23. Knox

Thank fuck for bug spray.

Jubilee had a hundred fake social media accounts—seriously, she had a spreadsheet full of names and passwords—and over coffee this morning, it had only taken her a moment to mock up a shark sighting at Butterfly Beach, complete with a blurry image that might or might not have been a dorsal fin.

"Why do you have so many accounts?" Caro asked. Luna had made her a fresh mug of coffee, this time without salt, although Knox suspected she might have spit in it.

"Because people hate on Luna all the time," Jubilee said. "We can't reply to nasty comments as ourselves because that only makes them crazier, so I pretend to be someone else and put them in their place."

"Does that work?"

"Sometimes. Other times, they lose their minds completely, but then everyone else can see that they're unhinged."

Jubilee had scheduled the post for late afternoon so Knox would have enough time to get to Spice Island and hunker down to wait. They'd picked the location because there was only one access track to Butterfly Beach, and it ran past the Castaway Bar. Caro would stay in the truck in the parking lot—she'd promised to stay in the truck—and record the vehicles coming and going. If Knox saw anyone tossing a line into the ocean, he'd shortcut back to the bar, and they'd follow the culprit back to their lair.

Right now, he was lying under a bush, watching the end of the track, waiting for the rumble of an engine. So much for fun in the sun.

"Anything?" he asked Caro. She'd borrowed Ryder's comms device, seeing as he was back at the sanctuary on Luna duty.

"Apart from a whole lot of drunk guys in colourful costumes doing the merengue across the parking lot? No."

"It's possible no one saw the report."

"Jubilee posted it in five places. But maybe they only act on their own sightings? Which is dumb because you're more likely to get struck by lightning than attacked by a shark. They're one of the most misunderstood?—"

"Wait a second…"

Knox heard an engine, but it wasn't coming from the track. No, this was the quiet putt-putt-putt of a small boat approaching from the south. A local fisherman returning late from a day at sea? Or an enterprising poacher out to make a quick buck? He turned on his night vision and hit "record."

The boat drew closer, a small, light-coloured dinghy, white or pale blue at a guess. Two people were on board, one at the tiller and the other on a seat in the bow.

"What's going on? What's?—"

"Shhh."

He really needed to educate Caro on surveillance etiquette, but all he could do for now was turn down the volume in his earpiece.

The boat had a shallow draft, and it motored right up to the shore. The passenger jumped out, sprightly as a cat. He had a coil of rope in his hand, and Knox smelled the faint aroma of rotting fish.

"Watch out for sharks," the driver called, and then he laughed. His voice was deep, a little hoarse.

"There are no sharks here."

"A tourist saw one. Today's post, that wasn't David."

David. They had one name and also confirmation that their theory was valid.

"If it was a tourist, they probably saw a tuna. Maybe a barracuda."

"You remember that stupid woman who got bitten by the barracuda last year?"

"Yeah, yeah, she just had to take a close-up, right?"

Another snippet of information: the men had been in San Gallicano for at least a year. Neither Jubilee nor Luna had mentioned a barracuda attack, so the information wasn't posted online. It was exactly the kind of story that would have freaked both of them out.

The men were wearing hoodies, so Knox didn't get a look at their faces. The passenger worked quickly, first tying the end of the rope around a rock, then spearing chunks of fish on the hooks and uncoiling the remainder of the line into the sea. But Knox worked fast too. He'd brought a tracker with him, intending to use it as backup on any vehicle that showed up in case they lost sight of it after it left. Tailing a car wasn't easy on an island this size—too many small turnoffs, not enough traffic to hide in. But the tracker was waterproof.

Knox slipped silently into the sea, ducked beneath the surface, and reached the boat in three smooth strokes. When the two shitbags left five minutes later, they had an extra friend riding along. Stupid motherfuckers. He'd almost feel sorry for the pair if Caro got her hands on them.

* * *

"What do you mean, there aren't enough officers? Vince, we're practically doing your job for you—the least you could do is help."

