The Ocean Dark

by Christopher Golden

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  The temptation to stay and see if he had it in him to go a third round was powerful, but she knew what her bosses would expect of her. They had given her the gift of this work, this voyage, and the adventure she’d always hoped for. She owed it to them to do the job.

  “Unfortunately. Anyway, you’ve gotta be in the galley before dawn, so your bed is calling. But this isn’t over.”

  Josh kissed her. “Not even close.”

  They dressed quickly and she made him take the plate with him. He set the juice next to her bed. “I’ll leave this in case you want some later, but don’t let it sit too long. Once it warms up, it won’t taste very good.”

  She thought of several filthy retorts, but decided to save them for another night. She opened the door for him.

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Bright and early,” Josh agreed.

  As she ushered him out, preparing to lock the door behind her, they heard someone else coming down the corridor and turned to see Rogan heading for his quarters. The deckhands and Hank Boggs’ engine room minions all had to bunk up two to a room. But the mates, like Rogan and Suarez, got their own space, as did Josh and Tori.

  “Hey. What’s going on? Why are we in such a hurry all of a sudden?” Rogan asked. He looked squirrelly, like a kid who’d been interrupted looking at porn on the net.

  “I should be asking you that,” Tori replied.

  “I’m not on duty right now.”

  “I’m headed to the bridge, if you’re curious,” she told him.

  Rogan hesitated, then gestured for her to continue. “I’ll be up in a minute. Just need to stop off at my quarters first.”

  He went on, sliding past them in the narrow corridor. Something about the way he said it made Tori watch him as he went, and frown.

  “What is it?” Josh asked.

  She shrugged. “Nothing.”

  Maybe Rogan and Angie had had a fight. Whatever it was, something had him on edge.

  Josh reached out, linked his fingers with hers for a second. “See you in the morning.”

  Tori looked at him. The last thing she had expected when she had signed on for this voyage was that she might meet a cute, soft-spoken guy who would wake a passion inside her unlike anything she’d ever felt. Her legs were still weak. Up until now, they’d only been friends, working side by side, getting to know each other. What would happen now, she had no idea, but she found, for the first time in forever ,that the unknown excited her. He did have an edge, a roughness that appealed to her. But whatever he might have done in his past, she knew Josh wasn’t a bad guy. She’d had her share, and no black-hearted man could make love like that.

  She gave his fingers a squeeze. “It’s not breakfast in bed, but I’ll take it.”

  ~11~

  Drug runners really knew how to live. Special Agent Rachael Voss lay on the bed in the master suite of the impounded yacht and felt like she was reclining in the hand of God. Either that or a cloud made of money. The thick spread and memory foam mattress embraced her, and the fluffy pillows reminded her of all of the Cinderella-princess fantasies she’d had as a little girl—until the age of five, when a boy had pushed her down for the first time. She’d gotten up and pushed back, and that had changed things.

  Too many people never learned to push back.

  Voss still liked pretty things, even something fancy and frilly once in a while, but the luxury that had gone into decorating Rojas’s master suite bordered on the absurd. Drugs made you stupid, and drug money let you finance your stupidity.

  While his usual mules raced go-fast boats through the Caribbean, drawing the attention of every agency interested in breaking up their business, the real lords of the Colombian drug trade had sent Rojas straight up the middle, looking like nothing more than another rich asshole. If not for a total fuckup paranoiac informant they had on the inside, he might have gotten away with it.

  Instead, the arrogant, bloated sack of shit got concrete and steel bars, and Voss got to sleep in Rojas’s bed.

  Which might’ve meant more if she could actually have fallen asleep.

  They were anchored in the shallows off a small island she hadn’t even bothered to find out the name of, not far from St. Croix. Chauncey wasn’t going to let her get far when she had to be back early in the morning to brief Turcotte on Viscaya Shipping—as if the bastard hadn’t already read everything in the file a hundred times. Voss’s partner was out there on the Antoinette, but Turcotte didn’t give a damn about that. Counter-Terrorism had an almost religious zealotry. Turcotte wouldn’t want to abandon an FBI undercover agent in the field, but he’d let the undercover gig ride as long as he had to in order to get what he wanted—some kind of connection to Al Qaeda, or whatever terrorist organization had been making his bosses froth at the mouth this month.

