Chapter 35

Chapter

Thirty-Five

Reid riffled through the files taken from the factory ship's captain. Some of the work orders and sales directives contained the CEO's name and signature, directly tying him to the company's black market operations. A little dumb to leave a paper trail like this, but Reid wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. This had to be the final nail in the coffin for Nautic.

And then there was the satellite phone. It had called one phone number over and over in the last three weeks. Soon after The Merry Mariner sunk, in fact. If Reid dialed it, who would pick up on the other end? Nautic's CEO? A frequent buyer?

"Killian, do you recognize the other man in this picture?" Jackie held up her phone, a pair of wire-frame glasses perched on the end of her nose. "I'm trying to figure out if he's another one of Nautic's fishermen."

Killian leaned forward, peering at the screen. "Can't say I do. Where'd you get this?"

"A friend of The Merry Mariner's captain. I put out a call for photos when I was working on a story about the crew, and this guy emailed it over—used some nondescript email like ‘flyboy1998.' Wouldn't give me his name, but it was more of an obit piece, so I didn't push."

"Mind if I show the guys? The independent crews don't mingle with Nautic's—you'll never find them drinking at the same bar—but we work the same docks. Unless he's brand new, someone will have seen him."

"By all means." Jackie passed her phone to Killian.

One by one, he showed his crew, but they all shook their heads.

"Either flyboy1998 's brand new, or he's not a fisherman at all." Jackie took back her phone. "I wouldn't have thought twice about this, if it weren't for the military haircut, and how cagey he was about identifying himself further."

Military haircut? Reid had been a quiet observer of the exchange, but this snagged his full attention. There wasn't a huge Coast Guard presence in Haven Cove, or any other military branch for that matter, so if this guy was one of them, there was a decent chance he'd have seen him in passing, even if he didn't know him personally. Maybe one of the Yeomen or ITs. "Can I see the picture?"

She held the phone face out for him to see.

A prickling sensation rolled across his skin, all at once numb and tingling. This couldn't be right.

Flick Rockland, The Merry Mariner 's captain, stood on the left, a lake in the backdrop. And beside him, with his arm across the fisherman's shoulders, holding up some kind of trout, was Petty Officer Jake Hatcher.

Reid's crewmate. His friend.

All this time, Hatcher knew Flick Rockland, one of Nautic's fleet captains, and he hadn't said a word. Not when they were responding to the boat's emergency beacon. Not when Reid was in the water. And not when Nireed yanked Flick below the surface, never to be seen again, or any time after that.

Why wouldn't Hatcher say that he knew someone on the case? That he'd lost someone?

"You know him." It wasn't a question. And Reid wasn't going to insult the reporter with a denial. But he wasn't about to throw Hatcher under the bus either. There had to be a reasonable explanation, but something about this made Reid's brain damn right itchy.

None of them knew what Nautic was doing to the merfolk at the time. Maybe the more they found out, the harder it got for Hatcher to admit he'd been friends with one of the fishermen. Or maybe to him that information didn't feel pertinent to the investigation, especially if it didn't impact how he did his job…

Reid gripped the phone tighter, the numb feeling burning away for something red hot.

A firm hand clasped his shoulder. Killian. "Reid, are you okay?"

No. No, he was not.

It had affected how Hatcher did his job, hadn't it?

Dropping the evidence collected from Gale's Promise . The cheap flip phone. The secretive calls.

It only made Reid's brain itchier, his skin hotter.

He turned on the microphone of his aviation headset. "Perez, where's Hatcher? Did he get recalled too?"

"Nah. He's on leave."

"So he doesn't know we've detained The Seriphus ?"

"No…why?"

"Might be nothing."

Only, he didn't think it was nothing. And what he wanted to do next would probably get him in trouble with the Coast Guard and the FBI. He wasn't supposed to insert himself into an active investigation. He didn't have the authority.

Fuck it. He reached for The Seriphus's satellite phone.

" The Seriphus called a number repeatedly from their sat phone. I'm going to see who it is."

"Kruetz, I don't think you should…"

"I don't care." Reid dialed the number. "I have to know."

"Know what? What's going on?"

"Shh. It's ringing. Just listen." Reid held the sat phone receiver close to the mic.

It rang four times before there was a click on the other end, a familiar voice answering, "Hatcher."

Reid's blood flashed hot, then cold. It was one thing to suspect, another to hear it confirmed. This was real, the ugly math added up and shoved in his face. Nautic had an inside man, a mole, and it was Jake Fucking Hatcher. Someone he thought he knew.

Before he could pile stupid on top of stupid, like tell Hatcher he was a lying, traitorous sack of shit, Reid quietly hung up the satellite phone and set it aside. Threading his fingers behind his head, he tilted his face to the sky and sucked in a deep breath. Fuck!

How long had Hatcher been working for these murderers? And what kind of information was he feeding them? He had access to ship tracking information, all of NOAA's "be on the lookout" orders and fly over plans, and he'd know the whereabouts of Coast Guard assets. There were any number of things he could've tipped Nautic off about.

They needed to tell command.

"Perez, did you get that?"

Silence followed, then a quiet, "Yeah, I got that."