They were back in the truck again, parked behind the Spice Strip, the seafront promenade that was home to many of Spice Island's stores and restaurants, everything from bars pumping out techno music to souvenir shops to the spice market the island was famous for. Tourists and locals of all ages flocked there in the evenings, including their quarry. The blue-and-white boat was tied up to the public jetty at the far end of the street, opposite the health clinic and Manny's Pizzeria. There was no sign of the occupants. Half of the male population seemed to favour hoodies, and most of those hoodies were dark colours.

"I mean that we have two members of the Valetian royal family visiting next week to open the new sailing facility, and half of the San Gallicano PD has been pulled off their regular duties for planning and security. And I am doing my job," Fernandez said with more patience than Knox would have had. He liked Caro—liked her a lot—but there were times when she gave Luna a run for her money. "I'm still sitting under a tree at No Man's Rock, waiting for someone to show up and look for this bait line."

"Well, they probably won't be back tonight—they went to the Spice Strip."

"How do you know that?"

"Because we put a tracker on their boat."

Fernandez muttered a string of curses that would have made Emmy blush. "You did what?"

"There's a link between all those shark sightings and the baited lines, Vince. The poachers use fake shark reports to keep people out of the water so they can trap turtles undetected."

"How on earth did you come up with that?"

"By thinking outside the box." Caro gave a brief précis of their findings so far. "And when Knox overheard two of them talking at Butterfly Beach, it confirmed our suspicions. There's at least one more person involved. They mentioned the name ‘David.'"

"Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

"I was going to tell you yesterday, but then you moaned about having to sit at No Man's Rock and hung up on me."

Fernandez sighed. "Do you know how many Davids there are in San Gallicano? When I was at school, there were three Davids in my class alone."

"Why are you being so negative?"

"Because I'm tired, Caro. Tired of being overworked and underpaid. Tired of watching for poachers who never appear. I've averaged three hours of sleep per night this week."

"Okay, fine. I'll sit here and wait for these assholes."

"No, you won't. Those people are dangerous."

"I'm with a Navy SEAL, Vince. I think he can manage to keep us safe."

More curses. "Let me make some calls."

"Make your calls, but I'm telling you, I'm not giving up. The turtles need an ally to fight for them."

"What is wrong with you? Ever since the court case, you've had a firework stuck up your ass."

"I'll give you three guesses."

"Luna Maara will be gone in less than three weeks. Just chill."

"Chill? Are you kidding me? Just find these damn poachers." Caro hung up with a growl of frustration and thunked her head against the seat. "I get that Vince is busy, I do, but this is important. Why does a foreign dignitary have to come and open a sailing club anyway?"

"If it's the princess from Valetia, I believe she won a sailing medal at the Olympics."

Caro fell silent, and Knox studied her. She was still a mystery. He knew her both intimately and not at all. Usually, that didn't bother him, quite the opposite—the type of women he tended to get involved with had a habit of telling him their entire life stories before dessert, and that made his dick deflate—but with Caro, he found himself getting curious. Who had she been before she came to Valentine Cay? Why had she chosen to devote her life to turtles and not some other cause? What were her goals? Her hopes? Her dreams?

She leaned sideways to check the boat again. Knox had picked a parking spot with a view between buildings, and solar-powered streetlights bathed the area in a soft yellow glow.

"This sucks. They're probably in a bar, getting drunk while turtles die."

"No turtles will die. I removed the line."

"But those assholes think they will, and that's almost as bad. I bet the two of them won't go back to the boat until closing time."

Knox had to agree with that assumption. "Then let's get dinner."

"I don't have the budget for dinner here. Working in a turtle sanctuary isn't exactly a great career move. Franklin basically pays me in food, and I earn a few extra bucks through babysitting in the quieter months."

"I'll buy you dinner."

"Oh, great, this is where I get the pity party."

"No, this is where we do things the wrong way around, and I take you on a date after fucking you for the past four nights."

"A date? Which part of ‘just sex' didn't you understand?"

"Is it so bad that I want to get to know you?"

