by the end of the week, then they’d be in the middle of something Neptune-shaped that would keep Tom buzzing for weeks.
He took another sip of the espresso.
It was, as always, perfect.
3
“The bride wants more lavender.” Cara made a face at the purple buttercream in the mixing bowl.
Diane lifted an eyebrow. “At least she doesn’t want more purple. This is…”
“Yeah.” Cara winced. “Already so very purple.”
Diane held up the lavender flavoring. “How much did you put in?”
“A reasonable amount.”
“And she wants?”
“Unreasonable.”
Diane sighed and tipped the bottle a quarter-turn over the mixer bowl. “There. That is now an unreasonable amount of lavender.”
“Add a drop more. The bride wants what she wants. Plus, she’s getting married in a barn.”
“More lavender.” Diane added a drop. The kitchen smelled like a lavender field had taken hostages.
