Page 84 of Five
“Fucking A,” Oz mutters, and climbs in his own boat, where Remi and Cope are already waiting. “This is a mistake.”
I slink down in the boat in reply, curling into the arm Oliver places around me. I look stubbornly away, and Jesse starts the boat.
We don’t even attempt to talk over the engine and wind, but I’m very aware of the looks the guys share, and Oz’s tight-lipped profile in the nearby boat.
We arrive at the Key West City Marina. It’s impossible to find a place to dock together, so Jesse docks down the way a bit, then walks quickly to join Oscar and the others where they wait by Oz’s boat. Falling in with each other, we make our way to the parking lot, where Oz’s unmarked car and Jesse’s Mustang wait.
“Okay, so how are we doing this?” Remi asks.
“The search will officially get underway at two P.M. We need to go to the station first so you can all sign off on the legal stuff. No entry permitted in private areas without a warrant, that sort of thing,” Oz says. “I do want to stop at the marina office on the way out; ask them a few questions.” He glances around. “I really feel like it’s going to be the marinas where anything took place.”
“Got it. We’ll follow your lead,” Jesse says and goes to climb in his car.
I follow, placing my hand on the handle of Jesse’s car, but as soon as it touches the metal, a hand falls heavy on my neck. “You’re with me.” Oscar steers me to his car.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But only because you asked so nicely.”
I think I hear Cope laugh, but it’s muffled by the sound of the door closing behind me.
The marina office ends up being a bust. While Oliver and I wait in the car, Oz goes inside to ask the manager about suspicious activity, and whether or not anyone came in to inquire about rentals. He returns in short order, a sheaf of paper in his hand. “They don’t remember anything out of the ordinary, but it’s a big place. They wouldn’t, necessarily. They did give me a list of people who lease dock space, so we can start there.”
“How many are we looking at, aside from commercial vessels?” Oliver asks.
“Two-fifty-ish.”
“Fuck.” Oliver settles against the back seat, dejection in the slump of his shoulders.
“Yeah. It’s going to take all damn day and then some to go through them all, and you wonder why I didn’t want to drag Neve along.”
“Hey—“ I cut my own protest off, biting my lip.
I don’t want to argue.
As Oscar pulls out of the marina and heads for the station, he and Oliver lapse into silence. I take my cue from them, hunching down a bit in the seat and looking out the window as the City Marina shifts to the streets of Key West.
They brim with string lights and tourists and happy, pulsing music. I shake my head, unable to reconcile the party atmosphere with the darkness I know is present just beneath its surface. All these people…just living their lives while something so sinister is going on around them.
My companions don’t provide much conversation. Oz is silent and brooding. Oliver tries, but his efforts go over like a lead balloon.
“We’ll be in public the entire time, and between the five of us, we’re going to be watching her like a hawk.”
Oz puts his blinker on without reply.
“You can’t just keep her cooped up on the island.”
Oscar makes the turn, his only response a nerve jumping in his temple.
“Look, this is her battle, too, and while I get that you’d rather run at it without her, you have to respect her decisions, Oz. The chances of anything happening with all of us around are about nil.”
Oscar looks at him sideways and speaks, finally goaded into making a reply. “I’m sure that’s what Dad thought.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I’ve had enough. “I think we just need to chill the fudge out, guys. Oz—I’m an adult. As much as I appreciate the help, I will make my own decisions. Oliver…just…” I shake my head. “No more, please.”
No one speaks again until we pull into the station’s parking lot, and then it’s Oscar. He puts the car in park and sits for a second, eyes forward-facing but distracted. “Fudge.” He snorts and opens the door. “The word is fuck, angel face.”
Rolling my eyes, I climb out of the car, followed by Oliver. We’re halfway across the parking lot to the station entrance when Oz’s phone rings and he stops to answer it, halting us all in our tracks. “Talk to me,” he says, voice sharp.
As I watch, his expression changes, hardening to inscrutability. A moment later: “Fuck! Goddammit. I’m on the way.”
