He glanced over at her as he navigated the morning traffic. “You’re not responsible for this and neither am I. The person killing people is responsible for this.”

  “I know. I do. But hear me out.”

  When he remained quiet, no obvious arguments, she pressed on. “Each person we’ve talked to. Each person we questioned. Even those guys who were sent out to follow us. Someone’s getting ahead of our investigation. How?”

  “You think we’re being targeted?”

  “I think we’re being watched. And taunted.” She played it through her mind, that steady impression of impulsiveness continuing to feel like an answer.

  Or part of one.

  “The waitress certainly feels like a taunt.”

  “She’s sort of solidified the idea for me. There’s no way she was targeted until she got our table. Yet, as soon as she did and we ask a few innocuous questions, she’s hurt.”

  “Those aren’t innocuous questions to the person who wants to keep this all under wraps.”

  It might not have been but a few nosy people weren’t reason enough to kill someone, either. The fact was a big neighborhood drug bust did go down at the bar. There was no way in hell they were the first people to ask about it or make a comment.

  “We still need to go through that footage, too,” he added.

  “Which reminds me. I started looking last night at what I was able to get from the bodega across the street. There were good clean shots of Tia parking but not much at ground level, where we could see someone tinkering with the undercarriage.”

  “Something else should come through from the other businesses.”

  She agreed with that, even as her thoughts about Tia kept spinning out. “Here’s the thing. Someone had to have eyes on her talking to us.”

  “I tried to slip her my card when you went to the ladies’ room.”

  “Did she take it?”

  “Nope. Didn’t even look at where I had placed it on the table beneath my napkin.”

  “She tried to warn me off in the bathroom, too.”

  “Cameras in the bathroom?” Arlo asked. “They certainly have them in the bar.”

  “Could be. Or they’ve got it bugged, at minimum. Which takes us back to the ownership of McNulty’s.”

  Arlo shook his head. “We’ll run him again. The guy was clean, though. And we looked at him for the drug bust. Over and over we ran him and the financial forensics on his business.”

  “Is he still there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He didn’t know what was going on the first time around. Is he a figurehead somehow?”

  “He seemed involved. Knew his business and talked knowledgably to the cops.” Arlo zipped in between a few cars. “Who the hell knows anymore? Because something’s going on in that place. Again.”

  Arlo took the exit and traveled the now-familiar path to Brooklyn Yacht. There were several police cars already there when they arrived, as well as the coroner’s van, and Kerrigan braced herself for what they would find.

  Fifteen minutes later she was still shaken by all they’d discovered.

  The bodies of Dyson and Decker Gentry had been covered but they were still in the same position in which they’d been found, shot dead on the deck that surrounded an empty boat slip.

  “No video footage at all?” Kerrigan asked the first uniform on scene.

  “Nothing. We’ve spoken to the office manager and were given access to enter the business office to review the tapes. Nothing was there.”

  “No footage?”

  “Nothing. It stopped around nine o’clock and wasn’t started again.”

  Kerrigan filed that away as the booming voice of Big Will Gentry filled the air. “Where are they?”

  The man raced down toward the boat slip, his gaze lasered in tight on the two bodies covered in white tarps, with several officials working around them.

  “My boys!”

  Kerrigan was already moving in to intercept Big Will, Arlo intent on doing the same.

  “What happened?” Will’s face was filled with an impossible level of anguish, his movements nearly frantic. “Who did this to my boys?”

  Arlo already moved in. Though his own sizable form was dwarfed by Will’s, he stood tall, authoritative in the moment.

  “Will. Please give us a few minutes. They’re being cared for, and we’ll take you to them, but we need to talk to you first.”

  Kerrigan put a hand on Will’s arm. “Will, it’s me. Kerrigan Doyle. I’m here to help.”

  “Kerrigan?” Will’s gaze brightened as he looked at her. “You came.”

  “Of course. I’m here to help. We all are.”

  She and Arlo walked Will through what they knew so far, gently probing him on the business and what he’d believed were his sons’ plans the evening before.

  “Decker had a date and Dyson had tickets to a concert. Both were heading out straight from here and I said good-night to them around six.”

  The man’s face crumpled at that. “I just said good-night. Didn’t even hug them or spend time with them or—” He broke off as the tears came. “I didn’t really say goodbye.”

  “You had no way of knowing, Will. No one could have known.”

  “Why were they here?”

  “Mr. Gentry. Do you keep your security cameras on?”

  The vague, disoriented look in Will’s eyes faded at the question. “Twenty-four-seven. It’s a promise we make to everyone who rents a slip from us.”

  “The cameras were turned off around nine o’clock last night.”

  “Impossible. The cameras are never off. We have a backup generator to ensure it.”

  “They were off last night.” Kerrigan kept her voice gentle, but firm. “Which means someone turned them off.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We think it’s possible one of your sons turned the cameras off.”

