Two Reasons to Run

  Dedication

  For the love of my life and my constant supporter, Dave Coble.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  A Note from the Author

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  An Excerpt from Strands of Truth Prologue

  One

  Two

  About the Author

  Acclaim for Colleen Coble

  Also by Colleen Coble

  Copyright

  One

  Was anyone watching?

  Keith McDonald sat at the computer and glanced around the oil platform’s rec room, but the dozen or so workers were engrossed in watching the final game of a Ping-Pong match. He hesitated, then hovered his cursor over the Send button. Clenching his teeth, he sent the emails. Maybe it was nothing, but if anyone could decipher the recording, it was Reid Dixon.

  The back of his neck prickled, and Keith looked around again. The room felt stifling even with the AC cooling it from the May heat. He jumped up and headed for the door. He exited and darted into the shadows as two men strolled past. One was his suspect.

  Keith stood on a grating suspended three thousand feet over the water and strained to hear past the noise of machinery. The scent of the sea enveloped him, and the stars glimmered on the water surrounding the oil platform that had been his home for two years now.

  “Scheduled for late May—” A clanging bell drowned out the rest of the man’s words.

  “Devastation—”

  The other fragment of conversation pumped up Keith’s heart rate. Were they talking about the sabotage he feared, or was he reading more into the words than were there? He couldn’t believe someone could be callous enough to sabotage the oil platform and destroy the coast on purpose. He’d seen firsthand the devastating effects from the Deepwater Horizon catastrophe. And what about the people living on the platform? Deepwater Horizon had killed eleven people and injured another seventeen.

  He had to sound a warning and stop this, but he had no real evidence. If Reid Dixon blew him off, who would even listen? Maybe Homeland Security would pay attention, but who did he even call there? He could tell them about the pictures threatening Bonnie, but what did that prove? They might just say she had a stalker and he was chasing shadows.

  He couldn’t say they were wrong.

  He sidled along the railing, and the breeze lifted his hair. A boat bobbed in the waves far below, and in the moonlight, he spotted a diver aboard. Must be night diving the artificial reef created by the concrete supports below the platform. He’d done a bit of it himself over the years.

  For an instant he wished he were gliding carefree through the waves without this crushing weight of conscience on his shoulders. When he was sixteen, life was so simple. School, girls, football, and good times. He’d gone to work at the platform when he was nineteen, after he’d decided college wasn’t for him.

  It had been a safe place, a good place to work with fun companions and interesting work.

  Until a few weeks ago when everything turned sinister and strange. He’d wanted to uncover more before he reported it, but every second he delayed could mean a stronger chance of an attack.

  If an attack was coming. He still wasn’t sure, and he wanted a name or to identify the organization behind the threat. If there was a threat. Waffling back and forth had held him in place. Was this real, or was he reading something dangerous into something innocent?

  Though he didn’t think he was overreacting.

  He turned to head to his quarters. A bulky figure rushed him from the shadows and plowed into his chest, driving him back against the railing. The man grabbed Keith’s legs and tried to tip him over the edge.

  Keith kicked out with his right foot and drove the figure back into the wall opposite the catwalk. He searched for a weapon as the metal walkway clanged and the guy regained his feet. Nothing.

  “Help!” Though he shouted, he feared the noise of the machinery drowned out the sound of his cry.

  The guy was big and strong. Keith didn’t stand a chance of beating him in a show of strength or agility. He rushed for the end of the catwalk, but the guy reached him first and spun him around to press him against the railing again. He tried to kick his way out again, but the guy was ready for him this time and caught him by the ankle, then used his leg to tip him up and over.

  Keith saw the stars as he fell toward the dark water, then his head was under the water. The fall hadn’t killed him, but he felt woozy and a bit out of it. He struck out for the surface, though it seemed impossible to reach. As he kicked out, something grabbed him by the ankle, and he flung out his arms, connecting with a diver’s metal tank.

  The diver held him fast and took him down into the depths.

  * * *

  The air-conditioning in Police Chief Jane Hardy’s office whined like an unhappy dog, and she wiped a bead of perspiration from her brow. The company she’d called to work on the AC was nearly two hours late, and the Alabama Gulf Coast humidity had overpowered the ancient unit by eleven o’clock this morning. Her silky red golden retriever, Parker, lay sleeping with his head on his paws near the vent as if he wanted to get as much of the cool air as he could.

  She checked her watch. Two o’clock. Will would be out of school soon, and she’d have to pick him up and take him to his father’s after baseball practice. Her gut tightened at the thought of talking to Reid. She still couldn’t get past his lies, even though a friendly relationship with him would make getting to know her son so much easier.

  Her search on the computer ended with a ding, and she reached for her mouse to take a look. Every Monday she ran through the same search, and every week it came up empty. She glanced at the results and sighed. Still no sign of Liberty’s Children and her mother. While the smart and wise thing would be to give up the search, she couldn’t do it. Especially not since she’d found Will. Realizing her son was alive made her compulsion to find her mother even stronger.

