The Dark Tide Free for a Limited Time (28 page)

There was nothing the next day either. Karen grew increasingly tense.

Hauck felt it, too. In the morning he went for a run outside the grounds, then came back and lifted some weights. Later he tried to distract himself with some departmental reviews he’d taken with him before he left.

In her room Karen checked her BlackBerry for messages a hundred times.

What if she had scared him off?
she wondered. What if Charles had gone back into hiding? He could be a million miles away.

He would let her know, she told herself. He wouldn’t torture her again.

In the afternoon Hauck swam out to the reef again, floated on his back for what seemed an hour. He thought about what Karen had said, what he would do regarding Charles—
after.
Back at home.

He knew he had to lay it all out. Dietz. Hodges. The money
offshore. The empty tankers. Pappy Raymond. The hit-and-runs.

Everything.

Even if she begged him not to. There’d be an investigation. Into Hauck’s behavior. He’d be suspended for sure. He might even lose his job.

He put it off and went back up to the room and lay down on the bed. His insides felt as if a jagged wire had been dragged through them. Charles’s silence was killing both of them. And the thought of “what after.” All of a sudden, the future, and everything it held, didn’t seem so far off.

He tossed the stack of work papers onto the bed, slid open the sliding door, and stepped out onto the balcony.

He spotted Karen across from him on her terrace. She was facing the ocean, doing yoga, in tight leggings and a short cotton tank.

He watched.

She was graceful, moving from one pose to another as in a dance. The curve of her finely cut arms, her fingers reaching toward the sky. The steady rhythm of her breaths, her chest expanding and contracting, the delicate deep arch of her spine following the movement of her arms.

His blood stirred.

He knew he was in love with her. Not probably as he had kidded—but completely. He knew she had awakened him from a deep slumber, the sweet lure of something that had been dead inside him for a long time.

It was bursting through him now.

She didn’t notice him at first, so intent was she in the precision of her movements. The arc of her leg, the lift of her pelvis, stretching. Her hair tumbling forward in its ponytail. The glimpse of her exposed midriff.

Goddamn it, Ty….

She brought her arms back in a wide semicircle and seemed to open her eyes. Their gazes met.

At first Karen just smiled, as if she’d been exposed in some private ritual, like taking a bath.

Hauck saw the blotch of sweat on her top, the shoulder strap off her shoulder, the wisp of honey-colored hair that had fallen across her eyes.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. It was like a fire blazing through him. Through the urgency of his nod. They didn’t say a thing, but something wordless and breathless was communicated between them.

“Karen…”

He was at her door the very second that it opened, pushing it wide, taking her and forcing her back inside the room and up against the wall before she whispered, “What the hell do you want from me, Ty?”

He pressed his mouth on hers, stifling any objection, tasting the sweetness of her breath. Karen pulled his shirt out in the same necessity, tugging at his shorts. He cupped his rough palm to the curve of skin underneath her leggings, heat radiating out of every pore, unable to stop himself.

Her chest heaved.
“Jesus, Ty…”

He yanked down her leggings. Her skin was slick and sweaty from outside. He lifted her there, setting her straight against the weight of the high-backed rattan chair, hearing her murmur, her arms around his neck, lifting, until he was inside her, like two starved people ravaging for food, her legs straddling his thighs.

This time there was no softness, no tenderness. Only a yearning that rose up from deep within their core. She buried her face in his chest and rocked in his arms. He clung to her as tightly as he had ever held anything in his life. And when it was over, with a last, unembarrassed gasp, he continued to hold her, pressing her shape against his, and letting her drop easily into the big chair, Hauck leaning up against the wall, sliding to the floor, spent.

“So much for the conditions.” Karen groaned, brushing her damp hair out of her face.

“Didn’t work too well….” Hauck exhaled, raising a knee up off the floor.

“We could just leave,” he said to her. “We don’t have to wait around for him, Karen. I know there are things you want to hear from him, but the hell with it—all it’s going to do is hurt you, Karen, whichever way it falls. We could just leave. Let Charles go back to wherever the hell he wants to.”

