The Ocean Dark

28

Angie stood outside the rec room on the starboard side of the accommodations block’s third story, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun as she watched the two lifeboats run aground on the island’s sandy shore. She wondered if she could make it down to the galley where Josh had hidden his locator beacon without anyone noticing that she’d left the door unguarded. Captain Rio and that bastard Boggs were gone, and they were her two greatest concerns. Miguel Rio worried her, too, but not as much as the captain. The chief mate could be a real bastard, but he wasn’t as smart as his brother.

With Gabe, Boggs, Tori, and half of the deckhands off on their errand, the Antoinette felt like a ghost ship. Tupper and Valente were on duty in the engine room — or they were supposed to be. After guarding Josh all night, no doubt they were trading naps. They were assholes, but neither of them was irresponsible enough to completely abandon their shift.

The fourth assistant engineer was a guy named Oscar Jimenez. He and Angie had taken over guarding Josh early this morning, which meant she knew he was there, standing watch over the port side rec room door, but she couldn’t see him and he couldn’t see her. If Angie slipped away for a little while, Oscar would never know she was gone.

Still, she couldn’t risk it. If Dwyer or Miguel came down the stairs and found that she’d left the door unguarded, there would be hell to pay. If she had any chance at all of helping Josh escape and earning herself a Get Out of Jail Free card, she dared not risk leaving the door unguarded. She needed someone to take over for her, just for a while.

The minutes ticked by and the sun beat down, a strange stillness to the sea air. Her skin crawled with impatience. She studied the sunken ships that sprawled in the water off the island’s coast, then shifted her focus to the lifeboats that had been abandoned in the cove. She swore quietly to herself, then retreated into the shade provided by the walkway above her head.

She was standing in this shelter, hidden from above and below, when she heard someone clomping down the metal stairs. Stepping out to the railing, she squinted against the sunlight and looked up to see a very tired-looking Dwyer descending. He paused and hung out over the railing above her.

“Hello, darlin’,” Dwyer said. With his red hair and broad grin, he looked like a little boy.

“You don’t look nearly tired enough,” Angie said, heart skipping nervously. “Did you sleep?”

The grin widened. “Only a couple of hours.”

He tromped down the last flight of stairs and turned onto the level three walkway. Angie wondered if he could see the fear and deceit in her eyes. She had spent years developing a tough-girl facade, and hoped she could maintain it.

“That’s a couple more than I’ve had,” she said.

Dwyer reached out and took both of her hands, kissed her forehead. “That’s a lie.”

Angie feigned a tentative smile. “All right. I had a couple, too, but I’m exhausted and starving and I need to pee.”

In the time they had been sleeping together, she and Dwyer had never pretended what they had was a romance. They genuinely liked each other and they satisfied each other’s urges — sometimes very well, and sometimes merely well enough — but they weren’t in love. Still, there was a sweet tenderness in his eyes now and he softened, reaching out to touch her cheek.

“By all means, angel, go and take care of that. I was just off to the mess myself. Our cook may be locked up, but someone’s got to have prepared something for breakfast. Bring me something back?”

Angie gave a soft laugh. If Dwyer had slept a while, maybe Miguel had as well. It was possible that they hadn’t gotten to the personal locator beacon yet, or that they hadn’t dared remove it. Maybe breakfast wasn’t Dwyer’s only purpose for going down to the galley.

“Thanks, babe,” she said, and kissed his cheek.

He caught her face in his hands and brushed her mouth with his. She wondered if he could taste the deception on her lips.

“I’ll be quick,” Angie said, and hurried away from the rec room.

The back of her neck prickled and her face felt flushed as she made her way down to the deck. The entire situation had seemed almost surreal to her, but now the crushing reality set in. How had she ever thought that she could go along with the sins of Viscaya Shipping and never pay the price? She’d told herself it had nothing to do with her, that she was just doing a job, but she had never denied the little thrill that ran through her whenever the Rio brothers indulged in their outlaw behavior.