Fernandez's "firework up your ass" comment left Knox intrigued. Caro wasn't usually this explosive? And then there was the whole secret-identity thing…

"Yes."

Her bluntness was strangely refreshing, but it wasn't the answer Knox wanted to hear.

"Okay, baby." He opened the truck door. "See you later."

"Wait, where are you going?"

"To get a pizza. Don't worry, I'll bring you a doggy bag."

"You're leaving me here on my own?"

"A man needs to eat."

Knox made it six steps before Caro hopped out of the truck and ran after him.

"This is not a date."

"Yeah, baby, it's a date."

He wasn't dumb enough to try taking her hand, though.

Manny turned out to be a real person, a hulking Latino with scarred knuckles and a Cajun accent who showed them to a cosy table for two overlooking the water. There was a rowdy birthday party inside—the cake and balloons were the giveaway—but only one more couple sitting outside. Teenagers, and judging by the awkward silences, they were on a first date.

"Guess they don't get much trouble here," Knox remarked.

"Manny used to fight MMA in the US before he founded a religion."

"Don't you mean he found religion?"

"Nuh-uh. His church is right over there." Caro jerked a thumb in the direction of the truck. "It's called the Fellowship of the Sacred Path. Every Sunday, he preaches kindness and tolerance and also gets some excellent tax breaks."

"Isn't San Gallicano a low-tax jurisdiction anyway?"

"It is now, but that's a recent thing. Two decades ago, it had the highest tax rate in the Caribbean, and the infrastructure was above average. But emigration was at an all-time high because people could earn more working in the Cayman Islands or the Bahamas, and the government was struggling to support an ageing population. So they lowered taxes. And then the opposition promised to lower them further. So now every time there's an election, taxes get lower, and nothing gets fixed anymore."

"You think they should raise taxes?"

"I think everyone should pay their fair share. People like Manny aren't the problem. The problem is rich folks hiding their assets and outright lying about their earnings."

The venom in her tone suggested she was more familiar with the issue than the average turtle expert. Knox opened his mouth to press her on the subject, then bit his tongue. Why ruin a nice dinner with questions Caro wouldn't answer anyway? Perhaps he should ask Agatha to dig into her background… But Emmy would undoubtedly find out, and while she'd been remarkably understanding about the shoes and the poaching research, Knox wasn't sure she'd be quite so happy about him using company resources to run additional background checks on his fuck buddy.

"When is the next election?" he asked.

"The year after next, but I'm not eligible to vote anyway."

Manny returned with a jug of water, a basket of breadsticks, and a couple of menus. Knox turned his menu over and found inspirational quotes and a reminder that Sunday services started at ten o'clock.

"No wine list?"

Caro shook her head. "But Manny will bless the water if you ask him nicely. Shouldn't we be staying sober? How will we chase down the poachers if we've been drinking?"

Knox hadn't planned to drink, but he'd hoped a nice glass of red might loosen Caro's tongue.

"You're not chasing anyone."

"Oh, really? How will you catch both men if they go in different directions?"

"I won't. I'll catch one man and convince him to talk."

"Vince says none of the poachers ever talk."

"Yeah, well, I use a different interview technique."

A pause, and then her eyes widened a fraction. "Wait, you don't mean…? Actually, forget it. I don't want to know."

Manny returned. "Are you folks ready to order?"

They were. Knox chose a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, and Caro asked for a Hawaiian. And no, it wasn't a joke.

"Pineapple on pizza?" he asked. "Deal-breaker, baby."

"I wasn't aware we had a deal to break."

Technically, they didn't, but the longer Knox spent with her, the more he felt that there was something to their entanglement besides sex. Yeah, his cock stood to attention whenever she came close, but he enjoyed hanging out with her too. No, she didn't make things easy. If she wasn't the most challenging woman he'd ever met, she was certainly in the top ten, and considering Knox was acquainted with Emmy Black, Ana Petrova, Dan di Grassi, and Sofia Darke, Caro had stiff competition. But Knox kind of liked her.

