Valdez, Alaska
The piercing ring of the cell phone lying on his
nightstand didn’t bode well. There was no such thing as
good news at three o’clock in the morning.
With a sigh, Rafe rolled over and grabbed the phone,
scrubbed a hand over his face as he pressed it against
his ear. “Brodie.”
“Police Chief Rosen here. We’ve got a problem, Rafe, and
it’s not a good one. I need you to meet me down at the
harbor. How soon can you get here?”
Rafe swung his long legs to the side of the bed and sat
up. “Ten minutes. What’s this about, Chief?”
“It’s Scotty Ferris, Rafe. I’m afraid he’s dead. I’ll
fill you in when you get here. I’ll be waiting on the
dock next to the Scorpion.” The police chief hung up the
phone.
For several long moments, Rafe just sat there. His chest
felt tight. Scotty Ferris was twenty-four years old, a
handsome, hard-working kid who was engaged to be married.
His June wedding to Cassie Webster, one of the local
girls, was only three weeks away. Cassie was going to be
crushed.
Rafe swore softly. What the hell could have happened?
But in this rugged country where the climate, wild
animals, or just bad judgment could get you killed,
accidents happened all the time.
Shoving himself up from the bed, Rafe grabbed a pair of
worn jeans off the chair and jerked them on, pulled a
sweatshirt over his head, pulled on his heavy sox, and
shoved his size-thirteen feet into a pair of high-topped,
rubber-soled boots. Since the temperature at night even
in late May was still in the thirties and it had rained
during the night, he grabbed his jacket as he headed for
the steps down to the garage.
The boat harbor wasn’t far from his house. Sea Scorpion
was his flagship charter fishing boat, a thirty-eight-
foot Mac, his pride and joy. It was the boat he usually
captained himself, one of three that made up his fleet.
Scotty Ferris was part of Scorpion’s crew.
Rafe thought of the young man as he parked his dark green
Ford Expedition in a spot in front of the harbor, climbed
out, and closed the door. Puddles from last night’s rain
sloshed against his boots as he made his way toward the
dock. The occasional street light burned into the
darkness but quiet surrounded him, along with the
familiar salty tang of the sea.
Rafe couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Which brought his thoughts full-circle to Scotty. With
year-round residents numbering less that forty-five
hundred, everyone knew everyone who lived there. And
everyone knew and liked Scotty. The kid had been born in
Valdez. He thrived on the rugged lifestyle, planned to
marry and raise kids here, probably never would have
left.
What the hell had happened? Rafe thought again as he
walked toward his boat.
And why did Chief Rosen want to meet him at the Scorpion?
A few spaces down from where'd he parked, Rafe spotted a
black-and-silver Ford police SUV. In the distance, the
familiar antenna above the wheelhouse of the Scorpion
marked where the boat bobbed near the middle of the dock.
Rafe started down the long wooden walkway, his gaze on
the group of people gathered next to where the Scorpion
was moored. The area was cordoned off with yellow crime
scene tape, the boat clearly off limits until the police
were finished collecting evidence.
Police Chief Clifford Rosen, a stout man in his fifties,
bald head ringed by thinning gray hair, stood next to a
figure lying on the dock, covered by a long white cloth.
Knowing Scotty Ferris lay under the cloth made Rafe’s
stomach burn.
“What happened?” he asked the chief.
“Looks like he was robbed,” Rosen answered. “Wallet’s
missing, jewelry’s gone. Car keys. Cell phone’s
missing. Single blow to the back of the head. Blunt
instrument. Baseball bat seems the most likely,
something that size that was easy to handle.”
“Jesus.”
“I asked you to come down because I need someone to
identify the body. With his parents both dead, I figured
better you than his fiancée. Soon as you do that, I’ll
break the news to the Webster girl.”
Rafe just nodded. Cassie was going to be devastated.
She and Scotty were crazy in love, the kind Rafe figured
had a good chance of lasting. Sometimes fate could be a
real bastard.
One of the officers, a red-haired young cop Rafe
recognized as Rusty Donovan, leaned down and lifted the
edge of the sheet. As the cover rolled back, Rafe’s gaze
fixed on Scotty. The boy’s brown eyes were open, staring
sightlessly into the black night sky. His handsome face
was frozen in a look of surprise.
He was wearing a jacket but it was unzipped, revealing a
long-sleeved blue T-shirt that read FISHERMEN DO IT
DEEPER. Rafe could almost see the grin on the kid’s face
when he’d put it on.
