by L. T. Vargus
“Refreshing, no?”
“Very much,” Darger said, smacking her lips a little at the tang of the fresh lime. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. I like to consider myself an ambassador to the finer things in life.”
The booze went to work on the knots in Darger’s stomach, loosening them bit by bit as it took hold.
Spinks lifted his fizzing cup and tipped it toward the window.
“Look at that. Have you ever seen a blue like that?”
Darger couldn’t actually bring herself to look at the water. Instead, she moved her eyes to the window but kept her focus on the wing of the plane.
“Nope,” she said.
The sea below was an unfocused blur that she pretended was the usual plains and farmland and mountains she flew over all the time when she and Loshak consulted on various cases across the country.
Nothing to see here, she told herself. Nothing at all.
She took another drink of her mile-high daiquiri, hoping the alcohol would subdue her nerves once and for all. It wasn’t really any different than flying anywhere else. She knew that. Then again, flying over the ocean wasn’t the only thing making her nervous, was it?
If she was honest with herself, she was almost as uneasy about seeing Owen again as she was about the yawning expanse of the open sea.
She’d been avoiding this line of thought, but something about the steady white noise of the plane made it impossible to ignore.
She’d first met Owen when she and Loshak consulted on a domestic terror case in Georgia. Two brothers — Levi and Luke Foley — wreaking havoc across the Atlanta metro area. It began with a sniper rifle attack on a busy freeway, then a shooting at a crowded grocery story. The final act of Levi and Luke had been planting bombs all over their former high school.
Owen’s twin brother, Special Agent Ethan Baxter, had been shot in one of the attacks and died a few days later. Owen himself had been wounded in another.
Darger swirled the liquid in her cup and drank.
She’d never really analyzed the impetus of their relationship from afar before. Only now did it occur to her that they’d probably had some sort of survivor’s trauma bond. She wondered if that was all they’d ever had. That might explain why it had fallen apart so easily.
She sighed.
But no. Whatever glue had initially held them together, the relationship had crumbled because Darger chose work over Owen one too many times. It was tempting to let herself off the hook, though. To suggest what they’d had was only a by-product of surviving a life-threatening event together. But it had been more than that, and she knew it. And she’d fucked it up all by herself.
She had enough distance from it to see how she’d used her work as a shield to avoid intimacy. She might have told herself she was simplifying her life, but the reality was that there was a part of Darger that worried no one would ever love her enough to put up with her for longer than a few months. It was easier to sabotage the relationship. To pretend she’d taken some sort of high road to avoid the potentially inevitable feelings of abandonment that would come if it didn’t work out.
A question bobbed to the surface of her mind. The same question she’d pondered a hundred times since she got Owen’s call.
Did he have someone else now?
She pushed the query aside, knowing the obvious answer. Of course he did. Owen wasn’t the type to sit around pining after a woman. Certainly not Violet Darger.
She imagined him and some six-foot-tall Brazilian bikini model with honeyed skin, island-hopping for the last however many months. Actually, more likely it had been a slew of six-foot bikini models.
Darger looked down at her khaki pants and sensible sandals.
If she was nursing some hope of rekindling something with Owen in the back of her subconscious, she needed to nip that in the bud right now. It was a fantasy, pure and simple. Born of too much time alone. Even if there had been a true connection between them at one point in time, it was long gone now. Owen had spent too many months bumming around the tropics. A new girl on every island, knowing him. And Darger couldn’t compete with that.
She finished her drink. Fortified by the fresh dose of liquid courage, she steeled herself and let her gaze wander over to the window. The sea glittered and wavered in the sunlight, seeming to be blue and black and silver all at once. Clouds hovered above the surface, looking like bits of cotton fluff torn to shreds and scattered over an expanse of dark glass.
This was business, Darger told herself. A favor for an old friend. Nothing more.
CHAPTER 3
They picked up a car near the airport, finagling their luggage into the hatchback of the rented Kia Picanto. The car’s deep red enamel shade was officially listed in the rental paperwork as “Chilli Red,” which Spinks repeated several times in mock amazement.
Loshak climbed into the driver’s seat, and Spinks opened the passenger door, gesturing the Darger should take the front seat.
She peered through the window into the car’s cabin.
“You ever sit in the back of one of these little four-seaters?” Darger asked.
Spinks squinted through the open door.
“No. But I’m sure it’s no problem.”
“You’re gonna want to sit up front,” Darger said, swinging open the back door and sliding in. “Trust me.”
Darger’s knees brushed the back of the passenger seat of the tiny car, and she smiled to herself when she imagined the reporter trying to fold his lanky frame into the tight space.
Loshak put the car in gear and followed the directions his GPS app gave to the Airbnb they’d booked.
The island was hillier than Darger had expected. She imagined it would be flatter. Palm trees and sand interrupted by stretches of impenetrable jungle. But the terrain was more rocky. Mountainous. And there was plenty of green, but it was sort of scraggly and not quite the towering Amazonian forest she’d been envisioning. She even spotted a few patches of cacti.
They crossed a bridge and Darger caught sight of the ocean again. A cruise ship was docking in the bay. It was monstrous. A whole city afloat. And still the idea of being on that thing in the middle of all that water made her squirm.
