Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

Forrester sat down and poured a drink for himself. He chose to do more than sip. “This could be a disaster,” he mumbled.

The door opened and the assistant came in. He held the camera phone in question.

“How much?”

“Twenty K,” the assistant said.

Forrester nodded. “Good, take care of it. And give the guy a job, if he’ll take it. A highly paid spot. I don’t want him changing his mind.”

The assistant left and Westgate looked up. His wits were returning to him, the aching in his head subsiding. “Do you know who that was?”

“Of course I do,” Forrester said. “And I’m gonna have him locked away for assault, making threatening statements, and anything else I can think of.”

“Are you insane?” Westgate snapped. “That man dove from a helicopter in the middle of a hurricane to try to save me and my family. You’re going to prosecute him? How’s that going to look?”

Forrester exhaled in frustration. Westgate could see him thinking, coming to the only logical conclusion. The calculations were easy.

“I want to meet with him,” Westgate said.

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Forrester said.

“Because what?”

Forrester hemmed and hawed for a second. “Because he’s crazy. From what I’ve heard, he’s been struggling. He was injured in the rescue and has been on medical leave. He’s locked into some conspiracy theory about the yacht not really sinking or your wife not being on board or surviving somehow. He thinks she’s working for the Iranians.”

Westgate was stunned for a moment; he felt dizzy. “Working for Iran? Are you kidding me?”

“Told you he was crazy,” Forrester said. “Now do you understand why you can’t meet with him?”

“Why would he think that?”

Forrester looked away. “Forget it, Brian. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Westgate insisted. “Could he be right? Is there any possible way?”

Forrester turned and fixed his gaze on Westgate. “Don’t do this to yourself. You know as well as I do that she drowned.”

Westgate looked away, his mind spinning. Of course he knew that. The question was, why didn’t Austin? He was the one who’d seen her. “How do you know Austin’s been on leave?”

“I keep an eye on things,” Forrester said. “That’s my job. And when I first got the details of the incident, I started looking into it.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Forrester leaned toward Westgate, cradling the drink in both hands. His tone changed. There was venom in it. “And what would you have done if I told you?”

Westgate didn’t answer.

“He’s a danger to us. Whatever ax he has to grind, we need to keep him far away from you.”

“Why would he have an ax to grind with me?”

“Come on, Brian,” Forrester said, “don’t be so naïve. He was engaged to your wife years ago. They were supposed to get married the same summer that you two met. Or didn’t she tell you that?”

Westgate took the statement for what it was, a barb to get him riled up against