Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
DEAN
I slowly loop around the ship—which, I have to admit, is pretty fucking cool. June flits about the rotting wooden remnants of the Santu Espiritu , swimming in some kind of pattern that I chalk up to a protocol she has, or conversely, a random product of excitement.
She’s beyond thrilled. Her body telegraphs joy at every turn, and she keeps bringing her hand to her mouth, even though it’s already covered. Even if she didn’t, her frantic thumbs up signaling and pointing does it.
Despite my secondhand excitement for June, worry gnaws at the pit of my stomach.
This is wrong.
The shipment is here somewhere. It makes more sense that June’s dad would scuttle the drug sub nearby, where June would no doubt eventually stumble over it. The drug shipment? That’s the least of my worries.
The stakes are higher than cocaine and opiates.
No. Whatever’s hiding inside that sub should turn the tables on a string of domestic terrorist cells. I don’t know how far up into the government they go: names, place, meeting times. Or most importantly, their plans. According to all the chatter, all the reasons I put my crew on this op once I’d been read in, this shipment is the key to disrupting their plans. But it won’t make a fucking difference if I can’t find it.
My pulse beats inside my eardrums, amplified by the near silence of being underwater. I swim out a little further past the find, confident June will be fine if I slip away for a few minutes.
A grayish rock peeks out from behind undulating ribbons of seagrass, small fish darting around it. A blanket of green moss covers most of it. I swim past it, eyes scouring the sand and silt. Ten yards. Fifteen.
Then it hits me.
Eyes wide, I stretch my arms out and scissor my legs, turning back towards the remains of the Santu Espiritu and that gray rock.
It wasn’t a blanket of moss.
It’s a fucking camo net. Jesus .
My fingers scrabble over the rock, pulling the thick green netting back as far as I dare. A sharp edge on the metal slices my finger, and red leaks into the saltwater in a stinging rush, but I don’t care.
Fuck .
It’s massive.
The sub is eight feet long, easily, half buried in mud and silt, everything but the tip painted in a flaking camouflage that would make it harder to spot from the air when pulled behind a boat.
There’s no way I’m moving this on my own.
My hands carefully work over the rough surface until I find the seam and follow it to the lock for the hatch.
Opening it underwater means contaminating any evidence.
Shit.
The needle on my air gauge dips into the red zone. Less than ten percent of air left. My size, though an asset on land, always causes problems when it comes to how fast my lungs need air.
A tentative plan forms in my mind.
We have to surface. A loud roaring sound fills my ears, and a shadow passes over the seabed.
A boat.
It’s gotta be Pierce.
Dread weighs my limbs down, more effective than the diving belt around my waist. Not the ideal reaction to a team member arriving, but where the hell has he been?
My eyes dart to the gauge. It’s time to grab June and get to the surface.
Quickly, I pull the netting back over the tip of the sub, my fingers clumsy from the cut on my palm. Not a perfect job, but it will have to do.
Shit is about to get real interesting.
From the moment I catch June’s attention, tapping my dive gauge and pointing up to signal starting the slow ascent, my mind works at a record pace. Which, considering it’s been muddled with lust for the last two days, isn’t saying much.
Breaking the surface first, the sun dazzles in my eyes. Pierce’s boat looms near the Betty , quiet, motors off. No sign of Charlie.
No sign of my men, either.
My stomach knots. I tug the respirator from my mouth and wait for June to breach the surface.
I need to tell her my suspicions about Pierce. I need June to be safe more than I’ve needed anything in a long, long time.
My jaw tenses. I don’t know Pierce nearly as well as I would like.
I only hope Charlie is still with him.
Next to me, bubbles pop on the rippling water, followed by a glistening head of black hair. As soon as her respirator leaves her mouth, she lets out a joyous shriek, nearly dunking me as she wraps her arms around my neck. I kick double time towards the boat, heart heavy despite her happiness.
I can’t unload on her right now.
She needs this moment.
I’ve already ravaged the memory of her father. I won’t take this from her too.
June babbles and I force a smile, trying to recover some of that initial wonder at seeing the Santu Espiritu .
