The Killing Tide

  © 2019 by Grace & Johnny, Inc.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-1869-5

  Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by LOOK Design Studio

  Cover photography by Aneta Ivanova

  Author is represented by Books & Such Literary Management.

  To Karen

  Thank you for your keen eye, for making my stories shine, and most especially, for the blessing of your friendship all these years. It’s a joy to partner with you.

  Contents

  Cover

  Half Title Page

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

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  11

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  78

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  So this was how she was going to die. . . .

  one

  WRIGHTSVILLE BEACH, NORTH CAROLINA

  Fire ripped through Finn’s right shoulder, ricocheting down his arm. Battling the eight-foot swells, he struggled to get his charge to the swaying basket and up into the Coast Guard helicopter.

  Gritting his teeth, he swam backward. His right arm encircled her waist, but his grip kept slipping. “We’re almost there,” he hollered over the rumble of crashing waves.

  She squirmed and flailed forward. “Stan!” she sobbed, lunging for the listing boat Finn had just dragged her from.

  “I need you to be still, so I can get you to safety. I’ll go back for your husband. You’re going to be all right.” He tightened his grip, ignoring the lancing pain.

  Light faded to darkness. The storm was moving swifter than anticipated. The team would insist they go, but he wasn’t leaving without the husband.

  Finding strength he didn’t think he possessed, Finn rolled the woman into the basket.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. Sloshing whitecaps slapped them away.

  Gripping the edge of the basket, he strapped her in, the clips pinching his finger. Once she was secure, he circled his throbbing finger. Tony retracted the cable.

  Buffeting winds rattled the basket as it swung up into the air.

  Please, Father, let her reach safety.

  “We’ve gotta go,” Tony yelled down. “Storm’s moving in.”

  “Three minutes.” Please. He’d never left anyone behind.

  Lifting the basket into the bay, Tony hollered to the pilot, then turned his gaze back to Finn. “You got two.”

  Finn headed for the sinking boat as Tony lowered the basket.

  The wind at Finn’s back carried his failing strokes through the water. Just one more, God, he prayed. Let me save one more.

  Spots clouded his vision, his right arm refusing to rotate. A torn rotator cuff?

  Time ticking away, he dug in with his left arm but was barely crawling forward.

  The man, according to his wife, was trapped belowdecks, his left leg broken and pinned beneath debris. The wife had tried to get him out but wasn’t strong enough.

  The wave-lashed boat listed nearly full to port. He had to swim faster, harder . . . ignore the pain.

  The copter’s blades swooshed almost silently over the ocean’s roar as it rose higher above the heightening waves. The basket swung over the raging surface.

  A fierce wave pummeled over him, dragging him under. He breached the surface only to be lashed by another wave.

  Rising above the surface, he watched as the boat sank mere yards away.

  The wife’s piercing shriek echoed over the reckless, churning sea.

  Tony hoisted the basket up and lowered the cable for him.

  “No!” Finn hollered, shaking his head. He’d never left a man behind.

  “Time,” Tony insisted, “or you’ll get us all killed.”

  His entire being sinking inside, Finn clipped in and rose above the angry sea.

  two

  RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA

  Gabby Rowley drove through the nearly deserted downtown streets. The press-awards banquet had been a success, according to her boss at the Raleigh Gazette, but the local event was nothing like the press galas she’d attended before Asim Noren destroyed her international journalism career and nearly ended her life.

  She glanced at the moonlight glinting off the faux crystal trophy she’d been awarded for excellence in journalism for her exposé on drug dealer Xavier Fuentes.

  A shiver tickled her spine at the thought of their last encounter—his dark eyes boring into hers.

  She jumped as her cell rang—her Bluetooth signaling a call from Noah.

  She exhaled a steadying breath and answered. “Hey, bro.”

  “Hey, kid.”

  She glanced at the clock. 11:03. “You’re calling a bit later than usual. Everything okay?” In his line of work, she never knew.

  “Everything’s fine. Just wanted to check in.”

  Since Fuentes’s arrest and the confiscation of millions in cocaine, her brother’s protective side had come out in force.
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  “How’s Mom?”

  “Good. I know she gets lonely at times, but the kiddos are keeping her busy.”

  Kenzie’s son and daughter had brought so much joy to their lives, especially with Owen’s birth just three months after Gabby’s, Noah’s, and Kenzie’s dad—affectionately known as Poppy to Kenzie’s daughter, Fiona—passed unexpectedly.

