The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(14)

CHAPTER NINE

THE KEY

I was twelve the first time I had to threaten someone with real violence. We’d taken our boat to Hammerhead Key on the west coast of Florida so Dad could chase down a legend about a sunken rumrunner that allegedly went down with a full hold of cargo.

My oldest brother, Harris, was back on the boat while Robbie and I took the little Zodiac raft around the tiny islands.

We’d been speeding across sandbars and goofing off when I took us through a thick patch of kelp and fishing line that fouled the propeller. Robbie climbed out of the boat and used a rusty bait knife to try to cut the line.

That’s when we were approached by the two men in the beat-up Boston Whaler. I could spot the out-of-season lobster traps sitting under a tarp.

The fact that they were poachers didn’t faze me as much as the way they looked at me. Both were naked to the waist, wearing ragged cutoffs and the kind of unhealthy suntan that you only see on the homeless. Theirs was the only other boat we’d seen all day.

“Need some help?” the older man asked as they approached.

“We’re okay,” I replied.

Robbie popped his head out of the water and held on to the side of the raft, catching his breath. “I almost got it.”

The look on the men’s faces changed a little when they realized I wasn’t alone—disappointed was the only way I could describe it.

They exchanged glances. The younger one spoke up. “Why don’t we pull you into shore?” He started to reach out for our boat.

Robbie, although two years older, looked to me for direction on how to handle the situation.

“Our parents’ boat is that way.” I pointed to an island in the distance.

“Can you radio them?” asked the older man.

“We don’t have a radio,” Robbie answered before realizing he shouldn’t have said that.

“Our dad’s coming here anyway,” I interjected.

They looked at the sandbars around us that their own boat could barely get over and immediately knew I was lying.

“We can’t leave you out here,” said the older man. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“We’re okay,” I insisted.

They ignored us, and the younger man reached into our boat, grabbed the mooring line, tossed it to the other, then climbed into our raft and watched me for a moment. I sat there, frozen, not sure if I was supposed to be a good girl and let the adults handle the situation or make a protest.

“I almost got it,” Robbie replied.

The younger man looked at the motor and could see the prop was still fouled. “Sure you do. Why don’t you get into our boat and go get help with my dad while I stay here and try to fix it?” He turned to me and asked, “How old are you?”

I’d always been quick-tempered but never violent—except when it came to slugging my brothers. I acted on fear and impulse. Robbie had dropped the knife back in the Zodiac when he came up for air. I grabbed it from the deck and held it in front of me.

“Get out of our fucking boat or I’ll cut your balls off. Then my dad’ll come back and make you eat them! He’s killed people. He likes it.”

The older man let out a loud laugh from their boat while the younger one stared at the blade, trying to decide if I was serious.

I glared at him, not wavering an inch.

“Come on, Christian,” said the other man. “Let’s save your cojones for another day.”

The younger man backed away and returned to the other boat. In my terror, I didn’t move a muscle, but it must have looked like steely resolve.

They pushed off and motored away, leaving Robbie and me alone.

Once they were gone from view, Robbie finally spoke. “You said the F word.”

He clearly didn’t understand the severity of the situation. When we got back to the boat, I tried telling Dad what happened, but he thought it was all a misunderstanding. No doubt he was too mortified to accept what I was suggesting—that his daughter was almost raped or worse while he’d been elsewhere.

As a parent, I can understand that kind of willful ignorance to the severity of situations our children find themselves in. My experience on the sandbar, and others that would come later, taught me that there are bad people out there who want to do bad things to you.

I knew this before I pulled my first body out of a canal.

I also know from family lore that some of the bad actors out there were people I’m related to. It might be why I have my own mean streak.

I could have stopped Run when he kicked the shit out of Kwan. I could have told him not to get out of the car when that kid cut him off, but I didn’t.

I wanted to hurt them too.

As I pass the lockboxes on the dock, my right hand keeps the gun close enough to my hip that the shape won’t stand out unless someone’s looking closely.

From the SUV’s vantage point, there’ll be a blind spot when I pass by the marina office. Right before I reach it, I ditch the beer bottle in a trash can, then make a beeline for the far edge of the building.

To the driver it should look like I’m heading into the office. As I get closer, the motion-activated light kicks on, illuminating the parking lot and creating a shadow image of me. Oops. My gun’s visible in my shadow silhouette. I bring it tighter to my body, hoping the watcher didn’t catch it.