Hours passed waiting for the FBI to arrive. Ten long, sleepless hours for the news about Hatcher's betrayal to stew and fester. Reid should've pressed him harder when things felt off, and he should've questioned why Hatcher always seemed to have something to say in defense of Nautic or its fishermen. The signs had been there. He just missed them.

Perez passed the information on to Lieutenant Commander Griffin, who then informed the FBI. Aside from an order to stand down on any further action, there was no word yet on what consequences Reid would face for taking matters into his own hands, but his conscience was clear, even if his stomach churned.

The FBI agents shuttled over from the cutter to The Seriphus with a Coast Guard boarding team on a smaller boat. Night had fallen, but the factory ship's deck was lit up like a football stadium, and the ladder Lorelei had thrown still dangled over the side. They used it to climb onboard.

Reid wasn't in Coast Guard orange or blue, but he must've exuded some air of authority, because the lead FBI agent didn't hesitate to approach him.

"Petty Officer Reid Kruetz," he said, offering the woman his hand.

She shook it with a firm, brusque grip, eyeing all thirty-five members of The Seriphus's crew, huddled together on deck. "Special Agent Clarice Sterling."

With the help of Killian and his crew, Reid had gotten the group down from the net Nireed had strung them in and spent much of the wait delivering first aid care. Bumps, bruises, and cuts mostly, but there were a few dislocated wrists and shoulders to set, and one orbital bone fracture that needed cold compresses.

Seeing what he had onboard Gale's Promise , the wholesale evisceration and dismemberment, these minor injuries spoke volumes about Nireed's restraint. The ship, and the ship alone, had taken the brunt of her wrath.

"You're the one who called Nautic's informant."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Agent Sterling pinned him with a hard, dispassionate stare. "Why?"

"I was afraid it might be one of us." No excuses, just truth, and for fuck's sake keep it to the point. That much had been drilled into him since basic training. If she wanted more information, she'd ask.

Reid braced himself for a chew out.

Agent Sterling studied him for a long, agonizing moment, no doubt making him sweat, or waiting to see if he'd fill the silence. When it became apparent that he wasn't going to, rather than dial up the signature FBI glower, she eased off. "So Lieutenant Commander Griffin said. I could give you an earful about following protocol, but I'll let your commanding officer do that. We've got more important work to do. Tell me, what'd we miss? Seems rather calm over here."

"In a word? Mermaid." No point trying to hide it, the claw marks and security footage would reveal as much, and besides, there was nothing to hide. Nireed had only been protecting her friends and had done a damn good job of it.

Special Agent Sterling arched a brow but nodded for him to continue.

"I wasn't here when it happened, but I imagine she sung to them. It's why they've been so cooperative."

"Sung to them?" The agent folded her arms. "Siren song's a real thing?"

"Apparently." He'd questioned its efficacy before, the day he helped Nireed break into Nautic's warehouse, but now he wasn't so confident. "Nautic's been using its fleet to capture and kill her kind—you can see their operations below decks. Have the ship's log and buyers lists, too. They were divvying up mermaid parts onboard and packaging them for sale. Bottom half to underground restaurants. Top half to organ traffickers."

"I see." Disgust flickered across the agent's features before her mask of imperviousness fell back in place. "We're going to get these folks detained, but when we're done, can you give me the walk through?"

"Of course."

Reid stood back with Killian as the FBI and Coast Guard boarding team marched The Seriphus's crew across the deck, each member still well and truly entranced. "Does siren song wear off?" It struck him that he didn't know.

"No," Killian answered, a little too quickly. "They have to release you."

Reid side-eyed his brother-in-law. That was firsthand knowledge talking—Killian's reddening cheeks and awkward shuffling signs of a guilty man—but he wasn't going to think too hard about that, for both of their sakes.

Clearing his throat, Killian continued, "Lorelei's going to have to snap them out of it."

"Is she open about what she is?" Reid tried imagining his sister marching up to the FBI and introducing herself as a shoreside siren, but it just seemed too brazen.

"It's kind of an open secret around here." Killian became grim. "She got outed at her job, so people know, but she never acknowledges it, except with family and friends. This is an extenuating circumstance, though, so I'm sure she'll make an exception. The crew won't talk, otherwise, and we need them to. Plus, there's cameras all around. I'd be surprised if one of them didn't catch her in action. There's no hiding or pretending anymore. Not for her."

God, his sister had just lost what was left of her already flimsy privacy.

One by one, The Seriphus's crew went down the ladder and into the small boat that would shuttle them over to the much larger Coast Guard cutter. And the fishermen who'd barricaded the factory ship in began dispersing, heading home, the action over.

It was well into the night when the FBI returned to do their initial sweep of the boat, taking pictures, collecting evidence, and interviewing Killian and his crew. When all was said and done, the ship would be driven to shore where the investigation would continue, but for now, it seemed like they were hitting all the obvious stuff.

Later that night, as they were preparing to leave, Special Agent Sterling pulled him aside. "Why didn't the mermaid just slaughter everyone?" she asked, some mixture of bafflement and suspicion coloring her tone.

Reid was exhausted, going nearly twenty-four hours without sleep, and emotionally overwrought. Not even the coffee Killian brought him off The Lovely Lorelei was doing him much good, so he was a little curt when he finally replied, "Because they're not mindless, murderous monsters. They're people."