Karen nodded. She forced a smile. “That doesn’t exactly sound very policelike, coming from you, Ty.”

“Maybe because I don’t feel very policelike. Maybe because for the first time in five years I feel whole. I’ve spent my entire goddamn life trying to do the right thing, and I’m scared—for once I’m scared—of what seeing him will do. What we’re doing here, Karen, this may be the biggest lie in the world. But whatever it is, it’s a lie I don’t want to end.”

“I don’t want to end it either, Ty.”

A sharp ringing cut her off. It came from the table where Karen’s bag was. Both sets of eyes flashed to it. She pulled her top over herself and ran and rummaged for her BlackBerry.

It was vibrating.

She looked up, anxious. “It’s him.”

Karen opened the message. “‘A boat will be at the St. James dock at eight
A.M.
,’” it read. “‘The captain’s name is Neville. He’ll take you to me. You alone, Karen. That’s the only way. No one else. Charles.’”

She came over and passed the phone to Hauck. He read it for himself. Inside, he felt everything slipping away.

“He’s my husband,” Karen said. She slid down next to him. “I’m sorry, Ty, I have to go.”

Forty miles away Phil Dietz sipped a black cactus margarita in the Black Hat Bar in Tortola. There was a band playing Jimmy Buffett and Wyclef Jean, a throng of young people dancing, spilling beers, their carefree brains buzzing with rum. Dietz noticed a pretty gal in a low-cut halter sitting at the other end of the bar and thought, what the hell, he might just make a move as the evening developed, even if, by the looks, he had to pay. He’d earned it. He’d charge it off on Lennick’s account, he decided. Sort of a celebration, because tomorrow the fun was over. It was going to get native again.

He’d found his man.

It had been a breeze to track the itinerary of Karen Friedman. Lennick had alerted him. He knew that the fish had caught the line. If she was heading to the BVIs, it was likely she’d pass through San Juan, so he called with a question about the reservation. Airlines still gave out shit like that. Made his job easy. So he had Lenz, who had driven the hit car in Greenwich, but whose face was unknown to them, watching out for her in Tortola. He
tracked the Island Air single-engine to St. Hubert’s. There was only one place they could go there.

What he hadn’t planned on was the cop. Dietz knew this wasn’t exactly a lovers’ getaway. Charles wouldn’t be far behind.

He had led them there.

Whatever would happen next, that part was right up Dietz’s alley. Charles would show himself soon. He had Lenz installed at the club, keeping a watchful eye on them. Dietz had a small plane rented. The rest was routine. What they paid him for. The kinds of skills he’d honed his whole life.

Dietz took another sip of his drink. The girl with the boobs in the halter smiled his way. He grew aroused.

He knew he wasn’t exactly handsome. He was short and stocky and had military tattoos up and down his thick arms. But women always managed to notice him, and they were drawn to him in a hard-edged way.

He thought of the cop. He complicated things. If they knew about Dolphin, they might have found the old geezer in Pensacola. And if they had, coupled with Lauer, maybe it wasn’t as much of a fishing expedition down at his house as he’d thought.

Charles knew things. More than they could let him divulge. He had been sloppy, but the sloppiness was going to have to end.

Dietz scratched his mustache and pushed out his cigar.
Time to pay up, Charles.

But in the meantime he had this little diversion. He took another look at the girl and finished off his drink. He flipped open his cell phone. One last call.

He dialed the number that was in his memory. A gravelly, accented voice picked up.
Always play both ends against the middle,
Dietz thought. He’d been told to give a progress report, stay in touch.

“Good news,” Dietz said, keeping an eye on the girl. “I think we’ve found him.”

“Excellent,” the voice replied. “Was it through the accounts?” The banks, the electronic transfers. The diamond merchant they had painstakingly tracked.

“No need,” Dietz said. “Ultimately, I found another way. His wife led us right to him.”

