One Last Breath

by Laura Griffin

  She saw a flash of white teeth in the darkness. With the moon obscured by clouds, she could barely make out Juarez’s silhouette just three feet away.

  “It’s root beer,” he said.

  “Hmm.” She took the bottle. “You don’t strike me as the root beer type.”

  “Yeah? You don’t strike me as the type to marry a drug runner, so I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other.”

  She took a sip. The drink was fizzy and syrupy and tasted like childhood. “What’s that supposed to mean? I told you, I had no idea about all this while I was married.”

  Juarez pulled another bottle out of the cooler for himself. “So you say.”

  “You don’t believe me? After all this, you think I—”

  “I’m kidding,” he said before taking a swig. “But I did have my doubts at first. I thought the clueless-wife thing was all an act.”

  She winced. So which was better? To be clued in and guilty or innocent and oblivious? All her life, people had taken her for a dumb blonde, and she hated to think there might have been a kernel of truth in that. But how else could she explain living with a man for five years and never realizing he was a criminal? The thought irked her. It was one of the many reasons she was determined to make sure Josh got what he had coming to him.

  “So when did you figure it out?” she asked him.

  “What’s that?”

  “That it wasn’t an act.”

  He paused a minute, and she wondered if he was making something up. “I did some digging.” He swigged his drink. “Seems to me if you really were in on Garland’s shit you’d have come up with the funds to bail yourself out of debt by now.”

  Great. He’d done some “digging.” Feenie hugged her knees to her chest, resigning herself to the fact that this man probably knew a heck of a lot more about her than she would have liked.

  A balmy breeze swept over her face as she turned to watch the boat. It was just a speck of light bobbing in the distance. Feenie passed Juarez her binoculars, and he looked through them.

  “Looks like they’re biting,” he said. “Too bad we don’t have lines in the water.”

  “I’m terrible at fishing. I never catch a thing.”

  “What do you use for bait?” He gave her back the binoculars, and she hung them around her neck.

  “Live shrimp,” she said. “That’s not the problem. My dad taught me what to do and everything when I was a kid. But it doesn’t matter. Even when everyone around me’s reeling them in, I can’t get a bite. I’m unlucky with fish.”

  “In that case, my dad wouldn’t have liked you on his boat. He was pretty superstitious about fishing.” He turned to look at her, but it was too dark to read his expression. “You see your dad much?”

  “Not a lot. We haven’t been on great terms the last few years. Ever since my divorce.”

  “You’re kidding?” He scoffed. “Don’t tell me he wanted you to stand by your man or some shit.”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s just I know he was disappointed when it didn’t work out. You should have seen him on my wedding day. He looked so…I don’t know, proud, I guess.”

  “You don’t think he’s proud of you now?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know, really. I just thought I’d have made him a grandfather by now. He’s not getting any younger. And without any siblings, it’s pretty much up to me.” She looked out over the water. “We were close when I was growing up, but now that he’s retired, we barely even talk on the phone.”

  “I doubt it’s a grandkid thing.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He shrugged. “Because. Most guys don’t like talking on the phone unless there’s a reason. You should just go see him.”

  “I have.” She knew she sounded defensive, but this was a touchy subject for her. “On his last birthday, I drove up to Port Aransas and took him out for a nice dinner, but we hardly had anything to say to each other at the table.” The evening had been miserable. She’d felt guilty about not visiting, so she’d made a reservation at the nicest Italian restaurant in town, and what had he done? He’d ordered a Budweiser and a plate of spaghetti. And then he’d gotten cross with the waiter when he delivered the bill to Feenie instead of him.

  “You said he likes guns, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “So go hunting with him. Or catch a baseball game. Shit, just go somewhere he doesn’t have to talk the whole time.”

  Juarez tipped back his drink, and she watched him in the darkness. She couldn’t believe he was giving her relationship advice, but it actually wasn’t bad. He’d never even met her father, and he’d accurately pegged him as a man who’d be more at ease tromping around a deer lease than being treated to a fancy dinner.

  She remembered the little girl in the picture by Juarez’s bed and decided it was time to voice the question that had been nagging her ever since she’d seen it.

  “Do you have any kids?” she asked.

  “Nope. Never been married.”

  Interesting response. She cleared her throat. “I saw the picture in your bedroom, and I just thought—”

  “She’s my niece.”

  “Oh.” Relief flooded her. She chewed her lip, wondering why she should care one way or the other. But of course she cared. She liked this guy. Which meant she didn’t want any ex-wives or girlfriends or kids from a previous marriage competing for his attention.

  God, she was stupid. How had she let herself get hung up on someone like Juarez? He was fiercely independent. A lone wolf. The exact opposite of what she wanted in her life.

  “So…were you close to your dad?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer, and she felt sure he was going to evade telling her anything personal again.

  “Nah, not really. I didn’t like him much, or even respect him, really, until after he died.”

  Whoa. Two whole sentences loaded with personal revelations. She was making progress. She might as well push it.

  “Why didn’t you like him?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. The usual.”

  Feenie’s childhood had been far from usual. But maybe Juarez’s had, too. He had that quiet, brooding nature that she recognized. She herself was prone to brooding sometimes. “What does ‘the usual’ mean?” she asked.