  She slowed, making sure she was clear for a right turn, and the silver car behind her honked.

  “Was that a horn?” Noah asked.

  “Yep. Just on my way home from the awards banquet,” she said, making a right. The silver sedan sped around her, disappearing into the night.

  “How’d it go?” Noah asked.

  “Fine. What’s new with you?” She stopped at a signal, the red light refracting off her windshield, making an upside-down L across her dash.

  “Just finishing up some paperwork. The games start tomorrow.”

  Every year the Coast Guard Investigative Service team went head-to-head with the NCIS unit from Camp Lejeune in a battle of strength, endurance, and all out-fun. “What kicks it off?” she asked, a strange uneasiness seeping through her. Why was the light not changing?

  She glanced around as Noah said something that didn’t even register. Sunday night in the business district left dark buildings surrounding her. Her sense of isolation heightened, despite being on a call with her brother.

  Tapping her two-inch heel against the floorboard, she ticked off the seconds with no cars passing by, and yet the light remained red.

  “Gab? Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Just waiting for the light to change.” And for the uneasiness sloshing inside to dissipate—an uneasiness she hadn’t experienced since that day in South Sudan.

  The guttural roar of a motorcycle reverberated behind her. Headlights glared across her rearview mirror as a Triumph slowed to a stop beside her. Relief at not being alone filled her until she glanced over at the black bike.

  The man shifted toward her, raising his arm. Is that a . . . ?

  Lunging over, she’d barely collided with the passenger seat when a thwack shattered her window.

  “Gabby!” Noah said.

  Clutching her hands over her head, she stayed low as glass rained over her.

  Praying for protection, she scrambled out the passenger door, her hands and knees colliding with the pavement.

  She crawled toward the alley only to be yanked back. Her heart racing, she turned to find her hem was caught on the car door. A quick tug tore the sequined fabric loose.

  “Gabby!” Noah called.

  She couldn’t afford to give up her position, so she remained silent, sweat slathering her back.

  Heavy footfalls hit the pavement.

  He was coming for her.

  Sucking in a gulp of air, she kicked off her heels, said a quick prayer, and darted for the alley.

  Shots retorted, one pinging off the dumpster to her left.

  Her pulse pounding, she dove behind it. The pavement scraped flesh from her flattened palms. Ignoring the stinging, she crouched low and prayed.

  Please keep me safe, Jesus.

  Footfalls grew closer.

  Tears stung her eyes. With a deep breath, she darted for the next dumpster. A bullet whizzed past her, ricocheting off the container with a shrill ping. She flattened her back against the cool metal. The stench of rotting trash violated the air. An acrid taste skittered across her tongue.

  Swallowing her upchuck reflex, she scanned the alley for a way out. A dim light shone at the end. The Renaissance Hotel. If she could make it there, surely she’d be safe.

  His footfalls nearly upon her, she broke into a flat-out run. Muscles heating, she stumbled into the road, headlights glaring into her eyes. Her heart sank.

  What if the man had backup?

  The car screeched to a halt.

  “What are you—crazy?” the man yelled through the open driver’s window.

  She broke into a run as the car sped away. Refusing to look back, she flailed forward as fast as her trembling legs would carry her. Another bullet whizzed past her right ear, shattering the glass front of the hotel. She barreled into the revolving door, nearly tumbling into the lobby.

  The front desk attendant lifted his radio. “Security!” He rushed to her side. “Are you okay, miss?” His attention darted to the door. Her gaze tracked with his, praying her would-be killer wouldn’t be bold enough to enter. Thankfully he wasn’t.

  She collapsed into the employee’s arms, winded and covered with damp, cold sweat.

  three

  WRIGHTSVILLE BEACH, NORTH CAROLINA

  Finn Walker woke from the night terror—or at least that’s what the shrink the Coast Guard had made him see called them. It’d been six years since he’d last performed a rescue swim—the first and only time he’d lost a life on duty.

  Rolling over in bed, he switched on his nightstand lamp.

  Lightning jagged in the sky, followed by a thunderous clap.

  A swift gust swept through the window screen, rattling the shade.

  He stood and arched his aching shoulder. Just like he did every time it rained.

  He inhaled, grateful he could still swim and surf, but his shoulder would never regain the range of motion he needed to be a rescue swimmer. Even if it did, he couldn’t go back. Not after failing a man and destroying his family. He pinched the bridge of his nose. All because of a stupid torn rotator cuff?

