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  UNCHARTED

  Blake Brier Book Three

  L.T. Ryan

  Gregory Scott

  Copyright © 2021 by L.T. Ryan, Gregory Scott, and Liquid Mind Media, LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

  For information contact:

  [email protected]

  https://LTRyan.com

  https://www.facebook.com/JackNobleBooks

  Contents

  The Blake Brier Series

  1. Saturday, May 29th. Afternoon

  2. Saturday, May 29th. Afternoon

  3. Saturday, May 29th. Evening

  4. Saturday, May 29th. Evening

  5. Sunday, May 30th. Morning

  6. Sunday, May 30th. Morning

  7. Sunday, May 30th. Late Morning

  8. Sunday, May 30th. Early Afternoon

  9. Sunday, May 30th. Early Evening

  10. Sunday, May 30th. Night

  11. Sunday, May 30th. Night

  12. Monday, June 1st. Early Morning

  13. Monday, June 1st. Morning

  14. Monday, June 1st. Morning

  15. Monday, June 1st. Afternoon

  16. Monday, June 1st. Late Afternoon

  17. Monday, June 1st. Early Evening

  18. Monday, June 1st. Evening

  19. Monday, June 1st. Night

  20. Tuesday, June 2nd. Early Morning

  21. Tuesday, June 2nd. Morning

  22. Tuesday, June 2nd. Late Morning

  23. Tuesday, June 2nd. Afternoon

  24. Tuesday, June 2nd. Afternoon

  25. Tuesday, June 2nd. Late Afternoon

  26. Tuesday, June 2nd. Early Evening

  27. Tuesday, June 2nd. Late Evening

  28. Tuesday, June 2nd. Late Evening

  29. Tuesday, June 2nd. Night

  30. Tuesday, June 2nd. Night

  31. Tuesday, June 2nd. Night

  32. Tuesday, June 2nd. Night

  33. Wednesday, June 3rd. Late Night/Early Morning

  34. Wednesday, June 3rd. Morning

  35. Wednesday, June 3rd. Morning

  36. Wednesday, June 3rd. Morning

  37. Wednesday, June 3rd. Morning

  38. Wednesday, June 3rd. Morning

  39. Wednesday, June 3rd. Late Morning

  40. Wednesday, June 3rd. Late Afternoon

  41. Wednesday, June 3rd. Evening

  42. Thursday, June 4th. Evening

  43. Thursday, June 4th. Evening

  DRAWPOINT

  DRAWPOINT Chapter 1

  DRAWPOINT Chapter 2

  DRAWPOINT Chapter 3

  Also by L.T. Ryan

  About the Author

  The Blake Brier Series

  Blake Brier Series

  Unmasked

  Unleashed

  Uncharted

  Drawpoint (Coming July, 2021)

  1

  Saturday, May 29th. Afternoon

  Jason wiped the sunscreen-laced bead of sweat from the corner of his eye before it infiltrated his eyelid. He opened his eyes as much as the beating afternoon sun would allow. Satisfied that he thwarted the eyeball-stinging scourge of the SPF 15, he closed his eyes and sunk back into his thoughts.

  Stretched out across the V-shaped cushions of his parents’ twenty-two-foot bowrider, Jason had but one concern. Properly maintaining his tan.

  “That’s a hot look.” Brian cracked another can of Miller Lite.

  “Shush. You’re interrupting my work.” Jason formed the words by utilizing as few facial muscles as possible. He knew what his best friend was referring to and had expected the ridicule. The legs of his palm tree patterned swim trunks were hiked up to his groin and looked like a Hawaiian Sumo diaper. Better than pasty white thighs , he thought.

  “Your girlfriend’s getting jealous over here,” Brian joked. “She won’t say it, but she’s worried you’re gonna be prettier than her.”

  Shelly giggled. It was a running joke that her boyfriend was obsessed with himself. It wasn’t entirely untrue, but she had to admit that he doted on her more than himself, which was all she cared about.

