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Coming Soon
TRACKED
We’re going back to pre-World War II and the Neptune’s Five spy chasers.
TRACKED is book #2 in the Edgars prequel series. If you haven’t read book #1, SHANGHAIED, turn the page for a sneak peek.
SHANGHAIED
Norfolk, VA
January, 1941
“Two, to the back of the head, execution style,” the detective said, squatting by the body lying on the wet, pothole-riddled cobblestone pavement of the alley. “Who found him?”
“The guy in black over there. Says he’ll only talk to you.”
The young police officer nodded in Zach Edgars’ direction, two buildings down and next to one of the two police cruisers, where he watched both the murder scene and the crowd gathering in the misty night—close enough to hear their conversation, far enough away not to attract too much attention. The brim of his fisherman’s hat pulled low over his eyes to keep his face hidden from any onlookers, he stepped further back to blend into the surrounding shadows as best he could.
The detective stood, cracked his neck from one side to the other, then shoved his hands into his pants pocket. With a nod to the medical examiner’s group to begin their processing of the body, he headed toward the cruisers, his open trench coat flapping in the wind as he walked. He came to a stop in front of Zach.
“Detective Ford. What’s your name?” the policeman asked, slipping a toothpick into the corner of his mouth.
“Zach Edgars,” he said, opening his hand so the other man could see his official credentials without announcing to everyone who he really worked for.
Ford arched a brow, but only nodded. Good. The guy got the picture that this was neither the place nor time for him to discuss the Office of Naval Intelligence’s interest in the man currently face down in the alley.
“You have anything to do with our vic getting dead?” Ford asked.
Zach shook his head. “Was on my way to meet with him and found him just like you see him.”
“Any chance you want to tell me what you two were going to discuss in a dark alley, late at night?” The detective eyed Zach up and down. “And why a Navy Captain is dressed like a dock worker?”
Again, Zach shook his head. “Best I can tell you at the moment is it’s classified.”
“Claaasssifiiied…” Ford repeated, drawing out the word, frustration apparent in his voice. He moved to the side, so he could keep an eye on both Zach and the group gathered where the body lay. One man had a camera, taking pictures of the crime scene with big flashes of light from the bulb in the dark night. “This guy got a name? We didn’t find a wallet on him.”
“Goes by the name Mackerel Mike.”
“Mackerel Mike? Because he’s so short?”
“Be my guess,” Zach said, acknowledging the reason for the dead man’s nickname. “Worked on a fishing boat when the weather’s good. Hung out on the pier when it wasn’t.” He didn’t mention that most nights Mackerel Mike could be found hanging out in the bars on that pier. The last thing he needed was Ford’s investigation crashing into his.
Ford gnawed on the toothpick a little before speaking. “So, you think him ending up dead in this alley has something to do with your classified meeting?”
“Looks more like he got jumped and robbed. You said there was no wallet on him.” Zach’s stomach did a little flip, the weight of the dead man’s wallet suddenly feeling like a brick in his hip pocket. It went against everything he’d learned growing up to lie and steer this cop in the wrong direction, but it was imperative no one come down to the pier asking questions about Mackerel Mike—at least not until he knew more about the spies’ nest.
“Guess we’ll just chalk it up as a drunk getting mugged. Wrong place, wrong time, huh?”
“Guess so,” Zach agreed, happy to have the case closed as fast as the detective.
“Am I gonna find more of these mugged drunks lying around in dark alleys?” Ford asked, piercing Zach with a narrow-eyed look.
The man wasn’t a fool.
“Not if I can help it.”
“Then I guess we’re done here.” Ford gave him a nod of the head and sauntered back to his crime scene.
Zach slipped further into the shadows, watching the small crowd for anyone looking out of place, even though he suspected that whoever executed Mike was long gone. In his