Troubled Waters

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Gunnar whined at Heath, then shook his head and made a sound that may have been a sneeze, though it sounded more like the dog was disgusted about something.

“Oh!” Tracie’s eyes opened wide, and she almost laughed at her dog, who could seem so human at times.

The dog turned his back on the bush and kicked snow behind him with his hind legs before trotting back to the house.

Heath escorted Tracie to the door. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Of course.” She smiled up at him, feeling better after his visit than she had in some time.

“Call me if anything bothers you,” Heath insisted. “Or if you have anything on your mind and just want to talk.”

“Sure.” Tracie waved as Heath trotted off to his truck.

She closed the door and locked the deadbolt after him, wondering what his final words had been about. Too tired to make any sense of it, she wandered back to the kitchen with Gunnar huffing indignantly at her feet.

Heath breathed deeply of the cold night air and tried to clear his thoughts, but his evening with Tracie had blown his mind. Sure, he’d felt attracted to her from the start, but getting to know her and taking a peek inside her world only made him want to spend more time with her and get to know her even better. Who would have guessed he’d find such an intriguing woman in this little corner of Wisconsin—and she used Gerlach Tools! It had taken all his resilience to leave her, in spite of Gunnar’s insistence and his own certainty that if he went too far with Tracie too quickly, he’d push her away. She was a woman of strong convictions. He’d figured that much out already.

Nor did he think Gunnar had simply been after a rabbit in the bushes. He didn’t want to scare Tracie, but he was fairly certain the ground had been recently trampled by something a lot bigger than a bunny, though whatever—or whoever—it had been was long gone. Still, Heath would be keeping a close watch on her place tonight.

And he knew one other thing for certain. Tracie had been right about Trevor. If her old partner had seen them spending time together tonight, he would be furious. From what he knew of the man, that rage would play out violently. If he was dead, of course, there was no way the issue could be a problem. But Heath was far from certain that Trevor was really dead.

FOUR

Heath met Tracie in the parking lot of the Coast Guard station when she arrived for work the next morning. He’d gone in early to talk to Jake about his plans for the day. After everything that had happened in the previous three days, Jake had been eager to agree to Heath’s idea. Devil’s Island was as likely a place as any for them to turn up new leads in the case. It was where Trevor’s body had been discovered, then lost. If they were ever going to recover any trace of it, they’d need to do it soon—before time and wild animals took any more of a toll. And, perhaps most importantly, with a gunman loose on the mainland, Devil’s Island was arguably the safest place for them to spend the day, as it was located twenty miles out on Lake Superior.

The smile Tracie flashed him as she hopped out of her car caused Heath’s heart to leap and a matching expression to appear on his face. “You don’t regret having me over for dinner last night?” he asked as she drew close.

“Not yet.” She smirked at him, then sobered her expression. “Although our relationship remains strictly a professional one, regardless of how much time we spend with one another.”

“I agree.” He fell into step beside her as she headed for the building. “I talked to Jake about our plans for today.”

“Plans? I’ve got all that paperwork—” she said, starting to protest.

He stopped walking and turned to face her. “There’s a gunman on the loose and he’s already taken a shot at us. I think we need to get out of Dodge, so to speak, and Jake agrees.”

Tracie shook her head. “We’ve got a case to solve.”

“And we’re not going to solve it filling out paperwork like sitting ducks where anyone with evil intentions could expect to find us.”

She made a squinty-eyed, thoughtful face, and Heath sensed his argument was winning her over.

“Now, the last couple leads we’ve tried to follow have gone cold. We need to backtrack and follow our last lead.”

“Which is?” She looked at him expectantly.

“Devil’s Island.”

Tracie started visibly as he named the place. “Why?”

“Well, for one thing, most of the diamond smugglers’ operation was centered out of the secret cave under the island. I haven’t had the chance to visit it. So it’s pretty high on my list of things to do. This thirty-degree weather we’ve been enjoying isn’t going to last, either. It’s supposed to snap off cold tomorrow. Even though the Bayfield crew has already searched the island, there’s always the chance a new set of eyes could pick up on something they’ve missed. And I, for one, think it’s high time we recover Trevor’s body.” If it’s really out there to recover, Heath thought to himself, though he didn’t say the words out loud.

“Oh. Is that all?” Tracie still looked a little uncomfortable with the idea.

“Well, there is one other thing, but I suppose it’s a selfish reason.”

Now her expression appeared intrigued. “What’s that?”

“According to the reports I’ve read, Devil’s Island is the place where you saved the lives of three civilians. I don’t think I can fully appreciate all that you did until I’ve seen the place with my own eyes.” Heath’s voice went a little husky, and it occurred to him that Jonas would be impressed by the way his words had softened Tracie’s demeanor so quickly. But Heath hadn’t spoken that way to impress his boss.

Tracie blushed and dipped her head. “Well, it sounds like you and Jake have the day all worked out. It’s a long trip. Let’s get going.”

They loaded up a utility boat with supplies. Tracie balked when Heath got out the cold-water diving gear.

“I thought we were going into the sea cave?”

“We are.”

“In kayaks,” she stated.

Heath shook his head. “Underwater.”

“Isn’t it a little late in the year for that?”

