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Our dinghy docked at the stern of the yacht, bobbing on the gentle swells as the crew secured the ropes and helped us one by one over the side and onto Sea Ray .

“No, no, leave your equipment, please,” a petite crew girl chastised Gisèle as she attempted to hoist her own pack from the pile at the bottom of the boat. “You, too,” she said, stopping Laurent, whose pack was slung over his shoulder.

He began to protest, and she chided him in a playful tone. “You are not working here, Laurent. You are a guest.” She caught his eye and smiled, pulling her long caramel braid over her shoulder. “Let us take care of you.”

The flirtation in her voice hinted at an intimacy that sparked a searing flash of jealousy in me, followed by embarrassment. I had no grounds to be jealous. Of course these would be the girls Laurent dated. They had things in common that we never would. He should date them.

I allowed the girl with the braid to help me out of the dinghy, the dregs of adrenaline rendering my legs noodle-like as I stepped onto the teakwood stern. “Leave your wetsuit here,” she said, pointing to the pile of wetsuits. “We wash for you.”

I scanned her name tag as I unzipped my shorty. “Thank you, Marielle.”

The inside of my suit was rough, my skin coated in fine grains of sand as I peeled it off, making sure my bikini was in place.

When I looked up, Laurent was under the shower shirtless, head tilted back, the tattoo that wrapped beneath his arm and up his back on display as he ran his hands through his hair while water cascaded over his chest.

I must have been staring, because Marielle gave me a knowing smile as she took my wetsuit and started the shower opposite Laurent’s for me.

I quickly turned away to wash the sand from my body, undoing my braid to rinse the seawater from my hair.

When I cut off the water, I found Marielle holding a towel out for me.

I squeezed out my hair and took it, thanking her.

She and another girl gathered the wetsuits while I wrapped the towel around me and followed Laurent up the stairs.

Cody and Jennifer had disappeared somewhere inside, but Gisèle and Samira were by the pool, topless as usual, rehashing their experience below as they slathered themselves in sunscreen.

“Can we get two double vodka sodas?” Samira called out to the crew guy setting up towels on the loungers around the pool. She turned, spying Laurent and me. “You guys want drinks?” she asked.

Laurent and I both shook our heads as he steered me gently past the pool with a hand at the base of my spine. I saw Samira’s gaze flit to his hand, then to me, with a flash of interest before she returned her attention to Gisèle, lathering her back with SPF50.

“Are you okay?” Laurent asked as we reached the railing on the far side of the main living area.

I nodded. “I got freaked out for a minute down there, but I’m fine.”

I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun and gazed across the water at the developers’ gray-toned yacht, watching as their crew unloaded scuba gear from their dinghy.

“You are wondering whether they clouded the water as revenge for Tyson’s behavior yesterday,” Laurent said.

I nodded. “Cody sure seems to think so. But how?” I asked. “And is that even legal?”

“I don’t know about legal, but possible. A few weeks ago, a guest sank an underwater scooter, and it got lodged under coral that pressed the power button. Made such a mess we couldn’t find it until it ran out of juice and the sea calmed .”

“But aren’t those things made to float?”

“So are boats,” he said with a shrug. “Sometimes they sink. What I am wondering is who told them where we are diving today.”

He shifted his gaze from the yacht to our second dinghy, still tied to the mooring ball where we’d left it when we motored back to the yacht. I could make out only two people on board. He checked his dive watch and frowned.

“What?” I asked.

“They should be up by now,” he said. “They only have five to ten minutes of oxygen left.”

A jolt of alarm went through me. “Shit. Who’s still down there?”

He thought for a moment. “Tyson, Allison, and Rémy.”

“What should we do?”

“Let me—” He glanced around, looking for a crew member. “Marielle,” he called out as she crested the top of the stairs from the landing pad. She came toward us, shading her eyes against the sun. As she drew nearer, he pointed to the walkie on her belt. “Have you heard from the other dinghy?”

She shook her head.

“Can I?”

She palmed the walkie and pressed the button. “ Moon Two, this is Sea Ray, can you hear me?”

“Go for Moon Two, ” crackled a male voice through the speaker. Marielle handed Laurent the walkie, and he spoke into it.

“This is Laurent. Divers should be up already. Any sign?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you have extra tanks on board?”

“Three, fully loaded,” came the reply.

“Is either of you ready to go in the water?”

“This is Evan,” came a second male voice. “I can suit up.”

Laurent released the button and looked at Marielle. “Take me over?”

She nodded, and he spoke into the walkie. “Headed to you,” he said. “Suit up, we’re going down.”

Laurent met my eye only briefly, but I could see the worry in his face as he turned to cut across the deck toward the stern with purpose, Marielle trailing in his wake.