Cassidy Kincaid Mysteries Box Set

by Amy Waeschle

  “We go,” the first man said, looking at Bruce. “Pero esto no ha terminado,” he added, wiping blood off his face. But this isn’t over.

  Cassidy risked a glance at Bruce but his face was unreadable.

  And then the men were gone.

  “Wait!” Cassidy cried, moving to the edge of the boat. Bruce met her halfway with a bear hug to hold her back. Cassidy struggled—why wasn’t he letting her go after them? She wanted them to tell her what had happened, once and for all. No more playing detective, no more not knowing the answer. “Let me go,” she said, but her efforts were weak. Bruce was talking softly to her, and his grip was firm, but gentle.

  Cassidy felt her remaining strength drain out of her.

  She felt his fingers wrap around hers. “Give me the gun,” he coaxed. Releasing the weapon was easy, and she did so with a sigh that morphed into a series of sobs. She put her head against his shoulder and sighed a great, shuddering breath. Her knees began to wobble.

  “Easy, there,” Bruce said, and gently shifted her to the bench. She saw him tuck the gun behind his back, in his waistband. Was it his, or did it belong to the intruders? Had he been carrying it all along?

  Cassidy leaned her head into her hands and took a deep breath.

  “That was a really stupid thing to do, Cass,” Bruce said finally.

  “You’re welcome,” Cassidy said, even though his use of her nickname gave her heart a small bounce.

  Bruce sighed again and lowered himself to the bench beside her, emitting a groan of pain. “Where in the heck did you learn to hold a gun like that?”

  “Gun safety training,” Cassidy replied, remembering the firing range and the ear protection—though it had still been incredibly loud. “Standard operating procedure for fieldwork in bear country. Plus, I grew up in Idaho. Every kid there knows how to hold a gun,” she said.

  “Okay, I’m officially scared of you now,” he said.

  Cassidy looked up. His face was bruised and swollen. Blood was congealing on his split lip. One leg was extended, as if bending it to match the other was either too painful, or difficult.

  “I thought you said I’d be safe on the boat,” Cassidy said, the adrenaline rush from holding them at gunpoint still ebbing in her veins.

  “I’m sorry,” he replied softly. “I never thought they’d trace you.”

  “Would they really have . . . killed you?” Cassidy realized that he had been protecting her.

  Bruce didn’t answer her. “I think it’s time we get you out of here,” he said instead.

  Just then the image of her empty house with the weed-riddled yard, dull wooden floors, and the brand-new couch where she would sit, alone, popped into her head.

  Bruce stood up, his face twisted in pain, and held out his hand for her to take.

  “Wait, you mean, like, right now—like, you’re going to drive the Trinity back, for me?”

  “Yep.”

  “What about Benita and the other guests? And Jesus?”

  “I’ll be a little late coming back, but I think they won’t mind. And Jesus will be thrilled to have a few extra hours with his family.”

  Cassidy thought about what he was proposing, and though it sounded like a big favor to ask, she was instantly grateful to leave. “First, do we need to get you to a hospital? You don’t look so good.”

  “Thanks,” Bruce said, trying to smile, then stopped when his lip started bleeding again. “But no. I’ve been in worse shape.”

  Cassidy gave him a shrewd once-over and sighed. “Before we go,” she said. “It’s my turn to show you something.”

  The whirlwind of emotions in her heart had settled, and in its place, the idea that had taken hold when she had been hiding in Jesus’s cabin gained strength. After leading Bruce there, she knelt at the opening beneath the bunk. She opened the door and swung it open. “Reeve had someone on this boat. In here.”

  “What?” Bruce blinked. “Some one?”

  Cassidy realized that the facts had been in front of her all along. She had just interpreted them wrong. From the partying neighbor and the young girl he was with, to the payment Reeve made, to the “delivery.” She begged Reeve to forgive her for being so blind. I’ve been wrong from the very beginning, she thought. I’m so sorry.

  It had to be the answer to Reeve’s disappearance. He had paid Tikvah International to rescue his girlfriend, Jade, then smuggled her aboard the Trinity to San Juan and delivered her to safety.

