Against the Tide

Book 3: Brodies of Alaska

by Kat Martin

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

Liv Chandler is running for her life, and the cops haven’t been able to do a thing to help. But there’s one man who makes her feel safe, no matter what…rugged charter boat captain Rafe Brodie.

To Rafe, Liv is a beautiful mystery, one he can’t ignore. He means to unearth her secrets, and in the process, if luck is on his side, maybe the spark between them will ignite.

But Liv’s past is more dangerous than Rafe could guess, and when his first mate turns up dead, she fears that she’s next. That there’s something else coming she can’t see. That even Rafe and the remote village of Valdez, Alaska can’t protect her forever…

Release date: May 26, 2015

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

Valdez, Alaska

The piercing ring of the cell phone lying on his nightstand didn’t bode well. There was no such thing as good news at three o’clock in the morning.

With a sigh, Rafe rolled over and grabbed the phone, scrubbed a hand over his face as he pressed it against his ear. “Brodie.”

“Police Chief Rosen here. We’ve got a problem, Rafe, and it’s a bad one. I need you to meet me down at the harbor. How soon can you get here?”

Rafe swung his long legs to the side of the bed and sat up. “Ten minutes. What’s this about, Chief?”

“It’s Scotty Ferris, Rafe. I’m afraid he’s dead. I’ll fill you in when you get here. I’ll be waiting on the dock next to the Scorpion.” The police chief hung up the phone.

For several long moments, Rafe just sat there. His chest felt tight. Scotty Ferris was twenty-four years old, a handsome, hardworking kid who was engaged to be married. His June wedding to Cassie Webster, one of the local girls, was only three weeks away. Cassie was going to be crushed.

Rafe swore softly. What the hell could have happened?

But in this rugged country where the climate, wild animals, or just bad judgment could get you killed, accidents happened all the time.

Shoving himself up from the bed, Rafe grabbed a pair of worn jeans off the chair and jerked them on, drew a sweatshirt over his head, pulled on his heavy socks, and shoved his size-thirteen feet into a pair of high-topped, rubber-soled boots. Since the temperature at night even in late May was still in the thirties and it had rained during the night, he grabbed his jacket as he headed for the steps down to the garage.

The boat harbor wasn’t far from his house, a brown bilevel with an oversized two-car garage that sat a few blocks north on Mendeltna, a street off Hazelet Avenue there in Valdez. Sea Scorpion was his flagship charter fishing boat, a thirty-eight-foot Mac, his pride and joy. It was the boat he usually captained himself, one of three that made up his fleet. Scotty Ferris was part of Scorpion’s crew.

Rafe thought of the young man as he parked his dark green Ford Expedition in a spot in front of the harbor, climbed out, and closed the door. Puddles from last night’s rain sloshed against his boots as he made his way toward the dock. The occasional streetlight burned into the darkness, but quiet surrounded him, along with the familiar salty tang of the sea.

Ringed by the snowcapped Chugach Mountains, gleaming white glaciers, and the turquoise waters of Prince William Sound, Valdez was considered one of the most beautiful places on earth.

But the climate was a major drawback for most people, being wet, cold, and snowy much of the year. Rafe couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Which brought his thoughts full circle to Scotty. With year-round residents numbering less than forty-five hundred, everyone knew everyone who lived there. And everyone knew and liked Scotty. The kid had been born in Valdez. He thrived on the rugged lifestyle, planned to marry and raise kids here, probably never would have left.

What the hell had happened? Rafe thought again as he walked toward his boat.

And why did Chief Rosen want to meet him at the Scorpion?

A few spaces down from where he’d parked, Rafe spotted a black-and-silver Ford police SUV. In the distance, the familiar antenna above the wheelhouse of the Scorpion marked where the boat bobbed near the middle of the dock.

Rafe started down the long wooden walkway, his gaze on the group of people gathered next to where the Scorpion was moored. The area was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, the boat clearly off-limits until the police were finished collecting evidence.