She remembered then that she was, in some ways, afloat in all of that water even now. They were on an island after all. A tiny speck on the map surrounded by the deep blue abyss. At least the island didn’t rock in the water, though. Couldn’t capsize and sink to the bottom. A chill ran up her spine at the thought of being on a sinking boat. Nightmarish.
Her eyes strayed to the water again. It was hard to believe that Owen had actually sailed that. Actually pulled up anchor and traversed that vast emptiness. Even with all the technology of the day — GPS, sat phones, and all the rest — it had to be harrowing to be out there on a small craft sometimes. A minnow at the whims of an Olympic-sized pool of endlessly lurching water. How could he stand it?
They paused at the traffic light. A tourist hotspot, judging by all the people milling around. Eating food at one of the sidewalk cafes. Ducking into the booths lining one section of street, rifling through colorful woven bags, and trying on straw hats.
Street art and large murals decorated some of the walls. The colonial-style houses rolled by in shades of pink and blue and mustard, and something about the bold color choices reminded Darger of Disneyland.
Owen had recommended an Airbnb condo not far from the marina where he was docked. They found the place and used the lockbox on the door to let themselves in.
The place was small but clean. The living room featured a large sliding glass door that led out to a balcony overlooking the marina.
There were two bedrooms with two beds each. Darger took the one with peachy pink walls and a bedspread in a banana leaf print. The bamboo furniture completed the tropical vibe.
Her room had its own private balcony shaded by a pair of drooping palm trees and a pergola covered with a tangle of red and pink bougainvillea.
&n
bsp; The air smelled clean and a little salty. A faint breeze sent the palm fronds swishing softly.
She dropped her carry-on in her room and met Loshak and Spinks back in the main living area of the condo.
“It’s only a short walk from here to the marina,” Darger said. “Should we head over?”
Spinks opened the door.
“Lead the way.”
They exited the condo and headed toward the water, winding their way over to the docks. Darger paused near the water’s edge and checked the text Owen had sent with his information. A pair of seagulls squawked as they fought over a foil bag of chips a few yards away.
“Slip 34,” she said.
Loshak pointed to a marker on one of the dock posts.
“Slip 20 through 39 are this way,” he said, and they set off in that direction, feet thudding on the wooden boards. The briny smell of the sea was stronger now, and Darger could hear the faint sound of the water lapping against the pilings.
Each slip was marked by a bold white stenciled number on a post. Darger checked each one as they passed.
“Unsinkable II,” Spinks said, chuckling as he read one of the boat names. “I like that.”
When Darger passed the slip marked 32, she let her eyes skip ahead to what should be 34.
She sensed movement on the deck. A flutter of white. A flag? The sails?
As they drew up to Owen’s boat, a woman standing on the deck spun around to stare at them. She was tan with a voluminous mane of blonde-ish, beachy waves. The flutter Darger had seen from the docks was the woman’s outfit: a long, flowing top in some kind of sheer white fabric.
The knot on Darger’s stomach returned. So Owen did have someone.
“You must be Darger,” the woman said as she clambered up onto the dock to greet them.
The gauzy blouse was slit to her navel. She wore a pair of white shorts underneath. Not quite the bikini Darger had envisioned, but trendy enough. Still, there was something about the woman that struck her as not Owen’s type. Darger had imagined someone younger. More… relaxed. More effortless. This woman had the poise of a beauty queen turned soccer mom. Of someone trying very hard to be chic.
Her eyelids fluttered, and Darger noticed more. Big fake eyelashes. Lots of makeup. A pile of necklaces and rings and bracelets that jangled when she moved. The combination of all of these things made her seem older, even though Darger was sure they were close in age.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” the woman said, shaking Darger’s hand. She had bright red nails and smelled like roses. “And read so much about you. The infamous Agent Darger. I’m Lesley.”
Mooring lines creaked as the boats around them shifted in the current. Darger tried to think of something to say but came up blank.
The cabin door of the boat swung open behind the woman who had introduced herself as Lesley, and Owen came out, squinting against the sun. He lifted a hand to lower a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head, catching sight of Darger as he did so. His gaze went from Lesley to Darger. Owen’s jaw tensed, and an expression she couldn’t quite read flitted across his face. Maybe he hadn’t wanted Darger to meet his new lady friend before he’d had a chance to introduce them.
A man exited the cabin behind Owen. Micaela’s father, Darger presumed. He was also not what she’d imagined. He was even tanner than Lesley, that deep reddish brown of a roasted hot dog. His teeth were large and white with a slight gap in front. His polo shirt was open, showing off a thick gold chain and a suspiciously hairless chest. He looked more like a professional golfer than someone who got his hands dirty doing boat repair work. But maybe it was a bigger operation than Darger had presumed, and he was in more of a management position than anything hands-on.
“Violet,” Owen said.
He jumped up on the dock and hugged her. That was a surprise. She’d figured he’d keep more distance with his girlfriend standing only a few feet away. But maybe that was the message. That there was nothing romantic left between them. So much so that a hug was a completely platonic act.
