“Oh, I see,” I said, leaning back an inch from her cherry red lips. “You were trying to get me drunk?”
“Trying?” she chuckled. “I did get you drunk, Dodge. And of course it was on purpose. You’ve been too high-strung lately. Release those inhibitions. You need to embrace your inner conch.”
I pressed my lips back to hers, savoring the sweet taste and soft sensation. Bending my knees slightly, I wrapped my arms around her and lifted her off the floor. Diving deeper into our passionate kiss, I twisted her around, then dropped her softly onto our king-sized bed. We lost ourselves in each other’s arms long into the night. We finally passed out to the sound of wind dancing the palm fronds just outside our open window, our tired, sweat-coated bodies pressed to each other.
THIRTY-NINE
We slept in the following morning. I woke on my back with my head resting against the pillow and Ange’s body draped over me. Glancing at my nightstand clock, I saw that it was just after six. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept in so late. I tilted my head and admired Ange’s peaceful face and her chest as it rose up and down slightly with each breath.
Worth it.
Not wanting to leave her warmth, I stayed with her under the covers and fell back asleep, then we both woke up an hour later to the sound of Scarlett and Atticus playing in the living room.
“I thought normal teenaged girls cherished their sleep,” Ange said, blinking and brushing hair from her face.
I kissed her good morning, then slid out of bed.
“Is anything about Scar normal?”
I pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and a Rubio Charters T-shirt, then reached high over my head and stretched.
“What are you thinking for breakfast?”
“Surprise me,” she said.
I moved into the living room, played with Scarlett and Atticus, then she and I whipped up my famous strawberry waffles. We ate out on the balcony, then spent the rest of the day doing tasks around the house. By midafternoon, we relaxed and played fetch with Atticus in the yard.
“You took pictures, right?” Scarlett said. She was lounging in our hammock under the shade of a big umbrella. “Of the gold. You said you would.”
I nodded. I’d completely forgotten. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I tossed it to her, testing her reflexes. She proved up to the challenge, making a Willie Mays–style basket catch.
“Yeah, I snapped a few,” I said. “So you can see our momentary excitement.”
I downed a big glass of water, my third in the past hour. I wasn’t hungover, but I was close. Eight years in the Navy had resulted in a near inability to get hungover—that was, unless copious amounts of alcohol was involved.
“Hey, you guys look good here,” Scarlett said, peering at the screen. She tilted it our way so we could see. It was the selfie I’d taken of the four of us crowded around the buried treasure chest. “Even Jack looks decent,” she joked. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Be sure and tell him that,” Ange said. “In that exact wording. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”
She continued to slide through the photos as Ange and I closed our eyes and relaxed. Even Atticus had grown tired of fetch and lay sprawled out in the shade beside us and his water bowl.
“What’s this?” Scarlett said.
“What’s what?” I said, not bothering to open my eyes.
“This,” she said, raising her voice slightly.
I blinked my eyes open, glanced over at her, and saw that she was aiming the screen of my phone at me. She pointed at one of my applications, a green spiderweb logo.
“It’s a tracking program,” I said, turning my head back forward and closing my eyes again.
“What do you use it to track?”
“Different things.” I shrugged. “Murph, that hacker friend of ours, sent us a few of his tiny tracking devices. Most recently, we used it to follow one of Lynch’s guys by sticking it to the transom of their skiff.” She tapped her thumb on the screen to open the app and pulled the phone closer to her face. “It’s at the marina north of Turkey Point,” I added.
I was just thinking that it might be a good time to call Jane for a quick update when Scarlett said, “Uh, this sure doesn’t look like a marina.” I looked over at her, watching as she used two fingers to zoom out on the screen. “Dad, this tracker isn’t at a marina. It’s nowhere near the water.”
I looked at her, confused, then thought about the events of the past few days.
“Probably confiscated by police,” I said, waving her off. “The government took over that dump. Hopefully they’ll just raze it and clear it out of there.”
“No,” Scarlett said. “It doesn’t look like it’s at a government property either.”
I leaned forward, then rose from my chair, Scarlett having piqued my curiosity. Ange, listening in while reading a book, migrated over as well. Scarlett pressed the phone in my face when I reached her.
“See?” she said.
I focused on the screen, blinking a few times. Then my jaw dropped, and I snatched the phone and got a better look.
“Holy crap,” I whispered.
“What is it?” Ange said, rising onto her tippy toes and leaning in for a look.
“Scarlett’s a genius, that’s what,” I said.
Ange froze when her eyes focused on the tracker, the little blip of red indicating a position on the GPS.
“Wait a second,” Ange said. “That’s the—”
“The skiff I put the tracker on is the same one that you saw yesterday, flying alongside the jet skis across the bay,” I said, finishing her train of thought. “The same one that these