  “But I—” Will shook his head. “It’s impossible. They know the rules. Know how much we focus on a secure environment.”

  Arlo gave her a quick nod and tilted his head toward the bodies.

  She understood his point. Whatever Will might or might not know, his only thought right now was for his sons.

  Sons whose deaths had broken his heart.

  And sons who would break it again when he realized they were the ones most likely to have shut down the cameras.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Arlo walked back into the precinct and headed straight for the captain’s office. He’d texted Dwayne from Brooklyn Yacht and quickly got the request to check in as soon as he was back at the 86th.

  Kerrigan had opted to join the uniforms who’d been first on scene to try and canvass the area after seeing Will got safely home to his wife. She was also keeping watch on the various employees as they arrived at Brooklyn Yacht, gauging their behavior and anyone who seemed to be out of the ordinary.

  Or who didn’t show up at all.

  Although the idea of splitting up to handle the case left him ill at ease, he knew they needed to divide their efforts in hopes of getting to the bottom of the situation quickly.

  You have to stop protecting her.

  The night before had been beyond anything he’d have ever expected. Because it wasn’t like anything he’d ever experienced before.

  She was responsive in bed, yes, but she’d artfully separated the attraction between them from the work frustrations that brewed between them. It was a rare skill and more than twelve hours later he was still awed by her emotional generosity.

  Even if she hadn’t responded to every aspect of last night.

  She didn’t say she loved you back.

  That had been the lone sticking point of an otherwise perfect evening and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

  He’d never said those words to a woman before. Hell, he was still trying to process why they’d come out so easily with Kerrigan.

  And yet they had.

  Because he did love her.

  In the bright light of day, a small part of him wanted to run from it. All while another part wanted to run to her and beg her to tell him she felt the same.

  Which left him stuck in the strangest reality.

  He had to wait and give her time. She’d certainly been generous and responsive the night before. They’d been in the moment together and he knew she felt something.

  But love?

  Especially after the way he’d acted, she had every right to be wary.

  Had his actions ruined the chance for something more with her?

  He wanted to believe they could work through it, but he had a lot to overcome. He’d betrayed her more than once and if the positions were reversed, would he be so quick to leap to declarations?

  Resolving to talk to her about it later, he knocked on Dwayne’s door.

  “Come in, Detective.” Dwayne had gotten an early start. His jacket was hanging on a coatrack in the corner and his shirtsleeves were already rolled up. “I looked at the file. Nice, detailed job there, by the way.”

  “There’s a bit more to include after this morning.”

  “Fill me in.”

  He walked Dwayne through the events at the bar, the car bomb that killed Tia Lutz and the news of the Gentry brothers.

  “What the ever-loving hell, Arlo? We’ve got three bodies in a matter of hours?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve got more than enough for a warrant at McNulty’s.”

  “First on my list this morning.”

  “And you need to get a handle on who the bouncer at the bar is.”

  He’d gone over that one in his mind and still cursed the fact that he didn’t have Kerrigan go check on the car bomb while he dealt with the guy. “I should have dealt with him last night.”

  Dwayne’s tone was grim. “You were a little busy. And saving the woman’s life took priority.”

  “We were a little busy.” As the idea hung in his mind, Arlo’s thoughts racing through last night, something clicked. “That’s it, Dwayne. There’s a lot going on. Murders and bombs and snipers. One thing after another, with the wind constantly changing direction. Kerrigan keeps going back to impulse.”

  “Impulse, how?”

  “On the part of the mastermind behind this. Nothing’s predictable and we barely have time to catch our breath before the next problem erupts.”

  “It’s erratic, that’s for sure. Nothing methodical other than the sheer willingness to cause chaos and loss of life.”

  “We’ve been working off the theory that the chaos is designed to keep the criminals in Brooklyn on their back foot. But what if it’s also a strategy for the cops? Kerrigan and I have been chasing our tails since we started this case. No time to breathe and certainly no time to sit back and consider all the pieces.”

  “Then maybe it’s time to sit back. You set the pace.”

  “We need to catch this killer before they hurt someone else.”

  That reality was sharp and oh-so stark in his mind.

  But Dwayne had a point, too.

  Right now, all they were doing was bumbling around. If they didn’t slow down and get some direction to follow, they weren’t of any use to anyone.

  And keeping them running in circles only gave the killer more time to hide in the shadows.

  * * *

  Kerrigan accepted a ride back to the 86th with one of the uniforms at Brooklyn Yacht and she’d bought the woman lunch as a thank-you. Their stop at a sub shop on the way back had given her an opportunity to get Officer Ramirez’s take on the crime scene and allowed Kerrigan to pick up lunch.

  With a meatball sub for him and an eggplant parm sandwich for her, she walked back into the precinct with precious little more than the day before.

  They had managed to rule out the staff at Brooklyn Yacht. She’d run everyone’s name and looked at them, but no one had missed work and the genuinely shell-shocked faces had suggested grief far more than nefarious dealings by Big Will’s employees.

