He wiped his mouth and set his napkin down. “The one Reeve paid before leaving Costa Rica,” he replied slowly. “And . . . it’s some kind of charity?” He shook his head, as if confused.
Cassidy sat back, trying to put the facts together, but there were too many holes.
“Why would he pay them?” Bruce asked.
“I’m not sure.” Cassidy sighed.
“Could he be mixed up in the trafficking somehow?” Bruce crossed his arms. A dark look passed over his face. “Talk about stupid,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
Bruce got up and paced to the back of the boat. He leaned on the gunnels and gazed out over the black bay. Above, the stars dusted the inky dome of sky in patterns she would never see in Eugene: belts of powdery bits of light, bright constellations, their patterns clearly visible, the Milky Way. She crossed the distance to the gunnels, and he turned to her.
“The people who deal in human trafficking have entire armies, guns . . . there are complete patches of jungle that they have claimed as their territory.” He grimaced. “They’re very powerful. And ruthless.” He paused. “If he crossed them somehow . . . ”
“So maybe that’s it, then,” Cassidy said, though it still didn’t all fit together. “Or maybe the two aren’t related at all. Maybe he did try to sell drugs, and something went wrong. Meanwhile he pays two grand to an anti-sex trafficking organization. Maybe out of guilt?”
Bruce had turned his back to the bay and was half sitting on the gunnels, his long legs stretched out. “Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.
“Did you follow the car that chased us?” she asked, remembering the way he had hidden in the shadows then took off in pursuit.
“Yeah,” he replied. “They staked out the Pelican for a while, then headed out of town. I followed as far as I could.”
Cassidy shuddered at the idea of the thugs waiting for her at the hotel. “Are Benita and the others safe?” she asked suddenly. “Should we warn them?”
Bruce shook his head. “They’re safe.”
Cassidy tried to figure out why he sounded so confident and decided to believe him. “Who do you think they were?” she asked.
Bruce looked away. “Not sure.”
The alcohol was starting to have the desired effect, and she swung her legs over the side of the boat, letting them dangle over the water.
“Could they be the police, and they wanted to keep what happened to Reeve quiet?”
“It’s possible,” Bruce said. “Nicaragua’s police are sort of a joke. I mean, they keep things pleasant for the tourists, but they’re paid off by big crime, and sometimes, they even run the show.”
“Well, whoever it was, I received their message loud and clear.” Cassidy had already come to this conclusion, but it felt good to say it out loud. “Someone doesn’t want me to find out the truth.”
“And you’re fine leaving it at that?” he asked, scrutinizing her with an intense stare.
She remembered the desperation she felt while being chased. If they’d caught her, what would they have done to her? A shudder rumbled through her core. “No, but I don’t see any other option.”
Sixteen
Bruce had joined her on the gunnels, the ice in his drink tinkling in the glass. “I was really worried when I got to the boat and didn’t find you,” he said quietly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I just acted. I should have tried to let you know somehow that I’d gone back.” When she and Pete were apart, they had a standing agreement to check in with each other at 8:00 p.m., either by WhatsApp if she was in Central America, or he was in Canada or Spain or Timbuktu, or by text or phone if they were stateside. After being on her own for over a year, she realized that this practice of being accountable had become foreign to her. Even her postdoc position was unstructured—nobody checked to see if she had made it home from the airport, or scolded her for working too late into the night. The faculty overseeing her position just expected her results and collaboration when requested. It was the way she had lived before Pete. After her father passed away, she had left Pamela’s home as soon as she could and resisted her attempts to keep tabs on her.
She and Quinn did this for each other, of course, but it was looser, and they didn’t share the details of their lives the way she and Pete had.
“What’ll you do, after this?” he asked.
Cassidy looked up at the stars again. How could they be light years away but look so close? Like they were about to fall down right on top of them. “Well, I’ll probably need to call Pamela, Reeve’s mom, and Rebecca, his sister, will insist that I come for a visit, which I’ll refuse.”
“Why?”
Cassidy huffed. “Why should I go see her? Reeve is her brother. She sent me on this crazy mission. She can come see me.”
“Sounds like you two aren’t exactly close.”
“That’s right. Plus, I’m going to be too busy to go anywhere for a while.”
“Doing what?”
“Huh?” Then, she realized what he was getting at. “Predicting the size of Arenal’s next eruption. Calculating potential lahar flow rates, coauthoring about six papers, and publishing like crazy.”
He whistled. “You can do all of that?”
“I’m going to try.”
“What will you tell his mom?”
“Everything,” Cassidy sighed. Then, seeing Bruce’s look, she added, “It’s not like she doesn’t know every shitty thing he’s done. The drugs, his criminal activities, his rehab . . . she’ll see it for what it is.”
“And that is?”
“That he got caught up in something bigger than he could handle, and it cost him his life.”
Bruce was silent. They sat there as the quiet stretched between them. Cassidy listened to the water lap the sides of the boat. A breeze from the land brushed her cheek. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears and realized it was still
