He slumped against a stack of still-mind-blowing stolen cargo. Was his rule-following brother the captain’s secret link for selling stolen goods? Impossible. Timothy hadn’t evenfanciedbeing a smuggler until Evan had joined the crew. And Timothy had never kept a secret from Evan in his life. There had to be an alternate explanation. A clue, no doubt, resided in the missing logbook page.
So where the devil was it?
Evan ran a finger along the rims of hand-painted teacups and catalogued the possibilities. One: The log page was never here in the first place, because Timothy wasn’t stupid enough to have stolen it. This was a good theory because it gave his brother some brains, but bad because that meant any given brute could’ve taken the sheet anywhere on Earth, which made searching for it a tad more complicated.
Two: Timothywasstupid enough to steal the page, but not stupid enough to bring it home. Again, this theory gave his brother some credit, yet opened up the window to the world at large, as far as searching went.
Three: Timothy was stupid enough to take the page and whoever killed him had already taken it back. This was the worst theory of all because it slammed the door on the idea of Evan coming across the page himself, and he had the distinct suspicion he would never understand what had happened without knowing what was on that page worth killing—and dying—for.
There wasn’t much he could do about that last scenario, and Timothy wasn’t here to ask about the second situation, so he would have to consider possibility number one: Someone else took the sheet. Since Evan was convinced no one on his crew—including his brother—was suicidal enough to do such a thing, the only remaining suspects were... the other crew.
He glanced at the clock again. Still noon. Well, five past.
On the one hand, there was nothing he wanted more than to go home and sleep for a few hours. He would be wise to be in top form when entering the other crew’s territory. Those soulless jackanapes made Evan’s shipmates look like choirboys.
On the other hand, every day, every hour, every minute lost was another minute further from the truth, thereby increasing the villain’s head start and diminishing Evan’s chances of ever wreaking vengeance.
Andthatpossibility was unbearable.
So he pulled himself together, shut his brother’s front door as best he could what with the ruined hinges, and headed for enemy land. By the time he reached the hidden shore along the distant cliff, his clean clothes were laden with sand and the omnipresent spray of saltwater. This time, he didn’t bother to hide his pistols. He kept them in his hands. Cocked. Ready.
The familiar rush of power and trepidation surged through his veins as he neared the crevice leading to a secret cavern that opened to the sea.
They wouldn’t be happy to see him.
They resented sharing the captain’s ship with another crew, despite the begrudging cooperation being a brilliant scheme of economics and alibis. If these water rats sensed any weakness, they’d have half a mind to make him disappear. To be honest, they only had half a mind among them anyway. That’s what made them so dangerous.
Evan wished he could just speak to Timothy himself. Goddamn, Evan missed his brother. He glared at the waves raging against the shore. Best not to think too much about the hole in his heart, and keep his mind on unraveling the mystery surrounding his brother’s death.
He approached the cave with caution.
This was the one place along the entire coast where his feet were unsure of their placement. Why smugglers sharing the same ship needed individual secret caves, he didn’t know... unless thatwasthe point. To keep Evan’s crew unsure and off-balance. Easy pickings.
The faint stench of smoke tickled his nostrils. Disquieting, that. No one set something so obvious as a fire in a place they hoped to keep secret. Or maybe they’d seen his approach, set a trap, and were luring him in. Hard to say. Even fools were occasionally clever.
He tightened his grip on his pistols, then forced himself to relax. They wouldn’t kill him on sight. Probably. But if he gave them the barest scrap of a reason... they wouldn’t hesitate. He had to be on the ready.
He’d abandoned his boots at the shore—stockings too, this time, despite the icy water. Slip on one of these rocks, and he’d wind up killing himself in the fall. Which the other crew might be hoping for, so they wouldn’t have to explain themselves to the captain. He crept forward, his bare feet making no sound as he scaled the jagged boulders.
Evan glanced around at all angles, searching the shadows for movement. They were watching him. They had to be.Hewould be, if in their shoes. The troubling stench of smoke slowly grew stronger. Were they planning to roast him alive? Or were they burning something else... a filched log sheet, perhaps?
He was through the crevice and into the blackness of the cave when the first gunshot rang out.
Behind him.
Still alive. He grinned into the dark as delicious anticipation ruffled the hairs on his arms. A sentry outside had seen him, if belatedly. Which meant there was no going back now. Or possibly ever... but he’d deal with that on the way out. For now he had to keep moving forward.
Before long, he found himself at a point where the narrow passageway widened into a cavern more than spacious enough to hide a full-size ship and several missions’ worth of cargo. The ship was still in its cave—he hoped—which meant this one was empty of everything but pirates. He double-checked his weapons.
There would be no way to hide his approach. So he didn’t try.
He sauntered forward, straight down the center, a well-turned gentleman slightly spiced with dripping seaweed and a pair of loaded pistols.
They saw him. Of course they saw him. But instead of shooting him, a raspy chuckle scraped forth from the shadows. Then the pirate responsible for the chuckle stepped forth, gun in hand, barrel pointed at Evan’s forehead.
“Bothwick,” the scar-faced smuggler said, shaking his head as if he found Evan’s attempt at infiltration wholly amusing. “Wot you doing here, you sneaky bastard?”
“Why, Poseidon,” Evan returned conversationally, trying to keep one eye focused on the pirate and the other on the teeming shadows. “Good day to you, old chap.”