  “Aren’t you gonna have a beer, Jason?” Emma asked.

  Jason sat up with a groan and adjusted his trunks. The answer was no.

  “Jay doesn’t drink when he’s driving the boat,” Shelly said.

  Although he had experience operating the boat, it still made him uneasy to be wholly responsible for it. If he had learned anything about boating, it was that whatever could go wrong would go wrong. Even in the tame waters of the Narragansett Bay.

  “Ironic, right?” Jason pointed out as he moved aft to join his friends. “Since I’m the only one who’s legal.”

  “Oh yeah, you’re way cooler than any of us ‘cause you turned twenty-one first. Even though I’m like three months behind you,” Brian said.

  “Still, I have to look out for you young kids.” Jason plopped down next to Shelly, put his arm around her shoulder, and kissed her on the side of the head.

  “Okay, Boomer.” Brian shot a proud smirk.

  Jason clasped his hands behind his head and kicked his leg out, crossing his ankles on top of his best friend’s knee. “Tell me this isn’t the life.”

  Brian shoved Jason’s feet to the side, causing them to flop to the fiberglass floor.

  “Let’s get a group shot,” Emma suggested. “I’ve gotta post this on Insta.”

  The group sputtered half-hearted protests while obediently squeezing together. Emma crouched on the floor in between the bench seats and extended her arm as far as she could.

  “Jason, you’re blocking the bridge,” Emma said.

  Using the preview on the screen of Emma’s outstretched smartphone as a guide, Jason repositioned so that the Jamestown Verrazano bridge, some two miles in the distance, was in the frame. He tightened his abs, chest, and biceps, and pasted on his prepackaged social media smile.

  The screen flashed. Emma slid onto her seat and began pawing at the screen.

  “Ya get it? How do I look?” Jason asked.

  Emma shrugged and handed him the phone.

  “Oh, yeah. Post that,” Jason said. “I look fine as hell.”

  Emma snatched the phone. “I don’t. I look like a hot mess.” She stood up and gazed to the west. “Anyways, I wanted to get more of the background. Like, look at this place.”

  Jason glanced over his shoulder to take in the view. The scene had been the backdrop of his whole life. So common that he rarely noticed it.

  Anchored only a hundred feet offshore in a protected corner of the bay at the mouth of Zeek’s Creek, the ripples of the calm shallow water smoothed out to a glassy sheen in the distance. Beyond the bobbing sailboats anchored in the harbor was Dutch Island, an uninhabited mound of dense foliage rising from the center of the West Passage. Along the shore, to their south, stood a row of quiet houses. Each of them a better example of old Rhode Island architecture than the next. In a way, Emma’s enthusiasm had breathed new life into all of it.

  “I can’t believe y’all grew up here,” Emma said. “It’s awesome. God, I would never want to leave if I lived here.”

  Originally from Fort Worth, Texas, Emma and Brian met at the University of Notre Dame. They had been dating for the past two years, but this was the first time she had visited Rhode Island. Not to mention the first time Jason and Shelly had the chance to set eyes on her.

  Since their early teens, Brian and Jason had rated the girls they met on a number scale. One being the most undesirable
and ten being, well, impossible. Jason had to admit, Emma far exceeded his expectations. In his estimation, she was a solid eight and Brian should have felt lucky to land a five.

  “Don’t you think so?” Emma asked.

  “Yeah, I mean, I do,” Shelly said. “I never really thought so when I was growing up. Just took it for granted I guess.”

  “Well, I think this is paradise.” Emma sprawled out across the cushions of the port side bench seat. She rested her head on Brian’s lap.

  “If you’re visiting, maybe.” Brian brushed a loose strand of hair from Emma’s cheek. “Me, I couldn’t wait to go to school. Trust me when I tell you nothing interesting ever happens here.”