It had sometimes felt like a bit of fantasy, as though she were playing at something dangerous. But now the danger had turned real and tangible, and playtime was over.

On the deck, she paused for a cleansing breath of salt air, then pushed open the door into the mess hall. Angie hadn’t passed anyone on the stairs and the mess hall was empty as well, making the Antoinette seem more like a ghost ship than ever. She strode across the room and through the open doorway that led into the galley — the point of no return.

A pan clattered and she let out a tiny cry, raising a hand to cover her mouth.

Sal Pucillo jumped a bit as he spun from the sink, turning to face her. “Jesus, Angie, you scared me.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” She offered a halfhearted smile, reminding herself that she was never very friendly to Pucillo and it would seem false if she changed that now. “What’re you doing? Galley’s not your usual gig.”

Pucillo’s eyes hardened and he picked up a soapy pan from the sink and continued scrubbing. The clatter she’d heard must have been the pan slipping from his hands.

“Someone’s gotta pick up the slack if Tori and Josh aren’t around to cook for us. I made breakfast, too. French toast and bacon. There’s some left in the plastic over there,” he said, nodding toward the refrigerator. On a shelf beside it was a covered rectangular plastic container.

“You don’t mind if I take some? I’m starving.”

“Go on ahead. I was just gonna put the rest in the fridge. The whole point of cooking it was so the crew could eat.”

Angie went to the shelf and opened the container, surprised to find maybe twenty slices of bacon and half a dozen slices of French toast inside. Plenty left over, and her stomach rumbled at the aroma. She thought about heating it up, but didn’t bother. A little maple syrup and two forks, and she and Dwyer could have breakfast together up on level three, standing guard over the man who could land them all in jail.

She glanced at the stove. When she’d first entered, she had avoided looking directly at it, not wanting Pucillo to notice anything. But now he busied himself with the greasy pan, so she let her gaze stray to the wide silver bulk of the stove, and felt her spirits tumble when she saw that it stood at a slight angle from the wall. Someone had moved it recently, and not been too meticulous about putting it back.

“Thanks for this.” She searched the drawers and found two clean forks, then took a half-full bottle of orange juice from the fridge. As desperately as she needed coffee, she didn’t have time to make it. “Very cool of you to step up.”

“Someone had to,” he replied without turning. Studiously keeping his back to her, he cleared his throat. “So is it true? Josh is FBI?”

Angie weighed the benefits of playing dumb, then decided there weren’t any. “That’s what I hear.”

Pucillo’s shoulders sagged. “Jesus. My wife’s gonna …”

He didn’t finish. Nor did he have to.

“You don’t know anything, Sal. Nobody’s going to tie you to whatever the Rios are up to. The whole crew knows you go out of your way to avoid even hearing anything illegal.” A realization struck her. “Is that why you’re down here?”

“Damn straight. Cooking. Cleaning. I’ll live in the damn galley if I have to. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. If I have to testify, I want to be able to tell the truth. That’ll save me if anything can. I’m just down here, minding my own business.”

Angie felt a flash of envy. “You’ll be okay,” she said. “I really believe that.”

Pucillo kept scrubbing. The steel wool must have been practically gone by now, and the pan had to be clean, but he didn’t stop. “I wish I did.”

As they were talking, Angie had been moving over to the stove. Now she leaned against the wall, trying her best to be inconspicuous in case he should glance at her, and looked into the space between stove and wall.

Her heart sank and it was all she could do to keep from swearing aloud. Remnants of black electrical tape made it clear that something had been there, but the PLB was gone. She wondered where it was now. If it had been her, she’d have thrown it into the ocean, let it sink to the bottom. Even if it didn’t short out, no signal would transmit from the depths of the Caribbean. But if there was a chance that the PLB was still on board, she had to find it, which meant searching the whole damn ship.

Or asking Dwyer.

Angie didn’t like either option, but she knew she had to do something. It was too late to hide down here with Pucillo.