“It’s the volume, Wyatt. You need time to dump that much, but you also have to know this area’s a great place to hide. The tides work in a criminal’s favor on that front.”
“Tell me more about that,” Arlo said. “You know I’m a big fan of what you do, but that’s the stuff I’m fuzzy on.”
Wyatt brought Arlo toward one of the large maps they had up in the boathouse, one specifically mapping out the East River. But as one more obvious sign of his leadership, he gestured Gavin toward the wall. “Please, Hayes. Go ahead.”
“The tidal patterns are wicked here.” He pointed out the various points, the overall geography and the way multiple bodies of water—all with their own tidal push and pull—came together.
It was a credit to Arlo how quickly he picked it all up. “So what you’re saying is high tide isn’t your friend, but low tide’s not much better.”
“Exactly.” Gavin nodded. “What comes in hard and fast goes right back out the same way. Which means if Wyatt hadn’t accidentally discovered that gun there’s every chance this dump site would continue to go unnoticed. Over time, especially as things piled up, they’d inevitably get moved with the currents.”
“Speaking of which.” Wyatt stepped in. “We need to get the team up. Low tide’s going to start causing problems next. We’ll prep and go back down later.”
Wyatt headed out to the dive master manning the comms out on the deck, and Arlo turned away from the map, his gaze veering right back to the cache of weapons already laid out. “We don’t have any recent pulses on gun trade activity. With what you found down there, you think there are about fifty weapons?”
Gavin nodded. “Initial estimate, but I think we’re going to net out in that range.”
“It’s a lot in one place, but it’s still not huge. Citywide, we take down that amount in an average weekend.”
Gavin knew Arlo was right, and in the scheme of overall crime, fifty guns was the tip of the iceberg. And yet...
Was this something for the task force?
The thought popped in with little fanfare, but as Gavin considered it, he realized it could be an interesting approach to the project he and Sera were working on. A real-life case they could present and which then could use the extended brainpower of multiple teams.
He vowed to think on it later as a shout came up from the edge of the police boat. The second dive team had surfaced, more evidence in hand. Arlo and Gavin moved over to help, carefully securing what came up following each of the recovery steps they were all trained in.
Wyatt’s focus on planning for a second dive altered Gavin’s responsibilities for the rest of his shift. He put together a plan for the next day’s dive teams, as well as setting up a pair of uniforms on both ends of the bridge to watch from above and a police boat to keep watch over the cache location still under the water.
It was good work. Solid police work. But as daylight slowly faded, the lights of the bridge coming up over them, he kept circling back around to using the task force and Sera.
Always Sera.
Which was how he found himself knocking on her door after his shift ended, dinner in hand.
Sera glanced down once more at her laptop before standing to head to the front door and whoever stood on the other side. Aunt Robin had mentioned stopping by one evening this week with some legal paperwork on one of their rentals, and Sera figured it would be a nice break from what she’d dubbed the legal brief from hell.
Although her workload had been significantly reduced so she could participate in the task force, she still had the cases David had requested she retain. And for some reason, the brief on the Nicholson murder case she was handling was giving her headaches.
The bigger problem, to her mind, was why.
She usually enjoyed this part of her job, organizing her thoughts on a case and then writing the encapsulation of all she’d reviewed. It not only helped her consolidate her thoughts, but inevitably in the process, she gained more clarity and refined the approach she was going to use to argue the case.
“If clarity’s what you’re after, maybe you need to write a legal brief on Gavin,” she muttered to herself as she crossed toward the door.
Which made the fact that he stood on the opposite side an unexpected shot beneath the armor she’d vowed to put into place. “You’re not Aunt Robin.”
“Not last time I checked.” He held up a bag that emitted the most delicious aromas. “But I do come bearing dinner.”
She recognized the logo on the side of the bag. “You brought shawarma.”
“It struck me as I was walking home from work that I wanted this for dinner, and then I thought, maybe Sera would like it, too.”
“I love it.”
“Then I chose right.” He leaned forward as if checking out the inside of her apartment. “Is it okay if I come in?”
“Oh! Yes!” She quickly gestured him in, her surprise at seeing him obviously killing any semblance of manners. “I was just doing some work.”
“You usually work through dinner?” The question was casual, but she caught the subtle notes of censure. Before she could call him on it, he’d already turned from where he’d set the bag down on the counter. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about you and the baby on that one.”
“Since the baby is the one who has put me off food for the past few months, I’d say you’re putting blame in the wrong place.” Since he looked genuinely chagrined, she opted to cut him some slack. “But since we’re both hungry this evening, I’d also say your timing is perfect. And,” she added, “it’s further proof I’m hungry since I’m grumping at you even as you come bearing one of my top three favorite foods.”
With that particular land mine disarmed, she crossed to the cabinets to get plates. “Help yourself to anything you’d like in the fridge. I’ve got some beer leftover from a party last year and a few bottles of wine in addition to diet soda.”
“You sure about the beer?”
“Please, help yourself.”
“It won’t bother you if I drink and you can’t?”
The deep, genuine sincerity in his gaze caught her up as she stared at him across the small expanse of the kitchen. “No, I don’t mind at all. But thank you for asking.”
It was a small kindness, but a welcome one. And it was only as she sat, nestled in the small drop-leaf table for the second night in a row, that Sera saw the sheer exhaustion that rode his features.
“Is everything okay?”
“Sure. Why?”
