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“So it’s been a little while. Let’s pray it together now. ‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.’”
Hez mumbled the familiar words along with him, but they didn’t help. “The thing is, it’s my fault that she’s dead, and I can’t change it. How can I accept that?” He pictured her lifeless face staring up at him as he held her in his arms in the pool. His throat swelled and his vision blurred. “How can I ever . . . ?”
Jimmy was silent for a long moment. “Yeah, serenity can be hard, especially when you’re trying to do it on your own. Could be there’s some serenity down at that Pelican Harbor beach you’ve been bragging on. What do you say we go down there and throw a football around and do some barbecuing or something? Maybe we’ll find a little serenity while we’re at it.”
“It’s a long drive.”
“Yeah, perfect for listening to a book I just downloaded.”
“I don’t know, Jimmy. I—”
“Don’t you argue with me, Hez. I’m still your boss. Don’t you forget that. And I’ll pick up some burgers and charcoal on the way. No more grocery stores for you today.”
Hez managed a chuckle. “Thanks, Jimmy. I really appreciate it.”
He ended the call and went out on the balcony. Pelican Harbor’s bustling little French Quarter spread out below him. His shaky breathing became even, and a light breeze cooled his face, bringing the scent of beignets and the faint strains of jazz.
He felt calmer, steadier. The dark weight of guilt and grief had lifted a little—but it still hung over him, waiting to crash down again with crushing force.
Chapter 12
The early September breeze, damp and chill, blows in off the water. I zip my jacket and shove my hands deep into the pockets. It’s not really cold—my car dashboard showed seventy-three degrees when I parked—but even that gets uncomfortable when you’ve been standing in the wind on a beach for an hour in the middle of the night. I’d like to wait in my car, but that’s out of the question, of course.
I’m not on this dark, deserted strip of sand at Pelican State Park by choice. We had to tighten operational security after the blackmail incident with Luis. He knew what he was smuggling, and he managed to get a driver to tell him where it was going, which gave him enough information to threaten us. Now the packages are sealed at the source in Mexico or Guatemala, and the shippers are under strict instructions not to tell anyone what they contain. And drivers no longer pick up shipments at the water’s edge. I do.
The new system seems to be working, but I don’t like it. I’m too involved. Much more involved than I ever wanted or planned to be. This was supposed to be safe and easy—something I could handle from behind my desk while drinking my morning coffee. I also wasn’t supposed to have to kill anyone.
Luis’s right foot washed ashore last week. The police think it belonged to a drowned fisherman or migrant, but they found it near where I dumped the body. Also, the foot was in a black cowboy boot, and I can still feel the leather of his boots as I dragged the body across the beach to his boat.
I shiver, but not from the cold.
Finally, a boat approaches. Its lights are off, so it’s little more than a black shape in the water a couple hundred yards offshore.
A helicopter roars overhead, flying low. Its spotlight snaps on as it zooms over the water. A cone of light picks out the boat almost immediately. A man sits in the stern. He’s already gunning the powerful motor and turning away from shore. Another boat appears out of the darkness, speeding toward the first. It will be a race, but I have no doubt who will win.
Coast Guard or cops. Maybe both. They knew he was coming, so they knew he was meeting someone onshore. I turn and run for my car.
I’m too late. A police car is already parked in the entrance to the parking lot, engine running and lights on. My car is the only vehicle in the lot, and it’s lit up like an opera star singing a solo.
Panic rises in my chest, but I fight it back. I need to think, fast and hard. They’ll be searching the shore, so running probably won’t work. I might be able to escape by swimming, but they’ve seen my car, so they’ll know I was here. My only advantage is that I almost certainly don’t fit the profile of the smuggler they think they’re hunting.
I make my decision, take a deep breath, and walk into the beams from the police car’s lights. I hear a car door open, but I can’t see anything in the glare. I shade my eyes. “Is everything all right, Officer?”
A male silhouette appears in the light, hand on his gun. “Let me see your license.” I can’t see his face, but the voice sounds young.
I take it out and hand it to him. “What’s going on? That helicopter scared me half to death.” Which is absolutely true. The best way to hide lies is to bury them in a pile of truths, which is my plan.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Walking on the beach.”
“At one in the morning?”
“I couldn’t sleep. My job can be pretty stressful.”
“Did you see anyone on the beach?”
“No, but I noticed a pickup parked on the side of the road about a half mile back.”
