Chapter 4

C hapter F our

"You wouldn't really do that," he said flatly. "You already helped me, and you're too curious for answers."

Damned if Michael didn't cross his arms over his chest, cock those eyebrows, and say nothing. God, he was glorious when he was pissed off. Part of Thor wanted to kiss that look off his face, but while he was pretty sure his flirting last night had had some effect, he didn't know if the advance would be welcome, and doing it in the parking lot out in the open was probably a bad idea in any case. Hell, just thoughts like that were the worst idea he'd had in years, and yet the mere inkling was enough to make his heart beat a little faster. And still Michael said nothing.

"Is this a stare-down?"

"If it is, you just encountered the West Coast champion, so give the fuck up, and tell me what I want to know. You can trust me—you know it. Now spill your shit."

He hesitated for a little while longer and then sighed. He wasn't going to get anywhere here without some help, and Michael had already facilitated for him. "All right. But I need to get on that boat for longer. I didn't get a good look around."

Michael didn't relax for a second. "I need to know if you're with the police… or…?"

"More like an or what …. I work with the DEA in a semiofficial capacity. That's all I can tell you right now." He had learned long ago to play things close to the vest, and that was as much as he was willing to say. "Can you get me back on the boat?"

"Fine. I'll ask Wally. But you and I are not done talking. You can hold back, but what's to say that I haven't too." He glared at him for a second before striding back toward a small weathered shingled building. He peeked his head inside and then motioned for him to come over. "Wally says it's no skin off his nose."

Thor returned to the boat. "Just wait out here. If anyone comes, tell them the same thing you told Wally. I shouldn't be too long." He went below, starting at the bow, and worked his way through the small space, checking inside every compartment, but there were no signs of anything other than stuff you'd find on a boat. He even checked the tiny kitchen area and looked through small out-of-the-way spaces, hoping that something had been overlooked.

Once he'd been through everything, Thor hunched over in the tallest space available, looking through the cabin. The craft wasn't that big, but still seemed smaller than it should be. Boats were studies in efficiency and space management. Yet this one…. He turned around, about to head out, when he noticed that the steps down were bigger than they needed to be. Usually, they were small, and you had to descend carefully. Thor checked their base and then tugged upward. The steps swung up to reveal a hidden space. He checked through it and used swabs to rub the inside.

At the far end, a few wisps of dust caught his eye. He checked closer before smiling, scooping what he could get of the substance into a bag. Then he slipped it into his pocket and lowered the steps back into place before climbing off the boat and joining Michael. "Let's go." He strode back toward the parking lot.

"What did you find?" Michael asked.

"Not here."

"Then meet me where we first met in an hour," Michael offered. "I have something I have to check on."

"An hour," Thor found himself agreeing, then got into his truck and pulled out of the lot, heading up the back to the main road before turning south. As he drove, he got Miller on the speaker phone.

"You got something?"

"Yeah. A number of somethings. I have a boat registration I need you to run." He rattled off the information as well as the name of the boat. "I also found a little of the cargo from last night's rendezvous. I believe the boat has most likely been abandoned. It got damaged, and they probably limped into the local harbor and took off. Too many questions would have to be answered. And I think we got it wrong. I don't think product is being run into the area up here. I think our little boat went out to make a delivery, not a pickup. The larger boat isn't going to fit in Noyo Harbor. It's likely they returned down the coast and back to San Francisco."

"But wouldn't they need shelter as well?"

"Not necessarily. They're bigger and could go farther out, away from the weather. The waves would lessen, and last night was just wind. It wasn't stormy, just too much for smaller craft." He groaned. "Our main quarry is probably getting back to the city, where it's blending in with all the other boats."

"Do you have anything on that craft?" Miller asked.

"Not a thing. All I have is a boat here that you need to try to trace for me, and my witness, who did indeed see the meeting."

"For God's sake, keep the guy safe. Remember the mess in Kansas City," Miller warned him. Not that the witness getting killed was his fault or that it was even his assignment, but that muck-up had nearly cost everyone in the organization their jobs, and no one wanted a repeat, least of all on his watch.

"I remember, and this guy isn't like that. He's rugged, and I have an idea that he can take care of himself." Michael was no small man. He was built and had a fire in his eyes. "But I intend to watch over him and make sure no one is aware of what he knows." He ended the call and continued down the road toward the cliff where Michael had ended up on his ass. That image was seared into his mind.