  “Oh, come on,” Shelly said. “We had fun growing up. Remember? We’d ride our bikes everywhere as kids. Body surf at Mackerel Cove. Play hide and seek in the tunnels at Fort Wetherill. Before they buried most of it.”

  “You mean that time you kissed me?” Brian asked. “She left out that part, Em. We were hiding in the fort and it was dark and, all of a sudden, Shelly plants one on me. Tongue and everything.”

  “We were twelve.” Shelly shook her head as if to force the blood away from her reddening cheeks. “Don’t let them fool you Emma, there are so many great memories. Just take this one spot. See that opening to the marsh right there? When the tide goes out, that whole marsh drains back into the bay through that spot. Before low tide, it’s like a moving river. We used to hang out on that beach for hours, waiting for the perfect conditions. Then, we’d walk up a ways, float on our backs and ride the current back into the bay. Over and over.”

  “I wanna do that.” Emma said.

  “Too late,” Jason said, “the tide’s almost out.”

  “There were tons of other things going on. The Fool’s Regatta. The Tall Ships. There were even movies being filmed. Look, ya see that house there?” Shelly pointed out a large rustic cottage clad in weathered cedar clapboards, a stone’s throw from where they floated. “It’s called Riven Rock. Steve Carell filmed a movie in that house.”

  “Really,” Emma said, “what movie?”

  “I don’t remember the name. We were like, I don’t know, seven. I didn’t know who Steve Carell was at the time, but I thought it was cool that there was a real movie star here.”

  “Jim Carrey made a movie here too,” Brian said.

  “Yeah, before you were born,” Jason said.

  Emma sat up, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and secured it with an elastic band. “What’s that over there?”

  Jason followed Emma’s pointed finger. “In the water? Those are oyster beds.”

  “Oh my god, I’ve never had oysters. Can we try ‘em?” Emma asked.

  “Sure. We’ll grab some at dinner. Every restaurant has a raw bar around here.”

  “No, I mean like right here.” Emma said. “Can’t we just go over there and grab a bunch?”

  “Girl, are you crazy?” Shelly said.

  Jason chuckled. “What Shelly means is that’s like a cardinal sin around here. Worse than murder. Oyster beds and lobster pots. Don’t even think about it.”

  “The last person who got caught trying to poach oysters got put in the stockade in the center of the village and the townsfolk stoned them to death with live steamers,” Brian said.

  Jason tried to hold in the laughter, but the frightened look on Emma’s face made it a futile effort.

  “That’s not true,” Shelly said. “Stop messing with her. We’ll find you some oysters. I was thinking we should go over to Newport tonight, anyway. We can eat there and then do a little bar hopping.”

  “I’m into that,” Jason said.

  “Definitely,” Brian said. “We can hit the Landing. That was the first place I ever used my fake ID. It’d be funny if it were the last, too.”

  “Cool, it’s settled then. You’re gonna love Newport, Emma.” Shelly finished the last swig of her beer, opened the cooler and tossed the empty can inside.

  “Well, if we’re going out, we should probably head back and get cleaned up,” Jason suggested. He picked up a couple of cans Brian had left rolling around the floor of the cockpit and added them to the cooler. “You ready?”

  “I’m good.” Shelly maneuvered her way into her tank top.

  “Brian, help me pull the anchor,” Jason said.

  Brian moved through the gap in the center of the windshield and took his position on the bow.

  Jason spun the wheel, straightening the big outboard, and turned the ignition key. The motor fired up with a plume of white smoke.

  “Let me get you some slack,” Jason said. He pushed the throttle forward slightly. The motor clicked as the prop engaged, then shuddered and let out a squeal before stalling.

  “Damn it. Do you have tension on that line, Brian?”

  Jason was pretty sure he knew what happened. The anchor had likely dislodged, and the line had drifted near the back of the boat. If the anchor rode had fouled the propeller, he hoped it hadn’t caused any permanent damage.

