Kara Quinn stared at the business cards she’d received from the FBI printing office before they’d left DC last night. The official FBI logo in one corner, stamped in gold. In tiny print on the bottom right was the DC headquarters address and the mobile number that went directly to Ryder Kim. Centered in the middle was her name and title.
Kara Quinn
Special Consultant
Mobile Response Team
She pocketed the card.
Twelve years of working her ass off to earn the rank of detective in the Los Angeles Police Department, gone. She couldn’t even use her title because the FBI didn’t have detectives, and even though she was still technically employed by LAPD, she couldn’t do her job. The card was proof that it was over. Her identity as a cop, gone.
She’d never be able to go back, not in the capacity that she’d once served. And fuck if she was going to sit at a desk all day long because she’d been burned.
Kara was depressed and angry. She’d been so proud of her job. She’d worked hard and earned every collar, every promotion, every case she’d been assigned. She’d earned everything she had. Her small beachfront apartment she had to give up. Her friends—few and far between—but they were hers. No longer. Either dead or unable to associate with her because her LAPD boss thought it would put her in danger, or them.
The only thing she had was her badge. Because technically she was on loan to the FBI.
On loan indefinitely.
Meaning, forever.
Someday, she would destroy the federal agent who had turned her life inside out. Kara would never forget. Forgiveness? Hell no. Not after he got her partner killed.
The one thing she had was time. She didn’t need revenge—justice—today. She could wait for payback.
Deputy Marcy Anderson met her out in front of the sheriff’s department. Kara had appreciated that Matt had kept the briefing short and sweet—she liked having a job to do in the field, and she detested meetings. She and Marcy would be reinterviewing two teenagers who’d witnessed the explosion, then Madelyn Jeffries, the young widow who was supposed to be on the boat but bailed last minute. She’d planned to also interview Cal McKinnon, but he asked if he could come in tomorrow morning to talk because he had family matters. Matt cleared it, so Kara would interview him tomorrow morning at eight.
“Agent Quinn, right?” said Marcy, the local deputy.
“Detective Quinn,” she said. “Long story. Call me Kara.”
“Marcy. My truck’s right over there.” She gestured. “It’s only a couple minutes’ drive to the Fish & Brew. We could walk, but later we’ll need to drive to the Jeffries place, which is up the coastline a few miles.”
Kara walked with her to a Ford Bronco in the lot. Kara was short—barely five foot four if she stretched and walked tall and wore shoes. Marcy towered over her. Kara didn’t mind being on the shorter side. She could more easily blend in and take on different roles. Plus, being short helped her look younger, a huge plus when she went undercover in high schools and on college campuses.
When you still worked undercover.
“So am I ever going to hear the story of what a detective is doing working with the feds?”
“Sure, over a beer one night.”
Kara wasn’t here to make lifelong friends, but a beer with her temporary partner might be a needed diversion later on.
But Marcy just looked at her quizzically, as if she wasn’t ready to settle for that answer. Maybe she had a point. They were thrown together on this case, they knew nothing about each other, and if Kara was in that position, she’d want to know more as well.
“It’s a long fucking story that pisses me off every time I tell it,” Kara said. “Short version? I put a bad guy in prison, he lied about how it went down, someone important believed him, he’s out pending trial but had plenty of time to put out a hit on me. Going back to LA right now isn’t really an option. I helped Costa’s team with an investigation, they thought I did a good job, so here I am.”
Kara slid into the passenger seat of the department-issued Bronco without waiting for a comment. Yes, she was still angry. Yes, she wanted to go back to her life and LA and the way things were. But that was foolhardy, along the lines of unicorns and Santa Claus type of fantasy.
Marcy checked her gear, then jumped in and looked at her. “Long version over beers?”
“Sure,” Kara said, though she really didn’t have more to say. “And then I expect your story of how a big-city cop adjusts to tiny-town America.”
“Fair enough.” Marcy headed east toward the waterfront. “Pete Dunlap owns the Fish & Brew, a couple blocks up from the harbor. Tourists come in, too, but it’s a favorite among locals. If you like fish and chips, best in the state—not just on the island. Small menu but everything is good. If you don’t like fish, the hamburgers are the bomb.”
“Now I’m hungry.”
“I already ate lunch, but I’m happy to get you something.”
Kara laughed, pulled an energy bar out of her pocket. She’d grabbed three from Ryder’s stash because she didn’t know how long she’d be out.
Marcy grimaced. “If I don’t have three meals a day, I’m crabby.”
As soon as Kara walked into the Fish & Brew, she knew she’d be back. This was just the type of pub she gravitated toward. Rustic, dark—but not too dark. Sports on the televisions, a full-stocked bar, large selection of microbrew beer, and virtually every seat with a view of the entrance or rear exit. She might come here tonight alone. She didn’t think it was all that far from the house the FBI was renting.
