27. Jezebel

CHAPTER 27

JEZEBEL

F rankie was right about Delroy. He was a miserable son of a bitch.

Dr. Blaylock had asked Cole to join him for dinner the night before they were due to set off on the Crosswind , and when Cole politely declined because his girlfriend was in town, I found myself invited too. And now I was stuck next to Delroy, my back to the ocean at an outdoor table in a fancy restaurant in Bishop’s Landing, smiling politely as the others chatted. Dr. Blaylock was at the head of the table, and Cole was sitting opposite me.

I wasn’t sure I liked the “girlfriend” label. It didn’t sit right. But since I’d agreed to some form of relationship with Cole when we returned to Vegas, I had to put up with being his plus-one.

We’d talked yesterday afternoon, sitting on board the Crosswind , anchored in a quiet bay on Coconut Island, named because coconut palms were basically the only thing living there. Coconut palms and a flock of golden-winged parrots that swooped over us while we were eating lunch on the top deck.

The future stretched out between us, full of unknowns, but with one certainty. When we left San Gallicano, it wouldn’t be the end. An enhanced friends-with-benefits was the best I could offer—enhanced because neither of us would see other people while we were sort-of together. When I wasn’t out of town, seeing my obituary clients, I’d spend a night or two at his place, and we’d go out for the occasional meal too.

Cole wanted more, but I’d promised as much as I was able.

He knew that.

He said he understood.

Only time would tell if that was true, but for now, we had this time in the sun.

Four days ago, I’d been in Vegas extracting information from a criminal, and now I was a world away. I’d spoken with Ari last night. Digby Rennick had done his math thing, and the loan was most likely genuine. Just over a million bucks, borrowed in Bitcoin, hidden away in the accounts because no way had the source been legitimate. How the hell had Uncle Mike gotten tangled up with a crypto loan shark? Ari was no further forward in finding out, but at least we knew we were on the right track.

Echo was lying low. Ari didn’t know where she was, but in her latest video call, there had been snow in the background. Knowing Echo, that could have been a filter, unless she was pulling a double bluff. I hoped for the latter. Echo hated cold weather, and I took a small measure of joy from being in the sun while others worked. Until the source of my stress went away, I hadn’t realised just how tightly I’d been wound. Having nothing to do was…liberating.

I’d never admit out loud that Demelza had been right, but maybe I wasn’t hating my enforced R&R quite as much as I’d expected to.

Although I did want to stick a fork in Delroy’s thigh. He was an arrogant prick who thought his gym-honed body made him God’s gift, and his lack of respect for women was clear. If Cole hadn’t needed him for the trip tomorrow, I’d have warned him off. Told him that if he didn’t stop staring at my tits, I’d pluck out his eyeballs and feed them to the fishes. It wouldn’t be hard. Just slip a spoon into the socket and pop .

“So, Bella…” Dr. Blaylock started. “Is this your first time in San Gallicano?”

“Second.”

“And how are you enjoying the trip?”

That wasn’t any of their business. “I got sunburned.”

Laughter rippled around the table. The other three guests were Dr. Blaylock’s stepson, Clint, plus two of his buddies, Witt and Jon. Not John with an H—he’d been at pains to point that out. Jon’s major was history, and I got the impression he was mainly here for the free vacation, although Cole said he’d joined Dr. Blaylock and Clint several times before. He seemed friendly enough. Witt was an old friend from high school who’d recently finished three years of active duty with the US Navy and hadn’t yet decided what to do with the rest of his life, so he’d volunteered as a research assistant.

“I never go anywhere without factor fifty,” Dr. Blaylock said. He was a small man in his late fifties with wiry grey hair and surprisingly smooth skin. He’d worn a dress shirt and bow tie to dinner, and I might have felt out of place in my loose-fitting romper if the three boys hadn’t shown up in T-shirts and shorts.

“Can you tell me more about your research project?” I asked, eager to turn the conversation away from myself. “It’s something to do with ecology?”

“Yes, a wide-reaching study that measures ecological change and the factors involved. We consider various metrics—ocean depth, water temperature, currents, plastic pollution, any environmental incidents such as oil spills, and fishing activity—and then we look under the water to see if there’s a correlation between the inorganic factors and marine life by counting fish, corals, and other species.”

“And you do that over time to look for patterns?”

Dr. Blaylock beamed at me. “That’s exactly right. Plus Clint is running his own research project this year—he’ll be using a combination of sonar and bathymetric LiDAR to map the seabed, and we’ll be overlaying that with the species data we’ve been collecting with Cole here for the past six years as well as extending our survey area to the west. Eventually, we hope to build up a full picture of the marine creatures in San Gallicano and their habitats, and in turn, we’ll use that to fuel conservation efforts.”

