Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4) by Brian Shea (novel books to read TXT) 📗

"You've got some real characters in your family."

Cass sipped her drink and shook her head. "Never seen them before today. Probably some friend of a friend of my dad's."

"A free drink's a free drink." Ethan smiled and gently tapped his glass against hers before taking a long sip.

The next ten minutes were a blur as guests approached to offer their congratulations. Ethan wanted nothing more than to get back to their Boylston Street apartment and sit by the fire. He still had over an hour and a half before the harbor cruise ended back at Long Warf, where it began. He suddenly regretted not eating much during the dinner portion of the evening. His nerves got the best of him. The vodka hit his empty stomach and worked its magic a little too effectively, and Ethan felt woozy.

"Hey, Cass," he touched her shoulder as a well-wisher moved off. "Not feeling so hot."

"You look like hell, and you're sweating," Cass immediately pressed her lips to his forehead, "You're burning up."

"I think I just need some fresh air. I'm going to go up on the top deck."

"Let me come with you."

Just then, Dan Benson walked up. Wexler's right-hand man. "Cassandra, your dad would like you to meet someone."

"We'll be there in a minute."

"You go ahead, Cass." Ethan kissed her cheek. "I'll be back in a second. You're better with that stuff, anyway."

"But you look terrible."

"You say the sweetest things." He chuckled. Even the meager effort caused the room to spin. "It was probably a bad hors d'oeuvre. I had one of those mini crab cakes earlier. You know how seafood sits with me."

"All right. But if I don't see you in five minutes, I'm coming looking."

"Okay. Make it ten."

They kissed once more. Her lipstick tasted like Skittles. They parted ways and Ethan made his way to the door while Benson led Cass away to her awaiting father. Wexler gave him a disapproving look from across the room. Nothing new there.

Ethan exited the enclosed space. An icy blast greeted him as he made his way to the stairwell. Unsteady, he needed to make use of the brass hand rail to climb his way up to the top deck. The upper floor of the cruise ship was covered in a maroon canopy that only worked to further intensify the force of the gusts, making Ethan's trek more difficult.

Booming vibrations from the band below deck resonated through floor into his bones. His stomach turned. No way he was going to make the long journey back without tossing his cookies, he thought as he fought against the vomit trying to escape. He looked down at his watch, but the numbers weren't clear. He wiped his eyes and looked again. The floorboards underneath shifted, or at least that's what it seemed like. Ethan widened his stance and grabbed at the nearby railing. Finding the cool metal, he pulled himself against it, hugging his chest to the horizontal rod and praying to God this wave of nausea subsided as he stared down at the choppy water below.

"Hey, buddy. You okay? Not thinking of jumping, are you?" It was the tall man from the bar. "Let us help you get down. You don't look good, pal. Shouldn't be standing that close to the edge."

"I'm okay." Ethan slurred his words. In his mind, he heard what he wanted to say, but he was no longer capable of formulating the sounds. The tall man became nothing more than a faceless shadow. He spun, putting his back to the rail. His legs buckled and Ethan felt a hand grab his arm.

"You all right?" he heard. "You really don't look too good."

Westie? Ethan thought he heard his voice. The same creepy, hushed tone he'd used when he'd said "nice ring" back at the bar. His voice sounded far away, but really close, like someone talking through a tunnel.

Ethan's entire world flickered as if someone had flipped a switch. Silence surrounded the coming darkness. Ethan's body seemed disconnected from his body. He couldn't breathe. It took a second to understand the reason until Ethan's brain caught up. He was being choked. Somebody was clutching his throat! His vision muddied completely as Ethan swung a balled fist.

The punch never landed. Ethan felt nothing more than the rush of wind accompanied by the flapping of his tie against the surrounding air until he plunged into the ice water.

The ship motored along and took with it the fading glow of the second deck partiers. Cold harbor water filled his lungs as the darkness swallowed the light.

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COLD HARD TRUTH, Boston Crime Thriller Book #5

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About the Author

Brian Shea has spent most of his adult life in service to his country and local community. He honorably served as an officer in the U.S. Navy. In his civilian life, he reached the rank of Detective and accrued over eleven years of law enforcement experience between Texas and Connecticut. Somewhere in the mix he spent five years as a fifth-grade school teacher. Brian’s myriad of life experience is woven into the tapestry of each character’s design. He resides in New England and is blessed with an amazing wife and three beautiful daughters.