35. Jezebel

CHAPTER 35

JEZEBEL

T he month was going by a lot faster than I’d thought it would. In three days, I’d be back at Cole’s place on Emerald Shores. In a little over a week, I’d be home in Vegas with murder on my mind. Whose murder? I hadn’t decided yet.

Maybe Echo’s.

Maybe AceInTheHole’s.

It all depended on what the team had found and how they’d dealt with it. Usually, I admired Sin’s strength and Dusk’s cunning, but not when they were using those qualities to prevent the PI I’d hired from telling me what the hell was going on. Assurances that everything was just peachy didn’t cut it.

But this morning, I’d pushed the shitshow at home to the back of my mind so I could enjoy one last dive with Cole. And so far, it had certainly been a memorable one. I turned as the shark swam past us again, Cole tracking it with his camera. This was the first time I’d seen a hammerhead in the wild, unless you counted the trafficker whose head Dice had caved in with a ball-peen before dumping his remains into the Pacific. And I didn’t count him. He hadn’t been nearly so elegant in the water.

And he’d been part of another world.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered quitting my government job. We all had. After one particularly grim trip to Eastern Europe, Dusk had told Demelza to stick her security clearance up her sanctimonious ass. But Demelza hadn’t taken it personally—rumour said she’d been one of our predecessors—and Priest had talked Dusk off the ledge. Dusk had obliterated a Demelza-shaped target on the range, and they’d kissed and made up.

I loved my team, but did I want to be blowing shit to smithereens when I was sixty? No. I had enough money squirrelled away that I never needed to work again, and if I did get a wild hair to buy a mansion or an island or a private jet, freelancing was always an option. Hey, if I wanted to live near Skeleton Cay, I could probably pick up an island for ten bucks. And there had to be fifty islands, ranging from two or three hundred feet across, like the one we were anchored beside today, to several miles wide.

All beautiful. Unspoiled.

All deserted. We hadn’t seen a soul since we arrived in the region.

Which was why the first inkling I got of a problem was the low buzz of a boat nearby. Sound travelled well underwater, but it was hard to tell the direction. The noise seemed to come from all around.

Alongside, Cole was having the same reaction. He looked to me and shrugged.

If the various jobs I’d held had taught me one thing, it was to trust my intuition. In Blackstone House, I’d had a niggling feeling something was wrong when Ruby didn’t show for breakfast the morning after she died, but I’d convinced myself I was overreacting. She’d just gone to stay with a friend. Or met a guy. She’d certainly been no angel when it came to men. Then we’d found her body, and I’d vowed to listen to my gut from then on.

Those niggling feelings had saved my life more times than I cared to count.

Almost unconsciously, my mind began calculating. What was the quickest way back to the Crosswind ? Our route had taken us partway around the island, so would it be faster to swim, or to surface and run? Other variables were involved—a safe ascent rate, the contours of the shoreline, and the intentions of whoever was in the boat. Oh, and Cole. Cole was also a variable. He came across as pretty level-headed, but I’d seen a SEAL lose his shit and charge at the enemy, so nothing was a given.

The water.

We’d go through the water.

The nameless island above didn’t have much cover. The hurricane that ripped through the area two years ago hadn’t been kind, judging by the fallen trees, and only a couple of palms remained upright. Between the wind and the saltwater, not much grew in the inhospitable environment.

Plus I didn’t want to worry Cole. Maybe there was nothing wrong? Maybe a TikTok idiot had begged, borrowed, or stolen a boat and decided that Skeleton Cay was the key to gaining followers?

Or maybe my gut was right, and the noise was a sign of something more ominous?

Clearly, pirates of the Caribbean weren’t a thing anymore, but criminality had evolved through the centuries. Franklin Baptiste had mentioned his suspicions of wildlife poaching, and where better to pick up a bunch of turtles on the down-low than a cluster of deserted islands with their unspoiled reefs?

Cole pointed his thumb toward the surface, looking more puzzled than alarmed. There were times when I wished I could think that way, that I didn’t immediately assume the worst in any given situation, but over and over again, I’d seen the depravity humans were capable of. He wanted to ascend, but I shook my head and pointed back in the direction we’d come. His easygoing nature worked in my favour when he shrugged again and did as I suggested.

Ten years ago, sneaking into potential danger would have set my pulse racing, but today, the only hint of nerves came from worrying about Cole. If there was trouble on the surface, he was going to insist on leaving the water first, wasn’t he? And I could hardly stop now to have a conversation about that. Knocking him out again wasn’t an option either, not in the sea. Perhaps we should switch and go over land? I didn’t have any sleepy juice, so I’d have to use a rock, if there was a rock, but?—

Wait.

What the fuck was I thinking?

I loved Cole; I wasn’t going to give him a concussion.

Wait.

No, no, no, no, no. I didn’t love Cole. Absolutely not. He had a great ass, that was all. Plus he was kind, and protective, and generous, and calm, and patient, and supportive, and he made me feel like a better person when I was with him. But I couldn’t love him. I wasn’t capable of that, not anymore.

The buzz of the boat was getting quieter. The vessel up there was departing, but had they left anyone behind?

My spidey senses were still tingling.

Pirates?

Turtle poachers?

Maybe I could accidentally-on-purpose pull Cole off the ladder if he tried to board the Crosswind first? I only had a dive knife—my gun was still taped under the sink in the head—but thanks to Priest, I was a weapon in my own right. If I maintained the element of surprise, I could easily take out half a dozen two-bit criminals. Hmm. Surprise. What if I darted past Cole and climbed up the anchor chain?

Four potential hostages threw a wrench into the works, and as I swam, I laid out my priorities. Number one, protect Cole. Keeping Dr. Blaylock safe came next, then Jon and Clint. Witt had the best chance of taking care of himself. But I’d also have to watch my back because in the panic of a fight, it was all too easy to act first and think later, and he wouldn’t be expecting me to appear from the bow.

Okay, now my heart was thumping. So much for a relaxing vacay. What would Demelza do next, send me to Antarctica?

Cole was keeping up with me easily, which made beating him to the bow tricky and escalated this situation into a fucking nightmare. At least a polar bear’s motives were predictable. Actually, weren’t polar bears from the Arctic? Antarctica was penguins.

I reached into the pocket of my BCD and palmed my knife, just to check it hadn’t somehow fallen out because wouldn’t that have been?—

Oh.

Never mind.

The knife, the entry point, Cole’s swimming abilities…they were irrelevant.

Where was the fucking boat?