“The air temperature and surface weather patterns will have little bearing on our dive once we get under water.” The way he understood it, Lake Superior had enough water mass that the surface water temperature didn’t begin to dip until later in the winter, though the depths tended to hover around a temperature of forty-six degrees year-round. But Heath focused his argument on the needs of the case. “The standing assumption is that Trevor’s body sank, or was sunk by his killers. If that’s the case, we should be able to dive and find it—along with any other clues the diamond smugglers may have left behind.” He took a step closer and softened his expression. “Your point about the season is a good one. The truth of it is, if we wait much longer, the lake will begin to ice over, and making this dive after that point would be distinctly more dangerous. I’ve read the weather reports. Today may be the last good day to do this.”

For a moment, Tracie looked as though she might continue her protest, but then she gulped a breath and started helping him load the supplies.

Heath wondered about her response. “Do you have experience cave diving or cavern diving?” he asked.

“I’ve had the usual Coast Guard dive training.”

Heath flinched internally. He didn’t know what the usual training was, but of course, she wouldn’t know that. Much as he needed to know her level of training, he didn’t want to risk giving away his true identity.

Cave diving was significantly more dangerous than diving in the open sea. Not only were there often underwater currents and visibility issues, but in an emergency, ascending directly to the surface was often not possible because of the enclosed space. That made reaching oxygen vastly more difficult when every second counted. He couldn’t think of a way to ask her if she recognized the added risk without revealing how little he knew of standard Coast Guard training. He’d just have to keep an eye on her. Hopefully his experience as a Navy SEAL would compensate for any lack on training as Trace’s part.

The weather was especially mild for late November, and though the temperature wouldn’t likely reach forty degrees, the lake was still free of ice. Heath offered to let Tracie steer.

“That’s all right. I know the islands. I’d rather navigate.” She had her long hair tied back in a fat twist at the nape of her neck, and a few blond strands escaped to dance against her cheeks in the brisk wind.

Once they had the boat headed toward the island, Heath had his best shot at getting Tracie to talk. Given her response when he’d mentioned her heroics the last time she’d been out to the island, he thought that might be a good topic to start with.

“I’ve read the report,” he began, knowing her fondness for directing him back to the written version of the story, “but I’d like to hear you tell me about what happened last month on Devil’s Island.”

Tracie must have finally softened to him after their encounter the evening before. Jonas had been right. Now she opened up without hesitation.

“Trevor and I were called out for a search and rescue on a Saturday night almost six weeks ago. A woman named Marilyn Adams was missing out on Devil’s Island. At that point we didn’t know what we were dealing with. I just figured it was another case of tourists going out too late in the season, underestimating how dangerous it can be out here, and getting caught in a fast-moving storm.

“But there was a lot more to it, as you know. Diamond smugglers had been operating out of a hidden sea cave under Devil’s Island, probably for at least ten years, bringing in synthetic gems through Canada. It wasn’t until an expert gemologist figured it out a few months ago and reported his find in a major gemology journal that these guys decided they need to patch the leaks in their operation.”

Heath nodded and kept his eyes on the helm. He knew there had actually been several reports filed on the gems over the years, but they’d never been able to follow up on them because the gemologists involved had mysteriously died shortly after their discoveries, and whatever notes or evidence they’d left behind had disappeared, leaving the FBI without anything to go on. But of course he couldn’t tell Tracie that without letting her know how he’d come by the information. So he simply nodded and hoped she’d keep talking.

“Marilyn Adams had several diamonds that had originated from the smugglers, and the way I understand it, they were afraid her diamonds could be traced back to them. They cooked up a plot to bring her and her family out to Devil’s Island and make their deaths looks like a collision between the remote wilderness and poor survival skills. By doing so, they also hoped to get their hands on some valuable property she owned—they needed a new source of income since their diamond gig was up.

“Are you confused yet?” Tracie pointed him around the next island.

“I think I’m following.” He steered them in the direction she’d indicated. “Their plan was pretty foolproof, as I understand it. They came very close to getting away with it.”

“Too close,” Tracie nodded. “If Scott Frasier and Abby Caldwell hadn’t managed to escape the island.” Her voice caught with emotion.

Heath looked at her with sympathy. He knew she had been tied up with the others in the smuggler’s hideout. She’d ultimately been the one to get help while the others fended off their captors. “And if you hadn’t arrived to help them,” he added.

“I was only doing my job,” she insisted, her features regaining their usual stoic demeanor. “And anyway, if Trevor hadn’t been involved with the smugglers, keeping the Coast Guard off their trail, I never would have become so tightly involved with the case. So you see, God can bring good things out of bad.” Her words faded, as though she felt self-conscious about the faith-filled statement even before she’d finished making it.

But the integrity of Tracie’s faith had only impressed Heath, and he quickly moved to keep the conversation going. “Once the smugglers didn’t need Trevor to keep us out of their hair any more, they got rid of him?”

“Pretty much. Tim thought Trevor had made some of the smugglers angry, and that may have been part of what got him killed. We suspect the head of their operation, a guy they called Captain Sal, was the one who pulled the trigger, but he won’t admit to anything yet.”

“Captain Sal,” Heath repeated. “He’s the prisoner we’re transporting back to Canada tomorrow.”