Covert Cargo

Then she heard Dillon’s voice behind her. “It’s okay, Beth, you can let them through.” She turned around and saw him standing at the side of the road, looking disheveled and covered in sand. “The guy escaped on a Jet Ski.”

He walked over to the fire chief. “The fire is in the living room. Please be careful and save everything you can.”

He steered Beth to the side of the road and they watched the red truck rumble past. He then turned her toward him and put both hands on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry the guy got away,” he said. “I really wanted to catch him this time.”

Beth found herself unable to contain her emotions any longer. “Why me?” she asked with a wavering voice. “Why would somebody hurt my dog and try to destroy my home?” Tears began to flow, and she was powerless to stop them. She gritted her teeth. She hated to cry. She’d spent too much of her life crying, and she was done with it.

Dillon pulled her into an embrace. His skin was warm and slightly damp from the exertion of running. He smelled like a mixture of wood smoke and soap, and it was strangely comforting. But she hadn’t been in the arms of a man for a very long time and she stiffened against his touch. This only caused him to draw her in tighter.

“We’ll figure this all out together,” he said. “I’ll find you a safe place to stay in the town while the damage is repaired.”

She pulled away in one quick movement, her mood swiftly changing from fear of the unknown to a fear of returning to live in Bracelet Bay. “No. I don’t want to move into the town.”

“Beth,” he said. “Your home isn’t secure.”

She wrung her hands together. In her peripheral vision, she saw the firefighters bringing the smoking remains of her china hutch out onto the gravel. “I don’t want to move into the town,” she repeated. “Even for just one night. I can’t. I really can’t.”

“I’m afraid there really is no other choice.”

A thought struck her. “I have a friend who lives close by. Her name is Helen. I’ll stay with her.”

Dillon ran his hands through his dark curly hair. Sand fell out onto the shoulders of his jacket and he brushed it off. “Which house is hers?”

Beth pointed to Helen’s small wooden bungalow a half mile away. The place was old and ramshackle, with wind chimes and streamers hanging from the porch.

“That place doesn’t look very secure to me,” he said. “And I’d feel a lot better if we didn’t involve anybody else in this matter. Another person would simply be another liability.”

Beth cut him off. “A liability? Is that what I am?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he protested.

“That’s exactly what you meant,” she said angrily. She knew that her anger was borne out of shock, fear and distress. She had temporarily lost Ted, lost her home and was rapidly losing hope. The only person she could attack for this pain was Dillon.

Obviously seeing her determination to remain close to home, he relented. “I’ll arrange for somebody to stay with you at your friend’s house,” he said.

She nodded mutely.

He rubbed her shoulders as if he was trying to warm her up, and she realized she was shivering. “I know this is hard for you, Beth,” he said. “You’re a private person who didn’t ask for any of this, but you have to stay strong.”

He put an arm around her shoulder and started walking to her house, where the fire had now been extinguished and the firefighters were assessing the damage. “You’ll get through this,” he said gently. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

Beth silently balked at his words. Promises rolled off a man’s tongue like raindrops from petals. Promises were cheap, even those from supposedly good men.

* * *

Dillon wiped the last of the sooty residue from the inner walls of Beth’s living room. She had been fortunate that the fire hadn’t spread beyond her large china hutch. The thick stone walls weren’t a good conduit for flames and, therefore, the most damaging effect of the fire was from the smoke. Beth’s misery had been obvious and she had insisted on trying to clean the house immediately. His only option was to assist her, leaving Larry, Carl and the rest of his staff holding the fort at the station. He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to speak to Larry about the incident at the Salty Dog, and this troubled him. He felt as though he were juggling too many balls, and he didn’t want to drop one. He needed Larry working at full capacity, not brooding on a petty argument with his brother.

Both Dillon and Beth had worked hard all afternoon to remove the traces of soot. They began right after the local sheriff’s deputies had taken statements and left to begin their investigation. Dillon had given them the best description he could of the gunman, but he got the feeling they would struggle to find the culprit—the attack had been well prepared and was indicative of a professional criminal. This guy would be safely hiding away by now.

