Predator Prey - 31. Collared

"Does that sound like a plan?" Graham was smiling, sitting on a chair jammed into a too-small table with Ellie and himself in the mess area.

It was lunchtime, and a scratch meal of thrown-together leftovers had been picked over by the scientific party and the crew. The atmosphere on board the Feigenbaum was a little feverish as everyone anticipated the ship's arrival at Sand River early in the afternoon. Nearly everyone was looking forward to a real meal on shore and looked askance at the offering in the mess area.

The plan in question had to do with how Graham would come to collect him and his gear from the Feigenbaum later in the afternoon.

"So how is this going to work?" Ellie asked.

"Scott has to stay here and finish with the ship after it docks," Graham explained.

"Harbor duties," he put in.

Graham went on. "As soon as we can disembark, you drive me to my apartment and drop me off there," he said to the big blond girl.

"Sure, that's okay, but –"

"And then around five o'clock or so, I'll come back in my own car and pick up Scott."

"You sure you know what you're doing, Scott?" Ellie asked. "Graham's kind of a mess."

He nodded and smiled. "Yeah, I think so." For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of ease, a sense of contentment. Something was turning out the way it was supposed to.

"Good. Because if you break Graham's heart, I'm going to have to kill you." Ellie said that with a smile, but he wondered if the big blond amazon might not really be able to break him in half. She looked pretty strong. "Now what about supper plans?"

"It might take an hour or two for Scott to get cleaned up and settled in…" Graham began.

Ellie snorted. "Yeah, right. An hour or two? It's not that far from the Research Center to your apartment, Graham. You really need an hour to…oh." She came to an abrupt stop.

Graham glared at her. "Why don't you stop by my place around seven-thirty or so, and we can go out to eat?"

"Sure you won’t be hungry sooner, Scott?" the girl snickered, turning to him.

"Seven-thirty works for me," he said, narrowing his eyes and returning her smile.

"Right," said Graham, standing. "Let me clear all this stuff up." The tall researcher collected plates and cups and walked over to the galley area.

"I can't believe I've been calling you 'Wally' for four weeks. Why didn't you tell me your actual name?" the big girl asked him.

He shrugged. "Didn't seem worth it to contradict Cookie."

"So why tell Graham?"

"Because. Graham's different." How could he make her understand Graham affected him as nobody else had ever done?

Ellie laid her hand on his, and looked him squarely in the eye. "I meant what I said. You be good to Graham. Don't hurt him."

"You don't have anything to worry about. I won't." He was just as sincere as Ellie.

The little party broke up soon after that. There was still packing and work to do.

At one thirty-seven in the afternoon, the Feigenbaum docked at the Marine Research Center, twenty-three minutes ahead of schedule. Not long after, the scientific party began to disembark. There was more gear and luggage to carry off the ship than there had been in January, so the process was a little slower than with the previous cruise.

He was doing galley stowage and going over checklists when Graham and Ellie reappeared. Both scientists were weighed down with bags and equipment. Graham had his duffel slung over his square shoulders, while his hands carried a large plastic tub full of what appeared to be racks of samples and sample collection bottles. Ellie had her own personal equipment, plus a milk crate full of rock samples and a number of items piled precariously on top, including what looked like Graham's speargun.

Graham set his tub down on a table. "Okay, we're off. You all set?"

He came around the counter and wrapped Graham in a hug. "Will be. See you around five, right?"

"Yeah. Around five."

"Awww," Ellie sounded in the background, "you two…But you boys will have plenty of time for that later. Come on, Graham, if I know you, there's a whole lot of housecleaning to do."

He didn't want to, but he released Graham and smiled. "See you in a few hours. Go clean your room."

"Yes, Mom," his boyfriend snickered.

He hoisted his duffel and samples, while Ellie did her best to maneuver her articles to the hatchway. She must have stumbled under her load, because he heard Graham call out, "Hey, watch out for the speargun! You'll shoot your eye out"

And then they were gone to the sound of laughter.

He returned to his checklists. Cookie had given him plenty to inventory; the Purser would want final reports on the status and condition of the Feigenbaum's cargo and equipment. These, he knew, would be used to make a valuation of the ship's stores for accounting purposes. Somehow, the maritime accounting would have to be reconciled with the University's bean-counters. He chuckled at the thought. He worked steadily through the forms Cookie had given him, and had them finished by mid-afternoon.

"Hey, Cookie, I got your reports here," he said, returning to find the Purser seated at a table in the galley area, a mess of papers in front of him.

"Thanks, Wally, put 'em in here," the Purser indicated a plastic carryall at his feet.

He found the appropriate folder and added them to the sheaf.

"While you're here, why don't I get you paid off?" Cookie went on.

He straightened up and cocked an eye at the older man.

"End of cruise. Everyone shows up in another half hour to get paid. In the old days, it would be cash, but now, all I do is write a bunch of checks." Cookie riffled through a stack of envelopes. The Purser picked one out, handed it to him, and then marked off his name on a clipboard. "Here. You’re done."

"But Cookie, there must be something else you – "

"Nope. Go on. Get outta here. Go clean up, pack your bags, and vamoose. You got two whole days to whoop it up before you show up to classes on Monday."