  He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then, “He was a real hard-ass while I was growing up. Didn’t say much but had real high expectations. The strong, silent type, you know?”

  Uh, yeah. “I can relate to that.”

  “Anyway, I spent most of my teenage years getting into trouble. Drugs, alcohol, ditching school, the works. I pretty much did anything I could just to piss him off, you know, because he was a cop. Every time I got in trouble, I think it embarrassed him.”

  “So what changed?”

  He looked away. “He died of a heart attack, real suddenly. And after we buried him, I realized what a complete shit I’d been all those years. I decided I wanted to do something with my life. So I stopped smoking weed. I got a job. I put myself through two years of junior college, and then I enrolled in the police academy.”

  She was listening with rapt attention, afraid if she so much as blinked, he’d clam up. “That’s quite a transformation.”

  “Yeah. Didn’t really take, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He looked at her. “Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t checked me out. The only reason I got on the force was because some of the old brass liked my dad. But it turns out I’m still a pothead. Got busted with a stash of marijuana in my cruiser.”

  His tone was bitter, and Feenie knew his partner had been right about the drugs being a plant.

  “Do you know why you were set up?” she asked.

  His eyes locked on hers for a long moment. Then he looked away. “Who says it was a setup?”

  She tipped her head to the side and waited him out.

  “Nah, I don’t know,” he finally said
. “But I’m pretty sure it had something to do with the chief. Son of a bitch never liked me, thought I was a troublemaker. Anyway, the job really wasn’t that great.”

  She watched him shrug it off, but she seriously doubted it was that simple. He’d worked hard to get through school and the academy, and then he’d lost his job and had his reputation sullied because of a corrupt boss.

  But he’d bounced back from all that and started his own company. Feenie admired his resilience.

  “But it’s all for the better, right?” she said. “I mean, now you run your own business. You’re successful. Look at how it all worked out. I’m sure your dad would have been proud of you.” Easy there, Pollyanna. A little too perky for the likes of Juarez.

  He snorted. “Yeah, right. Look how it worked out.”

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Feenie. I’ve made some major mistakes. I have a list of fuck-ups—”

  He halted mid-sentence, as if he’d suddenly realized he was actually talking to her, actually opening up.

  “You have a list?” she prompted.

  “You hear that?”

  Yes, she did. It was the sound of a boat.

  Chapter

  13

  T hey listened silently as the noise grew louder. Juarez stowed his bottle back in the cooler and pulled out a black duffle bag. He unzipped it and took out some equipment.

  “What’s that?” Feenie whispered.

  Juarez didn’t look up from his task. “Listening device. It’s extremely sensitive. As long as the wind doesn’t pick up, I should be able to get some of what they’re saying. I brought a Nightshot, too.”

  “What’s a Nightshot?”

  “Infrared camera,” he said. “But it probably won’t do much good at this distance.”

  Soon he had a black recording device hooked up to what looked like a satellite dish. The engine noise became louder, and Feenie watched through her binoculars as the Garlands stowed their fishing poles. A boat suddenly pulled up alongside the Grady-White. She hadn’t seen it coming, because it wasn’t using any lights.

  “Okay,” Juarez said, glancing over his shoulder. “Party time. Go down and wait in the cabin. Don’t say anything, and don’t come out. Did you bring your piece?”

  It took her a moment to realize he was talking about the .38.

  “Yes,” she said, gulping.

  “Good. Don’t use it unless everything goes to shit. You got that? You put a bullet in me, I’ll never forgive you.”

  She nodded, feeling a little numb. Juarez was right. This wasn’t a video game. She was hiding out on a boat running surveillance on a real life smuggling operation.

  Feenie crept down the ladder, took her gun out of her purse, and checked to make sure it was loaded. She wondered what was going on above deck. Maybe she should peek out and take a look. But Juarez had told her just to sit there.

  So she did.

  A few minutes later, she suddenly had this overwhelming urge to go see what was going on with her own two eyes. She tried to ignore it, straining to hear whatever was happening outside. She heard nothing, but she made herself wait patiently. Finally, curiosity got the best of her, so she stashed the gun on the counter in the galley and tiptoed toward the ladder. She waited there, straining to hear anything up on deck. Juarez was silent, the Grady-White was dark, and the other boat’s engine had stopped.

  She chewed on a thumbnail. What if someone spotted them? Surely the people aboard both boats were armed; maybe they even carried machine guns. What if Juarez got shot? What if she did? They’d end up at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. Feenie inched closer to the doorway and listened intently.

  Faintly, she heard static, followed by some words. It sounded muffled, but she was pretty sure it was Spanish. Did Josh know Spanish? They’d traveled together in Mexico a zillion times, and he’d barely been able to order a drink. Still, given what she’d recently learned about him, nothing would shock her. He was a drug runner, for heaven’s sake. Being secretly bilingual didn’t seem like that big a deal.

  She stepped onto the bottom rung of the ladder and peered out at the deck. Juarez kneeled next to his equipment. His gun was holstered at his waist, and he held a camera with a telephoto lens. As she eased up another rung, she watched Juarez point the camera at Josh’s boat.

