Page 41 of Crosscurrent

Then Karl added, “And I wasn’t sure what I was seeing until Pastor Ben said something.”

Gabe frowned. “Pastor Ben?”

Karl glanced toward the window again.

This time Gabe followed the look.

Nothing obvious. A mother lifting a toddler out of a stroller. A man unloading a case of soda from the back of a restaurant van. Wade near the corner, posture loose, eyes moving.

Karl’s voice dropped another notch. “Pastor told men’s group Wednesday to pay attention to unfamiliar men watching the harbor.”

“Pastor Ben said that?”

Karl met his eyes. “Pastor Ben’s a local boy. He grew up during the smuggling years.”

The kind Haven Cove buried under fresh paint and festival banners and Sunday potlucks.

Gabe had heard bits and pieces since arriving in town. Rumors. Old cases. Hushed references to what the coast had been before developers and tourists discovered the scenic charm of fishing villages.

Karl pressed his big, scarred hands on the counter. “Men like that don’t come to a town like this unless somebody invites them or somebody pays them. Either way, they’re not here for chowder.”

Gabe believed him. “Pastor ask you to call anyone?”

“He asked us to notice.” Karl’s expression darkened. “There’s a difference.”

There definitely was. A town that called law enforcement made noise. A town that noticed stayed alive.

Gabe looked toward the window again. “Have they talked to anyone local?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Bought anything?”

Karl gave him a look. “Not from me.”

“Where do they go after they leave the lot?”

“Different directions. Sometimes north toward the point. Sometimes east past the inn. Once toward the old cannery road.”

The old cannery road. That put them near dead zones. Storage buildings. Empty lots.

Places where Haven Cove thinned out and the older town showed through. Places the Neptune Brotherhood still had tentacles.

Karl reached beneath the counter and pulled out a folded slip of paper.

“Plate numbers. Three of ’em. Might be something. Might not.”

Gabe took the paper. The handwriting was blocky, neat, and dark enough to press grooves into the page. “Thank you.”

Karl nodded once. Then his gaze shifted past Gabe again. This time, his face changed.

Barely.

But Gabe caught it.

A tightening around the mouth. A narrowing of the eyes.

Gabe didn’t turn immediately. He let his reflection in the glass display case give him half the room and part of the front window.