  Voss wanted this thing wrapped up now.

  “Fuck it,” she said, under her breath.

  Climbing out of heaven, she clipped her weapon to the waistband of her shorts, grabbed her cell phone, and headed for the door. She didn’t drink, but somewhere on the boat someone would have coffee. There was always coffee. And it would give her hands and her mouth something to do, calm her and hype her all at the same time. It didn’t look like she’d be getting any sleep tonight anyway, so what difference did it make?

  Voss left the suite barefoot. She’d barely taken three steps when a figure blocked out the moonlight and Pavarotti descended into the cabin. Special Agent Joe Plausky didn’t look a damn thing like the dead Italian tenor; he was thinner, clean-shaven, and very much alive. But he sang opera in the shower, and the squad had bestowed the nickname on him. Voss hadn’t even been around when Plausky was in the shower, but the nickname stuck.

  “Oh, hey. I was just coming to get you,” Pavarotti said, fairly buzzing with energy.

  Voss cocked her head. “Please tell me we’re a go.”

  “Call just came through on the sat-phone. The Antoinette just made a sudden course change and they’re running flat out.”

  She swore through her teeth and pushed her blond hair away from her face with both hands.

  “No confirmation that they’ve made contact with the sellers?”

  Pavarotti threw up his hands. “Come on, Rachael. You knew it wasn’t going to be perfect when we set this mission up. We could wait, but then we risk the deal going down before we get there and we’ve got jack shit. This was a roll of the dice from day one.”

  Voss laced her fingers behind her head and blew out a long breath. “We go. Tell Nadeau to get underway, top speed to the sat phone’s coordinates, and we’ll wait there for the beacon.”

  Dark eyes intense, he turned and started topside.

  “Hey, Pavarotti?”

  Pausing, he glanced back.

  “It’s Special Agent Voss. Agent Voss if you’re feeling casual. Even just Voss, if I’m not in the middle of giving you an order. My mother, my boss, and the guy I’m currently sleeping with get to call me Rachael, and even from them I don’t like it much.”

  Pavarotti did not smile. That was good.

  “I’ll make a note of it.”

  Then he was gone, scrambling topside, and Voss climbed up after him. While he talked to Agent Nadeau—who was at the wheel of the impounded drug boat—and then started spreading the word amongst the rest of the squad, Voss walked aft. The chair she’d been sitting in earlier still sat by the railing, empty, but she was too wired to sit down now.

  Voss flipped open her phone, auto-dialed her supervisor.

  “You coming in?” was how he answered.

  He didn’t sound sleepy; in fact, he sounded like he’d been waiting for her call. Too many of those nasty-tasting energy drinks. Voss tried to tell him they were the same kinds of things snake oil salesmen had purveyed as miracle tonics in another era, but he loved the disgusting things.

  “Going out, actually. We got the call.”

  Chauncey hesitated bef
ore going on. “You’re sure about that? I don’t want Turcotte getting in the middle of this either, but trying to jumpstart this thing could end up blowing the whole—“

  “Shut up, Chauncey.”

  “Now hold on—“

  “You think I’d risk my partner’s cover, never mind his life, just so I could stop Turcotte from taking away our case? I told you, we got the goddamn call.”

  Again, he hesitated. But this time when he spoke, his tone had changed. “I’m sorry, Rachael. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Get on the line to Coast Guard and I.C.E. We need everybody in the water, ready to go.”

  “Done.”

  “And Chauncey…”

  “I know. Don’t call you Rachael.”

  “Yeah. And don’t forget to cancel our morning meeting. Give Turcotte my regrets.”

  By the time she closed the phone, they were picking up speed, white foam curling away from the hull. Voss started up toward the prow of the boat. She still wanted that coffee.

