CHAPTER TWO

Rain lashed the dock where Rachel Blackwood stood, her gaze fixed on the figure silhouetted against the grey expanse of the Gulf. Ethan Morgan, shoulders taut, turned as she approached, his eyes meeting hers in a silent exchange that conveyed volumes. They shared no words; there was only the sharp nod that signaled readiness before they boarded the small vessel bobbing at the water's edge.

The boat’s engine groaned to life, cutting through the choppy waves with a steady growl. Rachel hunkered down in her seat, the spray from each crest hitting her face in icy bursts. She squinted against the onslaught, her hand gripping the railing, knuckles white. Beside her, Ethan adjusted the brim of his ever-present baseball cap against the driving rain, his profile etched with concentration.

His hand reached out, gently touching against her arm. His eyes studied hers for a moment. “You find anything?”

“Think so,” she said softly, aware that the coast guard pilot was only a few feet away at the helm, listening. “Gonna take some digging.”

Ethan nodded. She’d told him about the off-grid brothers. About her mother. She’d told Ethan everything. The two of them were more than just work partners, and she’d grown to rely on him more than anyone.

Ethan, on the other hand, had a wealth of people to rely on. He’d grown up in a very large, homeschooled family. To this day, she still couldn’t track how many siblings he had. Twelve? Was it? Ten… was that including his cousins… no, no, there were thirty of those, right?

Whatever the case, Ethan's family had been a tight-knit community, and Rachel had often found herself attracted to the steady warmth her partner carried.

Now, though, the two of them stared grim-faced at the platform where the ocean waves sloshed against the rusted, algae-crusted support posts.

As they neared the oil derrick, the storm seemed to gather its fury, the clouds churning above in a tumultuous dance. Rain pummeled the surface of the sea, the drops merging into an unbroken curtain of moisture that blurred the morning horizon. The derrick loomed ahead, its skeletal frame a stark contrast against the chaos of the elements.

The platform rose from the turbulent waters, an industrial behemoth standing sentinel over the deep. Waves crashed against the steel legs, the sound like thunder echoing in the hollow space beneath. The world narrowed to shades of grey and the relentless assault of the tempest.

Rachel's focus sharpened as they drew closer. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, a rhythm matched by the pounding rain. The murder scene awaited.

The coastie cut the engine as Ethan tethered them to the Jacob’s ladder, the sudden silence as jarring as a gunshot. They drifted the last few meters, the boat scraping against the landing with a grating noise that set Rachel's teeth on edge. They disembarked, the platform slick beneath their boots.

"Let's get to work," Rachel said, her voice barely rising above the wind's howl. Ethan nodded, his expression grim.

Together, they moved toward the crime scene, the weather a physical barrier they pushed through with sheer force of will. The air was heavy with salt and diesel, the tang of the ocean mixing with the scent of machinery. It was a desolate place, made more so by the violence it cradled.

Rain lashed at Rachel's face as she and Ethan ascended the metal stairs of the oil derrick, their steps ringing out against the din of the storm. The platform loomed, a jigsaw of steel and rust, shuddering with each gust of wind that swept across the sea. They rounded a corner and there it was: Cheryl's body, suspended in a mockery of life.

The sight halted Rachel in her tracks. The body hung from a beam overhead, swaying slightly. A noose of cable wire bit into the flesh of Cheryl's neck, her head lolled at an unnatural angle. Her arms hung limp by her sides, fingers curled with the finality of death.

"God," Ethan murmured, stepping closer. His voice was a low rumble, lost amidst the chaos of the elements.

Rachel approached methodically, eyes narrowing as she took in every detail. No rain could wash away the dark grit wedged beneath Cheryl's fingernails, nor the stillness that enveloped her like a shroud. This was a tableau of death, silent and accusing.

“Cause of death?” Ethan asked.

“Coroner will confirm, but looks like strangulation. That metal cord,” Rachel replied. She checked her watch. “When’s the coroner in?”

“Once the storm calms,” Ethan called back, having to shout to be heard of the rain.

Rachel nodded, her gaze never leaving Cheryl's lifeless form. "Have the locals been briefed about Cheryl's family?" she asked.

"They know," said Ethan. "And they're not too happy about it." He stepped away from the body, his gaze skimming over the expanse of the oil platform.

Rachel followed suit, her eyes scanning their surroundings. Thick layers of grime caked the metallic surfaces, a stark contrast to the slick sheen of rainwater. The smell of oil and salt clung heavy in the air, a noxious cocktail that left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"She was alone out here when it happened," Ethan continued, his voice barely audible over the surging storm. "Patrols missed her somehow."

Rachel's brows knitted together at this news. "We need to speak with them," she said with conviction. She knew all too well how crucial these early hours were for their investigation; every detail could piece together the puzzle that was Cheryl's murder.

