Page 39 of Crosscurrent

He jerked his head at Wade. “Time to find out where these boys have been.”

Wade pushed off the table immediately. “Oh, yeah.”

14

The marina looked normal enough to fool tourists. That was the problem.

Sunlight flashed off the harbor in bright silver shards. Charter signs swayed in the wind. Somebody laughed outside the chowder place. A gull wheeled overhead carrying half a sandwich in its beak.

But Gabe could feel it now. The sensation that unseen eyes were tracking movement up and down Marina Street.

Predators learned environments before they acted in them.

Wade walked half a step behind him, not because Gabe was leading, but because Wade wanted the wider angle. Curb. Windows. Parked cars. Reflections in shop glass. Rooflines.

Gabe kept his own attention on the second-story apartments above the storefronts. A camera could hide anywhere.

A watcher could look like anybody.

They passed a couple with matching travel mugs and brand-new rain shells. The woman smiled at Gabe in the vague, cheerful way tourists smiled at anyone who looked local.

Gabe nodded back. Wade didn’t.

At the corner of Marina and Crescent, Wade spoke without turning his head. “Two blocks east. Black SUV.”

Gabe saw it immediately, parked beneath a pine tree at the back edge of the Marina Inn overflow lot. Tinted windows. Dark paint. Clean enough to be rental-fleet fresh. Big enough for a fast extraction.

“Same vehicle?” he asked quietly.

“Maybe not exact.” Wade’s voice stayed low. “Same type. Same rental profile.”

They kept walking. No hesitation. No acknowledgment.

Surveillance teams noticed acknowledgment.

Karl’s bait shop sat two slips down from the marina office, wedged between a charter counter and a weathered shed stacked with crab pots. The faded red sign above the door swung gently in the breeze.

The morning’s serious fishermen were already gone. That left the shop too quiet.

Wade slowed. “Karl sees a lot. We should start with him. I’ll hold outside. If the SUV moves, I want to see which direction it takes.”

“Makes sense.” Gabe nodded once and headed in.

The bell over the door gave a tired metallic jangle. The shop smelled like saltwater, diesel, old wood, and bait brine soaked deep into the floorboards. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A tank pump gurgled near the back wall.

Karl, tall and bent and weathered as the pilings holding up the pier, stood behind the counter wiping down a glass display case with a rag that had surrendered any claim to cleanliness years ago.

White eyebrows rose. “Sawyer.”

“Karl.”

The older man's eyes lingered on him a beat too long. “You look terrible.”

“Appreciate that.”

Karl grunted. “You’re not here for tackle.”

“I wish.”