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The water is warm when we walk in up to our shoulders, then walk in the direction of the boats.
I see the guards in the distance, but the sun hasn’t risen yet, and there is enough commotion to keep people’s attention away from the water.
When we approach the first boat in line, I nod to Callie to go around it, and we move deeper, where we have to swim.
I know she is freaking out right now, but I keep an eye on her.
“Callie,” I whisper and nod toward the boat, pressing my palms to the hull and moving along its side. If she has something to hold on to, it will make her calmer.
We skirt the first boat, then duck under the pier and swim from beam to beam to the next one. We repeat this with two more boats until we get to theMorning Star.
Footsteps boom against the wooden boards above us as we stall under the pier, bobbing in the water. This is not the sketchiest thing I’ve done in the last few days. I feel more or less in check. With everything that has happened, somehow I’m attuned to danger.
“The last containers are loaded,” the voice rasps above us. “Get the paperwork stamped.”
When the footsteps disappear, and it’s all quiet, I look at Callie.
Our heads bob above water, and Callie is not taking it well. I can see it—her wild gaze that doesn’t focus, her slow blinking as she breathes through her mouth.
“Baby girl. It’s alright,” I say, swimming up to her and cupping her face.
“Just tell me what to do, okay?” She tries to smile.
“Yeah. I’m as good with blowjob instructions as with breaking into a port,” I joke, knowing the words will jerk her out of her panic.
Her eyes snap at me.
I grin. “Are you blushing?” I kiss her softly on the lips.
And yeah, now she is blushing.
“I might have missed some pointers that day in the shower,” I say, studying her growing smile.
She shakes her head, her lips puckered to hide a grin.
“We’ll work on it after this is over, yeah?”
I chuckle.
She is good, distracted from her panic.
“Alright, baby girl. We only have a minute or so,” I cut straight to business.
We swim up to a beam, I reach up to hook my hands on the deck and pull up, bringing my eyes above the deck and scan it—the two guys who were here are walking toward the security booth.
I sink back into water. “Now,” I order.
It feels like a movie when I push Callie up to help her get onto the deck, then do the same, and we crouch on all fours toward the boat, then onto its deck.
It’s empty, and I thank God for it as I grab Callie’s hand and pull her toward the stairs that lead down to the cabin.
It’s dark and musty inside, the smell of engine oil and gas mixed with the stench of seaweed. Veering among the stacks of crates and boxes and a pile of hazmat suits, I push Callie to the very back of the cabin, between the crates and the back wall, and squeeze myself into it.
It’s too tight. But we’ll stay like this for as long as needed. As soon as we are far enough from the island, no one will turn around to take us back.
My heart is pounding like mad.
The men come back in less than five minutes with several others.