  After a week of searching for answers, of wondering, of suffering through many ugly imaginings about Reeve’s fate, she finally had the answer. “His girlfriend. He hid her under here and brought her ashore to rescue her.” Cassidy peered into the space, which contained a jumble of life vests, a bilge pump, and emergency rations.

  Cassidy recalled the look on Reeve’s face in the picture that day on the beach: triumph.

  “In there?” Bruce said, and Cassidy could almost see the gears turning in his mind.

  Cassidy nodded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Whenever he could, he would stay on the boat, remember? That was when he could get her out.”

  Bruce rubbed his jaw, doubtful. “You said rescue . . . ”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I think she was a prostitute, an illegal one. Why else would he risk bringing her here? Someone must have owned her, and he was taking her away from him.” Cassidy remembered the man in the shadows outside Reeve’s apartment. He had been waiting for the neighbor’s illegal chica, the girl, to finish her job so he could deliver her to the next customer in line. Cassidy wanted to cry out. Why hadn’t she grabbed the girl and run? Why hadn’t she done something to help her?

  “There’s no way,” Bruce said, standing. “I would have known she was down there.”

  “You sure? She was probably a master at being silent. She knew what was at stake. Reeve had bought her a ticket out of a life of slavery, and she was on her way to being free.”

  “Goddamn,” Bruce whispered, crossing his arms. He turned away from her.

  She gave him a minute to process her discovery. “It was you who actually gave me the idea. Remember what you said about Jesus only taking the job to get a free ride? Well, that was sort of what Reeve was doing, only the free ride was for Jade.”

  Bruce glanced at her, his features sharp. “So then what happened?” he asked.

  “He had paid Tikvah International the day before the trip. So after he brought Jade ashore, he delivered her to them, to safety. After that, I don’t know.” She paused to sort through the rest.

  Pete had investigated a story once on a sex trafficking ring in Sicily, but had to give up because of lack of sources. He had tried to shield her from the gruesome details, but she had learned them anyway. It was still incomprehensible to her that there were people who would steal or buy a human being and sell her or him into a life filled with such horror. Like a commodity, or an animal.

  “Maybe he was the victim of some kind of revenge, or maybe he just ran into some bad luck.” She paused, the guilt of not taking Reeve’s call those many weeks ago washing over her like a crushing wave. What if that call had been his last? What if she had been his final hope? Her knees wobbled, and the air left her lungs. “I don’t think we’ll ever know,” she said, bracing herself against the wall.

  He glanced at her. “So what did he do with all the stuff I store under his bunk while his girlfriend was in there?”

  Cassidy shook her head. “Reeve can be pretty creative when he wants to be.”

  Bruce stood. “After that trip, we had a rat problem. I couldn’t figure it out,” he added, starting to pace. “I’ll bet they ate in here. She may even have kept food under there.” He pointed to the space. “I can’t believe this happened, and I didn’t even know about it.” He gave a groan and turned to go. He paused, his shoulders slumping. “He could have fucked this whole thing up,” he muttered, then left the cabin, limping.

  Cassidy heard Bruce move about the boat preparing for departure,
and she, too, got to work. After her time as a passenger, she knew some of the tasks, like stowing loose items in the galley, locking cupboards, closing the doors on the guests’ cabins. Sooner than she expected, the Trinity’s big engines rumbled to life, and then they were accelerating out of the calm waters of the bay. Cassidy stood on the stern deck, watching San Juan del Sur’s lights and the black hills behind the town begin to fade. She glanced up to the wheelhouse, lit with a bright glow, where Bruce steered toward open water, his back to her. A surge of emotions swirled inside her: relief, gratitude, sorrow, resentment.

  As the Trinity rounded the point and the lights of the town blinked out of sight, Cassidy climbed to the wheelhouse.

  “It’s a good thing we’re doing this,” Bruce said, his broken face tight with worry. “You’re in more danger than I thought.”

  Nineteen

  Cassidy woke in Bruce’s bed. A pale light outlined the curve of land to the east and as she watched, the green and gray hilltops became lit with a buttery glow. The water, too, extended all around them like a sheet of shiny, blue-black glass.