  Rachel Hutchins, a temp manning the front desk, stuck her curly red head into Jane’s open doorway. She was about Jane’s age of thirty. “Chief, there’s a woman out here who says her son is missing. You want to take it?”

  “Is Detective Richards or Officer Brown back yet?”

  “No. Richards called in, and she’s tied up with a boat that’s been graffitied. I haven’t heard from Brown.” Rachel tipped her head to one side. “I can’t get over how much you resemble Reese Witherspoon.”

  Jane had heard the inane comment before and didn’t bother to answer. Her two new hires to replace her lost officers had just started. It would take a while to get them up to speed, but she hadn’t had time off
in weeks, and her fatigue was starting to show.

  She reached for her yellow legal pad and pen. “Show her in.”

  A few moments later, Rachel ushered in a fiftysomething woman Jane recognized as Ruby McDonald, the high school principal. Red eyes and a trembling mouth replaced Ruby’s usual smile and happy manner. She looked like she’d come straight from campus in her demure brown skirt and tan blouse. Her brown curls were frizzy from the humidity hovering at 90 percent.

  Jane rose and went around her desk to take her hand. “Ruby, what’s happened?”

  Though she didn’t know the older woman well, they’d had several conversations at the high school about Will, who had transferred in during the final two months of the school year.

  Ruby blotted her brown eyes with a waterlogged paper hankie. “It’s my son, Keith. He’s missing.”

  Jane squeezed Ruby’s hand and led her to the chair by the desk. “Have a seat while I take notes.”

  She vaguely remembered meeting Keith in the coffee shop. If she remembered correctly, he worked on one of the oil platforms in the Gulf, a dangerous job. She guessed him to be early twenties.

  She settled behind her desk and reached for her pen. “When did you see him last?”

  “Three weeks ago. He was supposed to come home for some R & R yesterday, but he never showed up. I’ve called his phone countless times. I tried calling his best friend on the rig, and Mike said he didn’t show up to take the chopper off the platform. He hasn’t seen him since after breakfast on Saturday.”

  Two days ago. “Did Mike report Keith missing to security or anyone?”

  “He says he did, but I haven’t spoken to the rig manager myself. Mike talked to him and said that a search of the platform failed to find him.”

  “They probably called the Coast Guard to help search.” She didn’t want to mention that a man lost at sea would be difficult to spot from the air or from a boat. Accidents on oil platforms happened all too frequently.

  Ruby gave a jerky nod. “They’ve been searching the sea.” She wadded her hankie in a tight fist. “I know you’re wondering why I’m here.”

  Jane wanted to show compassion, so she’d kept the question inside. “Well, finding a missing platform worker isn’t in my jurisdiction.”

  Ruby’s eyes filled with tears again. “I think he might have been murdered.”

  Jane stilled. “Why do you say that?”

  “He sent me an email. I got it two days ago.” Ruby reached into her purse and pulled out a folded paper. “I printed it out. He said if anything happened to him that it wasn’t an accident.” She slid the paper across the desk to Jane.

  Jane unfolded it and the words tumbled into her head.

  Dear Mom,

  I know this email is probably going to scare you, but I have to tell you something just in case. I stumbled across some information, and I’m not sure what to do about it. If something happens to me—if I come up missing or you’re told I died in an accident—go see Chief Hardy. I believe I’m in danger. I’ll try to get home and talk to her in person, but I’m not sure if I’ll make it or not.

  I think an attack on the oil rig is being planned. Terrorists maybe, but I’m not sure who is behind the plot. I was in a storage room, and the door was open just a crack. I heard two guys talking about turning off security to let in a hacker. They said something about each of them coming away with a hundred thousand dollars. I didn’t recognize their voices, but it sounded like the real deal.

  Since I’m a resident of Pelican Harbor, I thought Chief Hardy would be the one to talk to first. She can call in Homeland Security or whoever would be in charge of this kind of thing.

  I hope I’m not putting you in danger by telling you all this. Be careful and stay safe. Love you!

  Keith

  Frowning, Jane put down the printout. “Has anyone else seen this?”

  Ruby shook her head. “As soon as I talked to Mike, I came straight here. I didn’t mention the email to Mike. I don’t know who to trust.”

  Jane didn’t, either, but she would have to figure it out. “I’ll need Mike’s full name and anyone else you know there I can contact.”

  An oil spill would decimate the area. Lost wildlife, destroyed wetlands, lost jobs. She had to help.

  Two

  Zeus. Even the name of the oil platform looming about a mile from shore inspired awe as it rose from the pristine blue waters of the Gulf.

  The crane on Zeus lowered a metal cage to the boat where Reid Dixon and his videographer, Elliot Hastings, waited. The boat captain steadied the cage as Reid stepped in and moved out of the way to let Elliot crowd in behind him with the gear. With the clang of the door closing, there was no backing out now, and the cage began to rise over the pelicans riding the whitecaps below.