Thorsen made the turn off ten minutes later, parking just off the road where his truck wasn't going to be seen. Then he watched from the underbrush as Michael arrived and walked across the dune grasses toward the edge of the cliff.

"I know you're there," Michael said as Thorsen approached. "You have this real voyeur thing going, don't you?"

"I learned a long time ago to know what I'm getting into." Being cautious had saved his life more than once.

"Fine, I get that. So what is it you want to know? I saw the boats out there. Maybe just past the line with those large rocks. The larger boat came from the south, and I suspect went back that same way. There is nothing that could harbor a craft that size for hundreds of miles to the north."

"And where do you think our boat came from?"

Michael sighed. "If it were me, I'd put in at one of the rivers, possibly Albion or Little River. There are access points, and no one is going to question it. They sail out, the fog comes in. They meet their contact. But those rivers have no navigation lights. In the fog, they'd be lost. So they go North to Noyo because it's lit, and they can get in before they sink. My one question is how they got away."

"They had to have someone pick them up," Thorsen said.

"Which means that this isn't someone from out of the area, but folks with local connections." Michael groaned. "When you hear about shit like this, it's so easy to think of people from outside, strangers you have no connection to. Not people you might know."

"Yeah," Thorsen agreed.

"Do you know what they were carrying? Did they take delivery, or were they dropping off?" Michael asked.

"Well, I'd say they were dropping off. The small boat didn't have to come that far, so they went out and were probably overloaded weight-wise. Scraped the hull, but managed to make their delivery before limping back to the harbor." Thorsen reached into his pocket and pulled out the plastic bag. "I think this is meth. I have to have it tested, but I found it on the boat. One of the containers must have scraped open and some of the contents spilled. I suspect it was a bumpy ride while they were offloading." He looked out over the ocean, which seemed flat until the waves broke around the rocks at the shore. "Do you think it was like this last night?"

"The seas were probably a little rougher. The wind had died down some, and that's what drives the waves, at least locally. But in the fog, it would be hard to see and maneuver. All they would see is gray all around them. But they must have offloaded their cargo and gotten the hell out of there and back up to the harbor."

Thorsen nodded. "I have to ask. Do you know anyone who might be behind this?"

Michael shrugged. "This isn't the richest area. I don't know of anyone who could afford to buy a boat, use it, and then just toss it aside. Boats here are for fishing or used to make a living. They're for pleasure, but even then, most of them are to generate cash somehow. It costs a lot to keep one." Michael lifted his gaze. "You might look into trailers."

"How so?" Thorsen asked.

"They have to be registered with DMV. One had to be used to drop off the boat, since it isn't kept in the water anywhere."

"How does that help?" Thorsen asked.

"Maybe it doesn't. Let's look at the facts. The boat was used to transport drugs, and they met someone out there. It gets damaged, and they head for safety. Then they just park the boat, leave the keys, and get the hell out of dodge. What does that tell you?"

Thorsen pulled out his phone and sent a text message. He had no signal at the moment, but he knew it would go through as soon as he got one. "I bet it's stolen. Wait… that isn't possible."

"Why?"

"Because they modified the steps as a hiding place, and I bet there are others. No. We need to keep an eye on this, because I'm willing to bet that as long as it's floating, they'll sneak into the harbor and get the boat out… eventually. It's too much of a link to them." There were so many things that just didn't quite add up. Like why leave the keys unless they wanted people to think it had been abandoned? Why even bring it into the harbor at all? Did these guys know anything about boating at all?

"Lots of questions," Michael said softly, the sun shining on him, his eyes bright as he licked his lips. "I have to get back to work, or my father is going to have a heart attack. But I promise I'll keep my eyes and ears open."

Thorsen handed him a card with a phone number on it. "Call me if you hear or see anything."

Michael took it and shoved the card in his pocket, pulling his jeans tighter for a second. "And you better do the same. I'm trusting you to be on the right side." He dug in his wallet and found a business card with his cell, handing it to Thor.

"It isn't me who has to worry about sides. I know what I'm doing and what I need to accomplish… and who I work for." He moved close enough for Michael to inhale a teasing bit of his scent. He wanted more, but this was not the time, and he took a single reluctant step back. "This is my job. You need to remember that there is a lot of money at stake here, and the kind of people who do this don't care who gets in their way. So be careful. Don't talk about what you saw or suspect. The best thing for you to do is to go about your life like nothing happened. Do normal things, and forget about the boat and me if you can."

