Ball & Chain (Cut & Run 8)

Ty realized he was staring at Nick, frowning with the memories. Something about Nick had been off ever since they’d been deployed, and it had gotten worse once they’d returned home, but Ty couldn’t put his finger on it. Something just felt . . . wrong. Nick was keeping something to himself, something that was troubling him. Ty told himself to find some time alone with his best friend to see if he needed to talk.

Zane jabbed him in the ribs. “You okay?” he whispered in Ty’s ear.

Ty tore his eyes away from Nick and nodded, realizing belatedly that Earl had been speaking to him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked how your night went, but I guess I know,” Earl said with a short laugh.

Chester began to cackle at the end of the table. “I’m the only Grady didn’t get lucky last night!”

Nick dropped his fork and put his hand over his eyes.

Chester grabbed his arm and shook him. “You want to bang something too, sonny, you can borrow my shovel!”

They were still laughing when Kelly came jogging back into the room. He looked flustered. “Guys, there’s something wrong outside.”

Ty shoved back from the table, Nick and Zane on his heels as they followed Kelly to the front door. Several other early risers were milling around, looking worried or confused. Kelly cut a swath through them and shoved through the door, pointing toward the staff cottages near the shore. Another small group of people was gathered down there.

Ty took Kelly’s arm. “Doc, will you go to Deacon’s room and make sure they’re safe?”

“Aye,” Kelly said, then darted back into the house.

Ty and Zane took off at a run toward the commotion, with Nick hesitating briefly and then following them instead of Kelly. When they reached the crowd of roughly half a dozen people, Zane immediately took control of the situation, trying to discern what was happening in a loud, commanding voice. They received a cacophony of confused answers, but the prevailing words seemed to be “dead” and “murdered.”

A redheaded man with a hawk-like nose and a ruddy tan finally broke away from the other staff and came up to Zane. “Jockie Fraser,” he said in a Scottish accent, offering his hand. His fingers were stained dark and he was wearing a pair of heavy-duty overalls. “I’m the groundskeeper. I was on my way to the docks when I heard Maisie scream and I came running. Found her hyperventilating and found him like this.” He led them over to the scene, wringing his hat in his hands.

The body was facedown in the sand, just yards away from the encroaching surf. The shoreline around him was completely trampled.

Nick cursed under his breath. The homicide detective in him must have been pulling the pin on a grenade inside his head just looking at this messy scene.

Zane made his way carefully to the body to check for a pulse. He found none, as he’d probably expected, and he stood and backed away in his own footsteps. “We need to secure the scene and call the local authorities,” he said to them.

Ty pulled his phone out of his pocket, but soon found he had no service. He glanced at Nick, who was shaking his head at his own phone.

“We got nothing,” Ty muttered.

They asked the staff about their cell service, since they were locals, and were told the island’s service was spotty and only found in the highest of places. They were too remote.

Zane singled out one of the onlookers to go to the mansion and have someone contact the mainland. The girl ran off, and Ty and Zane stood staring at each other for long moments. How did this always happen to them? Every single time. Another vacation, another psychopath.

Nick smacked Ty on the back, bringing his attention back to the present. “You recognize that vest, man?”

Ty took a closer look at the victim’s muddy vest. Burgundy with a gold-stitched fox-and-hound scene repeated over and over. His stomach sank. It was the head of operations, the man who’d insisted the island was safe. “Milton.”

“What do you mean we can’t contact the mainland?” Ty hissed to his brother’s future father-in-law.

The man had ridden down from the mansion when he’d heard the news, accompanied by his two bodyguards and Deuce. Nick assumed Kelly had remained behind with Livi and Amelia to watch over them, but his eyes kept straying to try to catch sight of him.

Stanton’s voice was strained when he answered Ty. “The house telephones aren’t operating properly, there’s too much static on the line. Hamish believes there’s water in the lines. But we’re not getting a radio signal either.”

The larger of his two bodyguards, the overeager leader of the Snake Eaters they all called English, took his sunglasses off and stepped forward. “It could be the work of a signal jammer.”

Stanton sighed in annoyance. “That is one possibility, perhaps. There’s also a massive storm cell all around us, the same one that passed over last night. That’s why we moved tomorrow night’s rehearsal ceremony inside. Communications are disrupted like this two, three times a week during the stormy seasons. It’s no real reason for concern.”

“I’d say it’s reason for him to be concerned,” Ty said with a point to the dead man.

“Of course,” Stanton said, staying impressively calm. “I’m merely saying the lack of communications is not unusual. It could be a coincidence.”

“What about a sat phone?” Zane asked.

“Do you have one?” Stanton asked, his tone one of hope rather than sarcasm.

Zane shook his head.

“Neither does anyone else. My personal one has gone missing.”

“That’s a little bit of an alarm, there, boss,” Ty grunted.

“Amelia was playing with it at dinner on the first night. Maisie was trying to retrieve it from her, but I haven’t seen it since. There’s no telling where it is.”

“Great.”

“I’ll have the staff begin a quiet inquiry for anyone else who has one, but we’re trying not to alarm anyone.”

“Even the radios on the boats are out?” Nick asked.

“I’ve not yet got word back from the man I sent to the dock. I don’t have high hopes. Even the staff’s walkie-talkies are on the fritz.”

“Storms usually do that?” Zane asked.

“Not that I’ve seen, no.”

Nick gritted his teeth in frustration. This was kind of like being in the Marines all over again and trying to communicate with cans and string.

“What about the ferry?” Ty tried. “When will they notice they’ve lost contact with us?”