Page 46 of Twilight Tides
Suddenly I recalled an incident from last year. A boat that was rescued and then seized by the police because the occupants claimed to be illegal immigrants who were being used as slave labor for drug traffickers masquerading as fishermen.
“He wants to talk to you. Josh Hughes. He insists on it. Tomorrow, 9 a.m., at the office. Do we call the police?”
“Not yet. I think I know what they want. But I want proof first. How clear is the recording device on a phone?”
Fraser’s eyebrows rose in understanding. “You’ll have to get him close enough to it and make sure he doesn’t see it. Or you know what … I’ve got a wireless camera that looks like a puffin. The eyes are two cameras. The wife got it as a joke, but I have the thing on my front porch for security. It wouldn’t look out of place on your desk.”
I nodded, my pulse racing, my body heavy with dread but determined. “Meet me at the office at seven tomorrow morning. We’ll rig it up.”
“You think they’re traffickers and they want to use the company as cover?” Fraser surmised.
“I do.”
“Fuck, cuz. How do we get out of that one?”
“By not giving in to whatever threats they’re about to send my way. We go straight to the police with it.”
“This is the last thing you need.”
I looked up at the house where my traumatized daughter was probably avoiding my fake but not-so-fake wife. “Don’t I bloody know it.”
17.London
“Are you hungry?” I asked Kelly, trying not to worry about Murray any more than I already was.
His cousin appeared deeply concerned about something, and a problem with the business that required him waiting outside the house at this time of night was the last thing Murray needed.
I was determined to try to be as helpful as possible with Kelly, even though she was giving me serious “back off” vibes. Every interaction I’d had with herbeforeI married her father had been positive.
Not so much now.
But there was no way this kid didn’t go through what she just went through without feeling rage. A rage that had probably been quietly building for months, maybe even years. And I understood that. I went through a resentment-fueled rebellious phase as a teenager because of my parents.
Kelly shrugged as I followed her into the kitchen. “I dunno.” She started opening cupboards and then glanced back at me. “Is this your stuff?”
The question was asked with contempt. I took a deep breath. “What stuff?”
“This granola crap?”
“Yeah, that’s mine. Do you want some? I have yogurt in the fridge. It’s yummy with raspberries and a drizzle of honey over the top.”
“Yummy?” She snorted and slammed the cupboard. “I’m allergic to berries. Dad will make me French toast.”
“You know, I make amazing French toast.”
“I like Dad’s.”
“I’m a chef,” I reminded her.
Kelly glared. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she was way too worn out for a fourteen-year-old. “I said I like Dad’s. Are you deaf?”
“Kel.” Murray walked into the kitchen. “I know you’ve been through the ringer, m’eudail, but please watch how you’re speaking to people.”
Tears immediately filled her eyes, and she jerked her head away so we wouldn’t see.
Shit.
Murray’s expression tightened. “Kel, my darling …”