Dietz stood up and tossed a twenty on the bar. Tomorrow…tomorrow it was back to business. He’d take care of Hodges, too. But tonight…The girl was talking to a tall, blond surfer dude. He passed by a group of bone fishermen, bragging about their catch. When he got in front of her, she looked up.

“Where are you?” Dietz asked into the phone.

“Don’t you worry,” the brusque voice replied. “I’m around.”

The morning broke hazy and warm.

Karen woke early and ate a light breakfast in her room. She sat out on the balcony and sipped her coffee, watching the sun rise over the calm sea. Trying to settle her nerves. A flock of birds circled out by the reef, honking and diving for an early meal.

Around seven-thirty she saw a white launch pull up at the St. James’s dock. A captain jumped off. She stood and tried to relax her restless stomach.
Here goes….

She put on a print sundress and a pair of espadrilles. She clipped her hair up off her neck and applied a touch of blush to her cheeks and gloss to her lips, just to make herself look pretty. Then she packed her bag, sun cream, lip balm, a couple of bottles of water. She took along some pictures of the kids she’d brought with her.

Downstairs, Ty was waiting on the walkway to the beach. He gave her a supportive wink. What else was there really to say?

“I have something for you,” he said, taking her under the log
gia to a private spot where he sat her down in a wooden beach chair. He pressed a small disk into her palm. “It’s a high-powered GPS receiver. Hide it in your purse. That way I can find you. I want you to call me on the hour.
Every hour.
Just so I know you’re safe. You promise you’ll do that for me, Karen?”

“Ty, I’ll be fine. It’s Charles.”

“I want you to promise,” he said, not a question this time, more of a command.

“Okay.” She relented and smiled at him. “I promise.”

From his pocket Hauck took out something else—a dark, metal object, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand—that made her shudder. “I want you to take this along, too, Karen.”

“No.”

“I mean it, Karen.” He pressed it into her hand. “Just in case something happens. It’s a Beretta .22. The safety’s off. It may be nothing. But you don’t know what you’re walking into. You said it yourself—people have died. So take it.
Please.
Just in case.”

Karen gazed at the gun, her heart quickening. She tried to push it back. “Ty, please, it’s Charles…”

“It’s Charles,” he said, “and you have no idea what else you’re walking into. Take it, Karen. It’s not a request, it’s an order. You can give it back to me this afternoon.”

She stared at the gun, and it reminded her that no matter how she tried to play this, he was right—she was a little scared.

“I’m reluctant to bring it, ’cause I just might use it on him,” she chortled. But she tucked it into her bag.

“Karen, listen.”
Ty lifted his shades. “I do love you. I think I have from that first day I came to your house. You know that. I don’t know what happens after this, between you and me. We’ll work that out. But now it’s my turn, and I want you to hear me clearly. You be careful, Karen. I want you to stay as public as you can. You don’t go anywhere with him—
after.
You don’t take any risks, you understand?”

“Yessir.”
Karen nodded, a small smile creeping through the nerves.

“What the hell would you want me to say, Karen? I’m a cop.”

The captain of the boat, a black man of about thirty in surf shorts and a baseball cap, jumped off the launch. It was called the
Sea Angel.
He seemed to be checking his watch.

Karen said, “I think I have to go.”

She leaned close to him, and he hugged her. She gave him a kiss on his cheek and squeezed him tightly. “Don’t worry about me, Ty.” She stood up and did her best to smile. “It’s Charlie. We’ll probably be drinking a beer in some café by ten.”

She hurried toward the dock, turning once and waving, her heart pounding all the same. Ty came out and followed her a few steps over the sand, a wave back. Then she ran up the dock to the
Sea Angel
’s captain, an affable-looking man. “You’re Neville?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He took her bag from her. “We should be heading out.” He noticed Ty, taking a step or two toward them. “He said just
you,
ma’am. Just you or we don’t go.”

Karen took his hand and jumped aboard. “It
is
just me. Go
where
?”

Neville stepped aboard, tossing the bowline back onto the dock. “He said you would know.”

