by Isabel Jolie
“What does he want?” I had known my last repo gig would haunt me. I just hadn’t known when the ghost would show.
“There’s another ship. He says it’s the motherlode. Sent me to find you.”
“No.” I shook my head, emphatic. “I told Zane I’m done.”
“This gig—it’s a million-dollar contract. Zane says he’ll split with you.” His hand rested on the handle of his gun as steps on the wood upstairs creaked. “You gonna get me some coffee?”
I poured him the coffee, then took down a to-go mug from the back of the cabinet.
“Let me get my guest out of here. Then we’ll talk.”
His leer lit a visceral reaction in my gut. When he asked if I had someone special, bile rose.
“Not special.”
I climbed the stairs two at a time and met Luna on the landing.
“Is someone here?” Her youthful complexion glowed, and her freshly showered hair lay flat against her back. She wore the same clothes she’d had on last night, and I felt a rush of gratitude she wouldn’t be walking by the skank downstairs in a bikini.
“Yeah. Do me a favor. Don’t talk to him. Just walk out without saying a word.” Confusion crossed her face as I placed the to-go cup of coffee in her hand. “He’s not a friend,” I added in the same hushed, low tone, hoping the man couldn’t hear.
Her brown eyes questioned me, but like a good, obedient girl, she did exactly as I said. As soon as the door closed behind her, I turned on the goon in my kitchen.
“I’m sorry you came all this way, but I’m not taking on another project.”
“Hey, that’s between you and Zane. I get paid for dropping off this.” He slid off his backpack as I watched his every move, on edge, braced for the worst. He unzipped the black bag, and with a twitch of his wrist, a disposable phone clattered across the tile kitchen counter. He shrugged. “Zane doesn’t like not being able to get in touch with you. If I were you, though, I’d take the gig.”
Once again, his fingers circled the butt of his Magnum.
“How’d you find me?”
“So, you were hiding?” He chugged on the coffee, all the while keeping his gaze locked on me.
The answer was obvious. I wouldn’t have gone to live in a cottage I’d inherited if I’d been hiding. At the same time, it couldn’t have been that easy for anyone to find a guy named Tate in the United States. It wasn’t like I filled out a W-9.
We stared at each other until he broke our stare-off with a grin.
“I’ll admit. Tracking your ass to an island with golf carts isn’t my normal. Did you know I had to walk two miles from the marina? The cart rental place doesn’t open until ten.”
I didn’t bother telling him that in the off-season on a Monday, regardless of what the sign said, it probably wouldn’t open at all.
“Finish your coffee, and I’ll drive you back.”
“Nah. There’s a golf cart parked outside that I can take back on my own. If needed.” He gave me a pointed look. “Zane’s preference is that you take this gig. It should be an easy repo.”
“Yeah, so easy he hired a tracker to locate me.”
“The ship’s veering too close to Iranian waters.”
“Sounds easy. Definitely a job for an American.” He smirked, entertained. The Iranian Navy didn’t have a strong humanitarian history with boats that ventured into their waters, even though the nationality of a boat in that part of the world was only a matter of paperwork. With Iran, Americans on board could be valuable pawns.
I sipped my coffee, monitoring the shark, knowing he could bare teeth, even if unprovoked.
“Zane says he can’t force you to take a gig you don’t want. Your call.”
“I no longer work for Zane. You don’t need to leave a phone.”
“Keep it. He’ll give you a month. Said something about he thinks you’ll change your mind if that inheritance you took off for doesn’t come through.”
I bounced his words around and deciphered them. Fucking small-town local newspapers. I bet someone got wind of the Tate inheritance being contested and it got written up.
I weighed my options as I gripped the handle on my coffee mug. Zane must have decided I quit on him because of the inheritance. My father’s death might have been responsible for the events that led up to me unraveling, but the money had nothing to do with it. All these men thought everything centered on money.
With Zane Gianelli, the repo man of the seas, money was god. I’d worked for the man for a couple of years. I’d seen him as the solution when no government could come into play. I’d thought I was teaming up with someone who would get things done. I’d been so wrong. Only one thing made him worse than the governments who bowed to the same god. The repo man could go incognito, often untraceable. As the saying went, there were no skid marks on the ocean.
If he ever discovered what I’d done to his last ship, I’d be dumped overboard somewhere in international waters. But so far, his tracker had given no sign he suspected I had a role.
“So, now that you’ve dropped off the phone, that’s it? That’s your whole job?”
“Yep.” He smacked his lips and set the empty coffee cup on the counter. “That’s my end of the bargain. He calls you, you pick up. He’s a good man. He wants to work with you.” The man had a straight face when he said it, which meant either he didn’t know Zane, or he knew how to lie. Either way, I wanted him gone.
“He’ll be in touch.” With a sinister leer, his right hand returned to his holster. I hated guns, and this guy couldn’t quit touching his. “The good news is Zane likes you. And now we know you got a girl. That’ll make Zane happy.”
“She’s not my girl. She’s someone I fucked. That’s it.”
“Nice young thing. You doing good. I’ll tell Zane. Now, drive me back to that marina. Who the fuck moves to America and lives without automobiles?”