  “I’ve got tension, Jay. The anchor’s seated.”

  Shelly moved to the stern, rested her hands on the cowling and strained to get a look at the propeller. “I think there might be something wrapped around it, like a piece of clothing. Raise it up a bit.”

  Jason pressed the trim button on the throttle and the motor began to tilt with a mechanical whine.

  The ear-splitting scream that erupted from Shelly’s lungs sent Jason’s heart rate skyrocketing. “What happened?” he yelped.

  The response came as a duet of ear-piercing screams, followed by a splash as Emma dove into the water and began swimming toward shore.

  Jason leapt up and bound to the stern, almost crashing into Brian who was also barreling toward the back of the boat.

  “Are you ok?” Jason grabbed Shelly and hugged her tight. As she buried her face into his shoulder, her screams morphed into muffled ramblings. Jason leaned over and immediately saw the source of her terror.

  “Holy shit, holy shit.”

  “No way, dude, I think it’s a girl,” Brian said. “Is she dead?”

  “What do you mean, ‘is she dead?’” Jason’s body trembled. “She’s got no face!”

  Brian’s eyes twitched, as if catching quick glimpses of the body without committing to facing it. “She must’ve swum into the prop. Oh god, this can’t be happening.”

  The blood curdling shriek resumed as Shelly pushed off Jason and, without warning, launched herself into the water.

  “Shelly, wait…”

  But she was off.

  “What are we going to do?” Jason asked himself as much as Brain.

  “Dude,” Brian said, “this is messed up. I can’t. I just can’t. Let’s get out of here.”

  Before Jason could respond, Brian was in the water, his arms flailing in an overhand stroke. Within a few seconds he caught up to Shelly, who, herself, was halfway to shore.

  On the beach in front of Riven Rock, Emma stood with her back to the cove and her head in her hands.

  Alone, Jason remained frozen, shivering under the oppressive afternoon sun. His neck tensed as he forced himself to look at the sickening scene once more. He struggled to make sense of any of it. Who was she? Where did she come from? What was going to happen to him now? He couldn’t begin to answer most of the infinite number of questions that swirled in his overloaded brain.

  But there were two things that had solidified themselves as facts. This girl— if it was, in fact, a girl— was dead. And he had most definitely killed her.

  2

  Saturday, May 29th. Afternoon

  Blake stared at the red and yellow splotches of acrylic paint that coated the stretched canvas, fully expecting to find order in the seemingly haphazard pattern.

  A fat fish. No. A slice of bread.

  The inner door of the waiting room swung open and Dr. Maritza Perez appeared, accompanied by an attenuated but welcoming smile.

  “Ready, Mr. Brier?”

&nbsp
; Her voice was melodic, which served to soften her sharp appearance. Dressed in a gray business suit and high heels, the ensemble would have predicted corporate attorney more than therapist.

  Perez was attractive and, Blake guessed, older than she appeared. The clues were subtle but conclusive. Plump lips that moved in a slightly unnatural way. Eyelids pinned at the outer corners. The work was good. Almost imperceptible, if not for the discrepancy between her face and neck. The neck always gave it away.

  Blake stood up and took a step toward Perez. He paused in front of the mounted artwork and squinted at it. “A horse, right?” Blake’s hand hovered an inch from the surface. “The eyes. Here and here. The nose. And this is the mane.”

  Perez’s smile grew less subdued. “If you say so.”

  “Am I at least close?”

  “It can be whatever you want it to be. But it’s not a Rorschach test, Mr. Brier.”

  Blake shrugged it off as Perez led him to her office, and he took a seat on the couch. Perez closed the door before taking her own seat in the opposite high-backed leather chair.

  The room was sparsely decorated but achieved a sense of warmth, nonetheless. There were two doors. The one he entered through, and the one he was to exit by. The purpose of the forced traffic pattern was obvious. He appreciated Perez’s respect for her patients’ privacy.