Free Dangerous Waters by Toni Anderson Page A

rich prairie grass, but the woman who strode to the police 4x4 parked on the side of the road was her doppelganger. The gossips had been right, and a shot of unholy fear stabbed through muscle to bone.
    How many times did the bitch have to die?
    Hatred stirred for that pretty face, those long, graceful limbs that liked to open wide and tempt the weak. Edging closer, silently weighing the possibility of killing her now, again. It was quiet. There were few people around. This might be the only chance. Another inch closer as the woman spoke into her police radio. Eyes shot to the cabin where Finn Carver lived and found the man watching from the window. Too close. That big bastard was sneaky and dangerous and couldn’t be trusted.
    Easing back into the shadows, one with the night. Patience was a virtue. Good things came to those who wait. The cop drove away, and a branch cracked in the deep, dark wood.
    Maybe the cop would be gone by tomorrow. Maybe she wouldn’t dig. But if she stayed, if she started to dig, she was dead.

CHAPTER 4
    Lights from the houses across the inlet glistened in the water. It was full dark now, twenty-four hours since they’d found that body. Exhaustion grated along Finn’s nerves, but he couldn’t put this off any longer. He headed down to the dock and climbed into the rowboat. He wanted to figure out who the victim was before the cops did—only one person to ask. Trouble was that person hadn’t spoken to him in years.
    The dip of oars in the water was the only sound even though it wasn’t late. Bamfield-west was quiet, and unless there was a poker game tonight, most people would be tucked up in front of their satellite TVs, nursing a cold one.
    The sea was calm, saving her energy for her next blast of destruction. A whale surfaced only a few feet away, releasing a blast of spray that showered Finn with fine droplets of water.
    “Son of a—” He held his breath until it dove beneath him and the boat again. Wasn’t much that could creep up on him, and it was ironic that something so large did it effortlessly. He carried on rowing, glad for the adrenaline rush that fired up his nerves.
    He tied up to the public dock but kept his face in the shadows as he moved swiftly along the village boardwalk. Up the road, past the Coast Guard station. The ship wasn’t back yet. He figured they’d be out at Crow Point for another day or so, protecting the wreck, making sure they got all their evidence—evidence and information he didn’t have access to.
    He started jogging along the gravel road, not needing lights or signposts to guide his way. He knew it, the way a salmon recognized home.
    There was nothing but forest around him, with the occasional house buried deep in the woods. There were hidden trails, but tonight it felt necessary to use the road. Five minutes later he came to a massive two-story log cabin topped with cedar shingles.
    It was a house no ex-con should be able to afford.
    No law-abiding ex-con.
    A shiver of unease stroked his spine.
    The driveway was level and graveled, not pitted and overgrown the way it had been when they were boys. The shack had burned down years ago—a pyre of childhood memories. He ignored the ripple of antipathy that rose up inside him and the bombardment of images that flashed through his mind as he walked down that driveway. It was all ancient history now.
    There were no lights shining on the property; Brent might not even be here.
    He circled to the back of the house through the woods, watching for signs of movement. A flicker of red glowed on the porch that faced the Pacific in a head-on dare.
    That was how his brother faced every challenge in his troubled, rage-filled life.
    Finn stepped out of the woods and approached the bottom of the steps. The red glow burned brighter for a second. A cigarette.
    “Figured you’d turn up sooner or later.”
    Two years later to be exact. They hadn’t spoken since he quit the military. The day Brent had been released