Andrew Gross - The Dark Tide

“Protect you, Karen. And the kids. Isn’t that what you asked?”

Suddenly Karen felt sure. He did know. Much, much more than he was telling her. She could feel it in the quiver of his voice. Saul was Charlie’s mentor.

He knew. He had to know.

And now Saul knew that she knew, too.

“You never told me.” Karen wet her lips. “You knew that Jonathan Lauer had died. You knew he’d tried to contact me. You knew that Charlie was handling this money. Charlie’s dead, right, Saul? He’s dead-and you’re still protecting him.”

There was a pause.

“Of course he’s dead, Karen. Charlie loved you. That’s all you should be thinking about now. I think it’s best to keep it like that.”

“What did my husband do, Saul? What is it with you people? Why are you holding things back from me?”

“You enjoy yourself down there, Karen. Wherever you’re heading. You know I’ll take care of whatever needs to be done up here. You know that, don’t you, dear?”

“Yes,” Karen said. Her mouth was dry. A chill of uncertainty passed through her, a window left open to a world she once trusted.

“I know that, Saul.”

The twelve-seater Island Air Cessna touched down on the remote island strip, its wheels barely finding the slip of land in the green-blue Caribbean Sea. The small plane coasted to a stop at the terminal, basically a Quonset hut with a tower and a wind indicator.

Hauck winked to Karen across the aisle from him. “Ready?” Two baggage handlers in T-shirts and shorts ran out as soon as the propellers stopped.

The young pilot in wraparound sunglasses helped passengers out onto the tarmac at the bottom of the landing steps.

“Nice flight,” Hauck said.

“Welcome to paradise.” He grinned back.

They had taken the morning flight down to San Juan from JFK, caught the American Eagle connection to Tortola, and now the cramped puddle jumper over the glasslike sea to St. Hubert. Karen had been quiet for much of the trip. She slept, fidgeted through a paperback she’d brought along. Anxious. To Hauck she could not have looked prettier in a tight-fitting brown tank and white capris, an onyx pendant around her neck, and tortoiseshell sunglasses perched on her head.

Hauck helped her off the steps and flipped down his own shades. Whyever they had come here, it was beautiful. The sun was dazzling. A cool trade wind off the sea caressed them.

“Friedman? Hauck?”

A local representative from the resort, dressed in an epauletted white shirt and holding a clipboard, called out to them.

Hauck waved him over.

“Welcome to St. Hubert.” The young black man grinned amiably. “I’ll be taking you to the resort.”

They loaded their bags into a hotel Land Cruiser. The island seemed barely more than a large ribbon of sand and vegetation in the middle of the sea. Only a few miles from end to end. There was a small mountain splitting the island, some makeshift food stands, locals selling fruit and homemade rum, a few goats. A couple of colorful billboards for a local rent-a-car service and Caribe beer.

The trip to the hotel took a little more than fifteen minutes of bouncing over the uneven road. Soon they were pulling into the St. James’s resort.

The setting was beautiful, lush with vegetation and tall palm trees. It took about two seconds to establish that this wasn’t the type of place Hauck could afford on his own. A week here probably cost more than a month’s pay. At the open-air front desk under a thatched roof, Karen asked for the two adjoining rooms she’d reserved in the hotel part of the resort. They had discussed it. That was okay with Hauck. This wasn’t a holiday. It was important to remember just why they were here.

“Any messages?” Karen inquired as they checked in.

The pretty island desk clerk behind the counter scanned the computer. “I’m sorry, Ms. Friedman, none.”

A bellman took them out to their rooms, each tastefully decorated with a large canopied bed and expensive rattan furniture. A large marble bathroom with a big tub. Outside, palm trees swayed right up to the terrace, which looked over the perfect white-sand beach.

They met on their adjoining decks, gazing out at the sea. There were a few tented cabanas dotting the beach. And a gorgeous white thirty-foot yacht moored at the pier.

“It’s beautiful,” Hauck said, looking around.

“Yeah,” Karen agreed, inhaling the ocean breeze, “it is.”

“No point in just sitting around until you hear from him.” Hauck shrugged. “Want to meet for a swim?”

“What the hell?” Karen smiled. “Sure.”

A short while later, Karen came down in a stylish bronze one-piece and a tie-dyed sarong, her hair pinned above her head. Hauck had on a pair of “designer” Colby College shorts.

The water was warm and foamy. Tiny white waves lapped at their feet. The beach was pretty much deserted. It was June and the resort didn’t seem exactly filled. There was a small reef a couple of hundred yards out, a handful of sunbathers camped out on it. A young couple was playing paddleball. The sea was almost as calm as glass.

“God, it’s gorgeous.” Karen sighed, as if in heaven, wading in.

“Man,” Hauck agreed, diving into the surf. When he came up, he pointed. “Want to swim out to that reef?”

“Swim? How about I race you?” Karen grinned.

“Race me? You know who you’re talking to, lady?” Hauck laughed. “I’m still the third-leading all-time rushing leader for Greenwich High.”

“Oh, I’m quaking.” Karen rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “Watch out for sharks.”

She dove in gracefully ahead of him. Hauck let her get a couple of strokes’ head start, then went in after. He pulled hard, a few small waves breaking against him. Karen cut through the surf in an effortless crawl. He wasn’t gaining. No matter how he pushed he couldn’t seem to make up ground. Once or twice he tried to lunge and grab her legs. It took about three minutes. Karen beat him to the reef by a mile. She was already waiting as he climbed out, sucking air.

“I’ve been had.”

She winked. “Atlanta AAU twelve-and-under freestyle champion.” She shook the water out of her hair. “What the hell took you so long?”

“Ran into a shark,” he snorted, grinning coyly at her.

Karen lay back on the fine sand. Hauck sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, looking back at the thatched roofs and swaying palms on the beautiful tropical isle.

“So what else do you do well?” he asked, feigning dejection. “Just so I know.”

“Chili. Tennis. Large donors.” She grinned. “I’ve been known to successfully raise a few bucks in my time. You?”

“Clear out a hockey crease. Get cats out of trees. Munch on doughnuts,” he replied. “Catch the occasional blue.”

“You paint,” Karen said encouragingly.

“You saw it.”

“That’s true.” She poked at him playfully with her toe. “You could call it that!”

Hauck watched the beads of water drying on her wet skin.

“So what happens?” Karen asked, her tone suggesting that the subject had changed. “After?”

“After?”

“After I see Charles. Then what happens to him, Ty? All those things he’s done…”

“I don’t know.” Hauck exhaled. He shielded his eyes from the sun. “Maybe you can convince him to turn himself in. We found him-someone else could also. He can’t run forever.”

“You mean go to jail, right?”

Hauck shrugged.

“I don’t think that would happen. I don’t see that, Ty.”

He tossed a pebble into the water. “First let’s see what he has to say.”

She nodded. They looked at each other a few seconds, neither of them wanting to put into words their fears for a future they didn’t know. Then Karen prodded him again with her toe, smiled. “So…uh, double or nothing on the way back?”