Page 136 of Hard Luck (Blackstone House)

He didn’t remember much else until daybreak.

CHAPTER 47

JEZEBEL

With every moment I spent on the water, I remembered with crystal clarity why I’d joined the US Army and not the US Navy. The sea had a life of its own. Poseidon was a weapons-grade asshole.

Cole had picked entirely the wrong moment to get seasick, and as the sun rose, he was still groggy from his unfortunate experience in the head. I was worried about the bruise on his temple. Last night, he’d claimed he was okay, but he sure didn’t look it. I’d carried him to the shelter of a rocky overhang and monitored his vitals as he slept.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

His head turned slowly as he took in our surroundings. “Are you planning to get stranded on every single island in the Caribbean this month?”

A little of the tension snaking around my guts eased. If Cole still had his sense of humour, brain damage was unlikely.

“Just this one, Skeleton Cay, and that godforsaken sandbank.”

“Is theCrosswindhere? Because if she isn’t, we’re up the tropical equivalent of shit creek without a paddle.”

“I haven’t checked. I didn’t want to leave you.”

“Well, go and check.”

I liked that Cole wasn’t afraid to boss me around. The men in my life usually fell into two categories, with only Priest, Marcel, and my former Blackstone House roommates as the exceptions. If a man knew what I did for a living, he tiptoed gently around me and deferred to anything I had to say. If he didn’t know what I did for a living, he acted condescending and called me a slut behind my back. Cole fell into some hitherto unknown category by treating me like a regular human being.

Windjammer Bank was a lush island roughly five hundred yards wide, low in the water with the occasional rocky outcrop. The population of rats didn’t seem even slightly perturbed by the humans traipsing through their home. I’d spent most of last night hissing at them, but quietly so Cole could get some rest. If I recalled correctly, rats were strong swimmers, so maybe they were making themselves at home on theCrosswindby now?

There she was, a hundred yards offshore, gleaming in the sun, the storm nothing but a distant memory. I hunkered down in the undergrowth surrounded by a dozen washed-up dolls to watch her. A block-headed shadow passed in front of the saloon window. Witt was alive and kicking, unfortunately, but hopefully not for long.

No, no, no.I didn’t mean that. I’d promised Cole I wouldn’t shoot anyone else unless it was absolutely necessary. If my life was in danger, or his, I wouldn’t hesitate. Otherwise, Witt would be getting his punishment via the vagaries of the San Gallicano legal system. I still had plenty of paracord with me, so I could truss him up nicely.

And I’d take great pleasure in tying the knots as tight as possible.

While theCrosswindlooked undamaged, the same couldn’t be said for theTide Pod. She rested in shallow water, hitched to a coconut palm with a rope that had no doubt been taken from one of theCrosswind’s storage lockers. I realised now why the boys had wanted theCrosswindand not any of the other boats they could have begged, borrowed, or stolen in San Gallicano. The shark cage rested on the swim platform, its door open, hooked up to the crane. When they found treasure among the coral, that’s how they were bringing it to the surface. Why stuff two gold bars into a lift bag when you could stack twenty in a cage and let the winch do the hard work?

Slowly, quietly, I backtracked the way I’d come to give Cole the news.

“There’s no damage that I can see, but they dumped theTide Podon the beach.”

“Why would they do that?”

“So they can use the crane to bring up the treasure.”

“So thereistreasure?”

“I didn’t see any, but it’s a reasonable assumption.”

“What a waste. Hopefully she’s salvageable?”

“I’m not an expert in submersibles.” No, I was an expert in criminals, terrorists, and death. “Witt was in the saloon, probably eating breakfast before the first dive of the day. Are you up to a walk over to the other side of the island?”

If I took Cole with me, I wouldn’t have to worry about him lying here concussed.

“I can make it.”

Witt obviously wasn’t expecting trouble because he didn’t give the island more than a cursory glance as he pulled on his wetsuit and strapped a tank to his BCD. Clint appearedand did the same, followed by Jon, although Jon didn’t look particularly happy to be there.

Was there trouble in paradise?

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