  Bruce glanced back at her from the helm. “Buenas días, dormilona.” He grinned, but it was lopsided, half of his face was stiff from bruises, and his lip was fat and scabbed. He must have cleaned himself up in the night because he was wearing a fresh T-shirt and his cheeks were no longer bloody.

  “Stop calling me that,” she grumbled, though without malice. She had woken several times in the night, but had kept quiet, choosing to let the motor’s rumble and Bruce’s quiet movements deliver her back to sleep.

  Bruce turned back to the helm. “There’s some coffee left,” he said, indicating a thermos sitting upright in a holder in the nav station. “No donuts today, though, sorry.”

  Cassidy yawned and pushed herself to a sitting position. “You’re fired,” she said.

  He laughed and then sucked in a grimace.

  “Sorry,” she said, coming to stand next to him. “Ribs?”

  He nodded. “At least it’s not my kidneys,” he answered.

  She poured a cup of coffee into the thermos’s lid and took a sip. After a few more, her headache began to ebb.

  “We’ll be in Playas del Coco in about a half hour. From there you can hop a bus to Liberia. There’s a weekday ten a.m. flight to Houston.”

  Cassidy finished her coffee. “I have to go back to Tamarindo, first,” she said, replacing the lid on the thermos.

  She sensed Bruce stiffen.

  “What?” She glanced at him. “I can’t leave without my laptop, my field gear.”

  He swallowed. “Of course,” he replied. “There’s probably another flight later. I think Delta has one in the afternoon, through Dallas.”

  “You have them all memorized?”

  He grinned. “I’m not only the captain, surf guide, and bookkeeper. I’m also the chauffeur.”

  Cassidy watched the barren hillsides and hidden coves pass. The cool morning air felt fresh and clean. She felt the shift inside her, a bubble of optimism forming—as if the events in San Juan were farther into her past than just a few hours.

  After gathering her remaining things, she went to the bow to sit alone while Bruce piloted the boat into the tranquil bay, the big engines slowing. The constant shusssh of water calving around the boat seemed extra loud in the still morning air, and she imagined all the chores that the townspeople were waking up to: start the cooking fire, feed the animals, make rice, get ready for school or work. She realized her own list of chores was waiting, too, back in the States.

  The boat slowed again, and the green hills sharpened in focus, as well as the town’s buildings. She spotted the hotel where she had sipped coffee with the other Witch’s Rock surfers on that first trip with Bruce, its white wrap-around porch glowing bright in the dawn’s silvery light.

  A small skiff left the shore and headed straight for them. Soon it was idling next to the Trinity, with Bruce rattling off instructions to the boy in charge. And then it was time to say goodbye.

  “Sorry for all of this,” she said.

  “Sorry for what? Caring about your brother?”

  She studied his swollen and bruised face. He was still dashingly handsome, maybe more so. “Thanks for bringing me back,” she said.

  “Thanks for saving my life,” he replied, taking her hand. He closed his eyes and kissed her palm, and she took that moment to study him, to imprint him in her mind. He opened his eyes and saw her watching, then leaned down and kissed her softly on the cheek. It wasn’t a surprise, but the way her body reacted surprised her; it was as if she melted right into him, as if she had been waiting for this closeness. Leaving him now felt strange, as if their story was not quite at an end.

  He pulled away, and grinned. “Adiós, Cassidy,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

  Cassidy climbed into the skiff, and the boy steered the boat towards the shore. When she looked back, Bruce was climbing into the wheelhouse, and he leaned out, his long arm extended in a wave. She waved back, her heart feeling strangely empty.

  Arriving in Tamarindo after a hot taxi ride, she stopped at a beachside café for breakfast. It felt unnerving to eat alone; since coming to Costa Rica she had been surrounded by the constant chatter of other diners—whether friends or fellow travelers. She savored her coffee and watched the children playing in the small waves breaking on the cocoa-colored sand, and ate her beans and eggs slowly, letting her thoughts shift and tumble in her mind. A cloud of melancholy hovered just off her horizon—she kept it at bay but knew the moment she stepped off the plane in the States it would engulf her. After staying for as long as she felt was polite, she paid her bill and walked along the beach to Crazy Mike’s.

