Troubled Waters (9 page)

Heath leaned forward across the desk, closer to her, glad she’d picked up on what he was hinting at. “How did Trevor know when we were going to be at his house? We’d only decided to visit the day before.”

Tracie leaned forward a few inches more and whispered in his ear. “Do you think the office is bugged?”

“Could be,” he whispered back, his lips skirting her earlobe. “But he’d have to have the whole place wired—your office, Jake’s, mine, not to mention the truck. We haven’t held any of these discussions in the same place. And if he had that many bugs going at the same time, he’d have to have that many people listening in. It doesn’t seem feasible, but I’m still looking into it.”

Tracie tipped her head back slightly. “Then what?” she asked, her voice soft.

Heath continued to whisper in a hushed voice, “a mole.” He watched her carefully to see how she would respond to his suggestion. Though Jonas believed Tracie was the mole, Heath desperately hoped to learn it was someone else. Either way, he wasn’t going to give up until he’d flushed out the leak.

To Heath’s relief, Tracie startled at his words, and pulled away far enough to look at him incredulously, “You mean a spy on the inside—one of us, reporting back to Trevor?”

“What else could it be?”

“I suppose it makes sense, but
who?
” She seemed genuinely disturbed by the idea, which reinforced his hope that she wasn’t involved. “I don’t know of anyone who felt any allegiance toward Trevor, and certainly if they had, the
way he’s been shooting at people would have to make them rethink it.”

“He could have something over their heads. He could be threatening them. Who knows? People will do almost anything if they’re desperate enough.” Heath figured the only way Tracie could possibly be working for Trevor would be if she was being blackmailed—and considering how much she obviously feared Trevor, Heath couldn’t rule out that possibility.

“But to work for Trevor.” She looked as though the idea repulsed her. “I can’t imagine.” Then she leaned back in her chair and looked at Heath helplessly. “But then I suppose a number of things have happened lately that I never would have imagined.”

“That’s not the only thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Heath continued.

Her eyes looked tired when she looked up at him, and he could see the dark circles beneath that showed how much the stress she’d endured was beginning to take its toll. “What else is there?”

“I don’t want you to go home tonight.”

Tracie blinked across the desk at Heath. The same thought had already occurred to her, though she didn’t like it. “Because Trevor has a key to my house now?”

“Yes.”

“Want to know what I think?” She’d gone over the issue in her mind a thousand times that afternoon already, and had reached a few conclusions. “I think if Trevor just wanted access to me, he could have made copies of my keys without ever letting on to me that he’d done so. No, I believe he replaced Gunnar’s picture with his own to send me a message. He may not have even copied my keys.” She
planted her elbows on her desk and rested her chin in her hands.

“I think that last assessment sounds a little optimistic.” Heath leaned forward until his own elbows rested just beyond hers. “What’s the message you think he was trying to send?”

“He wants to frighten me. It’s a scare tactic, that’s all.”

“He took a shot at you yesterday, and as far as we know, he had no idea you were wearing steel-plated body armor. He tried to kill you. The picture on your keys was a warning.”

Tracie sighed and bit her lower lip. She didn’t want to believe Heath. Though she’d almost convinced herself she truly believed Trevor wouldn’t try to get to her inside her own home, Heath’s words of caution rang true.

He looked at her levelly, his face close, his steel-blue eyes unswerving. “Isn’t there anyone you can stay with? You still have family in the area, don’t you?”

Tracie cringed. Sure, her mother and stepfather still lived in Bayfield, but she wasn’t about to stay with them—not unless she wanted to endure their ongoing predictions that she would surely fail in her job, or quit, or possibly become the laughingstock of the Coast Guard, if her stepdad really got going. “Not anyone I want to stay with,” she told Heath firmly.

“And I suppose staying with someone from work—” he began.

