“There’s no way,” Bruce said, standing. “I would have known she was down there.”
“You sure? She was probably a master at being silent. She knew what was at stake. Reeve had bought her a ticket out of a life of slavery, and she was on her way to being free.”
“Goddamn,” Bruce whispered, crossing his arms. He turned away from her.
She gave him a minute to process her discovery. “It was you who actually gave me the idea. Remember what you said about Jesus only taking the job to get a free ride? Well, that was sort of what Reeve was doing, only the free ride was for Jade.”
Bruce glanced at her, his features sharp. “So then what happened?” he asked.
“He had paid Tikvah International the day before the trip. So after he brought Jade ashore, he delivered her to them, to safety. After that, I don’t know.” She paused to sort through the rest.
Pete had investigated a story once on a sex trafficking ring in Sicily, but had to give up because of lack of sources. He had tried to shield her from the gruesome details, but she had learned them anyway. It was still incomprehensible to her that there were people who would steal or buy a human being and sell her or him into a life filled with such horror. Like a commodity, or an animal.
“Maybe he was the victim of some kind of revenge, or maybe he just ran into some bad luck.” She paused, the guilt of not taking Reeve’s call those many weeks ago washing over her like a crushing wave. What if that call had been his last? What if she had been his final hope? Her knees wobbled, and the air left her lungs. “I don’t think we’ll ever know,” she said, bracing herself against the wall.
He glanced at her. “So what did he do with all the stuff I store under his bunk while his girlfriend was in there?”
Cassidy shook her head. “Reeve can be pretty creative when he wants to be.”
Bruce stood. “After that trip, we had a rat problem. I couldn’t figure it out,” he added, starting to pace. “I’ll bet they ate in here. She may even have kept food under there.” He pointed to the space. “I can’t believe this happened, and I didn’t even know about it.” He gave a groan and turned to go. He paused, his shoulders slumping. “He could have fucked this whole thing up,” he muttered, then left the cabin, limping.
Cassidy heard Bruce move about the boat preparing for departure, and she, too, got to work. After her time as a passenger, she knew some of the tasks, like stowing loose items in the galley, locking cupboards, closing the doors on the guests’ cabins. Sooner than she expected, the Trinity’s big engines rumbled to life, and then they were accelerating out of the calm waters of the bay. Cassidy stood on the stern deck, watching San Juan del Sur’s lights and the black hills behind the town begin to fade. She glanced up to the wheelhouse, lit with a bright glow, where Bruce steered toward open water, his back to her. A surge of emotions swirled inside her: relief, gratitude, sorrow, resentment.
As the Trinity rounded the point and the lights of the town blinked out of sight, Cassidy climbed to the wheelhouse.
“It’s a good thing we’re doing this,” Bruce said, his broken face tight with worry. “You’re in more danger than I thought.”
Nineteen
Cassidy woke in Bruce’s bed. A pale light outlined the curve of land to the east and as she watched, the green and gray hilltops became lit with a buttery glow. The water, too, extended all around them like a sheet of shiny, blue-black glass.
Bruce glanced back at her from the helm. “Buenas días, dormilona.” He grinned, but it was lopsided, half of his face was stiff from bruises, and his lip was fat and scabbed. He must have cleaned himself up in the night because he was wearing a fresh T-shirt and his cheeks were no longer bloody.
“Stop calling me that,” she grumbled, though without malice. She had woken several times in the night, but had kept quiet, choosing to let the motor’s rumble and Bruce’s quiet movements deliver her back to sleep.
Bruce turned back to the helm. “There’s some coffee left,” he said, indicating a thermos sitting upright in a holder in the nav station. “No donuts today, though, sorry.”
Cassidy yawned and pushed herself to a sitting position. “You’re fired,” she said.
He laughed and then sucked in a grimace.
“Sorry,” she said, coming to stand next to him. “Ribs?”
He nodded. “At least it’s not my kidneys,” he answered.
She poured a cup of coffee into the thermos’s lid and took a sip. After a few more, her headache began to ebb.
“We’ll be in Playas del Coco in about a half hour. From there you can hop a bus to Liberia. There’s a weekday ten a.m. flight to Houston.”
Cassidy finished her coffee. “I have to go back to Tamarindo, first,” she said, replacing the lid on the thermos.
She sensed Bruce stiffen.
“What?” She glanced at him. “I can’t leave without my laptop, my field gear.”
He swallowed. “Of course,” he replied. “There’s probably another flight later. I think Delta has one in the afternoon, through Dallas.”
“You have them all memorized?”
He grinned. “I’m not only the captain, surf guide, and bookkeeper. I’m also the chauffeur.”
Cassidy watched the barren hillsides and hidden coves pass. The cool morning air felt fresh and clean. She felt the shift inside her, a bubble of optimism forming—as if the events in San Juan were farther into her past than just a few hours.
After gathering her remaining things, she went to the bow to sit alone while Bruce piloted the boat into the tranquil bay, the big engines slowing. The constant shusssh of water