Police Chief Clifford Rosen, a stout man in his fifties, bald head ringed by thinning gray hair, stood next to a figure lying on the dock, covered by a long, white cloth. Knowing Scotty Ferris lay under the cloth made Rafe’s stomach burn.

Two other officers quietly conversed while a doctor he recognized as Karen Ward, a woman who worked at the local clinic and served as medical examiner, knelt next to the sheet-draped body.

“What happened?” Rafe asked the chief.

“Looks like he was robbed,” Rosen answered. “Wallet’s missing, jewelry’s gone. Car keys. Cell phone’s missing. Single blow to the back of the head. Blunt instrument. Baseball bat seems the most likely, something that size that would be easy to handle.”

“Jesus.”

“I asked you to come down because I need someone to identify the body. With his parents both dead, I figured better you than his fiancée. Soon as you do that, I’ll break the news to the Webster girl.”

Rafe just nodded. Cassie was going to be devastated. She and Scotty were crazy in love, the kind Rafe figured had a good chance of lasting. Sometimes fate could be a real bastard.

“Who found him?”

“Young couple wandered out this way from the Fisherman’s Catch Saloon. Found him lying right there. Shook ’em up pretty bad.”

“What time?”

“Two a.m. The M.E. makes preliminary time of death between eleven and two.”

One of the officers, a red-haired young cop Rafe recognized as Rusty Donovan, leaned down and lifted the edge of the sheet. As the cover rolled back, Rafe’s gaze fixed on Scotty. The boy’s brown eyes were open, staring sightlessly into the black night sky. His handsome face was frozen in a look of surprise.

He was wearing a jacket but it was unzipped, revealing a long-sleeved blue T-shirt that read FISHERMEN DO IT DEEPER. Rafe could almost see the grin on the kid’s face when he’d put it on.

“It’s him,” he said darkly. “Scott Ferris.”

“You know what he was doing down here?”

“No.” But once he got his head wrapped around Scotty’s death, he intended to find out.

“As soon as we check for any forensic evidence on the boat, I’ll want you to take a look inside, see if anything’s missing. At first glance, there’s no sign of a break-in. Probably took him out before he went aboard.”

Rafe just nodded.

“That’s it then,” the police chief said. “We’ll wrap things up here and I’ll talk to Cassie Webster.”

Rafe looked down at Scotty and clenched his jaw. “You’re going to catch the sonofabitch, right? You’re going to find the guy who killed him?”

“If he’s in town, we’ll catch him. If he’s some loser just passing through, might be a whole lot harder.”

Rafe frowned. “You don’t think he was killed by a local?”

“Wouldn’t be my first guess. Hell, we haven’t had a murder here in years. But violent crime’s been creeping up lately—assaults, thefts, burglaries. These days anything’s possible.”

“Either way, you’re going to get him,” Rafe repeated, making it clear there had better not be any doubt.

Rosen just nodded. “Thanks for coming down.”

“Keep me posted, will you?” When the chief made no reply, Rafe shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, turned, and started back the way he’d come.

It was almost dawn. If he had a fishing charter today, he’d be at the dock by five, getting ready to take the boat out at six. He did half-day cruises; nine hour; or full-day, twelve-hour charters that lasted till six p.m.

He wasn’t taking a group out today, which meant he wouldn’t be seeing Jaimie Graham, the nineteen-year-old girl who crewed for him along with Scotty. She dressed like a man, worked like a man, but under her determination to prove herself in the world of men, Jaimie had a bad crush on Scotty. She was going to take the news damned hard.

Rafe got into the Ford and started driving toward the house Jaimie lived in with her parents. He needed to speak to her, break the news before she found out from someone else. He hated to wake up her folks, but he didn’t have any choice.

Rafe sighed into the darkness. He wished he could just go back to bed, get some badly needed sleep, but there was no chance of that.

Not with his mind circling around, going over what had happened, trying to make sense of the senseless murder of Scotty Ferris. Trying to think why Scotty might have been down at the Scorpion in the middle of the night. Wishing he knew who had killed him.