Kara did not like the idea that everyone on their team was sleeping under the same roof. She needed her privacy. Kara had lived on her own since she was eighteen. Even before she was eighteen, she’d had little supervision and a lot of freedom. She didn’t even have her own apartment in DC yet—Matt’s boss, Tony, had set her up in a short-term rental while she looked for a place. She felt like she was in limbo, and being thrown in with her team—living in the same damn house—she felt invisible walls closing in on her.
The longer she lived with this new situation, the more she regretted agreeing to work for the FBI.
Don’t lie to yourself. Working for the FBI was your only option if you wanted to continue being a cop. And if you’re not a cop, you’re nobody.
“Great, isn’t it?” Marcy said.
“My kind of place,” Kara agreed.
Marcy walked over to the bar and motioned to the bartender—thirtysomething, light brown skin, short black hair, hazel eyes, and well-defined muscles. “Damon, this is Kara Quinn with the FBI. We’re here to talk to Pete and the girls. He’s expecting us.”
“He’s in his office, you know where that is, Marcy. Go on back.”
As they walked through the pub, Marcy said, “Damon is Pete’s brother-in-law. He had a football scholarship for college, shattered his leg senior year. Too bad, because he was good, everyone said. But he’s also smart, graduated and now teaches math at the high school in Bellingham, works for Pete in the summers when the pub is busy.”
“Young for a teacher.” If all Kara’s teachers were that young and handsome, she might have liked high school a lot more.
Marcy laughed. “I think he’s thirty-two, thirty-four, somewhere around there. We go to the same gym. There’s not a lot of options on the island. There’s a CrossFit gym, and a regular gym. Damon and I do CrossFit. You should join us while you’re here.”
“I’m not a gym rat unless it’s raining,” Kara said. “I’m more of a runner.” And not so much running as jogging. Alone.
“I know the best places to run.”
Great, Kara thought. I don’t want a running buddy.
But she didn’t say that.
The office door was open. Pete was in his forties, had a darker complexion than his brother-in-law, kept his curly black hair very short, and wore thick, black-framed glasses as he perused a stack of invoices on his desk.
“Pete, hello,” Marcy said. “Thanks for agreeing to talk to us.”
Pete looked up, taking off his glasses. He had a Black Clark Kent thing going on. Cute with the glasses, very sexy without them.
Kara had to stop thinking about men as sex symbols and bedmates. Especially in light of the fact that she was sort-of, somewhat, kinda involved with someone.
Marcy introduced Kara, then said, “Are the girls here?”
“They’re finishing up their summer classes—overachievers, both of them,” said Pete. “When I was a kid and summer came? My brothers and I were out on the boat from sunrise to sunset. Or hiking over on Orcas. The thought of going to summer school made my skin crawl.”
He looked at a clock on the wall. “They’ll be here in a few minutes. I texted them, told them you wanted to talk again. Whitney’s excited—she loves crime shows and is talking about being a cop, though at your suggestion, Marcy, I’m gently pushing her toward the Coast Guard. She loves being on the water, so it would be a good fit. Ashley, though—don’t get me wrong, both my girls were devastated by what happened Friday night. But Ashley is very empathic. She’s heartbroken.”
“I promise we’ll respect Whitney and Ashley’s sensitivities,” Marcy said.
“I appreciate that.”
Kara asked, “How well did you know Neil Devereaux?”
“Very well,” he said. “In fact, I’d call him a friend. He’s been coming in regularly, several times a week, since he retired here nearly three years ago. Bonded over football. You know, Damon was almost drafted by the Raiders before his accident. Me, my blood bleeds blue and green for my ’Hawks. Neil and I had that in common. We even caught a game together last season.”
The sound of two teenagers talking over each other came in through the back, and the group turned as the girls halted in the doorway.
The taller girl said, “Hey, Deputy Anderson. How are you?”
“Good. Whitney, this is Kara Quinn with the FBI,” Marcy said. “Whitney Dunlap, and her sister, Ashley.”
Pete said, “Let’s go to the back room. It’s bigger and we can sit down and talk.”
He led the way down the hall that was covered with photographs of what appeared to be locals posing with fish of all different sizes. He turned and motioned to a room filled with six empty rectangular tables, each that could fit six comfortably, or eight close friends.
The back room could be closed off for private parties, and Pete closed the accordion doors now to give them privacy from the late-lunch diners. The room also had access to an outside eating area.
They sat and Kara said, “Thank you both for agreeing to talk about this again. I know this isn’t easy, but it helps our investigation.”
Whitney, taller but younger than her sister, said, “You want to see if our story changes, or if we remember something else?”