I opened my door and waited. With the tough act over, now he wanted to shoot the shit. I left this life behind. All the repo men had the same schtick. Tough talk. Would swear up and down they did nothing illegal. They were merely negotiators on the sea. Clever negotiators.
Tattooed, weathered hands pointed at the phone he’d delivered.
“You keep that. Zane doesn’t like not being able to reach you. He would’ve come himself, you know, but he’s tied up.”
I cast a backward glance at the object before pulling the door closed. I would have locked it, but I wasn’t sure where I’d stashed my key. I drove the guy back to the marina, ignoring his feedback on the houses we passed. His commentary on island life competed with the distant crash of waves and the occasional seagull cry.
The moment the ferry he boarded departed, I pulled out my phone, the new one I got when I returned home. And I called Gabe.
Chapter 16
Luna
* * *
“Poppy!” I yelled into her apartment as her screen door slammed shut with a loud bang behind me.
“What?” Tired, swollen eyes looked up from her oversized ceramic coffee mug.
“I need you to come with me. Get dressed. Hurry.”
“Come where?” she asked as she held her coffee mid-air.
“To Tate’s. There’s a guy at his house. I have a bad feeling about this. Come on.” I stepped up to her chair and grabbed her wrist, tugging on her so she’d get moving.
“What guy?” she asked as she stood slowly, like someone who was injured.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I drank too much last night.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Here.”
“You drank too much alone?” That didn’t seem like Poppy. Something told me I needed to dig deeper, but my nerves prevented me from doing so. Poppy didn’t answer my question, anyway. She merely tightened the silk kimono around her breasts and lumbered around the table toward the stairs.
“What exactly are we stopping by to see?” she asked.
“A scary-looking guy stop
ped by Tate’s this morning. Made me leave. Told me he wasn’t a friend. Something isn’t right. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“And why do you need me?”
“Because if something bad is happening, you can go get help. Safety in numbers.” She looked at me like I was a cracked shell. “Come on. Get dressed.”
“I’ll come, but I’m still waking up. And I fail to see how my presence will make things safer. Did the guy look like he was going to beat him up?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. There was all kinds of bad juju.”
She dropped a sundress over her head. “Juju? You mean bad vibes?”
“Yes. Come on.”
She didn’t speak again until she planted her butt on my golf cart seat. “Tell me about this guy. Is he like a Gabe?”
“No. Nothing like Gabe,” I answered, my foot flattened on the accelerator. “Definitely not someone from the island. Scary looking guy. Lots of scars, piercings, and a mean look. It could be nothing, but I’d just feel better if we stopped by and checked.”
“If you’re really nervous, should we get someone else to come with us? Like the police? Or a guy?”
“I thought about the police, but that would just be weird. I mean, if we went there and I told them I had bad vibes, they probably wouldn’t take me seriously. It’s not like he’s broken any laws.” My gut tightened and roiled, and my knee bounced like I’d had a double espresso.
“Yeah, bad things don’t happen here. The highlight of their day is stopping people on golf carts who don’t stop for stop signs. They probably wouldn’t take you seriously.”
An awkward pause followed. It didn’t matter if she didn’t take this seriously. At least I had someone with me. Tate said the guy was not a friend—I am not overreacting.
“What are we doing, exactly? Peering in windows or knocking on the door?”
“I think peering in the windows to start. Then maybe saying we stopped by to see if he wanted to go surfing?”
“Neither of us are in bathing suits.”
“You’re right. That doesn’t work.”
A group of men stood in front of one of the new homes under construction, and as we grew closer, I recognized Tony.
“Do you really think we should get additional help?” I asked Poppy. I jerked my head in the direction of the men. “I can ask Tony to join us.”
“This is your parade. I’m along for the ride.”
Tony saw us and waved. I took it as my opportunity and stopped. He squashed a cigarette into the ground.
“Hey, Luna. Poppy.”
“Tony, can I ask you a quick favor?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“A stranger stopped by Tate’s this morning, and I don’t trust him. I want to make sure everything’s okay.”
A skeevy smile spread across Tony’s face as he checked the time on his wrist. “What were you doing over there so early? You two a thing?”
“Hey, I didn’t even think to ask about that,” Poppy said as she rubbed her face.
“Yes. We’re seeing each other. But, Tony, this guy who stopped by. He was glaring at Tate. Tate told me he wasn’t a friend and to leave without speaking to him.”
“What’d the guy look like?”
“Black, shiny, almost oily hair. Dark skin. Beady black eyes. Scars on his arms, fingers. He’s definitely not from around here.”
“Black guy?” Tony asked.
“No. Straight hair.”
“Some of them straighten their hair, you know.”
“His skin was more olive-toned, just dark.”
“Like Chinese?”
“I don’t know. Asian of some sort. What does his heritage matter, anyway?” Stopping to ask Tony had bad idea written all over it, but before I could tell him to never mind, he climbed into the back row and tapped the back of my seat.
“Let’s go. I got about twenty minutes before I’m supposed to clock in.”
When I arrived at Tate’s cottage, I aimed for quiet, but the wheels grinding rocks and pebbles announced our arrival to anyone listening. I flipped the key to off and set the brake on park.