Michael rolled his eyes. "You may be hot, but I think I can force myself not to think about you all the time." Sarcasm rolled off his lips, but Thorsen smiled slightly, knowing there was some truth behind the words, especially with how Michael's cheeks blazed red. But Thorsen had to give him credit—Michael stared at him like he was daring him to comment on it. "I need to go back to work. I have an appointment in Mendo in half an hour." He strode across the grass and back toward his truck.

Thorsen couldn't help watching him the entire time. When Michael turned around, like Thorsen knew he would, he smiled. "You think I'm hot?" Michael hesitated for a second before flipping him off and getting into the truck, and all Thor could do was smile as Michael pulled away, the hum of his engine disappearing quickly under the roar of the ocean.

Thorsen stood for a few minutes, looking out to sea, before he began feeling exposed. He looked around to try to locate the source of his discomfort before heading back to the truck. He climbed in, intending to go back to his hotel and see what Miller had been able to dig up for him, when his phone rang. "Hey, Angie."

"Look. I'm going out to Dad's. Would you come with me? I know things between the two of you are difficult, but maybe if I'm there, you can stand to be in the same room with him for more than five minutes." He growled under his breath. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, but give the guy a chance. Dad is getting old, and if something happens to him…."

"Don't you dare try the guilt card. I'll stay away just to be stubborn." He considered doing that anyway, but Angie was the one and only person he found it nearly impossible to say no to.

"I won't. But will you come? I'm big as a beach ball, and the kid is kicking like crazy. I have constant indigestion, and yet I'm always hungry for shit I can't have. And to top it off, I can't even see my feet."

"Fine. I'll be there in fifteen minutes, but if you aren't there when I arrive, I'm pulling away." It wasn't like he was afraid of his father—that shit had ended years ago. Now he was scared of what he might do to the old fuck when his father pushed him too hard.

"I'm five minutes away. Maybe we could get something to eat. Like I said, I'm always hungry. The Patio has an amazing BLT, and the kid is screaming for bacon."

Thorsen growled once more. "We'll see." It was as close to a no as he seemed to be able to muster. "I'll see you when I get there." He jabbed the button on his phone to end the call and headed north along the coast highway, passing through Little River and then on to Mendocino, his stomach roiling the closer he got.

Since leaving home at nineteen, he'd trained as a police officer and been recruited by the DEA. From there he'd talked down drug dealers, protected himself against very desperate men, and busted up international trafficking rings. Since going off the grid and off their books, he was someone wanted by half the cartels south of the border, yet they had no idea who he was. The agency had scrubbed Thorsen Magnus—a last name he had chosen for himself in a moment of cockiness—nearly out of existence, except for a place he owned in Cleveland, which was actually an address that had been condemned and was now an empty lot. So if anyone came looking, they would find nothing for their troubles. And yet, after all that, seeing his father again made his stomach churn, and he hated every second of it.

When he pulled up to the small white house with a rose trellis in the front yard that had been his mother's, Angie stood at the gate, holding her belly like she was afraid it was going to get away from her. "Hey, preggo."

She smiled. "Hey, yourself," she said as he gave her a careful hug. "Dad is out back with a contractor. The house needs some work, and I convinced him to call someone in rather than try to do it himself. I don't know if he'll listen, but…."

His father came around the side of the house, looking at least a decade older than Thorsen remembered, with Michael following behind.

"What's he doing here?"

"Michael is the contractor I called for Dad. He and Brian were friends back in school, so when Dad needed some help, Brian called him. Why?" Her expression went to suspicious in a second. "Do you know him? Michael is single, and I know he bats for your team." He glared at her. "You met him already," she whispered with a knowing smile. "And you like him, I can tell. Your ears are turning red, and you're doing that thing with your eyes where you try to look anywhere else, but you still can't stop watching him." She actually laughed.

"Not funny."

"The hell it isn't." She winced for a second. "Okay, kid. You can stop kicking any time you want." She rubbed her belly and turned, doing a half waddle into the house. "You coming? Or are you going to stay out here and watch?"

Michael caught sight of him at that moment, and Thor could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Thor hated that sort of thing, so he followed his sister into the house that they'd grown up in, a place he had once vowed never to set foot inside again.