  He grabbed the half-full water bottle off the dresser and took a long swig of the room-temperature liquid.

  Leaning against the pinewood bureau, he finished off the bottle. Every single storm, pain shot through his shoulder, and every single storm, the night terrors returned. Forever reminding him how he’d failed the man, and how God had failed him.

  four

  RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA

  Gabby thanked Officer Jensen, who’d escorted her from the Renaissance Hotel to the Sixteenth Precinct, a mere mile away from the attempt on her life. Her car was drivable but would need major bodywork.

  The officer saw her settled, then left to grab her a cup of coffee. A chill still rippled along her sweat-drenched skin. Her sequined, floor-length evening gown clung to her trembling legs.

  Her boss, Lawrence King, rushed into the bustling station. His gaze jetted about the precinct until it landed on her. Still in his tux, his bow tie loosened and draped about his white dress shirt’s unbuttoned collar, he maneuvered his way through the jungle of people to her side.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling beside her chair.

  Other than a few scrapes and bruises, physically she was okay. Mentally . . . ?

  It was the second time in less than a year a man had aimed a gun at her, but this time he’d pulled the trigger.

  Before she could answer, Officer Jensen returned with her coffee and a blanket with RPD stamped in black across the muted gray fabric. The scent of industrial-strength detergent wafted along her nose as Lawrence stood and draped it across her shoulders, the material falling somewhere between soft and scratchy. He gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze before taking the seat beside her. Always the overprotective dad, but this time she supposed his concern was warranted.

  “Any idea who your attacker was?” the officer asked.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “He had his helmet on the entire time.”

  “I’ve got a good idea,” Lawrence said.

  The officer’s eyes widened. “Oh?”

  “Gabby’s investigative report on Xavier Fuentes resulted in a massive drug bust and seizure of thirty million in cocaine by the DEA.”

  The officer snapped his fingers. “That’s why you look so familiar. You were interviewed on Channel 9 News. Good reporting.”

  “Thanks.” She slipped a damp strand of hair behind her ear. When would the cold sweat stop?

  “So we’re likely looking at a hit by one of Fuentes’s men.” Officer Jensen exhaled. “Unfortunately, we’ll never
be able to link the man to Fuentes, even if we are able to determine who the shooter was.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “So let’s focus on getting him for now. Can you describe his height, weight, build?”

  “I’d guess about five-ten, maybe one-seventy. I’d say average build. He was very fast on his feet.”

  “That’s helpful.” He typed her answers on his keyboard, the return key clicking with each tap. “What about his helmet or his bike . . . could you describe either?”

  “It was a black Triumph, and an AGV Pista helmet.”

  Officer Jensen’s brows arched.

  “My brother’s colleague owns a blue Triumph and a similar Pista helmet. It’s easy to identify with the distinct fin on the back.”

  “Excellent. We’ll pull all the traffic cams in the area for footage and run the make and model through our database. Hopefully we’ll get a hit, though I doubt he had legit plates.”

  His phone rang. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, standing and walking away as he answered the call.

  Lawrence shook his head. “I told you that you were in danger.”

  She wouldn’t let men like Fuentes and his thugs keep her from her calling. “It’s my job, Lawrence.”

  Before they could say more, Jensen returned to his desk. “That was the crime-scene investigator. He pulled a handful of bullets from the alley’s dumpsters. They’re .45 caliber.” He swiped his nose. “You’re very lucky to be alive. Should I call the Marshals? I’m surprised you aren’t already in WITSEC.”

  “She refused,” Lawrence said, his gaze boring into her.

  “Why?” Jensen’s brows furrowed into a deeper V.

  “She refused to give the DEA the information they wanted.”

  “I told you. I’m not giving up a source. I promised him or her anonymity, and I keep my promises.”

  Lawrence linked his arms across his chest. “Impossible, this one.” He shook his head and directed his gaze back at Gabby. “At least get out of town. Noah said he’d come get you.”

  Noah had told her the same thing when she’d called him on the way to the station, but she’d refused. Apparently he’d moved on to Lawrence. “I’m not running home. No way I want to risk my family’s safety.”

  “Your brother is a Coast Guard Investigative Service agent. He and his team can keep you safe.”

  Finn Walker’s handsome face etched with pain flashed before her eyes. She wasn’t sure which was more foolish—endangering her life by staying or her heart by going.