Tidal Bones: Chase Adams Season Two (A Chase Adams FBI Thriller Book 17) by Patrick Logan

Author:Patrick Logan [Logan, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pathological Ink
Published: 2024-12-31T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

“Did you find him?” Tate asked when they returned to camp. He’d managed to stand up and was now using a branch that he’d found to support his injured ankle.

Although her mind was elsewhere, Chase found the similarities between her husband and her ex-partner and now boss Jeremy Stitts to be more than a little disturbing.

Stitts had once joked with Tate about how everyone who worked with Chase eventually ended up with a bullet lodged somewhere in their bodies.

Until now, Tate had managed to avoid most of the Chase curse and while a twisted ankle was a far cry from a bullet wound, both men used canes.

“I think so,” she said, her face dour. “I think he fell over the side.”

“Jesus Christ.” Tate winced, put more weight on the branch. “How far?”

“Too far. Can’t see. Josh is going to take us in the boat to get a better look.”

Tate made a move as if to come with them, but Chase shook her head.

“You stay here with the Denishen brothers.”

Tate now looked as if he was primed to argue but then he noticed Andrew.

The man, pale as a white horse, was still shaking. Like Tate, he, too, needed support to remain standing. Only, he was using his brother and not a stick.

“Okay. Hurry.”

Chase turned to Frost and Josh.

“Let’s go.”

Nobody said anything on the hike back to Becher’s Bay. It wasn’t until they were wading into the shallow water toward Josh’s RIB that one of them spoke up.

“We need to call in the Coast Guard,” the lieutenant said.

He helped Chase and then Frost into the boat.

“Whose jurisdiction is Santa Rosa?” Chase asked, unsure as to why this hadn’t come up previously.

“Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department.”

Josh started the engine and it roared to life.

Great, Chase thought. FBI, OC Sheriff’s Department, the Navy, Coast Guard, and now the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department. What’s next? NCIS? Why not throw in the CIA and LAPD while we’re at it? A veritable quagmire of law enforcement branches.

She shook her head.

Frank, how the fuck did you fall?

Josh wound up the anchor and revved the engine. The RIB skipped across the water, following the shoreline.

Beyond Becher’s Bay, Josh was forced to slow and move further away from Santa Rosa to avoid the large rocks.

Chase kept her eyes trained on the shore. The cliff was even larger than she’d estimated while up top.

Forty feet—at least.

Could Frank have survived such a fall?

Objectively, no.

Chase was well aware that even falling from a second-story roof had an estimated survival rate of only fifty percent.

The cliff face was twice that… and then there were the jagged rocks and the water.

Maybe Frank had landed in a shallow pool, avoiding the rocks. Maybe he’d just broken his legs and had passed out, face up.

Improbable bordering on impossible, but… one could hope.

“There!” Frost shouted over the roar of the RIB’s engine.

Chase followed the woman’s outstretched finger.

Hope was a dangerous, fickle thing.

Frank was dead.

They were a good thirty yards from the shore, but this was undeniable.

The man had fallen on a giant, half-submerged rock.

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