Page 40 of Hidden Depths

When she’d arrived home yesterday, she had expected to feel relieved to be free of him, but instead, she was disappointed she’d cut the lunch short. If he hadn’t insisted they see each other again, she’d be kicking herself.

“God, is this you? Or am I overanalyzing everything?”

She squeezed her eyes closed and her mind filled with a flurry of possibilities about who Tom was and what he was doing there. He’d shown her his badge, so he must have been FBI. Or could you fake those?

She did a quick search and found instructions on how to spot a forgery. Everything checked out on the list. But the only way she’d know for sure was to call the FBI and find out, which she definitely was not about to do.

His story about being tortured sounded a lot more genuine than the other things he’d said, too, but maybe that whole thing was a ploy to make her trust him.

She scrubbed her hands on her face. All this was doing was increasing her anxiety, and Margaret had reminded her on Sunday to look at the fruit of whatever was happening around her.

After a deep breath, she reminded herself that she had felt comfortable around Tom, and she’d rather trust that God would let her know he was no good than let fear push her back into the shadows.

With that decision made, she allowed herself to think about him as a guy she liked instead of as a possible threat. It’s what regular people did, and for so long, normal was a remote concept to her.

She pressed her hands against the smile on her face. It was such a welcome change from what she’d been living with. It was as if she were finally getting her life back. This had to be God. Everything was lining up.

Then she stood, not willing to spend all day pining for a guy she’d just met. She wanted to do what she’d never been brave enough to do before. She wanted to explore.

After grabbing her bag, she headed down the dock, skipping around the loose board and protruding nail, ready to follow her nose, enjoy her freedom, and see where the day took her.

Chapter11

Tom crouched low,watching through the fence of an old fishing wharf. He’d done some digging in the form of a friendly smile to the woman working the rental car counter. Using his badge as leverage before stashing it back in the safe, he had learned that this was the address the mafia men had used when they checked in.

At first sight, he’d assumed they’d given a false address. Not an unexpected move. But he decided to watch and wait. It paid off.

The fishy smell in the air mingled with an earthy aroma of aged wood and a hint of rust. He could also imagine the scent of expensive cologne that the man walking to the end of the dock wore. He was an anomaly here. His linen shirt and shiny gold watch stood in stark contrast to the aged dinghies bumping against the wooden pilings.

This was a man who had plenty of money to look after himself and could afford to wear something as tacky as snakeskin boots. It was probably the part of his outfit that stood out the most to Tom. He wasn’t trying to blend in. It was obvious he liked his shoe choice and had no interest in trading them for something else, like he had with the rest of his outfit. And while this particular man wasn’t one of the guys he’d seen at the airport, he was certain they were connected. And whatever he was doing in the Keys, it wasn’t taking in the sun.

When Boots reached the end of the dock, he met another there, a shirtless local whose chest was as weathered as the jetty he was standing on. The man scratched his head while he listened to Boots, but it was impossible to make out what was being said.

Tom changed positions, skimming along the fence to get a better view of the grounds. Off to the side was a boat, mostly covered in a tarp. The bow was poking out the front, and, from what he could see, it could be the same one he’d spotted speeding across the ocean while he had lunch with Sara.

His gaze dropped to the weeds choking the bottom of the fence as his thoughts drifted back to that afternoon, and he recalled the way she’d laughed. It was a sound that held a hint of relief, as though she hadn’t been sure if she was still able to do it and was unburdened knowing it was possible.

He blinked away the memory and focused on the jetty. He had work to do. The attraction he felt for her had to be laid aside. He couldn’t afford to have any interest in her now besides keeping her safe. Maybe Armstrong was right, and he’d been looking for work, unable to take a proper break. But whether or not he wanted it, it was here, and he couldn’t ignore it.

Boots handed an envelope to the local, then strolled off the dock and entered the shed.

The shirtless man opened the envelope but didn’t pull anything out as he checked the contents. Apparently satisfied, he stuffed it into the back of his pants, then untied one of the dinghies. He climbed in, pushed away from the dock, and started the small motor with a puff of smoke that clouded the back end of the boat.

Tom’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. It was a text from Armstrong.

I looked into the file you requested. There’s no mention of witness protection. It’s about a court case she testified in against Lansky that you mentioned. But Lansky’s dead. The girl is fine. Now you can stop thinking about it.

A seagull cackled as it circled overhead, and Tom shielded his eyes to look at it while the dinghy disappeared from view. If Sara wasn’t in witness protection, then what was she involved in? Why would she come out here to hide from if not through the proper channels?

One way or the other, he’d find out.

Moving to a mangled part of the fence, he climbed through.

* * *

Sara stood with her hands on her hips as she scanned the crowded beach where she had intended to walk. It was busier than she expected. She would have preferred the sand between her toes, but around the bend, where it was rockier and harder to walk, it would also be quieter, and she could lose herself in her thoughts that, at the moment, filtered back to Tom.

She bit her lip to hold back her smile. Maybe it was stupid to indulge, but for a man like that to be interested in her for something other than her tragic past was intoxicating. He liked her and wanted to see her again. It was an opportunity to let her painful thoughts bleed into the background. God had provided someone for her to enjoy herself with. A friend to spend time with for a little while. Maybe they could even catch up again some time into the future. Or not. It didn’t matter. It was all so simple and uncomplicated.

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