Shooting Scars: The Artists Trilogy 2

by Karina Halle

  “Then you’ve made your choice,” Javier said calmly, though I could see his temples going red. “So take my hand and come aboard.”

  I ignored his hand and walked up the stairs to the deck.

  The boat, as Javier soon explained, was a 187 ft, 550 tonne Royal Huisman Mega Ketch. Everything else went over my head as I got the grand tour. All I could gather was that it must have cost tens of millions of dollars, all filthy, bloody drug money. It had a flybridge in the middle of the boat, like a raised deck complete with outdoor dining, sofas and a damn barbeque. There was a private sitting area at the very back with a spiral staircase that led down to an office and Javier’s gigantic owner’s bedroom. There were three levels in total, with dining and living rooms, a theatre deck for movies, a copious amount of bedrooms and spacious bathrooms, and the rear of the boat even folded open with the hiss and whir of hydraulics to provide a sunbathing and diving platform. It was to be my prison for the next six days until we reached the city of Veracruz.

  “What do you think?” Javier asked as my bags were placed in the room that was to be mine, conveniently right next door to his.

  I looked him squarely in the eye. “I liked your other boat better.”

  His lips twitched in amusement. “You always had simple tastes, Ellie. Except, perhaps, for me.”

  He spun around and started to shut the door before he paused and said, “We set sail in an hour. You might want to get one last look at land. You won’t be seeing it for a while.”

  The door closed with a sleek click, leaving me alone in my cabin. It was spacious enough but I could already feel the walls starting to come closer.

  It turned out I missed the big farewell. After I’d unpacked a few items, I lay down on the bed to ponder my fate when exhaustion had taken over. The next thing I knew, I was very slowly rolling out of the bed and coming face to face with the upholstered cabin wall.

  I sat up and blinked at the light that was streaming through what I thought was a shuttered window but was actually a well-disguised panel of lights meant to mimic daytime. I got up, finding my sea legs, and started fiddling with the lights, turning them from morning brightness to night. But they always sprung back, pre-programmed. The fact that Javier could even control the way his crew perceived the days was chilling.

  I made my way out of the cabin and went down a narrow hallway lined with handrails. The boat was no longer heeling over, making walking seem painless. Aside from water making gentle sloshing sounds along the length of the boat, you couldn’t even tell you were on a ship. It was that big, like being on an airbus compared to a seaplane.

  The hallway led me past three more cabin doors, all closed, before I came to a small set of stairs, flooded with natural light. The area I was in ended about mid-ship, which meant the crew’s quarters were at the front of the ship and had a separate entrance. I cautiously climbed the stairs until I recognized I was on the second deck, the main living area. The back was open, not fully enclosed, the sea breeze fluttering through. Past the elaborate dining table set-up, teak table and white high-backed chairs that could easily rival any house, I could see Raul and another man I hadn’t seen before sitting lazily on the couch, drinks in their hands, the wind ruffling their hair. They both looked at me sharply, unkindly, before turning back to each other, talking in Spanish. Behind them I could see the lower deck, all smooth wood, Javier’s private cockpit and the stern of the ship, the American flag waving in the breeze. The water here was green and a few islands dotted the horizon, slowly disappearing in our wake.

  I went up another flight of stairs, holding onto the rail in case the boat decided to pitch and came up to the top deck, half covered like a pilothouse. Javier was there, sitting in a leather captain’s chair, hands on one of the two steering wheels, eyes focused ahead through the wide, tinted windshield. A large sail had billowed out from the mast, an immense noise that reminded me of happier times, but that didn’t make any sense to my brain, since the only time I’d ever been on a sailboat would have been with Javier.

  “You’re up,” he said without turning to face me. His hair was waving slightly against the nape of his neck. I found it annoying how his longer hair still suited him. It shouldn’t have, it should have made him look more like a cheesy drug lord but instead it didn’t. My stomach twisted.