She did know. Somewhere deep in her heart. It came to her on the water, the islands growing familiar. With a rising anticipation in her blood.

They headed west. As they cleared the reef, the twin-engine launch picked up speed. Karen went to the back of the boat. She waved at Hauck, who had come out onto the pier. A minute later the boat skidded around a bend, and he disappeared.

She was in Charlie’s hands now.

It was a beautiful ride. Lots of white-beached islands, small, uninhabited slivers of sand and palms. The water was a soft green-blue, dotted with whitecaps. The sun beat down on them, clear and warm. The craft kicked speedily over the waves, leaving a wide wake, the captain clearly at home in the local waters. Karen’s hair whipped in the salty breeze.

“Do you know Charles?” she shouted to Neville over the loud engines.

“You mean Mr. Hanson?” he said. “Yes. I man his boat.”

“This one?”

“No, ma’am.” Neville grinned broadly, as if amused. “Not at all.”

The boat passed inhabited beaches. A few towns tucked into coves. Places they had been to. All of a sudden, she knew why Charles had asked her to come here. Once in a while, they shot past a beautiful yacht in the open sea. Or little fishing skiffs, manned by shirtless fishermen. Once Neville grinned and pointed out toward the horizon. “Sailfish.”

Whatever agitation Karen felt, it began to ease.

The ride took fifty minutes. The launch started to come closer to tiny, uninhabited islands.

Suddenly she realized that Neville had been right. A bizarre familiarity began to overtake her. Karen recognized a beach restaurant they had once pulled into—no more than a large thatched hut with an open-kettle grill, where they had had lobsters and chicken. A few small boats moored there. Farther along, a lighthouse she remembered, striped blue and white. The name came back to Karen.

Bertram’s Cay.

Now she knew where he was taking her. A last gulf of open blue sea and she saw it.

Her heart expanded.

The isolated cove where they’d once sailed, where the two of them had anchored. She thought of Charlie and his floppy hair and Ray-Bans at the helm. They had to swim into the beach, brought a basket of food and some beer, lay around like beach-combers on the fine white sand, protected by wavy palms.

Their own personal cove. What had they called it? The Never Mind Lagoon.

Where the hell did Charlie and Karen go?
everyone would ask.

Karen went up to the bow as the boat slowed, and she shielded her eyes. Pulse quickening, she scanned the small horseshoe
beach. Neville guided the launch, which must have drawn around three feet, to within a few yards of the beach.

It looked the same. Just as when they’d discovered it eight years earlier. There was a yellow inflatable raft drawn up on the sand. Karen’s heart beat faster. She looked around. She didn’t see anybody. Just heard a caw—a few gulls and pelicans hovering above the trees.

Charlie…

She didn’t know what she was feeling. She didn’t know what her reaction might be. Karen took off her sandals, crept up on the bow, steadying herself on the railing. She glanced back at Neville, and he gave her a cautioning hand to wait as he coasted in a little closer and came around sideways. Then he nodded for her to go.
Now…

Karen jumped off, her bag strapped around her shoulder. The water was warm and foamy, coming halfway up her thighs, soaking the bottom of her dress. She waded in to the beach. She didn’t see anybody there. She turned around to look as Neville started to back the
Sea Angel
away from the shore. He waved to her. Karen spun around again and for the first time actually began to feel afraid.

She was alone. On this totally deserted strip. Hardly even on a map.

What if he never even came for her?

She realized she had not called Ty.
Stay in a public place,
he had insisted. Public? This was the most deserted spot in the whole fucking world.

Karen stepped tentatively up the low dune. The morning sun had baked the sand, and it felt warm and fine underneath her bare feet. There was no sound, only some chirping from the trees and the soft lapping of the tide.

She went to grab her phone from her bag as a tiny tingling of fear rippled on the surface of her skin.

She heard the brush move and then his voice before she saw his shape.

Soft, eerily familiar. It sliced through her.

“Karen.”

She felt her chest tighten, and she turned.