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“Please tell me it’s the collab with Lil’ BayBay. You know I love me some BayBay!”
At my nod, Vivi did a little chair dance version of the San Francisco bay area rap sensation’s most popular moves. “Think he’ll let me be in the video?”
“Not if you do that in your audition,” I said, choking on a laugh. Vivi was good at a lot of things, but dancing was not one of them. “Tell you what, I’ll let you arrange all the I&A on it.”
“Let me? Isn’t that already my job?”
“I’ll send over the details.” I took a long swig of the energy drink. Then I asked, “How are our guests this morning?”
“If by guests, you mean immature, vapid soul-sellers? They’re pretty shaken up, but harmless.”
On my drive to the restaurant, Gray had informed me they were all young, hard-bodied twenty-somethings who’d signed up for an adventure competition slash reality dating show called The Love Triangle. The premise of which tasked pansexual relationship seekers with solving the mysteries of the Bermuda Triangle.
Basically they were just a bunch of kids excited for a once-in-a-lifetime experience. While they were at it, they could grab a little attention, a bit of fame, and maybe love, but mostly social media followers. Which meant each of them had an extensive online presence. In other words, they were not invisibles. Not even close.
“Don’t worry, Viv, they’ll be out of here at nightfall. All their backgrounds checked out, but Gray’s still digging through umbrella companies to determine if the production company’s legit.”
Or more accurately, finding proof that it wasn’t legit and, more importantly, who was behind it.
I smiled and thanked Willa as she brought out our plates. She could tell we were talking business, as we often did, and didn’t linger. As I took my first bite of romaine-wrapped Caribbean jerk chicken salad, I let my gaze travel across the cerulean blues of the ocean. The surface gave nothing away about what lay beneath. Never did.
Before taking another bite, I asked, “Did they tell you specifically what secret they were tasked with discovering?”
Vivi swallowed a bite of her crab risotto. “Said it was supposed to be a dive to a shipwreck. Some yacht that disappeared en route to Escobar’s private island. They were simply to explore the wreck and get some video footage to analyze.”
There was a shipwreck in those coordinates, but it hadn’t been in route to Norman’s Cay, the island that was once instrumental to the Medellin Cartel. No, the ship forty-five meters below the surface of the Atlantic had gone down on its way to Marakata Cay over twenty years ago. I knew, because I had been on it.
The depth wasn’t suitable for recreational divers, even skilled ones, as it was what was considered a deep dive. In addition, the waters protecting it were heavily inhabited with sharks. Plus, the wreckage was highly unstable. It could shift or collapse with no warning. Legitimate production companies would never risk the lives of contestants so blatantly. “Are they even SCUBA qualified? Experienced with diving on wrecks?”
“As I understand it, they were given a crash course. Two had certifications, but admitted a dive like this would be beyond their limits and were relieved when they didn’t end up going down.”
“Why on earth would they agree to go out with a storm approaching?”
“Honestly, I don’t think they had any idea what they’d gotten themselves into. All they cared about was beefing up their social media presences and parlaying the experience into a quasi-career. Production was on a tight schedule and pressured them to get at least one dive in. They assured the kids they’d be back on solid land before the storm affected them, but then it changed course and quickly became a dangerous situation. A helicopter was sent to retrieve everyone, but the crew took the first ride back. The storm intensified, preventing the helo from returning. Via radio, they were told they’d have to ride it out and not to worry. That as soon as the weather cleared, the crew would come back. That was the last communication they received.”
My stomach dropped. Those kids had been left to die. That had been the ‘production company’s’ plan all along—use the kids to get intel on the wreck without risking their own lives then dispose of them. And for what?
Money? Treasure? More?
I quickly sent Gray a message to arrange for the kids to sit with a sketch artist if the ship’s crew hadn’t been located yet. I also approved hotel, flights, and any other expenditures for them to get home safely to their families. If the supposed production company had dumped them once, they were bound to do it again.
Wouldn’t be the last time they tried to come for my secrets, either.
If not these people, someone else. And while I didn’t give a crap if some modern-day pirates died chasing treasure or on some witch hunt for proof of my past, I did care about innocent people being sacrificed for my sins.
I couldn’t sit by and do nothing. Not knowing these kids could’ve died.
“You all right, love? Not hungry?”
I stared at my plate halfheartedly. The food was absolutely delicious, but now I’d lost my appetite. “Last night is just catching up with me, sorry.”
“Zee. Go. Get some rest. We’ve got things all taken care of here.”
I nodded and made a show of following Vivi’s advice, but instead of going to my suite, I headed straight to the war room to view the sonar footage. The equipment wasn’t sophisticated and coral had started a decent covering, but the video clips showed enough for me to recognize the ship as the Esmeralda. The image took me right back to those final moments.
The circular orange raft careened as it hung from the yacht’s side, an awkward kite rising and plummeting from the sheering gusts. Tethered only from above, safety dangled and swung like an out-of-control pendulum. I gripped the railing, staring at the space between the raft and yacht as they pitched out of unison, pulling wide from each other before bashing together. Any misstep threatened to break my legs then drop me down into the violent seas.
“Where’s the rest of the crew?” I hollered over the storm.