“Cole mentioned a submersible?”

“Ah, yes. The Tide Pod .”

“Uh… Tide Pod ?”

This guy didn’t do his own laundry, did he?

“Clint came up with the name. Quite catchy, don’t you think? I designed her myself in conjunction with the engineering department at the University of Miami, with input from NASA and members of the Marine Technology Society. She has a depth rating of four hundred and eighty metres—that’s almost sixteen hundred feet.”

“Very impressive.”

“We’ll use scuba in the shallower areas, but the Tide Pod means we can stay underwater for up to seven hours, and of course we don’t have to worry about decompression sickness because she remains at atmospheric pressure. We might have enough time for you to take a ride in her.”

“Oh, I’m not coming on the boat.”

“You’re not? Such a shame. Cole brought his friend Frankie one year, and she made Key lime pie in the middle of the sea.”

Did he realise women did more than cook?

And did Delroy realise that if he “accidentally” brushed his hand against my thigh one more time, he was going to lose a limb? Our seats weren’t close enough together for it to be an accident. I smacked the offending fingers away and scowled at him, but he just gave a cocky smirk.

Big mistake.

“Are you heading home?” Dr. Blaylock asked. “You’re from the United States, I presume?”

“I’ll be doing the tourist thing on shore. I hear there’s a pirate museum on Ilha Grande?”

“Indeed there is. Jon’s writing his thesis on the pirates of the Caribbean, so if you want to know about any of the old legends, he’s the man to talk with.”

“Can I take your orders?” the server asked, and Delroy took the opportunity to stare at her cleavage instead of mine.

“Ladies first,” Dr. Blaylock said, and the server turned to me.

“I’ll have a six-ounce ribeye with a baked potato.”

“Which sauce would you like with your steak?”

“Surprise me.”

I didn’t care about the sauce. I didn’t even care about the steak. What I wanted was the nice sharp knife that came with it.

I bided my time.

Delroy squeezed my thigh while we were eating breadsticks, but I just took a sip of water and listened to an animated conversation about sea turtles. Apparently, the dude who ran the turtle sanctuary on Valentine Cay did his own surveys, and he shared the results with Dr. Blaylock. Turtles—hawksbills especially—had been declining at an alarming rate, but nobody had been able to pinpoint the reason yet.

The food was served, and in between bites, I held my knife against my thigh, the tip pointing toward Delroy. If he tried his shit again, he’d get a nasty surprise .

Even I hadn’t anticipated quite how nasty.

I’d nearly finished my entrée when he leapt up, shrieking, blood dripping everywhere. Wow. That was a lot of blood. Somehow—presumably because he’d been trying to get his hand right between my thighs—he’d managed to run his palm along the blade, and the cut had to be two inches long. Damn, that steak knife was sharp.

Oops.

I wiped the blood off the blade with my napkin and made my eyes go wide. “Wow, what happened?”

Now he had a choice. Nobody had been focused on us when the incident occurred, so he could either admit he’d been touching up the boss’s girlfriend or accuse me of stabbing him. And who would believe a polite little female would randomly attack a man at the dinner table?

He gritted his teeth and wrapped the napkin Cole offered around his hand.

“I must’ve picked up my knife wrong.”

Good move. Maybe he’d live to work as a deckhand another day.

“Looks bad,” I said. “I think you might need stitches.”

The server came running over, eyes bugging out of her head. “What happened?”

“He accidentally cut himself. Is there a hospital nearby?”

“Uh, yes? Yes, a half mile away. Should I call an ambulance?”

“I’ll take a cab,” Delroy ground out.

“Maybe bring more napkins?” Cole suggested.

The server ran off, and Delroy headed for the door, clutching his injured hand with the other. I rose too.

“I’ll check he’s okay.”

Or stick the knife in again if necessary. I caught up with him outside the front door, and funnily enough, he wasn’t happy to see me .

“You bitch.”

“No means no, asshole. Have fun at the hospital.”

“You’re a psycho.”

Admittedly, there were some interesting notes on my psych evaluations, but that didn’t make me a full-blown psychopath. Perhaps half a one?

Okay, three-quarters.

“If you ever touch me again, I’m gonna saw off your testicles and nail them to the harbour railing. Understood?”

“Fuck you.”

He staggered to a waiting cab, and I hoped his mood improved by the morning or Cole would have a fun day. At least I didn’t need a trip to the hospital myself this time. If Demelza found out I wasn’t taking my vacay seriously, she’d probably send me to Tristan da Cunha.