Virginia Smith - Into the Deep

Though he had nothing but respect for the local police, whispered rumors of foreigners languishing in Mexican prisons had strengthened Ben’s desire to stay below their radar during the three years he’d lived and worked as a dive master in Cozumel. And the Reynosa cartel… He suppressed a shudder. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that Cesar was right. Sergio had gotten himself mixed up with some nasty people, and now he was dead. Nothing Ben did or said could change that. But he was still very much alive, and he intended to stay that way.

Still, why had Sergio showed up at his place last night? Maybe it had nothing to do with the Reynosa cartel. Maybe he’d vandalized the two buildings Cesar mentioned and was running to escape the police.

On the other hand, surely the news report would have included the detail that a police chase had occurred. No, more likely he’d been running from someone else, someone not necessarily official.

Reynosa.

Ben shook his head. But then why stop to use his baño? It didn’t make sense. Unless…

His pulse kicked up a notch as a possible reason occurred to him. With a quick backward glance toward Cesar, he slipped out the rear of the store and into his small apartment. A steady salt-scented ocean breeze filtered through the open window. Standing with his back against the door, he scanned the cramped room that served as bedroom, living room, dining room and with the aid of a microwave and coffee pot, the kitchen. Sergio had carried a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, which he’d taken into the second room of Ben’s apartment, the bathroom. Was he being chased because of something inside the bag? Something he’d stolen? Money? Drugs? Acid surged into Ben’s throat. Whatever it was, would Sergio have tried to stash it somewhere so he wouldn’t be found with it?

Ben crossed to the baño and scanned the tiny room looking for anything that hadn’t been here yesterday. Clean towels lay more or less folded on exposed shelves in one corner. No medicine chest, so his toothbrush and toiletries rested on the top shelf. The shower stall was a single unit—not possible to hide anything there. In fact, there was no place to conceal an item of any size.

I’m imagining things. He didn’t stash anything here.

Ben turned to go. As he did, his gaze slid across the toilet.

It looked no different. But somehow, he knew. After all, there was no place else within the confines of this cramped room. Moving slowly, he lifted the tank lid. Peered inside.

On the surface of the water was a plastic bag.

He recognized the waterproof pouch instantly. He and Cesar used a similar one on the scuba boat to keep their valuables, such as cell phones and cash, dry. This pouch was folded slightly to wedge it inside the tank in a way that wouldn’t interfere with the operation of the toilet. He couldn’t immediately identify the item inside the clear vinyl bag. Not the cash or drugs he was expecting, though. Stomach in his throat, Ben lifted the bag out. He tore open the Velcro seal, unfolded the top flap and emptied the contents into his palm.

A flash drive.

He almost caved in to the impulse that urged, Put it back. Pretend you never saw it. But what if someone from the Reynosa cartel came looking for it? What would they do to him if they found it in his toilet?

Ben stared at it, his mind cataloguing a list of possible data that might be stored on this device. It would have to be something big, something worth a man’s life. If it involved the Reynosa cartel, there was no telling.

The storage device gripped in his fist, Ben wrestled with his thoughts. One thing was certain. No way could he take this to the police. He’d be signing his own death warrant. And he couldn’t leave it here, either. He had to ditch it, someplace it would never be found. But where?

March 22

Key West, Florida

Double rows of razor-sharp teeth gleamed wickedly beneath a dead black eye. Nikki Hoffman could almost feel the chilly waters around her, the current pushing her toward powerful jaws….

“You wanna get up close and personal with a shark?”

Startled, Nikki tore her attention from the collage of photos tacked to a bulletin board and whirled around. A swimsuit-clad surfer dude, tanned and bare chested, had appeared from a back room of the small shop she’d just entered, apparently alerted to her presence by the jangle of bells on the front door. He flashed a blinding white grin that contained more teeth than the sharks in the underwater pictures she’d been studying.

“For a hundred bucks, I can teach you how to scuba dive and take you to a wreck where the sharks hang out.” The grin became a leer. “Private lesson. You’d get my personal attention.”

Nikki suppressed a shudder. Sharks gave her the creeps. Especially the ones with two legs and an agenda that had nothing to do with salt water. She’d met plenty like this guy when she had lived in Cozumel.

With an effort, she pushed the thought from her mind. She’d made a promise to herself to look forward during this vacation, not backward. That was one promise she intended to keep.

“Thanks, but I gave up diving a couple of years ago.” She unzipped the fanny pack that undoubtedly marked her as the tourist she was and fished through the contents. “I have a coupon here for a free sailing excursion.”

“Free?” The guy’s shoulders heaved with a laugh. “I don’t think so. The bosses don’t give anything away for free.”

“This is Key West Water Adventures, isn’t it?” Nikki glanced around the shop, looking for a sign. “This coupon is for a free excursion of my choice, up to a $100 value.”

She pulled out the coupon and placed it on the counter. He examined it without picking it up.

Now that she looked at it again, this coupon didn’t resemble the others in the welcome packet she’d received when she checked in to the time-share condo a few hours ago. It was just a black-and-white sheet of paper that might have been printed on a laser printer. But the logo at the top was identical to the one that adorned the sign hanging above the store’s front door.

“Yeah, that’s us, but I’ve never—” His gaze fixed on something over Nikki’s shoulder and the confusion cleared from his face. “There’s the boss now. You can ask him.”

Nikki turned and looked through the window. The shop lay midway down an L-shaped pier that stretched like a wooden finger into the bay. Beyond it, the mouth of the bay opened out into the blue Atlantic. Sunlight sparkled off the water’s surface, momentarily blinding her. She blinked and caught sight of a boat moving slowly toward the end of the pier. A flag on top waved in the breeze, red with a white diagonal slash. The sight of the rippling silk sent a surprising wave of longing through her, so strong it halted her breath for a few heartbeats. A scuba flag.

Those days are long gone. And he’s gone with them.

Swallowing back the surge of emotion, she snatched the coupon off the counter. “Thanks, I will.”

Outside, the humid heat slapped at her with an open palm. The breeze carried a distinctive odor, a blend of salt and fish as familiar to Nikki as the smell of cookies baking in her mother’s kitchen in Portland. She paused outside the shop and filled her lungs with the scent of the ocean. Many of the slips on the dock were empty, the boat owners probably enjoying this beautiful Friday afternoon. The wooden pier creaked as the remaining boats bobbed gently in the water, rocked by the gentle motion of this inlet. The scuba boat glided to a halt some distance away. She lowered the sunglasses from their resting place on top of her head and made her way toward the pier’s end.

When the boat had been secured, two couples climbed onto the dock lugging scuba equipment and beach towels. They laughed and chattered as they shouldered bulky bags and headed in her direction. Music blasted from speakers on the boat. Jimmy Buffett, appropriately enough.