“I knew my father wouldn’t have left those clues for me for it to be what you said.”
Guilt claws at me. I blink, trying to match her smile with one of my own. I need to tell her I found the sub.
This fucking sucks.
Her hands are on my chest now, eyes gleaming with excitement. Not the tears she had earlier this morning. I’d do anything to keep from seeing them again, to keep this look on her face.
Even if it meant lying through my teeth.
It’s safer this way.
“Did you swim off to see the figurehead? Can you believe what great condition it’s in? That’s museum quality. It must’ve been buried for hundreds of years. I bet the seabed shifted with that last massive hurricane we had, don’t you think?”
She prattles a mile a minute, oblivious in her excitement.
Ignorance is bliss.
And it is so, so much safer than pulling her in any deeper.
“Hey, is that Pierce?” She starts waving her hands in the air, and I swear. “What’s wrong? Pierce! Over here! Charlie, y’all, you’re not going to believe what we found.”
Not a sound comes from the other boat. My chest tightens, adrenaline sparking, tingling down into my fingers. This isn’t good.
“June, we need to get on the boat.” My voice is low, and I knife my legs through the water, wrapping an arm around June’s waist as best I can with the tanks on her back.
“Where is Charlie?” She sputters, still staring at the boat.
“June. Move. Fast,” I grunt. Finally, she complies, swimming easily to the back of the Betty . I get there first, wrenching the fins off and hauling ass up the ladder before lifting June easily next to me.
“What’s going on?” She looks so worried, her lips pursed, furrows marring her features, that I can’t resist. I want to wipe it off her face. I lean in, pressing a quick kiss to her mouth.
“Don’t you two make a sweet couple.” Pierce emerges from our cuddy cabin.
He’s been on the Betty .
The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Where is Charlie?
June laughs, a nervous, forced sound, and my knuckles crack. Relax .
“Well, what did you find down there, Dr. Legarde?”
“The wreck.” Her throat bobs as she swallows, smiling in spite of her nerves. “It’s in good shape. Good enough to excavate. With a proper team, that is.”
Pierce’s posture is loose, his stance easy, weight distributed between both legs. His arms tense at his sides.
“And what about you, Dean? What did you find down there?” His smile is betrayed by the simmering viciousness in his eyes. He steps closer, and my hand moves to the knife sheathed on the dive belt. June must notice too, because her body tenses next to me.
How the fuck does he know?
There’s only one answer to that question, and it isn’t one I like. Even if I suspected.
“Fish,” I tell him blandly.
Pierce laughs, low and dangerous. A muscle twitches in my jaw. Quickly, I unsnap the tanks from my back, not caring that they might topple overboard. Fuck it. They’re the least of my worries. If we get out of this mess, I’ll buy June new ones. Hell, I’ll buy her an entire dive shop’s worth.
Standing, I try to put myself between Pierce and June. The moment goes long, and Pierce telegraphs the punch before he swings.
Amateur .
“What the fuck, man?” I growl, playing dumb.
Stupid is just about the only play I have. The goddamned weight belt hamstringing me is going to be an issue, though.
“I know you found the drugs.”
Behind me, June gasps, and my heart splinters.
“We found the wreck,” I counter.
“What is he talking about, Dean?” June’s voice is higher than usual, tight and nervous.
“What am I talking about, Dean?” Pierce echoes, a smug grin on his face.
I growl, leveraging a punch of my own at Pierce’s torso, which he dodges easily. My hand flits to the knife at my waist, but some kind of sick honor keeps me from pulling it. All I have is suspicion.
Pierce read my file. Knew what he was getting into with my past.
I would be the perfect fall guy. With the shitty end to my military career, my desperation to make my new contracting firm work, the way I lost bid after bid—I was ripe for a setup. Again.
Pierce steps left, trying to circle me, trying to force me away from June.
“What is going on? Where is Charlie?” June stands, her tanks on the platform behind her.
“Charlie is currently unavailable.” A muffled shout punctuates his words, and I glance at the half-open cuddy cabin door.