No sounds came from the cottage. No lights were visible.
I put my finger to my lips for the universal hush, and Tony smirked. Exasperated, I looked to Poppy, only to find she too looked like she was about to break out laughing.
“Stay here,” I hissed. At least I had back up.
I tiptoed around to the side of the cottage and discovered I couldn’t see in the windows. I couldn’t hear any shouting. The calming sound of the waves and the gentle breeze combined with the clear blue sky overhead made me feel foolish. Maybe I had dramatized the whole scene in my head. Maybe Tate simply didn’t want to introduce me, so told me the guy wasn’t a friend.
The back screen door slammed shut, and Poppy exited the porch. “He’s not home.”
I dropped Tony off at the construction site and delivered Poppy to her cottage. Poppy tried to drill me with questions about Tate. On a different day, I might have filled her in and told her that yes, I’d convinced him to give us a go. I might have told her it was the best sex of my life, and I’d developed the kind of crush that creates emotional waves. Maybe I would have enjoyed dissecting with her my highs. But I couldn’t squish my unease, and visions of Tate getting beaten to a pulp kept circling, so I dropped her off with a terse, “I’ll tell you all about it later.”
“You promise?” she’d asked, hand on her hip, empty coffee mug flailing in the air.
“I promise.” I’d tell her plenty, when I could focus.
I circled the island and couldn’t find any sign of Tate other than his golf cart parked by the ferry landing. The only logical explanation was that he boarded the ferry with his non-friend and left the island.
An unease settled into my gut. I would have texted him, but I didn’t have his number. Half the time texts didn’t go through, and service was so splotchy phones didn’t feel necessary.
Back at the conservancy, I sat down at my desk and performed some of the mindless tasks. Read through updates from conservation groups, answered an email from someone seeking to arrange a private group educational visit, and updated the website with offseason information. Then I pulled out some of the readings due for one of my classes.
I read the same paragraph over and over, then gave up and called home.
“Hello.” The familiarity of the gruff timber settled my unease.
“Hi, Dad. It’s Luna. How’s recovery going?”
“It sucks. But you know how it goes.”
Yeah, I did. This wasn’t his first injury. “Have you started physical therapy yet?”
“No. I need to heal a bit more before they torture me. How’re things out there?”
“They’re okay.”
“When are you coming back home?”
“I’m not sure yet. We’ll see what makes sense.”
“What’s going on, Lil Ariel?”
Ugh. I should’ve known he’d pick up that something was off.
“Nothing.”
“You met someone?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because you’re at that age.”
“And what age is that?”
“The age when I met your mother.”
“Dad,” I droned.
“What? I’m not happy about it. If I had my choice, you’d still be five years old and excited to go to kindergarten. I miss my little girl. Doesn’t mean I can’t recognize it when my adult daughter has something weighing her down.”
“Dad.”
“What? If he doesn’t see you for the amazing woman you are, then he doesn’t deserve you. You just remember that.”
“Dad.”
“What, baby girl?”
“I love you.”
“Ditto. You know, your ex keeps coming by. Brings me sports updates. Snuck me some beer. Always asks about you.”
“How’s he doing?” I hated to even ask at the risk of getting my da
d’s hopes up for a reunion.
“He’s getting along. He’s been home every weekend since I fell. He’s a good boy.”
“He always liked you. How’re his parents doing?”
“You know they got divorced, right?” I had known that. A year ago. “Well, his dad moved away. Montana, I think. His mom is dating. I don’t think he’s crazy about seeing that. Probably why he spends so much time here.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it. It’s good he has you.”
“Doesn’t bother you any?”
“No. Why would it?” If anything, given my mom was never home, it was good Dad had someone coming by. Also probably took some strain off my sister. Did it stir up more guilt? Yeah, but I would never ask my family not to see him.
“Just checking.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes when emotions are raw, we can tend to be a little irrational. And maybe your ex hanging out with your old man would, you know, rub you the wrong way.”
“There’s no rubbing.”
“Huh. Then you’re really over him.”
I’d been over Brandon for years. If I had been honest with myself, I probably would have broken up with him in high school. Brandon gave me a promise ring our senior year in high school. Asked me for forever. As if I’d ever tie myself down at such a young age. Just went to prove he never really knew me. It struck me Dad might be probing, holding out hope for a reunion, because my Dad loved him like a son. “I am over him. But I love that the two of you are friends.”
“So, tell me about this new boy.”
I considered what to tell my father about Tate. “He traveled around the world. Used to work for Greenpeace.” Dad would like that bit.
“So, there is someone. I knew it. I know my little girl. Greenpeace, huh? Is he a scientist?”
“A marine biologist. But now he’s more of an activist. Or he was. Now I think he’s trying to figure out what he wants to do next.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Is he working at that conservation center with you?”
“No. He’s fixing up his grandmother’s place. She passed away, and he inherited it.”
“Huh.”
“I think it’s good for him. He spent, like, over ten years in Asia. He doesn’t talk about it much. Remember how Tim used to not talk much about his ex, and we never knew exactly what went down, but we knew it was bad?”