"Then maybe we should make one," he suggested.

"A deal?"

"In six months, if we're both still single, how would you feel about me taking a vacation in San Gallicano?"

"Just to be clear, are we talking about a vacation in my bed?"

"That's right."

Caro chewed slowly on a breadstick, and Knox couldn't face eating at all. His stomach felt weird. Fluttery. Which must have been indigestion because he didn't get nervous around women.

"I don't hate the idea. But why don't you have a girlfriend? With a dick like yours, I would have thought women would be tripping over themselves to get to your bed. Don't Navy SEALs have groupies?"

"Getting girls isn't the problem."

"So there is a problem?"

In the US, one of his unofficial rules was "never date smart girls." And by "smart," he meant the ones perceptive enough to see through his player bullshit to the man beneath. Caro might just do that if he spent enough time with her, but he couldn't walk away.

"Commitment isn't my thing."

"Why not?"

Maybe if he gave her a piece of himself, she'd reciprocate? Show him the real Caro? Because she wasn't as tough as she made out. Last night, he'd spooned her in bed, but she hadn't slept. In the early hours, he'd heard her sniffle, and in the morning, the pillow had been damp with her tears. Knox wanted to know why. He also owed Ryder a fuck ton of beer for giving them space.

"I've been beaten black and blue, run over by a motorbike, and grazed by a bullet, but there's no greater pain than the agony of losing people you care about."

Caro's mask dropped, and her expression morphed into sympathy. "Who was she?"

"Not she, they. My three best friends. They died in the same car wreck. I would have been with them if I hadn't passed out drunk in a bathroom stall."

"I'm so sorry."

"We didn't normally drink that much, but we were celebrating our first record deal." The emotions Knox worked so hard to keep a lid on overflowed, and he looked away. "I never want to feel like that again."

"So you choose not to care?"

"Easier than choosing which flowers to send to the funeral."

Caro rose and walked around the table, then motioned Knox to move his chair back. When he did so, the legs scraping across the wooden deck, she settled onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm really freaking glad you weren't in the car that night."

Her words chipped another crack in his wall, and that was the moment Knox knew he was in trouble. He should have pushed her away. He should have made some glib and possibly hurtful comment. But instead, he hugged her tight and buried his head against her shoulder.

Nobody had hugged him after the accident. Not one fucking person. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time anyone had hugged him at all. Leah at work had groped his ass and given him a peck on the cheek at the last Blackwood Christmas party, but that didn't count. He breathed in the vanilla scent of Caro's shampoo and committed the moment to memory. Something to call on in the dark days. Two lost souls offering comfort for a moment before they both moved on.

"Who was he?" Knox whispered.

When Caro stiffened, he feared he'd pushed her too far. Don't run, baby.

"I met him when I was twenty-four. He was my boss, of all the fucked-up romance novel clichés, and I fell head over heels. Love overrode common sense. At first, he was the perfect gentleman, but by the end, I was just his toy. He controlled my life. What I wore, where I went, who I saw. He checked my messages and had access to my bank account. Twisted my words. Made me believe everything that went wrong was my fault. Everyone thought I lived this perfect fairy-tale life, but I had nothing."

"That's fucked up, baby."

"I know that now, but I couldn't see it for so long."

"You got away. Be proud of that."

"I had a brief opportunity to escape, and I took it. So, that's me. Now I live in a turtle sanctuary and wear flip-flops instead of Louboutins, and I'm never getting in deep with another man again."

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

She groaned. "We're both so screwed up."

"Got that right. You've never considered moving back to the US?"

"If Aiden found me, he'd kill me. He's not a man who takes betrayal well."

Aiden.Knox had a name. And maybe someday, if he found out where the man was, he'd pay him a visit. Caro didn't deserve to spend the rest of her life hiding away.

"Guess I'll be coming back to San Gallicano, then."

Caro's arms tightened, and Knox kissed her on the temple.

"Make sure you pick a week when there aren't any other volunteers."

"We'll work out a schedule."