  Wind buffeted the cage, and Reid grabbed the bars with both hands as his stomach did a slow roll. It was like a roller coaster without the safety precautions, and he hated amusement parks.

  Elliot’s blue eyes laughed at him. “Scared, boss?”

  Twenty-five and single, Elliot never met a stranger. His blond curly hair touched his collar, and the youthful style made grandmotherly types nearly coo at him. Reid liked his can-do approach to anything he’d asked of him in the past three weeks since he’d been hired.

  Reid forced an answering grin. “It’s like a zip line, right?”

  Elliot squinted in the bright sunshine and pointed. “Dolphins. Wish we had time to swim with them.” He pulled his camera to his face and snapped off several shots. “Good backdrop for the article.”

  This trip was going to be an hour-long documentary for Discovery Channel and had been instigated several weeks ago when he’d had a disturbing email from Keith McDonald, a crew member. The invitation to board the oil platform to investigate hadn’t been easy to obtain, but here he was soaring over the Gulf to the noisy, clanging platform above.

  A burly guy with massive, tattoo-covered biceps snagged the metal cage. His grin revealed a gold tooth. “Got you, guv’nor.” His accent was all cockney without a hint of a Southern drawl.

  Reid stumbled out of the cage and onto the more solid footing of the platform. He looked around as Elliot joined him. The platform vibrated under his new size-twelve steel-toed work boots, and the noise of the drills and other machinery, though muffled, was plenty loud. He’d done his homework before coming out here and knew Zeus weighed over a hundred million tons. It was forty stories high, and thick pipes tethered it to the seabed under the billowing waves. It was structured to withstand even the power of a hurricane like Katrina.

  He peered through the metal grate to the water far below and felt a little dizzy.

  The big guy stuck out a beefy hand. “Name’s Dex. I’m one of the deck pushers, and I drew the bloomin’ short straw to show you around.”

  The deck pusher would know all the rig’s policies and safety procedures, and he would coordinate all the work done on deck including the crane operation.

  Reid shook Dex’s hand. “Reid Dixon.”

  “I’ve watched a few o’ your documentaries and like ’ow you cover both sides o’ things. What brings you to our platform?”

  “Most people have never been aboard one of these monsters, and they hold a little bit of mystique. I thought viewers would like a peek inside such a difficult and dangerous job.”

  “You sure you ain’t ’ere to see if we’re another Deepwater Horizon?” Though Dex’s tone remained friendly, his blue eyes narrowed.

  Reid kept his smile in place. “Are you?”

  “I’ll let you take a gander at all the safety measures we ’ave in place. You’ll be gobsmacked at all we’ve done ’ere.”

  Elliot rubbed sanitizer on his hands, then began to shoot video. Reid looked around the deck. The Gulf couldn’t stand another hit like the last one.

  Elliot signaled to him, and Reid started his dialogue for the documentary. “Located near here off the coast of Louisiana, Deepwater Horizon was the single greate
st marine disaster in history. A year after it had sunk the deepest ever oil well, the rig exploded. The tragedy killed eleven crew members and ignited a firestorm that could be seen forty miles away. Still spewing oil, it sank two days later and continued to pump crude into the ocean. Nearly five million barrels fouled the Gulf by the time it was capped nearly three months later. The oil spoiled eleven hundred miles of beach in Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi, and Florida. It was a catastrophe anyone alive here at the time would never forget. We’re here today to make sure this rig is safe.”

  Reid paused and swept his hand out over the blue waters. “God has cleaned up what man couldn’t, and the beaches are white again. Wildlife came back, and for the uninformed, it appears as if it had never happened. But I’ve looked closer and I’ve seen things you might not notice—things like reduced populations of larger marine animals such as whales, dolphins, and turtles, as well as lingering oil in the sediment. Some of the wetlands will take decades to recover.”

  He signaled Elliot to stop recording so they could proceed deeper into the rig.

  Every time he stared out over the water, he saw oil platforms and wondered when the next catastrophe would occur. He hoped it was never, but his contact on this rig had hinted that something “big” was going to happen out here. While Reid wasn’t sure if he believed it yet, he was disturbed enough to check it out.

  He trailed after Dex through the various parts of the offshore rig. Steel girders soared overhead on every deck, and the constant hum and clang of machinery wore on his nerves. He got a peek at workers’ quarters, exercise rooms, movie stations, internet cafés, and what felt like a million stairs.

  There’d been no sign of Keith, though. Reid had hoped the man would approach him, but three hours later Reid still hadn’t met him.

  He would have to ask.

  Dex gestured to a door. “Let’s get a cuppa and nosh up in the cafeteria.”

  Reid accepted a cup of coffee in the galley and inhaled the aromas of Mexican food from the huge spread along the buffet. The workers eyed him with curiosity before he turned back to Dex. “I wanted to speak with Keith McDonald. Is he around?”