“Nope. Most of the guys are single, so it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to stay with them. Gary, John and Jim all have families, but they’re living in cramped enough quarters as it is—they don’t need an extra houseguest for an indefinite period of time. Besides, if Trevor wanted to sneak up on me, he wouldn’t have left his calling card
behind. He’s just out to spook me. If I let him chase me from my home, he wins.”

“If he kills you he wins,” Heath amended.

Tracie persisted. “I have Gunnar. Trevor knows better than to try anything with Gunnar around—Gunnar would tear him to pieces, and he can smell him coming, too.”

“Tracie,” Heath leaned back in his chair and glowered at her, “Gunnar can’t stop Trevor, and if you expect him to, then you’re putting your dog at risk. Remember what you said when Tim died? That we should have forced him into protective custody, even though he refused it? I think you need to stay with your family.”

She felt her mouth fall open as she realized what he was suggesting. “You wouldn’t dare. You can’t force me—”

“I don’t want to,” he interrupted her. “But I refuse to let you make yourself a target. I promised you I’d keep you safe. And I don’t believe you’d be safe staying in your own home.”

Pinching her eyes shut, Tracie considered Heath’s words. She didn’t want to stay with her mother and stepfather, but it didn’t appear as though she had any choice in the matter. Trevor had taken away her freedom, along with her keys. “At least let me go home and get my things.”

“No problem.” His tone softened considerably and he smiled, his flashing dimple almost enough to make her forget he’d just won their argument. “Although I’d like to take you out to dinner first.”

“Heath—” the fluttering inside her heart at his invitation set off warning bells inside her “—I asked you to back away, remember?” Her protest came out as a soft squeak, without her usual determination behind it. If she was honest with herself, she really wanted to have dinner with him.

“You need to eat a decent meal for once.” He stood as
though preparing to leave. “And besides, there’s more we need to talk about.”

Her curiosity immediately roused, she raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I got in touch with an old friend of mine from the Navy SEALs. He works with the Navy Records Department now,” Heath explained.

Tracie jumped from her chair. “What? What did he tell you?”

“Names,” Heath sighed. “I’ll tell you over dinner, okay?”

Distracted as she was by the news he dangled in front of her, it didn’t escape her notice that Heath had managed to get his own way. Again. “Fine.”

“So what are the names?” Tracie asked Heath without preamble as soon as the waitress stepped away with their orders. It had taken all her willpower not to try to wrangle the information from him on the drive to the restaurant.

“These are the names of the four men who were on the
Requiem
when she disappeared.” Heath unfolded a small piece of paper and set it on the placemat in front of her.

Tracie eagerly read:

M. Anderson

J. Kuhlman

T. Price

J. Vaughn

“T. Price?” Tracie gasped quietly. “Tom Price died on the
Requiem?
” She looked up at Heath and her eyes narrowed. “Or was on it when it went missing?”

“Looks like it,” Heath affirmed. “Trevor would have only been, what, ten years old then?”

“And Tim wouldn’t even have been in school yet.” She
sat back in her chair and looked up at him. “What do you think? Is the
Requiem
our sub?”

Heath shrugged. “Do these names match up with the names of the men your father rescued on the day of his death?”

“No.” Tracie had memorized the names of the four men years before, always alert for any mention of them, though she’d never run across any. She stared at the paper in front of her. “No, wait. If T. Price is Tom Price—” She bit her lip and looked at the other initials. “There was a Tom who was rescued from the sub the day my dad died—Tom London. And an M—Mark Smith. And the other two men both had first names that started with the letter J.” She looked at Heath. “All four first initials match. Only the last names are different.”

“Makes sense. Tom Price couldn’t be Tom Price anymore, since Tom Price was supposed to be dead.” He nodded slowly. “And it would make sense for them to only change their last names, since most people would call them by their first names, and they wouldn’t want to give away their identities by accidentally answering to the wrong name. If they knew the Navy Records Division kept track of last names with first initials, then they wouldn’t feel the need to change their first names.”