  ~12~

  A warm Caribbean breeze followed Tori into the wheelhouse. The Rio brothers stopped talking mid-sentence and glared. Her presence was unwelcome, but she didn’t care.

  “Evening, Captain,” she said, like nothing at all out of the ordinary had transpired.

  “What do you want?” Miguel asked. As chief mate, he had every right to challenge her presence on the bridge, but Tori ignored him, focusing on his brother.

  “We’re running at speed, burning fuel, and have changed our heading,” she said. “Either we were off course to begin with, or we’re about to do the business Viscaya doesn’t tell its shareholders about.”

  As always, Suarez was at the wheel. He didn’t blink. The illegal transactions that the Rio brothers handled for Viscaya didn’t interest him. The old Cuban sailor did his job, kept his mouth shut, and collected his pay.

  A low, rhythmic beep came from the radar screen. Gabe studied the screen and looked out the window at the night-dark sea, eyes seeking something.

  “Why don’t you go back to your cabin?” Miguel asked. Shorter and slimmer than the captain, he had hypnotic eyes and a dark, brooding appeal. In many ways, Gabe Rio seemed like the prototype for his handsome younger brother, but Gabe left no doubt who was in charge.

  “Don’t be an ass,” he said, barely looking up. “Tori’s here because Frank wanted her here.”

  Miguel narrowed his eyes, displeased. Too bad, Tori thought. She had liked him so much better when his greatest ambition seemed to be getting a look down her blouse. But she wasn’t sitting behind a desk anymore.

  The captain shot a look back toward the wheel. “Reduce speed, Mister Suarez. We’re almost on top of her.”

  “So what’s going on? Some of the crew might be sleeping, but anyone who’s awake is going to know something’s happened.”

  “Half of them know exactly what we’re doing—“ Miguel began.

  Tori shrugged. “And the other half don’t want to know. I get it. They get paid to look the other way while we make unscheduled stops and pick up strange cargo. I’ve been doing both sets of books for Viscaya for nearly a year, guys. I know how much every person on this ship earned last month, over and under the table. Like it or not, I’m Viscaya’s eyes and ears on this trip, and I’m asking. I’ll help if I can, and stay out of the way if I can’t. So fill me in.”

  The brothers exchanged another look, and Gabe gave a curt nod before returning his attention to the instrument panel.

  Miguel sighed. Despite whatever resistance he’d had to her, they all worked for the same employer. His body relaxed and he even gave a slight smile. Tori stopped hating him, for now.

  “We had contact from the sellers earlier today. One of them, anyway. When he wasn’t blaming God or screaming, he gave us the idea some of his crew were dead.”

  Tori blinked, mouth opening in a little O. Dangerous men doing illegal business were one thing; murder was something else entirely.

  “What happened?”

  “No idea,” Miguel said. “The guy signed off. If I have to guess, I’d say someone hit them for their cargo, some kind of set-up. Or maybe just pirates.”

  A ripple of fear went through her, the skin prickling at the back of her neck. “So where are we headed now? If you lost contact—“

  “We’ve got one ship on radar,” Captain Rio said, peering out at the dark. His grim features were reflected in the glass. “It’s either the sellers, or whoever took them down.”

  Tori looked from Gabe to Miguel to Suarez and then back to the captain again. “And if it’s pirates, then what? You’re delivering our legitimate cargo into their hands.”

  Gabe fixed her in a withering glance. “The ship we’re coming up on is too small to pose a threat. How would they get on deck? You’ve got your answers, Tori. If Frank Esper calls you into his office and asks for a report, you can make one. But we don’t have time to hold your hand.”

  She blinked, stung. “I don’t need—“

  “Reverse engines, Mister Suarez,” the captain said, ignoring her. “Full stop.”

  As Suarez complied, the door swung inward. Josh stepped onto the bridge wearing an expression altogether different from any Tori had seen on his face before. Normally his face was open and friendly, but now his eyes were dark and cold.

  “What are you doing here, Mister Ford?” Gabe asked.

  “Offering my help.”