“It’s him,” he said darkly. “Scott Ferris.”
“You know what he was doing down here?”
“No.”
But once he got his head wrapped around Scotty’s death,
he intended to find out.
***
The breakfast crowd at the Pelican Café had begun to
arrive, as people did every morning when it opened at six
A.M. The café had been started in the fifties and been
going strong every since. Of course it had passed
through a dozen different owners, had its ups and downs,
and been near financial ruin more than once.
Having purchased the restaurant six months ago, Olivia
Chandler was the most recent person to step into the
driver’s seat. Unlike the previous owner, who had let
the place sink into disrepair, Olivia had been making
changes, most of which had been heralded with great
enthusiasm by the local customers.
“Well, look who’s coming,” Nell said. The buxom woman
with salt-and-pepper hair helped her run the café. “If
it isn’t Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome."
Liv followed her gaze out the window to the man in jeans
and a sweatshirt crossing the outside patio. The brick
patio was empty now while it was still cold, but with
summer approaching, soon would be noisy with people.
Katie walked past just then, heading for a table with a
platter of bacon and eggs on the flat of her hand. “I
just call him Mr. Freakin’ Hot.”
“Shame on you,” Liv teased. “You just turned twenty one.
Rafe Brodie’s got to be at least a dozen years older.”
“Just means he’s a man not a boy. And I like a guy with
a little experience.”
“From what I hear, he has plenty of that,” Liv said dryly
as Katie sailed off to deliver the food.
Nell chuckled. “I’m fifty years old and that man can
still make me swoon.”
Olivia busied herself wiping off the long Formica-topped
counter as Rafe shoved through the door, ringing the bell
above. Seating himself in his usual booth, he stretched
his long legs out in front of him. Rafe was a regular in
the café, which sat on North Harbor Road right across
from the boat dock.
“Katie’s busy,” Nell said with a match-making glint in
her eyes. “Why don’t you wait on him?”
Olivia shook her head. “I’m busy, too. You go ahead.”
Knowing there was no persuading her, Nell sighed.
“Probably better you don’t. Everyone in town knows
Rafe’s a dedicated bachelor.”
Dedicated bachelor or not, Nell and Katie were right.
With the thick dark brown hair curling just over his
collar, the faint shadow of beard that usually lined his
hard jaw, and those hot, whiskey-brown eyes, he was one
of the best-looking men Olivia had ever seen.
Which was exactly the reason she had avoided him since
the day she had met him.
No use putting temptation in her path. It was simply too
dangerous.
She watched as Nell chatted with him a moment, then the
easy smile Nell usually gave him slipped from her face.
The coffee pot wavered. Rafe grabbed the glass pot to
keep her from dropping it and spilled hot coffee over his
hand.
Olivia didn’t hesitate, just grabbed a towel, wet it with
cold water, and hurried in Rafe's direction. He was
sitting down again, Nell fussing over him, relieved to
see Olivia approaching.
“Here--wrap this around your fingers.” Liv handed him
the wet towel. “It’s cold enough to ease the pain and
keep the burn from getting worse.”
“I’m all right,” Rafe said. “It’s no big deal.” But he
accepted the wet cloth and looped it over the back of a
big suntanned hand.
The man was all of six-four, two-hundred-plus pounds,
with a solid, athletic build and very wide shoulders.
Liv was five-nine, but Rafe was more than half a head
taller. She tried not to stare at his mouth, which
seemed harder this morning, without the smile he always
had for Nell.
She glanced in her friend’s direction, sucked in a breath
as Nell’s pale blue eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, God, what is it?”
Nell blinked and the tears rolled down her cheeks. She
wiped at the wetness with a trembling hand. “I could
tell something was wrong. It was stamped all over Rafe’s
face.”
Liv glanced from one of them to the other, saw the same
grim expression on both of their faces. “Tell me what’s
happened.”
Nell swallowed. “It’s...it’s Scotty. He was murdered
last night.”
Liv glanced across the table at Rafe. His jaw looked
iron-hard, his eyes so dark she could barely see a hint
of gold. For the first time it occurred to her that Rafe
was hurting, too. Scotty was his first mate and they
were friends. Cassie had said Scott idolized Rafe, had
thought of him as an older brother.
His dark eyes to her face. “Scott was a good man. One
of the best. Whoever killed him is going to pay.”
A little shiver ran through her. It wasn’t a statement.
It was a vow.
And Liv completely believed it.