“So Tom Price changed his name to Tom London and moved to Canada. Mark Anderson became Mark Smith and did the same.”

“Not a terribly creative fellow, was he?” Heath kidded.

Tracie almost cracked a smile.

“What about our two J’s?” Heath pressed.

“Morse and Blaine now,” Tracie informed him in hushed tones as the waitress approached them with their salads. “One’s missing, one’s dead.” She finished just before the
waitress came within earshot, and surreptitiously slid the paper off the table into her pocket.

As the woman set their salads in front of them, Tracie reached for her fork.

Heath snagged her hand. “Want to pray?”

She looked at him for a moment as though he’d become a stranger all over again. “You want me to pray?” she asked, more than a little confused.

“Or I can.”

“S-sure.” She cautiously bowed her head.

Heath squeezed her hand as he prayed, “Almighty Father, we thank You for this food you’ve given to sustain us, and we thank You for always watching over us and keeping us safe. I pray You’d continue to protect us, and guide us to the truth about Trevor, and the
Requiem
, and Malcolm Crandall. Amen.”

“Amen,” Tracie echoed in a small voice. It took her a moment before she dared to raise her head. Heath had prayed. More surprising still, Heath had prayed they’d learn the truth about what had happened to her father. She hadn’t even realized he knew her father’s name.

She looked up at him, her heart swelling. It would be so easy to let herself fall in love with him. And if he really had a relationship with God, she’d have no reason not to. Hope filled her. “You pray now?”

“I’ve been trying,” he admitted after swallowing a bite of salad. “I’m still working the kinks out, but I want to get to know God a lot better. Just like I want to get to know you better.”

Tracie’s mouth fell open. She didn’t feel like she was in any position to make a decision about how she felt toward Heath—not with all the tumultuous events that had shaken her of late. Though she felt strongly attracted to him, under the circumstances she didn’t trust her own judgment. Was
she just looking for someone to lean on? Or was Heath really the man God intended for her? She couldn’t begin to sort it out.

Heath’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “As friends?” he asked finally.

She gave a slight shrug. “As friends,” she repeated, and turned her attention back to her salad, wondering if her life would ever become less complicated.

Tracie drove home with Heath’s truck behind her, her heart doing a nervous dance every time she looked back in her rearview mirror and saw him following her. After dinner he’d driven her back to the Coast Guard station to get her car, and insisted on following her out to her place while she grabbed what she’d need to spend a few days with her folks. She guessed he still didn’t quite trust her to go through with staying with her mother, especially since she hadn’t called her yet to make arrangements for her stay. Heath was pretty smart that way.

Pulling into her driveway, she hopped out of her truck, mounted the front steps and paused.

Usually Gunnar came bounding through his doggie door by the time she made it to the porch. Perhaps the sound of an extra vehicle had thrown him off. Shrugging off her concern, Tracie put her key in the lock and began to turn the knob. Then she heard a whimpering noise echo from the back of the house.

Gunnar. He sounded like he was in pain. No, more than that. He sounded like he was warning her.

Tracie froze with the doorknob half-turned. She could have bolted through the door and run to the kitchen to see why Gunnar was whimpering, but something told her that would be the wrong choice. She took a deep breath, trying to think. Then she realized something didn’t smell quite
right. Faintly, an odor like lighter fluid tickled her nostrils. And fainter yet, but still utterly unmistakable, the scent of Trevor’s cologne.

Jerking the keys from the lock, Tracie spun around and leapt down the porch stairs. She hit the ground running as a loud explosion rocked the house behind her and the force of the blast threw her face-first into the snow.

H
eath leapt from his truck and bounded toward Tracie. To his relief, he saw her raise her head even before he reached her. Pulling her up into his arms, he immediately began to assess the extent of her injuries.

“Are you okay? Are you hit?” He looked her over, brushing away the snow that clung to her hair and face.

