Page 107 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

Ellery snorted. “Leave the badassery to Jackson,” he muttered. “I’ll be waiting for my medal for lawyering to arrive in the mail for the rest of my life.”

“I’ll have one made for you as a wedding gift,” she said with a straight face, and he gave her a sour look before hitting the Call button.

Jade picked up before the first ring had even finished, and they were on the move.

Fish in the Hole

“WHAT DOyou mean you’ve been there for half an hour already?”

Ellery’s voice took on that tinny timbre that often meant either a) he was panicking about Jackson alot,or b) his own day had gone batshit insane and he was taking out his stress on Jackson because, well, Jackson usually deserved it.

In this case, Jackson surmised, it was probably both.

“I mean we made good time,” Jackson downplayed, but he was scowling at Cody as he said it.

Cody grinned back unrepentantly and stroked the enormous head of Preacher, the dog who had been training far from Napa when he’d found the original three bodies, and who had returned by helicopter at Toby’s request to work with Jackson and Cody. Preston, Preacher’s handler, had seemed absolutely unflappable, but after watching him work with Preacher for a few minutes—and then interact with the helicopter pilot who had landed his craft in a big stretch of flatland near the picnic area and who also seemed to be Preston’s significant other—Jackson surmised Preston was probably neurodivergent more than he was unflappable.

But while his affect remained unruffled, that did not mean Preston wasn’t “flapped” at the idea that the bodies of three adolescent boys had been found nearby, and that they would be searching the two nearby mine caps to see if others had been dumped.

“Preacher prefers rescue work,” Preston had said, the intensity of his voice soundingangry,although his expressionremained neutral. “Nobody likes finding cadavers. It’ssad,and just because he’s a dog doesn’t mean he won’t get depressed.”

Jackson had held his hand out to the dog to sniff, and Preston had all but growled at him. “He isworking.”

“Yes,” said the helicopter pilot, who had the dark hair and brows and the fine facial sculpting of a native islander, probably Hawai’i. He walked with a slight limp but didn’t seem self-conscious in the least. “Yes, Preston, heisworking, but so are these two men. They need Preacher to trust them, which meansyouneed to trust that Preacher needs to smell their hands in greeting.”

Preston emitted a hurt sound, while Jackson and Cody—after a glance at each other to confirm that what was going down was what they thought was going down—both held their hands out for the dog to sniff. And—with a surreptitious glance at his handler—to lick, because Preacher seemed like that kind of dog.

“Kids, Damien,” he said, sounding heartbroken. “And Preacher has to find more.”

“I know, baby,” Damien said softly. “C’mere.”

Damien had engulfed Preston in a hard, soul-nurturing hug then, and Cody sighed a little.

“You want one of those?” Jackson asked with a smile.

Cody shrugged. “Need to find the right donor. I think that one’s taken.”

And that’s when Jackson’s pocket had buzzed. He’d walked a few feet away and huddled in his windbreaker to have the conversation, but that didn’t mean Cody wasn’t listening. Shamelessly.

“Good time?” Ellery asked in disbelief. “You only left two hours ago! What does ‘good time’ mean?”

Jackson grunted. “It means keep an eye out for my eyebrows and parts of my stomach when you hit Mokelumne Hill,” hesaid honestly. “And I think I have a cramp in my shoulder from yanking on the Oh Shit bar.”

“Praise Jesus,” Cody said with a smile.

“Oh shit,” Jackson replied reflexively, because who didn’t like a good “fear for your life” joke?

“You and Cody appear to be getting along okay,” Ellery said, sounding irritated.

“Jealous?”

“That you’re in the field with a wildly handsome man who seems to think you’re awesome? No. Not at all. Doesn’t faze me a bit.”

Cody’s bark of laughter carried to the phone, and Ellery said, “Am I on speaker?”

“Yes, Ellery—the copter is still winding down, and it’s windyandrainy here. You’re on speaker. Sorry. Cody is laughing because he wouldn’t shag me on a dare. Now I love you, but we’re about to start heading for the first mine cap on our path here as we work around the property, and our dog handler is, well, unhappythat we’re looking for corpses and not rescuing kids, so we need to get this shitshow on the road. What can I do for you?”

Ellery grunted. “I’m about to let the FBI track your phone,” he said, and Jackson fought the temptation to sit down in the middle of the mud and overgrown grass of the field and kick his heels.

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