“And he killed the one woman who can give us a name.” Brad blows out his cheeks and runs a hand through his hair.
I glance around the desk, seeing a crowd of bewildered faces. And now it’s silent, everyone deep in their own thoughts. Until Danny’s phone rings and everyone shoots their eyes to him. “Perry,” he answers, sounding as pissed off as he looks, placing his phone on the desk on loudspeaker.
“I have your permit.”
“Good boy.”
“Is that it?” he asks. “Just the permit?”
“No, where’s my cheeseburger,” Otto grunts. “And Ringo’s pardons on the parking tickets?”
My smile is private as I watch Danny. He’s thinking. What’s he thinking? “What are you doing two weeks on Saturday?” he asks Adams.
“Ummm . . .”
“I’m getting married. You’re invited. I’ll forward the invitation.” Danny hangs up and stands, and we all look at him, bemused. “Anyone found Spittle’s son yet?” he asks, his eyes passing over all of us. The silence gives him his answer. “I need a break.” He heads out of the office, a pile of frowning faces following him. Mine included.
“What the fuck, Danny?” Brad yells.
“I’m going out on the water.”
I could do with clearing my head too, but water isn’t what I have on my mind.
“She’s gone shopping with Rose,” Danny calls from the door, obviously reading my mind.
“What kind of shopping?”
“The kind that happens in Walmart.”
I frown. It’s too early for Beau to even entertain entering a Walmart. Not without me. I look up, trying not to appear injured. “And no one thought to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.” Danny smiles, his expression telling me not to worry. “Come, the water’s calling, mate.”
“I’m going back to the club.” Brad skirts past the two dead bodies.
“I’m going with Brad,” Otto declares.
“Me too,” Ringo adds. “I’ll get someone to clean up this mess.”
“What about me?” Goldie stands, looking as indignant as any woman could look.
“Should have gone shopping with the girls.” Ringo gives her a cheesy, slap-worthy grin that does nothing to improve his looks.
“Get off her back,” I warn him seriously, making him shrug, showing the ceiling his palms. “I mean it.”
“I don’t need you to defend me.” Goldie storms past us, shoulder barging me as she does. “I’ll drive you to the boatyard.”
“Feeling optimistic?” Danny asks, looking across at me as we follow Goldie out of the house.
“Optimism gets you nowhere. Actions do. We still don’t know how the women, drugs, and guns are getting into the country.”
“Patience, James,” he says quietly. “I feel like enlightenment is on the horizon. His army is dwindling. We’re killing off his soldiers faster than he can replace them. He’s panicking. Making moves he shouldn’t. The Russians delivering guns for the Irish, case in point. It’s only a matter of time before someone higher up puts a foot wrong.”
He’s right. There’s a cat among the pigeons. Or a herd of lions.
I just hope that the enlightenment Danny speaks of comes sooner than the next bomb.
* * *
The still, calming water is a poor alternative to finding peace in Beau. But beautiful, nevertheless. The breeze feels good on my face, the sun blazing, warming my skin. I close my eyes and look up to the sky, walking back in my memory to a time that feels like centuries ago but was only weeks. St. Lucia. The quiet. Watching Beau stand on the shore enjoying the sun on her face. Her peace has become mine, and despite the progress she’s made, I need those untarnished moments back. I need them to become a constant, consistent part of our lives.
“Watch your back,” Danny calls.
I look over my shoulder, finding him in his wetsuit holding the drawbar of a trailer, rolling it down to the water. He’s not even straining. “Maiden voyage?” I ask, moving aside. The trailer hits the water, and he wades to the back, negotiating his new jet ski off the back.
“I’ve missed it,” he says, an excited glint in his eye. “You coming in?”
I wander to the front of the trailer and grab the metal, dragging it back up the sand. “Are these things loaded?”
He smirks, slipping his shades down to cover his eyes before jumping on. “Go get changed. You need a timeout.” He starts the engine and revs, the sound thrilling. Danny’s passion has fast become a passion of mine. It really is something else being on the open water, reveling in the speed as we cross the small waves.
I make my way to the cabin, hearing him roar off behind me. Cabin. The label completely undersells the impressive wooden structure built on the shore, with a balcony spanning two sides over the water and a jetty stretching into the ocean. A few jet skis line the wooden quay, all docked, ready to be tested. The inside space is quiet, word yet to spread through the jet ski community that this little gem is here. It won’t be long. Not only is the setup fucking remarkable, so is the timeframe in which Danny made it happen. This place has been built in his head for many years.
Leon, the young lad hired to manage the place, is behind the shop counter scanning through spreadsheets as he chews on a pen. He suits this place, all free-spirited, shaggy-haired, board shorts, bandanas, and beaded man jewelry. He doesn’t, however, suit the spreadsheet. But this wild kid was set to become an accountant before his love of the ocean won over pen-pushing his way through life. And perhaps his love of a joint every now and then. He was a good find. “How’s recruiting going?” I ask as I pass.
“Interviewing this evening, J-boss.” He chucks his pen down and snaps the laptop shut. “You going out?”
“Yeah.”
Leon falls into stride next to me. “Which ski? I’ll get it ready for you.”
His footwear catches my eye. Because they’re filthy, the once-white Converse high tops as grubby as hell. “The black Sea-Doo.”
He falters, falling a few steps behind. I know if I glance back he’ll have a look of horror on his face. “I have three strict instructions,” he says, pulling me to a stop at the men’s changing room door. “First rule, no one goes near the green container. Second rule, if the Feds show up, smile.”
I turn, my own smile threatening. Really good hire. “And the third?”
“Only D-boss and his kid ride the black skis. So, you see, we might have a prob—”
“I was fucking with you, Leon.” I push through the door and go to my personal locker. “The gold one’s mine.” I pull my wetsuit out and grab my gun from the back of my jeans, slipping it inside.
“Don’t pull that shit, man,” he grumbles, freeing my hands of my suit so I can strip down. “I still haven’t decided whose bad side is worse.”
“Mine,” I say, hanging up my jeans and T-shirt. “Always mine.”
“Funny, D-boss said the very same thing. How do you two know each other, anyway?”
“Rule number four.” I claim my wetsuit and pull it up to my waist. “Don’t ask too many questions.” I cock my head and his proud nose wrinkles.