She gripped his coat and stared up at him with desperate eyes. “Gunnar,” she half shouted, half sobbed. “Gunnar’s in there! In the kitchen—I heard him. He sounded like he was hurt.” As she spoke, she pushed away his hands and flung herself through the deep snow toward the back of the house.

Heath realized she had every intention of going back in for her dog. His heart felt crushed as he recalled how much Tracie loved her dog. But having seen the blast, he knew Gunnar’s prognosis couldn’t be good. Still, the charge had been concentrated on the front of the house. The rear, where the kitchen was located, did not yet appear to be burning. Gunnar might still have a slim chance.

“Call for help,” Heath shoved his phone into her hands and pushed her back toward his truck. “That’s the best thing you can do for him right now.”

“No.” Tracie fought to push past him. “He’s in there, I
heard him. He’s hurt.” She pleaded with him with her eyes. “I can’t just leave him in there to die.”

Heath pulled her keys from her fear-stiffened hands. “I’ll get him.” He held up the key she’d pointed out to him earlier as being the key to her house. “Does this work on the back door?”

“Yes.” Hope rose on her features. “Yes, oh, hurry. Hurry!”

“You stay here. Call for help. Promise me you’ll stay?”

She nodded. “I promise. Hurry!”

He pushed her back toward the truck again and set off on foot, his mind ringing with every warning he’d ever heard, reminding him of the foolishness of going into a burning building without the proper equipment.

Heath found the back door and quickly got it unlocked. The smoke that poured out when he opened the door was concentrated in the upper part of the doorway—a good sign that the kitchen wasn’t completely filled with smoke yet. Heath ducked his head and drew in a lungful of good air. In the SEALs, he’d learned to swim underwater for extended periods without coming up for air. He hoped the skill would be enough to help him out now.

Staying low, he rushed into the kitchen, quickly locating Gunnar chained to the legs of the kitchen table. The dog looked up at him with mournful eyes.

With the smoke alarm bleating diligently above him, Heath threw back the table and freed Gunnar’s legs. Then he scooped up the heavy animal with a grunt and felt his air supply running out. He spun around to the back door and froze.

The fire had spread across the window curtains and wooden cupboards to the back of the kitchen, completely blocking the door. He was trapped.

Dear God,
Heath thought,
get me out of here
.

Tracie clutched Heath’s phone in her hands and watched for him to return. She’d relayed all the information to the dispatcher on duty. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

A minute passed. Two minutes. Where were Gunnar and Heath? Tracie thought about running inside after them, but she recalled the promise she’d made to Heath. If she went inside just as he was coming out another way, they might miss each other and both end up dead. She knew the facts, but it took all her self-control to keep her feet from flying across the yard to the back door.

As the distant sirens began to wail, Tracie realized something else. She’d made the wrong decision when she’d sent Heath inside her burning house to fetch her dog. Much as she loved Gunnar, she couldn’t bear the thought that she might have sentenced Heath to die for the animal’s sake. She held his phone tight as she crept cautiously toward the back door and prayed.

The back screen door flew open. Flames leapt high for a moment, and Tracie wondered how anyone could possibly be alive in there. A split second later Heath came leaping out, landing in the snow with a grunt and rolling, rolling.

Tracie rushed to his side. Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized he’d saved Gunnar.

“You’ve got him! You saved him! Are you okay?”

Heath stood slowly, still holding the dog. His reddened eyes stood out in stark contrast to his face, which was blackened from the smoke. He shook his head and trudged through the snow toward their vehicles at the front of the house, carrying Gunnar.

Tracie scrambled through the deep snow after him. They reached the front of the house just as the emergency
vehicles came to a halt, and firemen and paramedics leapt out, equipment flying. Heath set the dog down on the open back end of the ambulance.

“Oxygen,” he gasped to one worker, who immediately shoved a mask over his mouth.

Tracie stood a few feet away, choking back a sob as she watched Heath direct the paramedic to administer oxygen to the dog as well. Gunnar’s tail gave a weak flop. Heath’s shoulders heaved as he drew in deep breaths of the life-giving air.