“Yes, though it’s not about your story changing,” Kara said, mildly amused. “You’re not a suspect. But witnesses often remember something they didn’t think about during an initial interview. It’s why most cops will tell you, if you think of anything else, call. So while I know this is difficult, I need you to go back to Friday evening and tell us what you saw. But we’re going to start at the beginning because I’ve found that helps keep a recollection clearer. Your dad said you’re taking summer classes. When did you leave school on Friday?”
“Noon,” Whitney said. “I’m taking chemistry and Spanish 3, so I can take Spanish 4 next year with Ashley because we want to go on a mission trip after she graduates. Each class is an hour and fifty minutes.”
“They don’t care about that,” Ashley said quietly.
“I do,” Kara said. “I care about whatever you want to share. Sometimes, talking about things that are normal helps you remember other details. Where do you want to go on your mission trip?”
“La Paz,” Whitney said. “They have an orphanage there, and last year a group from our church went and they did a presentation about their experience. It was so amazing. Ashley wants to be a teacher, so working with kids is perfect.”
“And you want to...?” She left it open-ended because she wasn’t sure Pete was right that he was being “gentle” about being a cop versus Coast Guard.
“I don’t know yet. I really want to work for the sheriff’s department. I did an internship last semester, and it was just so totally fascinating. And Sheriff John is so nice. He talked to all of us in the program—like he really wanted to, you know? But then Officer Marcy, she talked about the Coast Guard, which sounds totally cool, too, so I really don’t know. But if I’m in the sheriff’s office I can go into search and rescue, which I would love and I’m the best swimmer, but Dad says go to college first—”
Pete reached out and rubbed the back of his daughter’s hand. “Baby, you’re rambling.”
“Sorry. I talk too much when I’m nervous.”
“You talk too much when you’re not nervous, too,” Ashley said, not quite under her breath.
“Whichever career path you decide, I’m sure you’ll be good at it,” Kara said.
Ashley was observant. Sometimes it was the quiet ones who saw more than anyone.
But Whitney was the people pleaser and, though younger than her sister, clearly more comfortable talking to strangers.
“After school,” Kara prompted, “you went out on your boat. Around one? Later?”
“Twelve thirty,” Whitney said. “We went over to the north side of Shaw Island. Our best friend lives there. She broke her leg last week and we wanted to cheer her up and surprise her with a picnic. Then we got to playing games at her house and talking and left.”
“What time was that?” Kara asked. She appreciated that Marcy was letting her run the interview. She hadn’t wanted a partner but agreed with Matt that having a local cop with her would be an asset.
“Six, a little before. We’re supposed to be back by eight. It usually takes about forty-five minutes to sail from Shaw back to the harbor, but it was such a gorgeous night, we took our time. And Ashley wanted to take pictures,” Whitney added. “She’s an amazing photographer.”
Pictures... Kara needed to come back to that.
“In your original statement, you said you passed the Water Lily as it was coming out of the port after seven p.m.”
“Yeah.”
“How fast was the boat going?”
“Not very. It was still in the control area.”
“Between four and five knots,” Ashley said.
“Five miles an hour,” Pete explained.
Ashley nodded. “We were coming in and had just turned the sails to slow down as we approached the harbor. Neil waved to us—we waved back. He blew his horn to say hi.”
She looked down at her hands.
“You were close enough to recognize Neil?”
“He was in the bridge—we were just shy of maybe a hundred yards? They didn’t have a big wake, so I wasn’t worried about getting caught up in it. I think Neil was waiting until we passed by before picking up speed. He was real considerate like that.” Ashley bit her lip.
“So you passed each other and then he increased speed. About how long after you waved did you see the explosion?”
“I didn’t,” Whitney said. “We’d passed the Water Lily and I dropped a line and went to pick it up. I heard the explosion.”
“I saw it,” Ashley said quietly. “I had turned around to tie the line and the bow just...burst. They were going at least fifteen knots by then, maybe more, he’d picked up speed, and it was like the boat just collapsed into itself. People...” Her voice cracked.
“It’s okay,” Kara said quietly.
“They just fell off the boat. Thrown off, I guess. The boat kept moving forward after the explosion—momentum.”
Whitney took her sister’s hand. “I turned around and there was smoke where the boat was supposed to be,” Whitney said. “And then I saw the back of the boat, but the front was just...gone. The stern was bobbing, tilted, and...we wanted to go back to help, but then there was a second explosion.”
“The fuel tank,” Marcy said. “It was the fuel tank, according to the reports.”
The sisters nodded in unison but Kara didn’t think they really registered what Marcy was saying. “The alarms were going off in the harbor and the search and rescue boats were coming and we couldn’t... I mean, we couldn’t do anything,” Ashley said. “I wanted to. We wanted to.”