Thinking how much he’d like to wrap his hands around the bastard’s neck and squeeze till he paid for what he had done.

The breakfast crowd at the Pelican Café had begun to arrive, as people did every morning when it opened at six a.m. The café had opened its doors in the fifties and been going strong ever since. Of course, it had passed through a dozen different owners, had its ups and downs, and been near financial ruin more than once.

Having purchased the restaurant six months ago, Olivia Chandler was the most recent person to step into the driver’s seat. Unlike the previous owner, who had let the place sink into disrepair, Olivia had been making changes, most of which had been heralded with great enthusiasm by the local customers.

The bell above the door rang as a young mother and her little girl walked in and headed for one of the light blue vinyl booths. Melissa Young, Olivia remembered, was her name. Liv made a point of getting to know her customers—just not too well.

While Melissa grabbed a child’s high seat and settled one-year-old Suzy in it, the waitress, a slim little blonde named Katie McKenzie, grabbed the coffeepot off the burner behind the counter and headed for the booth. Katie smiled as she filled Melissa’s mug and handed her a menu.

“I’ll give you a minute to decide,” Katie said, hurrying off to another table to refill an earlier patron’s cup.

One of the changes Liv had made was to hire a new cook—one who wasn’t high on marijuana half the time. Wayne Littlefish was Alaska Native, reliable and great in the kitchen. An older man, Charlie Foot, worked the dinner shift.

Liv had also hired two part-time waitresses instead of one full-time worker, which gave each of the girls a more flexible schedule and made taking time off easier for all of them, including Olivia and long-time employee, Nell Olsen.

A buxom woman with thick, silver-streaked black hair, Nell had worked at the café for more than ten years. She was as much a fixture as the sky-blue interior, the ocean theme, and the anchors and fishing nets on the walls.

Nell had been invaluable in helping Liv take over the business since, aside from waiting tables for the past couple of years, being a fairly decent cook, and a very fast learner, Liv had almost no experience in running a restaurant.

Still, in the last six months she had managed to keep the old clientele happy and add new customers. The tourist season was just starting, so business was getting even better.

“Well, look who’s coming,” Nell said, staring out the window at a tall man in jeans and a sweatshirt crossing the outside patio. The brick patio was empty now while it was still cold, but with summer approaching, soon would be noisy with people. “If it isn’t Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”

Katie walked past Liv just then, a platter of bacon and eggs riding on the flat of her hand. “I just call him Mr. Freakin’ Hot.”

“Shame on you,” Liv teased. “You just turned twenty-one. Rafe Brodie’s got to be at least a dozen years older.”

“Just means he’s a man not a boy. And I like a guy with a little experience.”

“From what I hear, he has plenty of that,” Liv said dryly as Katie sailed off to deliver the food.

Nell chuckled. “I’m fifty years old and that man can still make me swoon.”

Olivia busied herself wiping off the long Formica-topped counter as Rafe shoved through the door, ringing the bell above. Seating himself in his usual booth, he stretched his long legs out in front of him. Rafe was a regular in the café, which sat on North Harbor Drive right across from the boat dock.

“Katie’s busy,” Nell said with a matchmaking glint in her eyes. “Why don’t you wait on him?”

Olivia shook her head. “I’m busy, too. You go ahead.”

Knowing there was no persuading her, Nell sighed. “Probably better you don’t. Everyone in town knows Rafe’s a dedicated bachelor.”

As the owner of the café, Olivia caught most of the local gossip. According to Cassie Webster, the other part-time waitress, Rafe Brodie had dated a woman named Sally Henderson for nearly three years, until she dumped him four months ago because he refused to marry her.

Apparently, he’d made his intentions—or lack thereof—clear from the start, but Sally hadn’t believed him, poor girl.

Dedicated bachelor or not, Nell and Katie were right. With the thick, dark brown hair curling just over his collar, the faint shadow of beard that usually lined his hard jaw, and those hot, whiskey-brown eyes, he was one of the best-looking men Olivia had ever seen.