“Family said she was with a boyfriend. Jake Shields.”

“We find Jake?”

Ethan shook his head. “No sign of him.”

“APB?”

“Already issued. They’re looking for Jake.”

She turned back to the body where it hung grotesquely suspended.

Cheryl’s eyes, once vibrant and full of life, were now dull and vacant. The image held a haunting beauty, one that chilled Rachel to her core. She saw similar scenes too often, but each time it was like a gut punch. It served as a brutal reminder of the human lives caught in the cruel web of crime and violence.

"Jake Shields," she said, the name rolling off her tongue with measured caution. "We need to find him. Fast."

Ethan nodded in agreement, his face pulled taut in a grimace. "I've got the team on it."

They fell into silence then, the roar of the storm filling the void between them. The oil derrick creaked ominously above their heads, its silhouette outlined against the darkened sky. Rachel's gaze was drawn to the haunting spectacle of Cheryl's lifeless body, swaying rhythmically with each gust of wind.

“How long had she been hanging before they found her?” Rachel asked after a long moment.

Ethan checked his notes, his fingers brushing against the rain-soaked pages. "A couple of hours is the preliminary guess," he said finally. His voice held an edge of bitterness that mirrored Rachel's own feelings.

She inhaled deeply, taking a moment to steady herself before turning back to Ethan. "Who found her?"

"A worker on an early shift," Ethan replied, flipping through his notes once more. "Said he almost didn’t see her at first because of the darkness and rain.”

Rachel grimaced at the thought, imagining Cheryl alone in these last moments, suspended over an empty abyss.

“Alright,” she finally mustered.

She reached for her evidence kit, its contents meticulously organized. With practiced precision, Rachel selected tweezers and sample jars. She scraped some of the substance from under Cheryl's nails, movements deft despite the bulky gloves. Each sample found its way into a jar, each jar labeled with a steady hand.

Having spotted them, and having taken shelter in a shipping container, a pair of local police officers approached, their slickers whipping in the wind. One held out a hand to steady himself against the sway of the derrick. "Ranger Blackwood, Ranger Morgan," the lead cop greeted, his voice barely audible over the tempest.

"Report," Rachel said curtly, her eyes scanning the horizon where water met sky in a gray smear.

"Victim's Cheryl Danvers," the officer began, water dripping from the brim of his hat. “Ex-fiance of Jasper Hargreaves of the Hargreaves family—oil tycoons, rivals to her own kin's company."

“Her own family?”

“Danvers oil company. Smaller operation, but growing.”

"Conflict of interest?" Ethan suggested, the question hanging between them like the heavy clouds above.

"More than that," the second officer chimed in, flipping open his notepad. "Rumors of corporate espionage between the companies. She had access to both sides. They say that’s why the engagement with Jasper was broken off."

“I see. So why’s she on one of the Hargreaves’ rigs?”

“Dating a guy named Jake. Mechanic,” said the cop, nodding.

"Means and motive," Rachel murmured, her gaze drifting back to the body. She moved closer to Cheryl's suspended form, her steps measured and deliberate.

The body hung at an unnatural angle, arms splayed wide. A message in the positioning, perhaps—a grotesque mimicry of crucifixion or surrender. But there was more. Cheryl's head was tilted, chin lifted, as if staring defiantly at the storm above. Her feet were bare, toes curled inward. Staged. Deliberate.

"Notice her hands," Rachel instructed, pointing without touching. "Palms out. Fingers spread."

"Like she's pushing something away," Ethan observed, following her lead.

"Or someone." Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Forced to face her accuser even in death."

"Staging," Ethan confirmed, his expression grim. "Killer's playing games."

"Games have rules," Rachel replied. "We'll figure them out." She stepped back, taking in the scene as a whole. The rain continued its relentless descent, but for Rachel, the storm within surged stronger, driving her to piece together the fractured truths of Cheryl Danvers' final moments.

She turned to look at the ground, frowning. This woman out on the derrick late at night. Found dead early in the morning.

Where was Jake, her current boyfriend?”

And what about the tycoon heir Jasper Hargreaves, had her ex-fiancé had something to do with it?

“I want to speak with Jasper,” Rachel said simply. “And tell me if there’s a hit on that APB for Jake.”

The cops nodded and began to move.

Ethan hesitated. “Might be hard to speak with Jasper. They’ve got an army of lawyers.”

“Well… I’d like to try anyway,” Rachel said softly. “His ex-fiance was found dead on one of his derricks. Let’s see what he has to say about it.” Her eyes narrowed. “And tell the coroner to get his damn ass out here. I don’t care if the water is choppy. We’re not leaving her up there like that.”

“Roger. On it.”

Rachel turned, her gaze sweeping the deck, and then she muttered darkly, striding back towards her waiting boat.