Approaching them both cautiously, Tracie slid one hand up Heath’s arm. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked, her eyes filled with tears.

He drew a couple more deep breaths before he moved the mouthpiece just enough to speak. “I don’t know. Depends on what the doctor says,” he spoke quietly before clamping the mouthpiece back down and drawing another deep breath.

A paramedic pulled her attention away. “Are you all right, Miss?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” she nodded.

“Is there anyone else in the house?”

Tracie shook her head. “No.”

“We’re going to head in. We’ll drop your dog off at the vet clinic, but we need to hurry.”

She nodded and stepped back as Heath allowed another medic to help him into the back of the ambulance. Then they slammed the doors shut and drove away.

As she watched the truck disappear down the road, a lump rose in her throat. She knew Heath well enough to know he wouldn’t have bothered going to the hospital unless he truly believed he needed treatment, which meant he had to have come close to death inside her house. And he could still die. Tracie knew smoke inhalation could be
fatal even if the victim was conscious at the time of rescue, since the burning chemicals of the smoke would continue to work their destruction deep inside the lungs, their toxic effects multiplying even as the body tried to heal itself.

The realization hit her hard. Tracie could have killed Heath by sending him in there—by insisting on going home in the first place. The feeling that clenched at her heart was far more than guilt. She felt grief, a heavy sense of loss that filled her when she considered how badly Heath might be injured. In contrast, staying at her mother’s place didn’t seem so bad. She sighed. She had a phone call to make.

A screaming sound coming from the side of the road caught her attention. Tracie recognized her mother fighting her way past a couple of well-intentioned firemen. Tracie ran toward her. “Mom? I’m okay.”

“Oh, Tracie,” her mother pulled her into her arms. “Benny heard it on the scanner and called me. What happened? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, Mom, I’m fine. But I need a place to stay.”

As she’d feared, her mother and stepfather started in immediately when she arrived at their house. “You just can’t do this job, sweetheart. It’s too dangerous,” Marla Cooper whined before Tracie was even in the front door. “Are you
trying
to get yourself killed?” Joe Cooper’s question followed.

“Don’t tell me this fire wasn’t related to that diamond-smuggling business you all have gotten mixed up in. I heard what those investigators said.”

“There’s rumors down at the coffee shop, too. Tim Price was murdered. Whoever did it is after you, too, aren’t they?”

Tracie kept her mouth shut, enduring their questions
while she waited for the can of chicken noodle soup her mother had offered her to heat in the microwave. It had taken the firefighters a long time to put the blaze out, and the dinner she’d shared with Heath seemed like it had been days ago instead of hours. Once she had a little food in her stomach, she was going off to her room, which her mother had mostly converted into a sewing room since she’d moved away, but which still held her bed and a few of her things, and was still her room in her mind.

“It is those diamond-smugglers, isn’t it? They killed both the Price brothers, didn’t they?” Her stepdad leaned down to look into her face.

“It’s under investigation. I can’t tell you anything,” she murmured, pulling her soup from the microwave and taking a sip. It was a little too hot, but rather than sit through any more nagging, she drank down a large gulp and checked her phone.

She couldn’t stand not knowing how Heath was doing. At least the vet had called her after the ambulance had dropped Gunnar off, so she knew her dog was in good hands, though his condition was still touch and go.

Tracie still had Heath’s phone since he’d given it to her before rushing into her house. The operator at the hospital didn’t know anything, and only sounded annoyed when she pressed her for answers.

Gulping down the rest of the soup, Tracie held up her hand to their unrelenting questions. “I’m tired. Do you mind if I just go to bed?”

“Don’t you want a shower? Something more to eat? Look at you, you’re skin and bones. That soup isn’t enough to keep a bird alive.” Her mother dogged her feet all the way down the hall.