He fingered the envelope in his hand. "Thanks, Cookie."

"No problem. You did good this cruise, Wally."

He stuck out his hand, and the older man took it. "Congratulations. Bet you it won't be your last trip."

"I don't doubt it," he said.

Paycheck in hand, he descended to his stateroom. Nate, the invisible intern, was long gone. They'd been on opposite watches, and he'd barely registered that they shared the space at all. But with Nate's clutter gone, it didn't take him too long to gather his few possessions together. Laundry, most of it dirty, was shoved in the duffel. He carefully stowed a couple of manuals and his laptop with its precious spreadsheet in his backpack. He thought about showering before he left but decided against it. He looked forward to using Graham's shower. Possibly with Graham in it.

He smiled at the thought.

He double checked the stateroom to be sure there was nothing left behind. Really, there just wasn't very much to pack. He put his backpack over one shoulder and hauled Marc's old duffel over the other. He had perhaps an hour to wait for Graham, but he could do it on deck in the sun. He made his way to the companionway – a glorified ladder, really – and ascended to the next level. He could hear people gathering in the galley where Cookie was getting ready to pay them off, but he continued upwards. There was a sunny spot up above that he knew, and he supposed he might stretch out there for an hour or so until Graham arrived.

The forward observation deck was a place just off the lab, frequented by scientists scanning the sea for larger creatures – or interns looking for a spot to sun themselves for a few minutes. It was surrounded by a safety railing, situated just below the pilothouse, and above the main deck.

With the scientific party gone, there was nobody to see him stretch out. The deck plating was warmed by the March sun, and he felt perfectly comfortable lying out. So comfortable, in fact, that he dozed for a while, until voices from the main deck carried up to him.

"Are you sure you haven't seen him?" The first voice sounded from not too far below his sunny spot.

He was awake. He knew that voice. He frowned. He sat up and tried to shake off his cobwebs.

"No sir, the last time I saw him was at lunch."

Who was that second voice talking? Luis, maybe?

"It's really important that I find him. I'm supposed to pick him up. You said he lived downstairs?"

Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. That first voice – oh fucking hell – Kenny. He should have recognized it right away. How the hell did Kenny track him down here? And how did he get on board? Probably, Marquez's courier just ducked under the chain across the shore end of the gangway. Of all the people he did not want to see ever again, Kenny would have topped the list. And if Kenny was here, it could only mean that Marquez wanted him. The supplier hadn't forgotten.

"That's right. Down below decks."

"He'll be down there?"

He heard footsteps.

"Hey, hey, you just can't go down there. Hold on. You'll need permission or an escort," Luis protested.

"Who do I see about that?"

He actually heard Luis sigh. "The Mate. Come on, I'll take you to him."

He sat there in the lovely late afternoon sun, frozen in place. Fucking Kenny. What was he going to do? He couldn't just stay where he was. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed his duffel and backpack and slipped inside. His heart beat a mile a minute. He tried to think.

Could he hide? Should he try to run up to the pilothouse, conceal himself in the chartroom? Would Kenny think to look for him there? Or should he run – just get off the Feigenbaum as soon as he could and try to get away before Kenny could discover his absence?

He stood there in the upper lab, paralyzed. Seconds ticked by.

No. He wouldn't hide on board. If he stayed, even if he could remain hidden, Kenny would run into Graham. That was not going to happen. He had to flee. Resolved now, he headed down to the main deck, careful not to lose his balance.

He paused at the companionway down below. Shit. Voices. He was sure he heard Luis and Kenny approaching. He strode over to the gangway, and made his way down to shore. In his hurry, he barely noticed the two well-dressed individuals waiting at the chain.

He tried to make his way past them after unhooking and replacing the chain, but one of these, a tall man with a linebacker's build, firmly restrained him by one arm.

"Scott Colebrook?"

He stared.

The second of the pair flashed a badge. "I'm Inspector Carl Snyder, State Police. This is my partner, Inspector Vinson. Would you mind coming with us, Mr. Colebrook? We have some questions."

He might have stood his ground. He might have insisted on asking for his rights, or a lawyer, or to see a warrant. But what about Graham? How would his boyfriend know where'd he'd gone? He didn't even have a phone number to call. Events overtook him. As he tried to make up his mind, a vice-like grip moved him to face a dark, nondescript sedan. He felt himself being patted down for weapons, his bags pulled away and tossed in the trunk.

Finally, he found his tongue. "Am I under arrest?"

"No, sir," the man called Vinson said in a smooth, practiced voice, "but you're a person of interest in an investigation. There are some questions we'd like to ask."

He found himself firmly deposited in the back seat of the well-used vehicle. The door closed, and the policemen lost no time in taking their places in the front.

"Wait, wait, where are you taking me?"

"District offices. Chief Inspector wants to talk to you," Snyder said, turning to look over his shoulder.

"What if I don't want to talk to him?"

"Maybe you want to wait and see about that, all right, Mr. Colebrook?"

And he felt himself pressed into the seat as the car sped out of the parking lot.