Which was exactly the reason she had avoided him since the day she had met him.

Oh, she’d been pleasant enough when she had to be, spoken to him for a moment when she’d been introduced to him at a chamber of commerce mixer right after she’d bought the café, but she always managed to be too busy to wait on him.

No use putting temptation in her path. It was simply too dangerous.

Still, as she worked taking orders and delivering meals to the patrons at the counter, she couldn’t help an occasional glance in his direction. He had always reminded her of a dark-haired lion, powerful and dangerous yet fascinating in some primitive way. He looked different today, the shadow along his jaw darker, as if he hadn’t had time to shave, his handsome features set in grim lines, and faint shadows under his eyes.

She watched as Nell chatted with him a moment, then Liv watched the easy smile Nell usually gave him slip from her face.

The coffeepot wavered. Rafe grabbed the glass pot to keep her from dropping it and spilled hot coffee over his hand.

Olivia didn’t hesitate, just grabbed a towel, wet it with cold water, and hurried in Rafe’s direction. He was sitting down again, Nell fussing over him, relieved to see Olivia approaching.

“Here—wrap this around your fingers.” She handed him the wet towel. “It’s cold enough to ease the pain and keep the burn from getting worse.”

“I’m all right,” Rafe said. “It’s no big deal.” But he accepted the wet cloth and looped it over the back of a big, suntanned hand.

The man was all of six-four, two-hundred-plus pounds, with a solid, athletic build and very wide shoulders. Liv was five-nine, but Rafe was more than half a head taller. She tried not to stare at his mouth, which seemed harder this morning without the smile he always had for Nell.

She glanced in her friend’s direction, sucked in a breath as Nell’s pale blue eyes filled with tears.

“Oh God, what is it?”

Nell blinked and the tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped at the wetness with a trembling hand. “I could tell something was wrong. It was stamped all over Rafe’s face.”

Liv glanced from one to the other, saw the same grim expression on both of their faces. “Tell me what’s happened.”

Nell swallowed. “It’s . . . it’s Scotty. He was killed last night.”

Olivia felt the blood seeping out of her head. She found herself sinking down on the bench opposite Rafe. “Oh God. That’s why Cassie didn’t show up for work this morning.” The reason Olivia had had to call Katie.

Rafe’s towel-wrapped hand unconsciously fisted. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I figured since Cassie works here, Nell already knew.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Nell said. “I need to go to her, make sure she’s okay.”

“I’ll cover while you’re gone,” Liv said. “We’ll be fine.”

Nell wiped fresh tears from her cheeks. “This is going to break her heart. She loved Scotty so much. Everyone loved him.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead,” Liv said, aching for the young woman whose future had been shattered. “What happened?”

“The police think it was a mugging,” Rafe said. “Whoever did it stole his wallet, jewelry, cell phone.”

“Where did it happen?”

“On the dock next to the Scorpion.”

“Last night?”

“That’s right.”

Liv frowned. “What was he doing down at the dock at night? He’s usually home with Cassie.”

“I don’t know. I talked to Jaimie Graham before I came over. She had no idea what he was doing down there.”

“Jaimie had an awful crush on Scotty,” Nell said. “She must have taken the news real hard.”

“Jaimie isn’t good at hiding her feelings,” Rafe said. “She ran out of the house as soon as I told her, took off so no one would see her cry.”

Nell shook her head, moving the thick, salt-and-pepper hair that came to her shoulders and was clipped back on each side. “Poor thing.”

“I still can’t figure why Scotty was down at the dock,” Olivia said.

Rafe’s brown eyes swung to her face. “I’m hoping once things settle down, Cassie’ll be able to tell us.”

Olivia thought of the young woman who worked for her, imagined her pain, and her throat went tight. In the six months she had been running the café, she and Cassie had become close friends. Or at least as close as Liv could allow.

She looked over at Nell, whose face was still pale. “You go on. Go to her. As soon as the breakfast rush is over, I’ll join you at Cassie’s house.”

