“Cassidy,” Bruce said. “Put the gun down. You don’t want this.”
“I want the truth!” she cried. Her hand was beginning to shake, but she forced herself to be strong. He was right—she did not want this, any of it. Her resolve faltered. Then she thought of Reeve, gone, probably by the hands of these very men.
“We go,” the first man said, looking at Bruce. “Pero esto no ha terminado,” he added, wiping blood off his face. But this isn’t over.
Cassidy risked a glance at Bruce but his face was unreadable.
And then the men were gone.
“Wait!” Cassidy cried, moving to the edge of the boat. Bruce met her halfway with a bear hug to hold her back. Cassidy struggled—why wasn’t he letting her go after them? She wanted them to tell her what had happened, once and for all. No more playing detective, no more not knowing the answer. “Let me go,” she said, but her efforts were weak. Bruce was talking softly to her, and his grip was firm, but gentle.
Cassidy felt her remaining strength drain out of her.
She felt his fingers wrap around hers. “Give me the gun,” he coaxed. Releasing the weapon was easy, and she did so with a sigh that morphed into a series of sobs. She put her head against his shoulder and sighed a great, shuddering breath. Her knees began to wobble.
“Easy, there,” Bruce said, and gently shifted her to the bench. She saw him tuck the gun behind his back, in his waistband. Was it his, or did it belong to the intruders? Had he been carrying it all along?
Cassidy leaned her head into her hands and took a deep breath.
“That was a really stupid thing to do, Cass,” Bruce said finally.
“You’re welcome,” Cassidy said, even though his use of her nickname gave her heart a small bounce.
Bruce sighed again and lowered himself to the bench beside her, emitting a groan of pain. “Where in the heck did you learn to hold a gun like that?”
“Gun safety training,” Cassidy replied, remembering the firing range and the ear protection—though it had still been incredibly loud. “Standard operating procedure for fieldwork in bear country. Plus, I grew up in Idaho. Every kid there knows how to hold a gun,” she said.
“Okay, I’m officially scared of you now,” he said.
Cassidy looked up. His face was bruised and swollen. Blood was congealing on his split lip. One leg was extended, as if bending it to match the other was either too painful, or difficult.
“I thought you said I’d be safe on the boat,” Cassidy said, the adrenaline rush from holding them at gunpoint still ebbing in her veins.
“I’m sorry,” he replied softly. “I never thought they’d trace you.”
“Would they really have . . . killed you?” Cassidy realized that he had been protecting her.
Bruce didn’t answer her. “I think it’s time we get you out of here,” he said instead.
Just then the image of her empty house with the weed-riddled yard, dull wooden floors, and the brand-new couch where she would sit, alone, popped into her head.
Bruce stood up, his face twisted in pain, and held out his hand for her to take.
“Wait, you mean, like, right now—like, you’re going to drive the Trinity back, for me?”
“Yep.”
“What about Benita and the other guests? And Jesus?”
“I’ll be a little late coming back, but I think they won’t mind. And Jesus will be thrilled to have a few extra hours with his family.”
Cassidy thought about what he was proposing, and though it sounded like a big favor to ask, she was instantly grateful to leave. “First, do we need to get you to a hospital? You don’t look so good.”
“Thanks,” Bruce said, trying to smile, then stopped when his lip started bleeding again. “But no. I’ve been in worse shape.”
Cassidy gave him a shrewd once-over and sighed. “Before we go,” she said. “It’s my turn to show you something.”
The whirlwind of emotions in her heart had settled, and in its place, the idea that had taken hold when she had been hiding in Jesus’s cabin gained strength. After leading Bruce there, she knelt at the opening beneath the bunk. She opened the door and swung it open. “Reeve had someone on this boat. In here.”
“What?” Bruce blinked. “Some one?”
Cassidy realized that the facts had been in front of her all along. She had just interpreted them wrong. From the partying neighbor and the young girl he was with, to the payment Reeve made, to the “delivery.” She begged Reeve to forgive her for being so blind. I’ve been wrong from the very beginning, she thought. I’m so sorry.
It had to be the answer to Reeve’s disappearance. He had paid Tikvah International to rescue his girlfriend, Jade, then smuggled her aboard the Trinity to San Juan and delivered her to safety.
After a week of searching for answers, of wondering, of suffering through many ugly imaginings about Reeve’s fate, she finally had the answer. “His girlfriend. He hid her under here and brought her ashore to rescue her.” Cassidy peered into the space, which contained a jumble of life vests, a bilge pump, and emergency rations.
Cassidy recalled the look on Reeve’s face in the picture that day on the beach: triumph.
“In there?” Bruce said, and Cassidy could almost see the gears turning in his mind.
Cassidy nodded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Whenever he could, he would stay on the boat, remember? That was when he could get her out.”
Bruce rubbed his jaw, doubtful. “You said rescue . . . ”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think she was a prostitute, an illegal one. Why else would he risk bringing her here? Someone must have owned her, and he was taking her away from him.” Cassidy remembered the man in the shadows outside Reeve’s apartment. He had been waiting for the neighbor’s illegal chica, the girl, to finish her job so he could deliver her