  I turned my attention to the large cockpit, at the military-esque row of the glowing radar screens, GPS and weather charting systems at his fingertips, at the sofa and chairs in the open area behind me, another fantastic viewpoint. I took it all in yet it didn’t seem to stick. Nothing in this situation seemed to be real.

  “I passed right out,” I said when I recovered my thoughts. “Did you drug me again?”

  He let out a small laugh. “I promise I won’t drug you anymore.”

  I didn’t find it particularly amusing but I was glad he at least promised it.

  “Here, take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the co-pilot chair. “Can I get you a drink?”

  I shook my head but sat down next to him. There was a pleasing amount of space between us and having another wheel at my fingertips was exciting in a novel way.

  “What happens if I start steering?” I asked, closing my fingers around the suede covering.

  “I’ll counter-steer,” he said. “And I will override you.”

  I pressed my lips together and watched as the water flew past the boat, delicate white sea spray that matched the fluffy clouds. In the distance were ghostly shapes, oil rigs obscured by the haze.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been this far out before.”

  “Soon it will be blue water,” he said, shaking the glass in his hand, the ice cubes rattling. Gin and tonic. “And then there will be no land in sight.” He finally turned to look at me. “Does that scare you?”

  Actually, it did. And so did he.

  Instead, I gave him a shrug and turned my attention back to the sea, to the dizzying heights of the mast. It was only then that I noticed a crow’s nest about halfway and one of the crew members up there.

  “What’s he doing?” I asked. The young man looked like a black blob amongst the size of the mast.

  “He’s being punished.”

  I stared dumbly at Javier. “You’re kidding me? What for?”

  He shook his glass and took a long sip before saying, “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “Looking at … how was he looking at me?”

  “You don’t want to know, angel.”

  “Javier, you can’t punish the guy, he’s just a fucking kid!”

  “He should know better. You’re the lady of the boat and you deserve respect.”

  This was doing my head in.

  “Respect? You wouldn’t know respect if it crawled up your ass and died. You’re blackmailing me, how is that for respect.”

  “I have a special relationship with you,” he said softly, then looked back at the boy on the crow’s nest, eyes narrowing.

  “You have nothing with me,” I said and got out of the chair. Javier reached over and grabbed me by the bicep and I was thankful for the layer of cardigan between our skin.

  “I’m not hurting you,” he said but pulled me closer to him. His eyes burned into me, mine burning right back.

  “And if I struggle?” I sniped, raising my arm, letting him know I was all for it. Anything to let me hold something above him.

  “Then I’ll change my tactics,” he said, getting up and taking a step closer.

  “You stay back,” I said, so glad that we were alone in the cockpit. I didn’t want anyone else to see how this was playing out, seeing me so damn weak.

  “Or what?” he teased nastily. “You’ll hit me?”

  I thought about it, I really did. It’s all I ever wanted since we left the dust of Palm Valley behind. But not like this. Not when he wanted it. Why did my ex-boyfriend have to be such a sick son of a bitch?

  “I’m going to my room,�
� I said, jerking my arm away from him. His grip loosened and his hand slid down to my wrist where he held on. It felt electric in an extremely disturbing way.

  “Dinner is going to be ready soon,” he said, voice lower, smoother, as if he was confiding in me. “One of the boys, Marc, is actually a very good cook.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Starving yourself isn’t proving a point, you know.”

  I wasn’t starving myself, not really. I just knew he’d take pleasure in watching me eat, food that probably was absolutely delicious, and I didn’t want to give him anything. I was already doing enough for him, coming on this trip, committing to something I didn’t even want to think about.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told him. Then I snatched my hand out of his grasp and walked off quickly down the stairs and down another, until I was back in the bowels of the ship. I went in my cabin door, locked it, and sat on the bed, my knees brought up to my chest. I had a whole evening to think, hoping the rock of the boat would jostle my brain into reacting.

  I didn’t like the way things were going. Well, that was an understatement. For maybe the first time ever, I was in a bad situation and I didn’t have a plan to get out of it.

