Page 29 of Anchor

“Why did you want me here?” I ask plainly. “What do you want?”

“So eager,” Jones says. “Very well. I’m here because I’d like to get to know the illustrious Gabriel Rossi better, though from our short acquaintance, I’ve found you to be pathetically predictable.”

“Have you?” I sneer. “And why is that?”

Jones picks at his sleeve with feigned nonchalance. “At first I was concerned her interference completely ruined months of careful planning.” He flicks an annoyed glance at Chloe. “Then, to my surprise, you came anyway. I must know, what was your motivation?”

Her gaze is already on me when I peer in her direction. “It was the right thing to do,” I say to them both.

Chloe’s eyes shutter closed and a wave of pain crosses her face, pinching her brows and lips.

“The right thing to do,” Jones says, drawing my attention back to him. “Interesting. Do you consider yourself a good person?”

“No better than any other man,” I say.

“How humble,” Jones says scathingly. “Is your charitable nature why you volunteer with the Coast Guard?”

“I wouldn’t call it charity. I’ve always loved serving my country.”

“Do you enjoy saving lives, Mr. Rossi?” he asks, the smile now gone from his too-wide lips.

“I enjoy being helpful.”

“Helpful. Hmm. Do you want to know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

The squawk from the radio cuts off his answer. Above the sounds of my racing heart, I can hear Tyler’s urgent voice. When I scan back at Jones, I find him staring at the unconscious body of the captain.

“Gabe, you there?” Though the connection is terrible and filled with crackling, it’s unmistakably Tyler.

Jones smiles, but this time, he seems almost resigned. “Better get that, Rossi. Don’t worry, we’ll wait.” He drops a hand to Chloe’s hair and strokes. I don’t miss the shiver that wracks her body and I doubt it has anything to do with the wind.

I lurch to my feet and nearly go back down. Guess that explosion knocked my head around a bit more than I thought. The dash, luckily, isn’t too far away, and I catch myself on the edge and manage to stay on my feet.

“Gabe?” crackles the radio.

I fumble with the handheld and hold it up to my mouth. “Tyler, it’s Gabe.”

“Gabe, good to hear from you after that shit show. Can you talk?”

The radio may be filled with static, but Jones is close enough that he can hear every word Tyler’s saying so I glance to him for confirmation. When he nods, I turn back and say into the radio, “Yeah, I can talk. What have you got?”

“There are hundreds of people with the last name Jones,” he starts.

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“So, I went digging. We can assume, from his insistence that he had to have you and no one else, that he’s tied to you in some way, so we’ve had every man on the ground looking into your background for any possible ties.”

“I hope you’re calling because you found one.”

“We damn near didn’t. But I knew the name sounded familiar, but it didn’t click until I started searching into all the rescue ops for the past five years. There was a woman about a year ago? Her small fishing boat had gotten caught during a squall. We ended up having to call off the search.”

I press my fingers into my bleary eyes trying to pull the details from my muddled thoughts. Then it hits me all at once and I nearly stagger backward. Her name had been Sheila Langford-Jones.

Jones.Jones.Jones.

The color drains from my face and I have to white knuckle the dash to keep from keeling over.