  Gabe glared at him. “We’ve got all the help we need, thanks.”

  Josh smiled. “Viscaya didn’t hire me just for my cooking, Captain. I had a reference from a guy who used to be on your crew. Hector Guarino?”

  Miguel Rio gave a soft laugh. “How do you know Hector?”

  “Cellmates in Gainesville Correctional.”

  “You were in prison?” Tori asked. Her voice sounded small and far away to her. She’d been around criminals for most of her life, some of them bad men and others just guys who didn’t think the rules applied to them. Addicts and dealers and smugglers and thieves. Josh had said he had done bad things, but she hadn’t pegged him as an ex-con.

  Her body still throbbed from their encounter. She could still taste him on her lips, feel him on her skin, but now she felt unclean. It wasn’t fair to Josh, and she knew that. After all, she had never really probed too deeply into his background, so he had never lied to her about it. Still, she felt deceived, not to mention disappointed. He had seemed rough on the outside, just the way she liked them, but solid and decent and kind on the inside. Tori had thought that maybe, finally, she had found a good guy who could give her the rush that she usually only felt with hard, dangerous men.

  Josh must have heard something in her voice—surprise or disappointment—and he gave her that lopsided grin. “Where do you think I learned to cook?” He turned back to the captain and raised his hands in mock surrender. “You don’t want me involved, no problem. I was headed back to my quarters, but then thought I should at least offer. Now I’ve offered. I’m here if you need me, no questions asked. I knew the rules when I signed on.”

  The Antoinette moaned as it slowed, reversed engines bringing it to a halt. Suarez behaved as though they were all ghosts, like he was alone on the bridge.

  Noise out on the metal landing drew their attention and everyone turned to see the redheaded silhouette of Tom Rogan. Looking pale and worried, he opened the door and stepped onto the bridge.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Miguel snapped at him.

  Rogan flinched like the first mate had spat at him. “Nowhere. I was just…I came as fast as I could.”

  Miguel snickered. Even Suarez smiled.

  “I’m sure Angie appreciated that,” the captain said.

  Rogan might have been a skinny young man, but violence glittered in his eyes. He didn’t like being teased about Angela Tyree, that much was clear. What Tori didn’t understand was what had taken him so long. She’d gone ahead while both Rogan and Josh had rushed back to their rooms, but Josh had beaten him
here.

  “Had to use the head,” Rogan said, voice low.

  “You ready to work now?” Captain Rio asked.

  Rogan nodded.

  The captain examined each man intently, then turned to his brother. “Take Mister Rogan and Mister Ford for a little boat ride. If there’s anyone left alive for us to pay, radio it in. Otherwise, just bring the shipment back with you.”

  Miguel frowned. “There are half a dozen guys we could—“

  “Just get it done, hermano. Fast and quiet. I want to know what happened to that boat.”

  Tori’s pulse quickened. “I should go along.”

  The Rio brothers looked at her in that dismissive way men had, their faces telling her that to them, even the suggestion was absurd. Josh wore a different expression now--one that said she’d surprised him, that she was a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out yet. As of tonight, the feeling was mutual.

  Tori sniffed, focusing on Gabe. She hoped that he could read her expression as well as she could read his, that he saw the message in her eyes—I’ve survived worse than bullets, and I don’t scare easily.

  But they had a situation on their hands and confronting their assumptions about women would have to wait for a day when their jobs, and possibly their lives, weren’t on the line.

  “I guess that’s a no,” she said.

  Gabe nodded toward his brother. “Get going.”

  Rogan held the door open for Miguel, then stepped through, forcing Josh to grab it before it shut. He glanced back at Tori, eyes full of promises—that they’d have a long conversation when he got back. Dangerous men had always been her curse.

  One of these days, it would get her killed.

  ~13~

  Three Years Ago…

  Her ears were still ringing as she walked north to Times Square, hugging close to buildings, averting her face from the street, while New Yorkers frantically responded to the explosion underground. She had intended to take the subway, but every train in the city had been halted the moment the news spread.