The corridor smelled like disinfectant, and he heard the DeSimones’ baby crying as he passed their door. The smell of frying fajitas drifted from one of the apartments. Mixed with the stink of the disinfectant the maintenance staff used, it made his stomach roil. Outside his own apartment door, he gripped his keys. His breathing sounded very loud, though he tried to be quiet.
Gabe slipped the key into the lock, turned it silently, and rotated the door handle. He held his breath, thinking: You changed the rules, not me. You knew what you were getting when you married me. The door slid open and he saw the antique mirror he’d bought her with money he’d made breaking the law, and the gourmet kitchen he’d put in himself, and the glass-top table in the eat-in. On the table were a cell phone and a key ring that didn’t belong to Maya.
And he heard her laugh, soft and girlish, like she had laughed for him in better days.
Lost in fury and despair, he clapped both hands to the sides of his head and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Alarms were going off in his mind as though to drive him out, to force him to flee before the imminent catastrophe could unfold. What he saw now he could never unsee.
But then a horrid sound began to build in his chest and throat — a bestial roar. Gabe had been frozen to the spot, but now he stormed through the foyer and the eat-in kitchen and turned through the archway into the living room, big hands curled into fists, tasting violence on his tongue.
“You made a big fucking mistake, having him here, puta! Whatever happens now, it’s on your goddamn …”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. Gabe stood mutely, just inside the living room, staring at the scene before him. Maya sat cross-legged in a plush chair. On the sofa, a beer on the coffee table in front of him, Miguel stared back at Gabe in obvious dismay. What broke Gabe, though, was the pity in his brother’s eyes.
“Bro,” Miguel said. “What the hell are you doing?”
Gabe’s fists opened and he shook his head. “No. Don’t you do it. Don’t you take her side.” His voice grew louder once more, rising to a shout. “She’s a lying whore, man! She’s been fucking some guy, doing it in my own damn bed!”
Maya let out a long, disgusted sigh and shook her head. “That’s enough.”
“It’s not nearly enough!” Gabe yelled. Then he turned on his brother. “And what the hell are you even doing here?”
Miguel stood up, decades of sibling fireworks coming into play. “Trying to help, you asshole. Maya called me, looking for advice. I was trying to help save your marriage.”
“You were wasting your time,” Gabe sneered.
Miguel threw up his hands. “I can see that now.”
He started to leave. Maya reached out and grabbed his wrist, held him in place.
“Miguel, wait,” she said, and her gaze shifted to Gabe. “Take him with you.”
Gabe started to argue. He had been wrong tonight, but that didn’t erase the past month. He knew she had been cheating on him.
Maya shook her head. “Just leave. You want to spend your life on the ocean, banging girls in clubs whenever you’re in port, have fun with that. I tried to give you a home.”
“I wanted a wife, not a home.”
Maya’s upper lip curled and her eyes nailed him to the spot. “Well, now you don’t have either.”
45
Josh’s eyes snapped open, but it took a few seconds before he realized that he had been sleeping. He sat in the stained, ugly stuffed chair he’d been in when Captain Rio had decided to have Hank Boggs beat the crap out of him.
With a low groan he sat up straighter, wincing at a brand-new kink in his back. The skin on his face felt tight where he’d been struck, but it didn’t pulsate the way it had before. What remained was a deep ache, and an aversion to making any complicated facial expressions. A smile would hurt like hell. Fortunately, he didn’t foresee having any reason to smile in the near future.
“This sucks!” a voice said, just outside the starboard side door.
Josh frowned, then hissed through his teeth at the pain that shot through his swollen, cut-up face, and wondered if it would be possible to avoid facial expressions altogether. Slowly, bones popping from napping in a contorted position, he got up from the chair and started toward that door.
He had woken abruptly. That probably meant this wasn’t the first outburst from the other side of the door. Last he had checked, Anton had been guarding the port side door and Jimenez had returned for a second shift on the starboard side. Now, though, he heard a familiar voice outside.
“Look, I don’t like it any more than you do,” Angie Tyree was saying, “but Tupper’s got something going on down below, and they need you to take over as duty engineer. That means I’m back on guard duty. Believe me, I’m thrilled.”
Josh peeked through the louvered shutters. A tired and annoyed Jimenez faced off with Angie on the walkway outside the door.
“I’m not pissed at you, Angie,” Jimenez said. “I just need a break, you know? I had, what, three hours? I slept for one, and the other two I was on duty until Tupper came on. I’ve been either guarding the damn cook or down below since before the sun came up. Now I’m back on duty?”
“Practically half the crew’s ashore, and someone’s got to watch Josh. We’re all in this, Oscar.”
The big man sighed and nodded. “I know. I know. I’m going. You have fun. Shoulda brought a magazine or something, though. I’m bringing a book up next time. A little while longer, I’d have been in there playing Ping-Pong with Mr. FBI.”
Josh watched through the shutters as Angie smiled. She gave away nothing. Moments later, Jimenez walked over to the stairs and started down. Angie waved over the railing, smiling at him for a few seconds. Then her smile vanished and she took a step back, looked around, and rushed for the door.
When Angie came into the rec room, her eyes were frantic.
“Did you find it?” Josh whispered, fearful that Anton might overhear them through the other door. “Did you set off the beacon?”
Angie shook her head. “It’s in the wheelhouse, but I couldn’t get to it.”
“Then what are you—”
A flash of anger crossed her face. “Just shut up and listen. We’re out of time.”
“You mean they’re going to—”
“Just. Shut. Up.” Angie looked around, stepped up to the window and peeked through the louvers, then spun toward him again. “Something’s happening. Something crazy. They found the guns, and one of the lifeboats was coming back.”
She described what she’d seen — the lifeboat upended, a sailor trying to drag himself from the water until he was dragged under, blood in the water. The lifeboat destroyed.
Josh stared at her. “This is true? This really happened?”
Angie nodded, and swallowed hard. “Something’s in the water, Josh. And not just near the island. Dwyer and Tupper, they heard something slamming into the hull from outside, down belowdecks.”
Josh tried to process it, figure out what it meant. But Angie didn’t give him time. She put one hand behind her back, tugged up her shirt, and pulled out a pistol, which she handed over to him. He took it, checked the clip and the chamber out of habit, then looked up at her.
“We need to set off that beacon right now,” Angie said. “We need help.”
Josh nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ll get it.”
46
Dwyer felt like a cornered animal, tensed to bolt but with nowhere to run. Minutes had passed since his run up from belowdecks to the wheelhouse — all those goddamn stairs — and he should have recovered by now, but his chest rose and fell and his breath came too fast, and he knew it wasn’t about the exertion at all.