Owen released her and shook Loshak’s hand. Loshak introduced Spinks.
And then Owen said, “And it looks like you’ve met Lesley Milano, Micaela’s mother. This is her husband, Scott.”
Another round of shaking and greeting began between the others, and Darger took a moment to process it. Lesley wasn’t Owen’s girlfriend. She was the mother of the missing girl.
Oh.
She felt the corners of her mouth start to pull upward and fought it.
What was she smiling about? Just because this woman wasn’t Owen’s girlfriend didn’t mean he didn’t have one stashed away on one of these islands. And why did she care anyway? It was like she said on the plane: she and Owen were over. Nothing had changed that.
Besides, she was here to look for a missing girl. These were the victim’s parents, for crying out loud. It was time to focus.
Lesley took Darger’s hand in hers. It was a weirdly intimate gesture, one that might have made more sense if they were old friends and not two people who had just met.
“We’re just so thankful that the FBI is here to help find Micaela,” she said. “I still can’t believe this is happening. I mean, you see stories like this on TV. Read it in the paper. But you never think it will happen to you.”
Scott grunted.
“I told you we should have kept her with us this time. Sully doesn’t know what it takes to keep a seventeen-year-old in line.”
Lesley put a hand on her husband’s arm.
“Scott is very protective of Micaela and worries that her father is too lenient with her. But we’ve done it this way so many times… it’s become routine. We bring Micaela down, drop her with her father, and go off on our own little adventure. Last year we did a cruise up to St. Thomas. But this year we decided to just stay at one of the all-inclusives on Aruba. I’ve never worried about leaving her with her father. Never.”
“So you’ve been down here this whole time?” Darger asked, making a mental note of that.
“Well, of course. At first it was because Micaela was so young, we didn’t want her flying alone. Not on an international flight. But then it became a ritual. A chance for us to have some time alone together.” Before Darger could ask anything else, Lesley abruptly changed topics. “You know, I think what this case really needs is more publicity. Get the press involved. That’ll light a fire under Beethoven’s ass.”
Darger saw Loshak’s eyes go wide. They’d already discussed the many ways more publicity can go sideways in a case, but she also knew that one of the stipulations for being allowed to come down here at all was to keep things quiet. She noted the opportunity to change the subject and went for it.
“Who’s Beethoven?” Darger asked.
“The deputy chief of police,” Owen said. “His family has been on Curaçao for decades. His grandfather was a former governor of the Netherlands Antilles. The family has strong ties here and back in the Netherlands.”
“You’ve never met a more lazy, apathetic bureaucrat in your entire life,” Lesley said. “He’s the poster boy for island malfeasance. Between him and that dimwit, Detective Vinke. I still don’t understand why they’d assign this case to a rookie. He’s in way over his head.”
“Now honey, you have to empathize with the police a little bit,” Scott said. “They’re going to be under intense scrutiny if this gets out. Pressure cooker.”
“Are you making excuses for them?”
“No, I’m just saying I can’t be the only one that sees a resemblance between this and another very famous case. Honey, the first thing people will think when they hear a story about a young American girl going missing on vacation in the Caribbean is, ‘This is just like Natalee Holloway!’”
“Good! They should be thinking that,” Lesley insisted. “If people knew what was happening down here. That beautiful young girls can just go missing like this and no one cares? No one would come here.”
“Well that’s
my point. This whole island runs on tourism.”
“Screw them! I don’t care if the island runs on dolphin farts. I want to know where my daughter is!”
Scott sighed and thrust his hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts.
“Look, if you want to save yourselves some time, the person you should really look into is a dipshit named Christiaan Brinkman.”
“Micaela’s boyfriend,” Darger said, recognizing the name from Owen’s notes.
Scott let out a derisive snort.
“Boyfriend? Please. He’s a predator, is what he is. The piece of trash is twenty-two years old. He’s practically a pedophile.” He bunched his hands into fists and turned to face his wife. “I told you we should have forbidden Micaela from seeing him.”
Lesley put her hands on her hips.
“The louder I protest her dating him the more it makes her want to do it. You know that. She’s a Capricorn after all.”
Loshak cleared his throat, interrupting the marital spat.
“What can you tell us about Mr. Brinkman?”
Scott’s mouth puckered.
“Total scumbag. Makes a buck by selling drugs to the tourists. Pot, ecstasy, cocaine.”
“This is a known thing?” Darger asked.
“Yeah, but like Deputy Chief Beethoven, the Brinkman family been on the island for generations. His father owns a sizable portion of the island’s commercial real estate properties. His uncle owns several resorts and is the director of the tourist board.” Scott bared his teeth in a sneer. “Christiaan always conveniently manages to get away with his antics with a slap on the wrist or less.”
Owen caught Darger’s eye and gave her a look like she was supposed to pick up on something, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She turned her attention back to Scott, whose anger was gaining intensity as he ranted about Micaela’s boyfriend.
“He’s a smug little shit. But one of these days he’s going to cross a line. He’s going to get what’s coming to him. I promise you that.”
Scott’s face, already tan, had gone a darker shade now. Almost burgundy. A vein appeared on his forehead.