“There was nothing you could have done,” Kara said. “There were no survivors, and you would have put yourselves at risk if you got closer. But your instincts are good.”
Pete cleared his throat. “You did the right thing, girls.”
“When you got to the port, what did you do?”
“Called our dad,” Whitney said. “He was already there.”
“I heard the explosion,” Pete said.
“Did you stay at the dock?”
“Yeah, everyone was watching. Dad helped us with our boat.”
“Could you see the Water Lily from where you were standing on the dock?”
“Not really. And the fire went out real quick, but there was still some smoke, so we knew where it was, but we couldn’t see anything.”
“It was a mile out of the harbor,” Ashley said.
“Before you returned to the harbor, did you notice anything else—like another boat in the area, whether you knew them or not?”
“There were a lot of boats,” Ashley said, “but we were the closest to the Water Lily.”
Pete asked Kara, “Are you thinking that this was intentional?”
Kara looked him in the eye. “It was intentional,” she said. “We know that a bomb was planted in the bow of the boat and we’re working with ATF to determine exactly how it was triggered. It could have been by timer or cell phone or radio or someone on the boat. So if the girls saw another boat near the Water Lily, that might help us. Not necessarily a suspect, but another witness we’re unaware of.”
“Why?” Pete asked. “Why would someone do this?”
Any number of reasons, but Kara didn’t comment.
Marcy said, “That’s why the FBI is here, Pete. To help us solve this quickly. We don’t want people to be scared or worried.”
“Ashley, you were taking pictures,” Kara said, remembering what Whitney had said earlier. “Can you share those?”
“Why?”
She sounded defensive.
“Because the FBI is real good at getting all the data out of an image. You might have captured something you didn’t see with your bare eye—something that could help us with the investigation.”
She frowned, didn’t comment. Why was she reticent?
“Is it those IP nuts?” Pete asked.
“They’re not nuts, Dad,” Ashley said.
“Most of them are,” he responded.
“No one in IP would do this,” Ashley pushed back.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he said.
Something to pursue, Kara thought. Was Ashley part of Island Protectors? Did she know people who were? That might be helpful—but Kara realized she would have to talk to Ashley without her dad. First, Ashley wouldn’t be as forthcoming around her father. And second, her dad clearly didn’t like the group and might interrupt, causing friction with his daughter and Kara the inability to get potentially useful information.
“Thank you for your time,” Marcy said as she got up. “Pete, if we need anything else, we’ll call.”
“Thank you.”
“Ashley.” Kara remained sitting. “Your camera. Is it digital? Did you use your phone?”
“I have a digital SLR I got for my sixteenth birthday.”
“I need those pictures.”
“Of course,” Pete said. “Ashley, where’s your camera?”
“It’s at home.”
“We can email them,” Pete offered.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Kara said, “I’d like to take the camera or the memory card and our technology expert can download the data directly to the FBI server. If there is anything important, we need to establish a direct chain of evidence. But we’ll replace the card.”
“I’ll bring it to the station this afternoon,” Pete said.
“Thank you.”
She thanked the family for their time, then left with Marcy.
“What are you thinking?” Marcy asked when they climbed back into her Bronco.
Kara wasn’t used to a partner—not working a case like this. She primarily worked alone, and she didn’t have a complete thought formed in her head.
“Ashley is seventeen, correct?”
“Yes. Why?” asked Marcy.
Generally, law enforcement could talk to minors without parental consent—and because Ashley wasn’t a suspect, Kara didn’t see an issue with it. The issue was that the sheriff had promised their dad that he could be present during any questioning.
The sheriff—not the FBI. Kara didn’t want to make things difficult for Marcy after the FBI left, and she didn’t necessarily want the sheriff interfering if he thought Pete should be present. So she deflected Marcy’s question and asked, “What do you know about this group, IP?”
“Typical environmental activist group,” Marcy said. “Some of their members get out of line—vandalism, trespassing, things like that—but I can’t see any of them being violent.”
“Matt said in the briefing that IP had been investigated for threats made to West End.”
“True, and two of their members were arrested and fined, got probation—community service—for vandalizing one of the West End docks last summer. Since then, they’ve been pretty much well-behaved, other than general protesting and whatnot. Really, I think they’re harmless.”
Kara knew Matt planned to interview the two vandals. Being on probation helped because, as a term of their probation, they were required to cooperate with any police investigation.
“What are you thinking?” Marcy continued.
“I’m trying to see a bigger picture,” Kara said, leaving it at that. Kara didn’t have a uniform, and while she was in law enforcement, she was also an outsider in this community. Someone who would be gone in days or weeks, at the most. She was pretty certain she could get Ashley to talk about IP and anyone she might be concerned about—but not with anyone in authority present.
“Let’s hit Madelyn Jeffries and see what she has to add.”