Nell just nodded. Picking the coffeepot up off the table, she headed for the breakfast counter, set the pot on the burner at the back. Removing her sky-blue Pelican Café apron, she slipped out through the side door near the rear of the building.

Liv glanced across the table at Rafe. His jaw looked iron hard, his eyes so dark she could barely see a hint of gold. For the first time it occurred to her that Rafe was hurting, too. Scotty was his first mate and they were friends. Cassie had said Scott idolized Rafe, had thought of him as an older brother.

Reaching toward him, she settled a hand over the fist he rested on top of the table. “Are you okay?”

His dark eyes flicked down to her hand, then moved up to her face. “Scott was a good man. One of the best. Whoever killed him is going to pay.”

A little shiver ran through her. It wasn’t a statement. It was a vow. “Surely the police will find the man who did it.”

“There’re eleven guys in the Valdez department. Eleven police officers to cover two-hundred-seventy square miles, including the pipeline terminus.” Valdez was the end point of the Alaska pipeline. The huge oil shipping facility at the edge of town was one of the things that made Valdez famous.

Along with the Exxon Valdez oil spill. Eleven million gallons killed 250,000 seabirds and hundreds of otters and seals, a disaster it took thirty years to recover from. That and the biggest earthquake in U.S. history.

More recently, the tiny town was a place known for its majestic scenery and fabulous fishing.

“What about the State Troopers?” Olivia asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Rosen is a good man, but cops can be pissy about their territory. He may think he can go it alone.”

“Maybe he can,” Liv said, but she didn’t really trust the police. Hadn’t since she’d been forced to run for her life and couldn’t count on the police to help her.

“Maybe,” Rafe said. “I guess we’ll see.”

Liv watched his jaw settle into a determined line and thought of the vow he had made. Clearly it was a promise he meant to keep.

As she slid out of the booth, she realized her legs still felt shaky. “Would you like something to eat? You look like you could use it.”

Rafe rubbed a hand over the bristles along his jaw. “Lost my appetite. I just need some coffee. That’s what I came in for.”

She noticed the china mug in front of him had never gotten filled. “I’ll take care of it.” She headed across the café, grabbed the pot off the burner, and returned, poured his mug to the brim. “It’s on the house today.”

“Thanks . . . Liv.” Rafe’s gaze fixed on her face. It was the first time he had used the more familiar version of her name.

Olivia didn’t like the way her stomach lifted at the way he said that single, softly spoken word.

Rafe leaned back in the booth as Olivia walked away. Beneath her light blue apron, she wore black leggings under a black skirt, and a black turtleneck sweater. She wore black a lot, he’d noticed, and with her heavy, dark hair, pale complexion, and striking features, it suited her.

The café was beginning to fill with customers, both locals and the first of the tourist crowd. Besides deep-sea fishing, the area offered helicopter sightseeing, wildlife cruises, glacier cruises, kayaking, hiking, camping, and a jillion other things visitors thought up to entertain themselves in a place so rich in natural beauty.

By the first of May, as winter slid into spring, the local hotel and restaurant businesses jump-started into high gear. So did Rafe’s company, Great Alaska Charters.

His fleet was composed of a thirty-two-foot Armstrong; a Glacier Craft thirty-five; and his thirty-eight-foot Mac, all of which worked from April through October, depending on the weather. Scotty had made a place for himself in the company, had become an important part of the business, and it was going to be damned hard to replace him.

Scott Ferris had become Rafe’s right-hand man, and more than that, a very good friend. There was no easy way to lessen the personal loss Rafe felt at Scott’s death. He needed to go see Cassie, find out if there was anything he could do to help her get through her grief.

Rafe knew from experience it was going to take a helluva long time for her to heal.

He looked over at the tall, slender woman moving around the café. She was the real reason he had come to the Pelican this morning. Just watching her eased some of the tightness in his chest. Trim and lithe, she moved like a dancer, in more of a glide than a pattern of steps, so light on her feet she was there one moment, then she wasn’t.