  Which brought it all back to the sons.

  And the increasingly sad evidence that Dyson and Decker Gentry had been running a secondary business under their father’s nose.

  It was the theory she’d batted around with Ramirez, and it fit.

  The unregistered boat that went down in the harbor had to come from somewhere. And Big Will’s sons would have access and the contacts to facilitate a purchase like that.

  So why kill them now?

  The boat going down in a storm was hardly their fault as the supplier. And if she circled back to her theories way back at the beginning, owning an unregistered boat would still require maintenance and the contacts to keep it running.

  Why go to all the effort to find a supplier to meet your needs and then kill them?

  Kerrigan hit the button for the squad room, her mind racing through the problems, when it hit. Without waiting for the elevator to arrive, she took off at a run for the stairs, racing up two stories and into the squad room.

  “There’s another boat!”

  She hollered the realization loud enough that it had Arlo lifting his head, along with everyone else in the room.

  Careful not to drop the sandwiches, she set them down on the edge of his desk, even as excitement spilled out faster than she could contain it.

  He smiled at her, and she ignored the shot of pure, unadulterated lust that hit her belly at the knowing look in his eyes. She was going to have to get a handle on that.

  But she’d deal with that later. Right now, she had a line to tug.

  “I’ve got a theory.”

  “Lunch and a theory? It looks like a banner day, Officer Doyle.”

  “There’s a second boat, Arlo. That’s what went down last night at Big Will’s place. That’s why the cameras were off.”

  The smile fell, replaced by that determined cop face she had come to admire and respect and yes, love.

  She tapped the edge of Arlo’s desk, already reaching for her phone. “Let’s get Wyatt. We need to get out on the water.”

  * * *

  The police boat bobbed in the harbor near the site where the drug runners went down in the storm. Kerrigan assessed the calm waters. The harbor had a glassy look that was rare for the waters around New York, and she opted to take it as a good sign.

  They’d already notified the Coast Guard and several teams were working the waters up and down the coast. But she and Arlo, along with Wyatt, Gavin, Jayden and Captain Reed, were poring over maps in the boat’s wheelhouse.

  None of them were convinced this spot just off Governors Island was going to be the path of another drug run, but without anything else to go on, they’d opted to start here and consider various paths from open Atlantic waters into Brooklyn.

  “The working theory is they went down coming back into the harbor because they had the drugs on them in the storm. Which means they have a supplier somewhere up or down the coast and they’re coming from the Atlantic.” Kerrigan tapped various points on the map as she spoke. “They could be working out of Philly or Baltimore or points farther south. Providence or Boston are options, too, but the weather’s going to be less favorable as it gets colder. But a boat like that could make the trip distance-wise either direction.”

  “But it’s a haul,” Wyatt added, using a ruler to point out the distance, “especially for any attempts much past DC. That’s a few days’ trip with a lot of cargo at risk of discovery.”

  Kerrigan tapped the map. “If we operate under the theory the mastermind behind this took possession of the boat last night at Brooklyn Yacht, they have to be gearing up for a run quickly.”

  “Did they find anything yet in the files in Gentry’s offices?” Wyatt asked.

  It was Arlo who took the briefing on that piece. Kerrigan had worked with Arlo before they’d headed out to the docks, that process of requesting a warrant new to her.

  “The warrant came through this afternoon and the same team that was first on scene went to recover any evidence they could find, as well as take possession of the electronics.”

  “I’ve put the data team on it as top priority,” Dwayne added. “But it’s going to take them a while.”

  She was of two minds on what they were going to find but knew the digital forensics team needed the space to do their work. There was a big part of her that had to believe the Gentrys kept records of what they were handling.

  And the other, bigger part of her knew there was little benefit to them to keep records.

  Their cell-phone and text histories were likely going to turn up far more than computer records but they’d take what they could get. Maybe a stray email or logins to a personal, private email account.

  Even with the potential to dig up something there, they really needed cell phones. But the last report they got from the team doing the warrants was that no cell phones had been found.

  “How would you hide a boat?”

  The captain’s question pulled her from her thoughts. Although it was directed at all of them, Wyatt was the one to answer. “You’d need a slip for keeping it in place.”

  “What paperwork’s needed for that?” Dwayne pressed.

  “Insurance. Ownership. Registration.” Wyatt ticked off each required element a purveyor of dock space would expect.

  “So nowhere respectable,” Dwayne added.

  “The bar!” Kerrigan thought about McNulty’s and Bulldog’s and realized there was something there. “McNulty’s has the parking lot behind it, but Bulldog’s sits on the water. There’s a likely chance there’s a private slip back there.”

  “It might have even driven the decision to take the location,” Arlo added. “You want to run illegals, you need a place to do it. People won’t look quite as close at your boat if it’s hidden on your property. No nosy paperwork, either.”