Beth came into the living room carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. “Thanks for helping me get things straight again,” she said, handing one of the mugs to him. “It’ll be getting dark soon. We should finish up.”

He took the cup and warmed his frozen hands on it. The door had totally burned away, and he had placed a temporary board over the empty space, but the air had chilled right through. He had put Larry on lighthouse lookout duty over at the coast guard station, keeping watch for anybody approaching Beth’s cottage, but this would be an impossible task as soon as darkness fell. Any attack she was likely to face would come from the sea, and at night the ocean was an immense and murky hiding place. They would need to be gone by nightfall.

“I’ve arranged for two members of my staff to stay at Helen’s house with you tonight,” he said. “They’ll be there by seven.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “You did call her, right?”

“Yes, I called her and asked to stay the night, but I didn’t want to worry her, so I didn’t tell her about the gunman.”

“You need to tell her, Beth. She should know the risk of allowing you into her home.”

“I know,” she said. “She’s already guessed something is wrong anyway, and once two coast guard members arrive with toothbrushes and sleeping bags, she’s bound to ask a ton of questions.”

“Well, I won’t be far away if anything happens,” he said. “I’ve decided to stay here for the night. If the gunman comes back, then I want to be ready and waiting for him.”

Beth held her mug close to her chest. “You mean, if the gunman comes back looking for me.”

“Yes. I don’t know why the cartel has you in their sights, but I intend to find out.”

“Is it because I saved the boy?” she asked, hooking her hair behind her ear. Her cheek had black streaks on it, where grime had rubbed off. “And because I can identify the man who was chasing him?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “I think the arsonist assumed you were home when he set the fire. I noticed some blood on his pants as he escaped, so I’m reckoning that Ted injured him earlier this morning. He obviously came back a second time to finish the job properly.”

“What job was he looking to finish?” Beth asked. “Burning down my home or shooting me?” She broke off to compose herself. “Or both?”

Dillon tried to phrase his reply carefully because he simply didn’t have any definite answers.

“When the gunman returned and found your house locked up, I assume he set the fire to flush you out into the open.”

“To take his shot?”

“Yes.” There was no way of softening his words, but he tried anyway. “This is all just guesswork. The gunman may have a whole other agenda.”

“It’s pretty obvious that his agenda is to hurt me,” she said quietly. “Possibly to punish me for saving the boy and to stop me from helping others. I know you probably can’t discuss the matter in detail, but are there lots of people like him being smuggled over the border out at sea?”

She was right about one thing. He couldn’t discuss the matter in detail with her. “The coast guard has seen a small rise in people trafficking activity lately.” The word small didn’t even come close to describing the unprecedented levels of smuggling over the last two months. “We’re hoping to make a breakthrough soon.”

“What kind of people would put a child in a boat and transport him through a raging storm?” she asked. “Do you know much about the gang responsible?”

Dillon wished she would drop the subject. She was already in grave danger, and the less she knew the better. He needed to keep his focus firmly on the trafficking cartel and not protecting her. He was already concerned enough about her safety to sleep in her unsecured house overnight. That was as far as he wanted to go.

“Don’t start asking too many questions,” he said. “The coast guard is tracking the movements of these smugglers and we hope to make some arrests soon.” He drained his cup. “You already know too much, so it’s best to leave the investigation to the professionals.”

She looked a little hurt and he wished he hadn’t spoken so severely. But it was in her best interest. Driving Aziza to safety in Kabul had prevented him from helping others who needed him, and had resulted in their probable deaths. If Beth learned more information, then she would be even more at risk and would demand even more of his time. He felt as if he were walking a tightrope—one wrong move and someone would die. But who would it be?

“Okay,” she said. “I get it. I’ll butt out from now on. You’re the expert, after all.”

He looked at her gray eyes, startling in their clarity, and saw intelligence within. She was perceptive.