  I pulled up the wide leg of my pants and gazed at the bright pink and red flowers that adorned the scars. The beauty of it was breathtaking, the way something so ugly had been transformed into something so lovely, all by Camden’s very skilled hands and his very skilled heart. A rush of emotions began to flood up from my chest, choking me. It felt like an unending flow, the budding blooms the source, and I let out a small sob that caught me by surprise. I hadn’t let myself think about Camden, to feel, and now it was catching up with me. He wasn’t here. He was somewhere else. And until he was placed in danger again, because of something I would or would not do, I had to get over him. He wasn’t here with me. He was with his ex-wife and his kid and knowing the good person that Camden was, the messed up and angry but undeniably good soul that he had, he would be with her. Maybe falling in love with her again, or maybe not, but he was with her and I was alone. I was here. And though I’d lived so much of my life on my own, being with Camden, no matter how brief, brought me something I never had. He made me feel safe, whether I was in arms or at his side or just in his presence. For the first time, I had a protector – and I never knew I needed one until then.

  Now he was gone and I was on my own. I’d been alone long enough to know I wanted more, someone to believe in me, to love me, to have my back and serve as a shield at the front. It made me realize that I wasn’t invincible, immortal, and that I wasn’t always going to be able to make it on my own. Of course, now I had no choice. Camden was gone and though I’d been good about keeping him out of my head, ignoring the little welts on my heart, the pain – the strange emptiness – was surprising.

  My defenses were crumbling.

  There was a knock at my door and I quickly shoved the pant leg down. Javier hadn’t seen the tattoo yet. I felt like if he saw it, he’d be intruding on a private memory, I’d feel like his very eyes would taint it.

  “What?” I asked, brushing the hair off my face while checking to see whether my eyes had leaked tears or not. They hadn’t. I was good.

  The handle was jiggled, followed by another knock. I sighed and got off the bed, unlocking the door. I took a step back and it opened. Raul stuck his head in. Not that I wanted to see Javier, but I especially didn’t want to see him.

  “Are you alright?” he asked, all beaky nose and widow’s peak. “I thought I heard you crying.”

  I glared at him. He couldn’t have looked less concerned, in fact it looked like he found the whole thing to be funny.

  “I’m fine, do you mind giving me some privacy?”

  His face grew still for a moment before he smiled. “Sure thing. You know, if you ever need to talk, to someone who understands, who is just outside of the equation, you know you can talk to me.”

  As if that didn’t sound insincere enough, his eyes traveled down to my chest and back and he ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth.

  Before I could tell him to get the fuck out he winked at me and then shut the door. I locked it again, hoping he could hear it, and went back to the bed. I put my fingers up my pant leg, tracing them over the scars, imagining Camden’s hands on top of mine. Then I lay on my side and hoped for sleep to come so I didn’t have to suffer a moment longer.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CAMDEN

  We had gone as far as La Cruces, New Mexico when we met the first of Gus’s contacts. After following I-10 for the last few days, the blistering sun making the interior of the GTO swelter like a fat man’s armpits, with minimal stops for gas and sleep, La Cruces was a sight for sore eyes.

  As was Gus’s contact. Lydia DuShane was a Louisiana native who gave up running her battered coffee shop after Hurricane Katrina to run a pie shop in La Cruces. Though she was an older lady, late fifties, she was one who’d aged better than any of the plastic-coated women in LA. Her skin was relatively smooth and freckled, hair a mixture of red and grey, and blue eyes that were nicely wrinkled from smiling too much. She made me feel immediately at home, which was a bit jarring considering what Gus had told me about her.

  “When she’s not baking pies, she’s bounty hunting,” he’d said as we pulled into town.

  “Uh,” I said, fidgeting in my seat, “isn’t that kind of a problem for me?”

  Gus gave me a dry look. “Hey, kid, there’s no bounty on your head yet. Besides, you’re with me. You’re one of the good guys.”