“I’ll shower in the morning,” Tracie said, closing the door before her mother could follow her into the room. She
felt a little guilty as she hooked the simple lock that would keep her folks out, but she needed her sleep.

The dresser drawers still held some of her old clothes, and she pulled out a hopelessly outdated pair of pajamas, sliding into them and not even laughing when she saw her reflection in the mirror. After darting down the hall just long enough to brush her teeth, she locked her door again and slid under the covers, which still smelled of her mother’s favorite fabric softener and somehow, of her childhood.

Tears streamed down her cheeks onto her pillow. Her parents’ questions wouldn’t have bothered her so much if she didn’t believe them to be valid. Was she going to end up dead? Worse yet, had she led Trevor to her parents’ house by coming here? And would Heath recover?

“Lord, please be with Heath.
Please
.” She prayed over and over until she fell asleep.

Heath called Jonas Goodman from the hospital the next morning as soon as the doctor had cleared him of any lasting internal damage. His lungs might not feel the greatest for the next few days, and he’d have to watch for signs of pneumonia, but other than that, he was just supposed to rest. Easier said than done.

“Jake told me what happened,” Jonas explained when Heath began to update him on the previous day’s events. “What I don’t understand is what you were doing inside the house.”

“Tracie’s dog was inside there.”

“The government has spent half a million dollars on you, and you’re ready to throw it all away for a
dog?
” Jonas had never sounded so angry at Heath before. “Do I need to pull you off this case? Because I’m starting
to have some
serious
reservations about keeping you in there.”

“I have Tracie’s trust,” Heath informed his supervisor. “Even more so after rescuing her dog.”

“Good,” Jonas calmed down slightly. “And what does this trust reveal to us?”

“I don’t believe she’s on the inside.”

“Why not?”

“This is the third time Trevor’s attempted to kill her. He wouldn’t try to kill his inside informant.”

“Heath,” Jonas’s voice resonated with anger. “Have you been paying attention to this case at all? That’s Trevor’s M.O. That’s how these guys work. They pop off their inside guys before they can squeal. The fact that Trevor is trying to kill Tracie only makes her that much more of a suspect. Wake up!”

Heath pinched his eyes shut against his boss’s screams.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“Then get on that girl and find out what she knows. She must know something, or Trevor wouldn’t be working so hard to get rid of her. And whatever it is, we need to find out first. Do you read me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good. You have twenty-four hours.”

“Sir?”

“Twenty-four hours,” Jonas repeated. “If you haven’t learned her secrets by then, I’m pulling you off the case.”

Heath placed the hospital phone back on its receiver. Twenty-four hours. It wasn’t much time. He had to find Tracie—fast.

“You’ve got my phone and my truck.” Heath’s weary voice sounded so welcome to Tracie when she answered the phone at her parents’ house.

“Are you okay?” she nearly screeched in relief.

“I’m invincible, remember?”

Tracie ignored his overly optimistic assessment. “How did you know where to reach me?” Her mother didn’t even share her last name since she’d remarried, so Heath shouldn’t have known to look up the phone book listing for Joe and Marla Cooper.

“Jake ratted you out.”

She’d heard that line before, too. “I’m coming to get you.”

Tracie borrowed her stepfather’s truck for the drive to the hospital in Ashland. She’d never really cared for the odd formula that determined which scattered days she had off from work, but today she was relieved that her Sabbath fell on a Friday. Not only did she need the break from the craziness at work, but she figured it would take her most of the morning to get Heath, move his truck so she could get her car out of her driveway, and return her stepfather’s truck to him. And that was even before she started thinking about checking on Gunnar or picking through the ruins of her house.

When she stepped into his hospital room and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, looking a little deflated in yesterday’s rumpled, smoke-stained clothes, she didn’t think, but threw herself into his arms. She pressed her lips to his forehead before she came to her senses and held herself back.

“Are you really okay?”

“I’ve had worse.” His voice sounded weak, but his blue eyes were still bright when they met hers.