With her high cheekbones, wide forehead, and unusual gray eyes, Olivia was a beautiful woman. Her chestnut hair, twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck, glinted with vibrant highlights. By midmorning, a few strands escaped around her face, softening the severe appearance she seemed determined to maintain.

And there was that mouth. Lipstick was the only real makeup she wore, a glossy dark red on lips so plump and perfectly curved they could have been in a magazine ad. That mouth made him think of dirty sex and taking her to bed, or anywhere else he could have her.

Maybe she could read his mind; maybe she knew what he was thinking and that was the reason she never waited on him. And though she was always polite, she spoke to him only if she had to and rarely by name.

For the first couple of months after she’d taken over the business, he’d figured she was just too busy to notice him. Besides, he was still dating Sally, and he wasn’t the kind of guy who cheated on a woman he was involved with.

Four months ago, Sally had moved on, and Rafe had discovered he was glad. He cared for Sally Henderson, but he wasn’t in love, never had been. He’d told her from the start he wasn’t interested in marriage. At the time, she’d convinced him she wasn’t either. But relationships changed, and Sally was ready to settle down.

Sally was ready. Rafe wasn’t.

It wasn’t until after they’d parted that he started to take an interest in Olivia Chandler. Besides her striking looks and porn-star mouth, there was just something about her, something that began to intrigue him. She was always friendly to the other customers, though according to Nell, she had no close friends outside the people she worked with, and no family in the area that anyone knew of.

At first he’d told himself he just wasn’t the lady’s type, but the more she ignored him, the more intrigued he became. She rarely went to the local pub, he discovered, just kept mostly to herself in the apartment she lived in above the café. She was a runner, he knew, having seen her jogging early in the mornings with the big, black-and-brown German shepherd she called Khan.

Every time he went into the Pelican, which was often since he was a bachelor and a lousy cook, he watched her, and eventually a funny thing happened. Over the days and weeks that passed, Rafe became more and more certain Olivia Chandler wasn’t avoiding him because she wasn’t attracted to him.

She was avoiding him because she was.

Liv Chandler was a beautiful mystery, one Rafe no longer intended to ignore. He meant to unearth her secrets, and in the process, if luck was on his side, maybe he’d discover the fierce attraction he felt for her was returned in equal measure.

Rafe damned well hoped so.

Rising from the booth, he tossed a dollar bill on the table for the waitresses’ tip jar and started for the door. Olivia Chandler was a mystery he meant to solve.

But another mystery needed solving first.

His jaw hardened. Rafe wasn’t about to let the man who murdered one of his best friends go unpunished.

Whatever it took, he was going to see justice done.

Olivia knocked on the door to the wood-frame house Cassie Webster shared with Scotty Ferris. Cassie’s mother, Lois, opened the door. She was a petite woman, a little too thin, and her narrow face looked ravaged.

“Olivia . . . Please come in. Nell said you were going to stop by. She just left to go back to work a few minutes ago.”

Liv handed the woman the mac-and-cheese casserole she’d had Wayne put together, figuring there was no better comfort food in the world than mac and cheese.

Lois took the dish from her hand. “Thank you. I don’t think Cassie could hold anything down at the moment, but sooner or later, she’ll have to eat something.”

“All of you will,” Olivia said, walking into the living room as Lois closed the front door. Cassie sat on the sofa, her face bone white, her chin-length brown hair still sleep tangled, hazel eyes staring out at nothing. She was petite like her mother, but curvy, the kind of person whose glass was always half-full instead of half-empty.

“Cassie, honey, I’m so sorry.” Olivia walked toward her.

The girl’s head turned toward the sound of Liv’s voice and her eyes filled. “Thank you for coming.”

Liv sat down beside her, reached over and took hold of her icy hand. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“I know. I just . . . I feel sick all the way to my soul. My heart says Scotty can’t be dead. I tell myself it can’t be true, but I know it is.”

Liv squeezed her hand. “The police are going to find the man who did it. I know that won’t make the pain you’re feeling go away, but it’s something to hold on to.” . . .