  She walked the cold sand, empty of vacationers this early, but the lineup was dotted with surfers, and Macho stood giving a lesson to a group of college-aged women in bikinis. He gave her a wink as she passed by, and she smiled to herself, content to know that Pura Vida was alive and well.

  Inside the restaurant, Mel wasn’t behind the bar. Cassidy felt disoriented, as if his lack of presence signified that she might have stepped into the wrong wrinkle in time. Indeed, the whole restaurant felt different without him at the center of it. She continued to the small counter near the board cage where a clipboard showed guests’ names and room numbers. Aliana greeted Cassidy and welcomed her back. Behind her, a whiteboard announced the day’s surf tours and lessons in block letters.

  Cassidy asked about calling the airlines, and Aliana immediately picked up the phone. After a short wait, she rattled off Cassidy’s request to the agent on the other end of the line. After a series of back and forth exchanges—too rapid for Cassidy to follow—her travel was arranged. “Tomorrow at nine a.m.,” Aliana said, looking triumphant.

  Cassidy had been banking on the afternoon flight, like Bruce had suggested. “Do you have a room for tonight?” she asked, realizing that she was so tired she might just crawl into one of the beds and sleep until dinnertime. She also needed to charge her phone and laptop. Her flight home would give her a chance to start catching up on her substantial workload.

  “No,” Aliana’s smile crumpled into a sorrowful frown. “I’m so sorry, but we are booked.”

  Cassidy forced a smile. “Do you have a recommendation?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Aliana said, and went to the phone.

  After a series of calls, Cassidy was booked at Casa Pacifica, with her airport shuttle arranged as well. “But check-in there is not until four o’clock,” Aliana warned. “You are welcome to use our pool and restaurant until then. We also have very comfortable hammocks,” she added with a smile.

  By mid-afternoon Cassidy’s laptop’s battery was long dead, as was her phone, and she had edited the hard copy of her upcoming submission, a piece for Nature Geoscience about the correlation between the number of harmonics in a tremor signal and eruption intensity. While working, she had consumed a gallon of coffee plus an entire plate of fluffy pancakes with butter and syr
up. She did enjoy one last dip in the pool and used the outdoor shower to rinse off and ready her mind for her final night in Tamarindo. Every now and then she looked towards the bar, expecting to see Mel, but he never showed. She considered sending him a message, but then thought better of it. Inside her mind, a strange tug of war was taking place. Images of Bruce and what they had been through revisited her throughout the day, and the strange feeling she had experienced while saying goodbye wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Finally, unable to resist the pull of a soft bed and quiet, she paid her bill and packed up her things. After a last look around the restaurant and the pool, the scraggly trees with their yellow trumpet-shaped blossoms and the beautiful beach, she turned away and walked out into the street.

  The temperature on the road felt several degrees hotter than in the breeze-cooled restaurant, and her skin beaded with sweat from every pore in moments. Insects buzzed from the roadside bushes as she trudged past. Aliana had given her directions—Casa Pacifico was back from the beach a few blocks, more towards the center of town. Two Tico boys on bikes passed her, chattering loudly, and she thought of Macho, Eddie, and Rico, and her death-defying ride on the handlebars.

  She turned up a street and hiked away from the beach, through a residential area. Small houses engulfed by jungle foliage lined the dirt road. Her backpack was beginning to feel heavy; there was something poking into her left kidney and she waggled her pack, trying to move whatever it was, but with no luck. At the next intersection, she paused, double-checking her directions, then turned left and walked some more. The hotel should be appearing soon. She had come to a row of apartments, flanked by empty jungle, and houses with corrugated tin roofs. One appeared to be a makeshift restaurant; a woman wearing a faded flower-print apron tended a wood stove beneath a flat iron surface sizzling with cooking meat. She did not notice Cassidy pass.

  After another block of walking, Cassidy realized that she was near Reeve’s apartment building. In the daytime, the surrounding area lacked the menacing shadows and shifty activity as her last visit. The apartment came into view, and she paused, wondering if her feet had brought her here on purpose.