  Feenie craned her neck and just barely managed to see over the side of Rum Runner. The Grady-White bobbed in the distance, but they had killed most of the lights now. She looked through the binoculars. With the moon hidden behind clouds, the two boats Were nearly invisible. A faint glow came from the console, and she could discern only some shadows moving back and forth.

  “Dammit,” Juarez said.

  Feenie jerked back, hoping he hadn’t seen her. She didn’t want to distract him at a critical moment, yet she couldn’t bear to stay downstairs and out of sight. She wanted to see something.

  Juarez lowered the camera, apparently giving up on getting any pictures. Maybe if the moon came out again, he’d have better luck. He pulled some binoculars out of his bag. They looked much more high-tech than her own, and she suspected they were equipped for night vision.

  She peered through her binoculars again, but all she saw were shadows.

  Suddenly, the clouds parted, and she had a good view of the Grady-White. About half a dozen people milled around on deck, all men. They passed duffle bags to Josh and his dad. Feenie watched as Bert took one of the bags and stowed it in the hull.

  “Good Lord,” she murmured.

  “Get below deck, Malone.”

  She jerked back. Had she said that out loud? She was about to go back down the ladder, but she stole one last peek through her binoculars and saw more figures moving aboard Feenie’s Dream. Several petite dark-haired women boarded the boat. The men helped them climb in, then shuffled them to the side. She counted five altogether, and they looked childlike compared to the brawny men surrounding them.

  Childlike.

  Juarez muttered something in Spanish and adjusted his binoculars. Feenie looked through hers again and watched, astonished, as Josh reached out to touch one of the girls. He fanned his hand through her hair and said something to the other men. Laughter followed, and the men began to disembark. Soon they all were back aboard the other boat, leaving the duffle bags and the girls behind.

  Leaving the children behind.

  Josh was smuggling children?

  Her throat constricted, and she backed into the doorway. Her foot missed a rung, and she tumbled backward into the cabin. She flailed her arms out, catching herself on the galley counter. The sound of gunfire exploded inside the cabin.

  Curses erupted on deck, and Juarez jumped down the ladder. “Are you okay?”

  “I…I fell back and knocked my gun off the counter.”

  “Are you hit?”

  “No.” She stood up and looked down, somehow needing to make sure. When she looked up again, Juarez was gone.

  Suddenly, the engine roared to life, and the boat lurched forward. Feenie crashed to the floor, this time not managing to catch herself. Her face collided with the cabin’s door frame, and pain ballooned behind her cheekbone. Struggling to her feet, she grabbed the handrail of the ladder and hoisted herself above deck.

  “Stay down!” he boomed. “Jesus Christ! You want to get killed?”

  She looked around. He’d already put a long trail of wake between themselves and the other boats.

  “Are they following us?” she yelled over the din of the engine.

  “Yes! What the hell were you doing?”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Grab the equipment!” He shoved it toward her with his foot. “And get below deck!”

  She clamped her lips shut and did as she was told. It was nearly impossible to see all the wires and camera gear in the dark, but she scrounged up everything she could. The duffle was long gone, probably having flown overboard when Juarez gunned the engine. She sc
rambled downstairs with the equipment, nearly tripping on the ladder yet again, and staggered through the galley into the bedroom. The boat pitched and lurched over the waves, and it took three tries before she could get a grip on a cabinet door. Finally, she got one open and shoved all the gear inside next to some life preservers. For an instant, she considered grabbing a couple. But they had armed drug smugglers chasing them. Flotation devices probably wouldn’t help if they ever caught up to them. She slammed the cabinet shut and maneuvered herself to the bench seat near the galley. Gripping the walls on either side of her, she tried to remain in one place.

  Where was her gun?

  It had gone off in the galley, but when Juarez punched the throttle, it most likely had slid to the stern. She looked at the floor but didn’t see any sign of it. She took off her binoculars and stowed them beneath her seat.

  God, her timing couldn’t have been worse. What was wrong with her?

  A vision of the five dark-haired girls popped into her head. Girls. Josh was smuggling girls. She could think of only a few reasons to smuggle girls over the border, and none of them was good. If they were simply illegal day laborers, why had they all been female? No. They were another kind of worker, she felt sure. And they were kids.

  The boat hit a wave, knocking her head against the side of the cabin. She tightened her grip on the walls and prayed. The noise behind them grew louder. Josh was catching up. Feenie’s Dream was probably faster than Rum Runner, so it would boil down to who could maneuver better in the dark. Gunfire sounded outside.

  Or who was the better shot.

  Feenie tried to think of something to do. She needed that gun. Maybe she could get a round off while Juarez steered. But that would never work unless their pursuers got really close.

  More shots rang out, from Juarez this time. Had he hit anything?

  She crouched down on the floor and tried to get some traction. The carpet felt scratchy, like Astroturf, under her knees. She scooted around on all fours, desperately searching for the Smith & Wesson. Finally, her hand fell on something hard and smooth. She had it.

  Gripping the revolver in her right hand, she reached for the handrail and tried to pull herself up. She made out Juarez’s figure at the helm.