She picked up her glass of water and held it in the air. "Here's to being on-again, off-again fuck buddies."

Knox clinked his own glass against hers. "Just don't mention the word ‘relationship.'"

"Absolutely not."

That's what he said, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to go back to his old ways once he got home. Hooking up with another woman would feel…odd. Uncomfortable. Wrong, when Caro was sleeping alone on Valentine Cay. Blackwood was flexible when it came to time off, and he earned good money. Getting back for a weekend each month wouldn't be impossible. How much did houses go for on the island? Only something small, one bedroom and— What the fuck was he thinking? They were both anti-commitment.

Manny brought their pizzas, and Knox reluctantly let Caro go back to her own seat. This evening felt like a turning point, but he wasn't sure what lay around the bend. A fucking roller-coaster, and it wasn't over yet. They still had to watch this damn boat.

"I need to speak with Ryder. Let him know we're not coming back in a hurry."

"Will he mind?"

"No, but we'll need to be on an early ferry to Valentine Cay. If the poachers don't return to the boat tonight and Fernandez doesn't come through, do you reckon your buddy Stacey would cover a surveillance shift?"

"Maybe? I can ask her."

"All she needs to do is take pictures."

"What about tonight? Manny's a lark, and the restaurant closes at ten."

"We'll eat, then you'll find a hotel room and I'll keep watch until morning."

"But—"

"Don't fight me on this, Caro. I'm used to surveillance; you're not."

"But have you ever done a whole night by yourself?"

"Several years ago, I pretended to be a bush for three days."

"How? I mean the logistics…"

"A ghillie suit, liquid nutrition through a straw, and a hole in the ground to piss in. Isn't this a great conversation to be having over dinner?"

"If I can't afford dinner, then I definitely can't afford a hotel room."

"We've already discussed budgetary constraints." Knox slid his credit card across the table. "The PIN is one-nine-nine-three. The next time your mouth is filled with bollocks, they'd better be mine."

Her jaw dropped, but for once, no retort came out of it.

"Wider, baby. My balls are bigger than that."

"You're such a dick."

"We both know there's so much more to me than that. I also have fingers and a tongue." Caro rolled her eyes, but she was laughing, and that was good to see. "Think of me when you touch yourself tonight."

"Are you sure you'll be okay on your own?"

"I'll rest easier knowing you're in a comfortable bed."

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Being so sweet. It's awkward."

Awkward because she might catch feelings? Man, Aiden had really done a number on her. Knox would just have to try and slide the sweetness in when she was looking the other way because he definitely wasn't going to treat her like shit. But for now, he picked up his phone and reserved the best hotel room he could find.

"Go wild with the minibar, baby."

* * *

Sunlight glimmered over the horizon as Knox crawled out from beneath the upturned dinghy. No way would that boat ever go back in the water. He'd been able to see the stars through the holes in the bottom. The poachers' boat was still bobbing alone in the current. The bars had emptied out, other boats had been collected, but the poachers hadn't come back. Why not? Did they live around here? Had they drunk too much to steer safely home? A little light alcohol poisoning hadn't stopped the other sailors who'd staggered along the jetty at midnight. One man had fallen into the water, and Knox had almost left his hiding place to save him, but he'd managed to crawl onto the beach and collapse onto the sand. A couple of his buddies had carried him off.

Caro

Are you awake? Do you want to trade places?

It was only six thirty. She should still be asleep.

Knox

I'm good. Bring me a croissant from the breakfast buffet.

Stacey Custer had promised to be on the first ferry from Ilha Grande, and she'd be bringing her camera plus a notebook so she could set up at Manny's and work on her article all morning. Fernandez was hopeful of finding an officer to take the afternoon shift. But Knox had an odd feeling about the boat. Someone should have returned for it last night, and they hadn't. Ditto for the bait line at No Man's Rock. Either the poachers were really fucking disorganised, or they knew they were being watched. Which meant that they were better at surveillance than Knox was, or an informant had tipped them off. How well did Caro know Detective Vince Fernandez?