Page 13 of Secrets Beneath the Waves

It sounded like she intended to die by suicide before the worst happened to her.

Again.

“As long as I’m here, how about we try to work together to keep you alive?”

Zeyla shrugged again. “Suit yourself. It’s less boring than working alone.” She pulled open the car door. “Let’s go see what’s on this flash drive.”

Ramon slid into the driver’s seat. “Do we want to make an anonymous tip to the police that there’s a dead guy out here?”

Zeyla shook her head. “Let’s leave him to be buried in the same place he lived. The one place where he felt safe.”

“I guess we can’t argue with the man about that.”

Even if, in the end, the fortress he had built didn’t keep him safe at all.

CHAPTER

SIX

Claira Morrisalways put her keys between her knuckles when she left the hospital, walking through the creepy parking lot to her car. The hospital administration said they should call security for an escort, but those guys were always doing rounds like they were doctors. Every time she’d seen one in the hall and asked, she got an eyeroll, and that was it.

Besides, she had a date.

She barely had enough time to go home, shave her legs, get dressed, and fix her hair and makeup before Mitch—so hot, and everyone thought so when she’d shown them his Instagram profile—showed up at her house in his Jeep.

Drinks. Dancing. Her feet would hurt so bad by the end of the night, but the shoes she’d bought made her legs lookamazing.

The best kind of night to keep from thinking about the old guy who expired on the table today. Geez, that had been the saddest thing ever, comforting his wife and knowing nothing would make it better for her. She had to live without him now.

Made her wonder if long-term relationships were even worth the heartache. It ended one way or another, and then you had to go on alone.No thanks.Claira wasn’t all that interested in settling down. She’d rather keep the fun parts of her life,spending her money on whatever she wanted. Not being told what to do, except by doctors who thought their student loans made them more important than her. Like she didn’t have way more experience treating patients than they did. She’d been a nurse for nearly ten years.

Halfway home, Claira’s car clicked oddly, the sound kind of muffled by her stereo. She was between songs, so maybe it had happened before, and she just couldn’t hear it.

Her check engine light came on.

The car veered in the lane, even though she had a grip on the wheel. “What?”

She fought the steering, and someone in the oncoming lane honked at her.

“As if I can help it!”

He couldn’t hear her, but whatever. She needed to yell at someone.

Claira wrestled the wheel and got the car around a bend, where she pulled into an apartment complex. The back entrance, she guessed. Just the back of a couple of three-story apartment buildings and a fence lined with weeds and some trash.

There were probably homeless people down here. Gross.

She let out a frustrated sound and wound up against a tree. The car bumped the tree, but it wasn’t too bad. She slammed a hand on the steering wheel. “Stupid piece of junk!”

The driver’s door opened.

“Miss, do you need some help?”

She needed her phone, not some do-gooder. “I broke dow?—”

She didn’t even get the word out before a stinky cloth was shoved over her mouth and nose. She’d seen this movie. It didn’t end well.

Claira fought his hand, but panic made her breathe too hard, and she got two lungs full of chloroform. That’s what was…