The Storm (NUMA Files 10)

Kurt doubted that. A pair of red fire extinguishers sat untouched in their supporting clamps, one on each side of the boat. “Then why didn’t they use these?”

With no answers or even guesses, Kurt looked to Gamay. “Dirk tells me you’ve been taking classes in forensics.”

She nodded. “My time last year with Dr. Smith made me realize small things can tell us a lot. Especially when little else makes sense.”

“None of this makes any sense to me,” Kurt said. “A few containers of missing bulk goods doesn’t mean they were pirated, not when the computers and anything of real value was left behind. Broken dishes and a broken table might suggest a struggle, but it isn’t enough to make me think they went crazy and killed each other. So the only danger I see is this fire, but if they fought it with the hose, they seemed to forget they had fire extinguishers.”

“Maybe the fire disoriented them,” Paul suggested. “Maybe it happened at night? Or it released toxic fumes somehow, and they had no choice but to go overboard.”

That sounded like a possibility to Kurt. Thin but at least possible. And that might explain the strange residue. Perhaps it was an accelerant or gel of some kind. But if so, how did it get there?

“Let’s start with that,” he said. “The fire didn’t come from the engine bay, so something else had to cause it. Let’s get samples of the sludge, and anything else that seems odd.”

“I’ll do that,” Gamay said.

“And I’ll help Joe get the power back up,” Paul added.

“Good,” Kurt said smiling. “Leaves nothing for me to do except introduce myself to an attractive young woman.”

CHAPTER 6

GAMAY STARED AT HIM AS IF HE WAS JOKING. “OF COURSE you will,” she said. “You’re Kurt Austin, what else would you do?”

Despite her gibe, and suspicious glances from the others, Kurt said nothing more. He crossed the gangway onto the jetty but kept his eyes on the guard at the kiosk as if the guard was heading back inside.

At the last second he turned, locked his gaze on the woman by the tree, and began to march toward her.

He moved briskly, with long strides. She stared at him for a second and then began to back up. Kurt kept going.

The woman moved faster, backing toward the street. As she did so, a delivery van came racing down it. A partner coming to whisk her away, Kurt guessed.

But the woman stopped in her tracks, appearing confused. She stared at the approaching van and then looked at Kurt and then back at the van as it screeched to a stop several feet away.

The door flew open and two men jumped out. She tried to run, but they grabbed her.

Kurt didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he knew that wasn’t a good sign. He broke into a run, shouting at the men.

“Hey!”

The woman screamed as they dragged her backward. She struggled, but they flung her through the open door and piled in behind her. By the time Kurt reached the street, they were speeding off. The guard from the kiosk raced up behind him, blowing a whistle.

A whistle wasn’t going to cut it.

“Do you have a car?”

“Just a scooter,” the guard said, pulling out a key and pointing to a little orange Vespa.

Kurt snatched the key and ran for the scooter. It would have to do.

He threw a leg over the seat, stuck the key in the ignition, and turned it. The 50cc engine came to life with all the power of a bathroom fan.

“Who doesn’t have a car?” he shouted as he popped the kickstand, twisted the throttle.

“The whole island is only two miles across,” the guard yelled back to him. “Who needs a car?”

Kurt couldn’t argue with that logic, and even if he could have, he didn’t have time. He twisted the throttle wide open, and the Vespa accelerated, buzzing like a weed whacker, chasing after the fleeing van.

A minute ago he’d wondered if the woman was a reporter, then became suspicious that she might be something more dangerous. Now he was trying to save her from kidnappers. It was making for a very interesting morning.