  I raised my brow. Right.

  Soon after Lydia sat us down in her shop, the last remaining customers in her store dwindled out as it approached the 3PM closing time. We had two fresh pieces of apricot blueberry pie in front of us. That, combined with the steaming cups of coffee and the vintage posters of farm life on the walls, did work as a wonderful front. Who would ever believe that sweet, patient Lydia had a knack for nabbing America’s Most Wanted?

  Yet, after she’d flipped the sign to Closed on the front door and locked it, sliding down into the booth with us, she took out a small netbook and slipped on a pair of glasses, ready to get down to the point.

  “So you’re hunting Javier Bernal, is that right?” she asked. I could see her flicking from website to website in her glasses’ reflection.

  “You know him?” I asked.

  She snorted. “I know everyone. If I’m not keeping tabs, I’m not doing my job.”

  I leaned forward eagerly. “Is he wanted for something?”

  She shook her head. “Nah, not yet. The police have ideas but then again half the force is corrupt anyway in Mississippi. You think the New Orleans PD is bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” She took her eyes off the screen and tilted her head at me. “I like to know what the baddies are doing so when they do finally do something to get them in trouble, and believe it catches up to all of them, I know their next step. I was watching this one guy for years before he slipped up and was wanted for a DUI. Considering the guy’s unofficial rap sheet, I knew the reward would be a big one. I knew where his safe house was and I nabbed him the next day. Cops were already on the way.”

  “How do you do it? I mean, you’re not frail but …”

  She smiled slyly in a satisfied way. “I’m a woman. And that’s the secret. I’ve been around the block. You’d be surprised what a retiree can get away with. Ain’t that right, Gus?”

  Gus scratched at his beard and I could have sworn his cheeks turned a shade of pink. That was something to ask him about later, even though I knew his answer would be a glare and a grunt.

  He cleared his throat. “So where is Mr. Bernal now?”

  “Ocean Springs, Mississippi,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “Are you boys going to eat your pie or what?”

  “I’d love to but we really need to get a move on,” I said apologetically. I got up but Gus’s arm shot out and he planted me back down

  “Relax, Camde
n, we’ll get there,” he said. “A town isn’t enough. We need a plan.”

  I shook my head. We can plan in the car. If he’s in Ocean Springs and that’s where Ellie lived with him, then I have no doubt that he’s living in the same house he was six years ago.”

  “Who is Ellie?” Lydia asked, eyes wide and shining.

  I shot Gus a look to keep quiet but he ignored me. “Ellie Watt. She’s Bernal’s ex-girlfriend and is, we think, being more or less held hostage.”

  “Ellie Watt,” she said, tapping her pink fingernails on the table. “Ellie Watt. She’s no innocent, is she? She wrapped up in the cartel?”

  “No,” I said quickly and probably too defensively. I cleared my throat. “No, she was never involved in that.”

  “But she’s not innocent. She’s a con artist,” Gus supplied

  “Was a con artist,” I corrected him.

  He gave his head a shake. “A tiger doesn’t change their stripes, Camden boy.”

  “Ellie’s better than a tiger,” I shot back.

  “Either way,” Lydia voiced slowly, “Ellie Watt has been wanted for something before. She was on my radar, briefly.”

  Gus and I both looked at her. “For what?” I asked.

  She pursed her lips, flamingo pink like her nails, a color I’d used many times in my work, and began scrolling through her files again. After a few tense moments, she shrugged, giving up.

  “I’m not sure. This was like three years ago. It wasn’t anything major, maybe just twenty grand, or I would have gone after her.”

  “But her name was Ellie Watt …” I reinstated. “Not Eden White or Ellen Williams or anything like that?”

  “Nope. Ellie Watt. I remember because my sister’s name is Ellie.”

  Now that was troubling. Ellie hadn’t been Ellie since high school. Whoever had placed a bounty for her was someone from a very long time ago. I glanced over at Gus and his furrowed brow told me he was thinking the exact same thing.