The Ocean Dark

14

Out on the dark water, the night took on an indigo hue and the moon lit every roll of the waves. Warm as it had been that day, the breeze that came off the water made Josh shiver. He let it happen once, then braced himself against the chill, not wanting to reveal any weakness in front of Miguel and Dwyer. Thoughts of Tori flooded his mind — the intensity in her eyes while they’d made love on the floor of her cabin, the way her body arched and shuddered at his touch, and the disappointment written on her face when he had told the captain about his time in prison.

You’re an asshole, he thought to himself. Though he’d implied otherwise, Tori had told him that she had been trying to break a lifelong habit of getting involved with bad men. They were in the galley together for hours every day and their conversations were practically stream of consciousness. The woman had secrets, but even in the things she didn’t say, he had understood that she was looking for some kind of redemption in her life.

He should have stayed away instead of complicating things for her further. But with all that time together, he had found himself wanting her more every day, loving her laugh and her sometimes sharp tongue, and even the sadness that often crept into her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking. It had felt like a circuit connected them, carrying an electrical current back and forth between them.

When he’d made that omelet and mixed the juice and brought them to her quarters, he had told himself that he just wanted a taste-tester, that Tori could tell him if the concoctions were any good. But Josh had never needed a taste-tester before. He knew whether what he’d cooked was or was not a success. He’d lied to himself, just to have an excuse to go to her, and he’d let her see him the way she wanted to see him, so that nothing would stop them from closing the circuit, from breaking the tension.

Now his mind felt fogged with images from the time they’d spent in her quarters and guilt weighed heavily on him as well, because he knew that he was not what Tori wanted, and far from what she needed.

Josh was drunk with her, distracted, and he knew he had to shake her off, get his act together. Something fucked-up was going on, and distraction could be dangerous.

Miguel had rounded up a handful of the Antoinette’s crew and had them lower a lifeboat into the water. The thing wasn’t much bigger than the twelve-foot Boston Whaler in which Josh’s father had often taken him fishing, but its engine had a hell of a growl. It was Lifeguard Orange, boxy and utilitarian, but it charged across the water as if the waves bowed down before it.

Josh had taken note of the guys Miguel had called on to put them in the water, and there hadn’t been any surprises. Tupper, Jimenez, Anton, and the hardcase engineer, Hank Boggs. But he’d spotted Sal Pucillo watching from the accommodations block catwalk, two levels up, and wondered what the hell the guy was looking at. And when Pucillo realized he’d been spotted, he had pulled back into the shadows, like he didn’t want to be caught. Pucillo was a skulker — the kind of guy who whispered when other people’s backs were turned and stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong. It was mostly harmless, unless the Rio brothers started thinking maybe Pucillo was paying too much attention to their operation. Then it could be bad news indeed for Pucillo.

It wouldn’t be the captain, Josh thought. But Miguel—he stared at the back of the younger Rio brother’s head as the lifeboat skipped over the waves—Miguel would be dangerous. He’d fuck up Pucillo big-time.

Dwyer steered the lifeboat while Miguel stood in the stern, staring straight out at the darkness. Aside from the moonlight, the only illumination out on the water came from the Antoinette. The container ship loomed behind them now, a dark, hulking metal beast. Gabe Rio would be watching from the wheelhouse, grim and expectant, wondering what the hell had gone wrong.

Josh wondered the same thing. Whatever their plan for tonight’s rendezvous might have been, this wasn’t it.

The silhouette of the fishing boat grew larger as they approached. Next to the Antoinette, the sixty-footer might as well have been a dinghy, but it was no pleasure craft. Whatever fishermen caught off a boat that size, they had plenty of room to store it.

The lifeboat was maybe twenty yards out from the fishing boat when Miguel pulled up a seat cushion and opened a compartment beneath it. Reaching in, he withdrew a shotgun, its black barrel gleaming, and called to Dwyer, who turned to accept it with a nod, keeping one hand on the wheel. Next from the magic box was a Heckler & Koch submachine gun, smooth and stylish and looking more like a Star Wars toy than a killing weapon. Miguel kept that for himself, checking the magazine and then reinserting it before setting the H&K beside him.

He turned to look at Josh and said something in what sounded like Portuguese, loud enough to be heard over the wind. Josh shook his head. He spoke four languages, but Portuguese wasn’t one of them.

Miguel gave him an angry look, then reached back into the hidden cache and pulled out a handgun. He held it out for Josh.

“Sig Sauer. Nice,” Josh said as he took the gun. “Santa put one of these in my stocking a few years ago.”

“Then you know how to use it,” Miguel replied, eyes slitted and dark.

He checked the safety and slid the gun into his rear waistband. “I know which end goes boom, if that’s what you mean.”

Miguel didn’t laugh, and that troubled Josh. Not that he thought himself especially funny, but the line hadn’t gotten so much as a polite chuckle. Something had unsettled Miguel, and Josh thought the dark, silent, drifting fishing boat was only a part of it.