This is now a hostage situation. Fuck. How the hell did Charlie manage to get herself taken hostage?
Charlie has never, not once, not gotten the drop on a target. I snarl.
“What is going on? Dean? What is going on?” June pleads.
I played this wrong. I should’ve told June. Instead, I threw her into a trap.
“Tell her what’s going on, or I will.” Pierce leans left, and I aim a kick at his right side, anticipating the shift in direction. My foot connects with his ribs in a meaty thud, but a wave hits the boat and I lose my balance, falling hard onto the slippery deck.
“What is he talking about, Dean?”
“Seems to me your friend ,” Pierce loads innuendo into the word, “has been lying to you. Taking advantage of you.” His eyes narrow, and he whips to June.
No. I won’t let Pierce hurt her. Hell will freeze over before I let him touch her. I stand unmoving between them.
“Dean?”
“June. Princess. He’s lying.”
“Dean didn’t tell you why he left the Marines, did he?”
I aim a mean left hook at Pierce, but he neatly dodges it. He’s smaller and faster, and I’m tired from swimming for the better part of two hours, from sleeping on a boat, from running the last two days straight—I’m slow.
Too slow.
Pierce’s hand twitches at the gun holstered at his side, and my pulse throbs in my temple.
“He was expelled. Like the traitor to his country that he is. He’s been working with the smugglers the whole time. The drugs are down there, aren’t they, Dean?” Pierce’s smile is razor-sharp now, and I don’t know how I missed the edge to him these last few months. “They are, and he knew they were, and he wanted to use you as a hostage, as leverage, to get the drugs back to the cartel.”
“It’s not down there, Pierce. The sub isn’t down there.” I’ll lie forever if it means keeping June safe.
“You were kicked out of the Marines?” June sounds small, but I can’t turn towards her. Can’t hold her close and tell her everything is going to be okay.
“He was. And for fucking the enemy, for selling secrets.”
“No.”
It was a lie. I didn’t tell Fiona shit. I’d never sell out my people, never thought her questioning was more than curiosity. I knew better than to ever indulge her curiosity.
Unlike the piece of shit in front of me trying to twist my life and hurt June.
Enough.
I whip the dive knife out of my belt. Not my preferred weapon, but it’ll do.
“See? He can’t even deny it.”
“I just did deny it, asshole.” My rage begins to spike. I would love to plunge the knife straight into Pierce’s smug face, to end this bloody. “I wasn’t kicked out.”
I hadn’t re-upped. Under a cloud of suspicion, sure.
“You knew you could never live down the rumors.”
Stabbing Pierce gains even more of an appeal.
It wouldn’t show June he’s lying, though, and it would ruin any hope at getting my firm off the ground.
No, attacking Pierce, as satisfying as it would be, would only prove I’m a fucking traitor. The whispered allegations that follow me would be even worse if I knifed my government-issue partner.
I study the knife for a moment, the lemon-yellow handle, the balanced tip. Then throw it, my aim steady as ever.
Throwing knives, however, is notoriously unreliable. More likely to piss off your opponent than hurt them.
Still. Pierce flinches and June gasps in disbelief. The knife sails past Pierce, landing with a splash in the water.
“I’m unarmed. Let her go.” I hold my hands wide.
“Dean.” I can’t bear to look at June, listening to the way she sobs my name.
“The drugs are down there, aren’t they?” Pierce’s gaze is avid now, hungry.
Fuck him.
“She didn’t know shit. Your intel was bad.” Behind me, June sucks in a breath.
Something bangs against the cabin walls. Charlie. Goddammit, this is a clusterfuck of epic proportions and I can’t think straight with June here, in danger.
I raise my hands over my head, the barely healed wound in my side pulling tight.
“Smart. Smarter than I gave you credit for.”
“June,” I bark her name. “Go.”
Salt spray licks across my back and June is gone, hopefully swimming to the rental boat Pierce anchored. Something like pride flickers through me, replaced by the agony of knowing she must hate me now, must think the worst.
At least she’s out of harm’s way.
Even if it means we’ll never be together.