“Oh, yeah? Well, Trinidadians made great pirates,” Dirk said.
Dirk had a glass of beer, and Bootsie, who was being a bit garrulous, had ordered a fresh one. Will Chan seemed to have the situation in hand. She told him, “I’m going to run upstairs and check on some paperwork. Unless anyone needs me for anything?”
“Ah, Abby, you are a delight!” Bootsie said. “In fact, there’s never been a better descendent of old Blue. Other than Gus, of course. I’m always proud to have you at my side. But we’re pretty used to you being gone now. We’ll carry on—Sullivan over there, Dirk and me. We’ll carry on!”
Abby glanced at Will, who nodded. She had a feeling that someone in the bar was a cop, following Roger. Will was sticking close to Dirk, and he couldn’t possibly follow two men, no matter how good he was.
She rose, curious to find out where Malachi had gone, but when she ran upstairs, he wasn’t in the apartment. She looked into the offices, the employee areas and the storeroom with its long rows of restaurant supplies, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found.
He’d gone out—without leaving word.
She quickly dialed his number from her cell.
When he answered, she asked, “Where are you?” She tried not to sound anxious.
“Tailing Aldous.”
“Oh. I would’ve come with you. Me showing you the city might have kept you from looking obvious.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t look obvious,” he promised her.
“Okay.” She realized she was a little lost without him, although she was the one who was actually an agent. But Malachi had real-world experience, as a cop and a private investigator, and as one—
As one who could see beyond the surface.
“I’m willing to bet he eventually ends up back at the Dragonslayer,” Malachi said. “But right now, we’re going toward the river. Seems like he’s heading for a yacht. Nice piece of work. Beautiful boat. Looks like it’s about thirty-three feet.”
“That’s his pleasure craft. She’s called the Lady Luck,” Abby told him.
“Okay. I’m trying to keep up. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Abby bit her lip as he ended the call. The police, she knew, had already searched the Lady Luck when Malachi and Jackson insisted the Dragonslayer “barflies” be investigated.
She walked back to her apartment and opened the door. As she did, she discovered that she hadn’t locked it when she’d gone to the storeroom.
As she shut it behind her, she saw someone standing by the windows that opened out onto the balcony.
Instinctively, she set a hand on her Glock.
But the person turned. “Abby,” he said softly. And then, as if testing her name, “Abigail Anderson.”
13
Aldous walked with a determined pace, apparently oblivious, careless of whether anyone watched him or not. He seemed to have purpose and went straight from the Dragonslayer to River Street.
Malachi kept a careful distance as Aldous walked along the river and stopped at the private dock where the Lady Luck was docked.
He used his owner’s key in the slot, as well as his code, to gain entry and only then did he turn around to see who else was nearby. Malachi had ducked behind a handy SUV.
It was still early; people were out in droves. That seemed to please Aldous. He walked onto his yacht, whistling.
Malachi waited to see if he intended to take the vessel out.
He couldn’t tell; Aldous went down into the cabin.
Malachi put a call through to Jackson. Before he could explain what was happening, Jackson sprang some information on him. “They’ve identified the rowboat we brought in last night.”
“Yeah?”
“She’s from the Lafayette—a merchant ship.”
“How did she wind up in the water?”
“No one knows. But we didn’t need a warrant. The captain assured us we could search the ship and of course we did. He also told us she’d already been searched. The cops have been on almost every ship, boat and floating anything on the water.”
“And nothing? So it was just an unconnected accident?”
“Not really. The Lafayette is owned by a giant parent company, and the CEO happens to be one of the Dragonslayer’s main barflies.”
“Aldous Brentwood?”
“Yeah. That’s why it was searched the first time.”
“I’m on the riverfront watching him now. He just went out to his private yacht, the Lady Luck. He locked the gate behind him. I’m going in.”
“Malachi, hold on. There are officers near you. I can be there—”
“I’m taking a dive, Jackson. If he does have her on that yacht, he’s torturing her right now. Get here as fast as you can.”
He hung up before Jackson could argue, then he moved to a public area, shed his jacket and shoes and dove in. He swam around hard and fast to the Lady Luck and caught hold of the mooring rope to swing himself up on deck.