Page 8 of Hidden Depths

The wind caught the skirt of Sara’s flower-print dress when she dropped onto the dock. She swiped her hand across it, returning it to its place before slinging her purse over her shoulder and advancing toward the marina, already busy with people.

But her dock was quiet. It had been closed for renovations since she’d lived here. A friend of her parents had seen to that. A friend she hadn’t known until they were dead. She owed a lot to Peter Black. His influence meant that she wasn’t secluded—not that you could be in Key West—but she still had her privacy.

The gray-worn planks croaked against her steps until her shoe caught on a nail, and she tripped, nearly tumbling into the water. It was the second time that week.

She turned and stomped toward a rusty pail, abandoned months before. After swiping it up, she returned to the offending nail and hammered the intruder back into place with the bottom of the bucket. Then she tested the plank, putting her weight on the far end and watching as the nail lifted again.

Failure played with the edges of her resolve as a sigh held in her throat, but she refused to let it escape. She wouldn’t yield to it. Today was the day.

Flipping the bucket upside down, she plopped it on top of the hazard and dusted her hands off in completion of her task.

She had grown up having everything done for her. But that girl was gone. Lansky may not have killed her that night, but the girl she used to be had died that day. She was now a woman who could deal with her own problems.

At the end of the dock, she hurried across a dusty road to a walking path that would take her most of the way to the church and her expected victory. Whatever that looked like.

* * *

A man stepped onto the sidewalk outside Key West International Airport and slipped on his dark sunglasses, his gold watch glinting in the scorching sun.

He breathed in the salty air deeply and smiled. He always liked the tropics, and with the cooler months arriving, he’d make the most of his time here.

The woman who’d sat next to him on the plane had asked him whether he was on his way here for work or pleasure.

“Not many would come to the Keys for work, but you don’t look like you’re going on vacation.”

“I’d say I’m here for a bit of both,” he’d replied. And meant it.

A white Rolls-Royce Ghost pulled up in front of him, and the driver stepped out. “Balthazar, I presume?”

“I am. And you’re right on time,” Balthazar said. “I like that. As far as first impressions go, you’ve started out the Keys on the right foot, although I expect my stay here will be excellent.”

“It’s a pleasure to be of service, sir.” The driver opened the door, and Balthazar got in, settling himself onto the leather seat. He dropped his sunglasses beside him and unbuttoned his suit coat before pulling out his phone.

“You’ve arrived, I take it?” said the voice on the other end.

“Yes, Dutch, I’ve landed.”

“How’s the weather?”

“Tropical.”

“But I bet you’re still wearing those boots.”

“You know I don’t go anywhere without them. Besides, the snakeskin is fashionable, even down here. Maybe I’ll splash out and buy a pair of alligator skin while I’m here.”

“Leave it to you to spend money so frivolously.”

“I don’t recall you being in charge of my spending habits.”

“All I’m saying is, while in Rome.”

“You think I should buy a pair of boat shoes?”

“I believe it would be wiser to blend in, yes.”

“I’ll think about it. How’s everything on your end?”

“So far, so good.”

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