Page 24 of Once Marked
The room seemed to contract, the air thickening with tension.Riley’s instincts flared, honed from years of navigating perilous situations where violence hung precariously in balance.She readied herself for what might come next, her hand inching subtly toward her holster just in case restraint gave way to aggression.
Art’s reaction, however, was not what Riley expected.He remained unflappable, a cool contrast to Thorne’s heated aggression.With a steady hand, he reached up and calmly disengaged the chief’s grip from his shirt.
“Like we said, we don’t know where he is,” Art spoke slowly, enunciating each word.“But feel free to have a look around the docks.We’ve got nothing to hide.”
Thorne released a slow breath, his shoulders dropping as he took a measured step back.Art straightened his shirt, a smug tilt to his lips as he resumed his seat.
“Fine,” Thorne muttered, his tone suggesting that this was far from over.He turned to Sheriff Beeler and Riley with a silent signal that it was time to leave.As they moved towards the door, the clatter of dominos resumed behind them, a mocking reminder of the impasse they faced.
Riley observed the silent exchange between him and Sheriff Beeler.They were two men in agreement, a wordless pact to continue their pursuit despite the obstacles.“Alright,” Thorne grumbled with a resolve that seemed to harden his features even more.
Riley followed them out of the office, her senses heightened.There was a prickling at the back of her neck, an instinctive alert to the scrutiny she felt from all angles.They regrouped near the entrance of Callahan’s Boat Repair, frustration marking the lines on Beeler’s face and the furrowed brow of Chief Thorne.
Riley leaned against the side of the police cruiser, her arms crossed as she scanned the faces of the Sandhaven locals.Their eyes still darted away when they met hers, their mouths tight-lipped.The salty breeze did little to clear the cloying sense of secrecy that seemed to hang over the docks like a fog.
“They all know exactly where he is,” she said quietly, voicing what they were all thinking.Her gaze lingered on a cluster of men who huddled together, whispering furtively before dispersing at her notice.
“What about another round of questioning with Amos and Art?”Ann Marie suggested, her voice tinged with that persistent cheerfulness that seemed incongruous amid the tension.“I mean at the police station, and one at a time.Maybe their memories would be better there.”
Riley watched Beeler’s reaction, noting the slight shake of his head before he even spoke.“We’re not going to get anything out of them, not even there.”
“No point in trying,” Thorne agreed with Riley, dismissing the idea with a gruff finality.“They’ll just keep playing dumb.”His piercing blue eyes narrowed as he stared off toward the marina, and then Riley saw a shift in his demeanor.
He paused for a moment.A thoughtful look crossed his weathered face, a spark igniting in his gaze.Riley recognized that expression—it was one she often saw in the mirror when a crucial piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
“But I think I know where to find Callahan,” Thorne told them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“There’s a bar we should check,” Thorne said.“The Horseshoe Crab Lounge.If Callahan’s not at work, it’s a good bet that he’s there.”He gave directions, and the patrol car with its agents and lawmen nosed its way through Sandhaven streets that curved along the waterfront like question marks.
Riley sifted through the morning’s encounters in this place where toughness was currency and trust was as scarce as shade in the dunes.She allowed herself to relax marginally, though the tension didn’t fully leave her shoulders
Soon the Horseshoe Crab Lounge loomed before them, as worn and weathered as the fishing vessels that bobbed in Sandhaven’s marina.Neon beer signs flickered weakly in the grimy windows.
They parked in the lot, and as they got out of the car, the laughter they heard spilling out from the bar carried the distinct undertone of revelry.Riley’s hand moved instinctively to her jacket, checking the reassuring weight of her service weapon.She double-checked the holster’s snap release, a habit born from years of experience.
They stepped into a dimly lit world where Riley’s senses were assaulted by the stench of stale beer and sudden gloom.But in spite of the laughter they had heard from outside, the room seemed to be barely inhabited.
Chief Thorne led the way to the bar where a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and arms like dock ropes stood, wiping glasses with a cloth that had long since seen better days, and that didn’t offer much assurance of cleanliness.Riley watched him for a sign, any tell that might indicate what they were walking into.But the bartender’s face gave away nothing as he watched the police chief and his companions approach.
Chief Thorne offered a terse introduction.“Pete,” he began, tipping his head.“These are Agents Paige and Esmer from the FBI.And this is Sheriff Beeler.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the bartender said with a smirk.
“We’re looking for Marcus Callahan,” Thorne said.
The man named Pete paused, the glass in his hand coming to rest on the worn surface of the bar.“FBI, huh?”His tone was indifferent, “What makes you think Callahan would be here?”
“Cut the act, Pete.Is he here or not?”Chief Thorne’s tone sharpened.
Pete responded with a shrug of his broad shoulders.“Why do you think I’d know?And even if he was, why would I tell you?”He leaned back, arms resting against the counter.The briefest flicker of his eyes toward a door at the back did not escape Riley’s notice.
Sheriff Beeler’s voice was a low rumble of warning.“Pete, I hope you remember it’s a crime to lie to law enforcement officials.”
Pete’s smirk stretched languidly across his face, a thin veneer of amusement masking the tension in the room.“Now, Sheriff, what lies have I told?All I’ve done is answer questions with questions.Is that against the law?Not that last I heard.”
Riley’s attention shifted as a raucous burst of laughter sounded from beyond an archway at the rear of the bar.She caught the change in Chief Thorne’s demeanor; his eyes narrowed, fixating on the source of the noise.
