Page 47

Chapter 47

Loot

Calvin

We’re another two months into the rainy season. You’d think that would be a quarter of the year—three months each for winter, spring, summer, and fall. The fucking rain should get three months. But that’s not how things work here.

The treehouse is holding up. It’s solid. And it’s better than stressing over the Rock Candy’s water and sewage. The treehouse has something the Rock Candy doesn’t—a cool breeze. Zane and Dante have rigged up louvered window covers, so the wind zips right through it at night. I’ve also grown fond of the noises of the jungle. The ocean is just loud, whereas the jungle has a melody to it.

The most important part of the treehouse, though, is that it’s a hell of a lot safer for Chiefie. With our watch up on the top platform, I’m a lot more comfortable sleeping through the night—something I haven’t been for a long time.

But not tonight. Tonight, I’m hanging out on the ship. “If we all work on it tomorrow, I might get the crank to move,” I say. “Maybe a centimeter.”

“Fuck, yeah.” Zane lifts the water bottle in a toast. “Then we all work together to get that shit moving. It’s too bad the tide is taking half of our day today.”

I slap him on his back. “It’s fine. I’ve got enough to do on my own.”

Sam beams at me. Getting the crank to move is just the first step. There’s a lot of other work we still have to get through. “Tide’s going out. We need to launch the tender. You two okay staying?”

Easton nods. “I’ve got the radio tonight, and Calvin’s going to sleep early.”

“Good luck with that,” Sam says. No way I’m not going to use all the time I have.

“There’s food for you in the galley.” Dante climbs into the tender and holds Haley’s hand. She doesn’t need it, but she takes it. With the funky tides today, we left the observation platform back at camp empty.

“Thanks. It’s much appreciated,” Easton says.

I’ve worked for another hour in the engine room when Easton knocks on the door. “I’m taking the WaveRunner back to the cave for the night.”

“Fine.”

“Do you want to watch?” Easton asks. It’s a safety protocol that Zane put in place. When anyone takes the WaveRunner to the cave—usually Easton because he’s the best swimmer—someone stands on the back deck and watches.

“I’ll be right there.” I grab a rag and wipe my hands, then head out back. He’s waiting on the swim platform. I cup my hands and yell, “Take the damn vest.”

“Right.” He puts it on but doesn’t latch it up.

I roll my eyes at him, but what am I going to say? Give him Zane’s safety talk? Yeah, I don’t think so. I want to get back to the engine room, but Haley would have my hide if I didn’t wait until Easton was back on board. Easton takes off on the WaveRunner as I watch.

I’m sitting on a lounger, almost enjoying the sun on my skin, when it clicks. This is the first time I’ve been alone since my hike all those months ago when I found the pomelos. And now I’m craving pomelos.

It’s not long before Easton’s head appears in the distance. Typical—he’s left the vest back at the cave. Whatever. I’m turning into my dad. I go down to the swim platform and put out my hand to pull him up from the water.

“Oh no, I left my vest back in the cave.”

“Ha ha. I’m going to tell Haley on you.”

“Fucker, you wouldn’t.”

“Maybe I would. Maybe I wouldn’t.” I shrug.

“I’m not trading my time next to Haley for your silence,” Easton says.

“Damn straight. I don’t play games with the woman I love.”

Easton dries his hair with a beach towel as we head up the backstairs, through the main salon, to the dining room where the VHF is sucking up battery power. I haven’t been able to get enough current running to plug anything big in. No computers, hair dryers, or power tools, that’s for sure.

“I’ll listen all night. Go get a good ten hours of sleep.” Easton pats me on my back.

“Yeah, you know, sleep and me don’t work that way.” I flop into a dining room chair and put my feet up on the back of another one. I really wish I could get some sleep when I’m on board. That would be freaking fantastic.

Easton opens the logbook. He’s got a handwritten copy of the notes from the back of Rocky’s journal on the table.

“You going to stare at those numbers all night long like Zane does?”

“Why not? Nothing else to do.” Easton shrugs. “Hey, why did you take that panel off and put it back?” He points over my shoulder.

“What panel?” I crane my neck.

“The one on the far side. Over there.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. I certainly haven’t put any panels back in place. What would be the point? If— when we get the ship running, we’re going to want easy access to any of the areas that were damaged. We’re not going to be throwing a cocktail party. “We haven’t ever removed that panel,” I say with firmness. “There are no systems behind it.”

Easton stands up and moves around me. He taps the wall. “This here? It looks like the marks we made on the first few panels when we took them off.”

“You worried about the finish on your boat? I’m sure insurance will pay to have it buffed out. The hole in the side of the Rock Candy’s hull? Not so much.” I laugh. Most of the wall panels around the main salon are off and stacked on the other side of the room. All the way from the wheelhouse back to the galley, all on the side with the mechanicals.

“Fuck you, Green. Look here.” He taps the wall.

I stand. He’s right. I should just go down to the primary cabin and get some sleep, but Easton has a pry bar in his hand. “Fuck, Rockwell, if you’re going to do it, do it right.” I take the tool out of his hand and pop the bracket that holds it in place. I move it to the side, giving Easton a view of the inside I don’t have.

“Holy shit!” Easton cries.

“What?” I’m walking the panel to the other side of the main salon to put it with the others.

“It’s like someone went to Best Buy and loaded up on electronics.” Easton’s holding a box in each hand, both from leading manufacturers of yacht electronics. A red Simrad box and a black Digital Yacht box. “I’m guessing these might be replacements for the snap boards in the wheelhouse?” He hands me one.

“These are exactly what we need. What else is in there?” I duck my head in, hoping for some engine parts, but it’s just boxes of electronics.

“I’m guessing this isn’t normal storage for duplicates? Something the shipyard forgot to tell Sam about?”

“No. This... this makes that box of clues Zane keeps obsessing over even more complicated.” I slap the wall.

“The saboteur was after the yacht? Not the diamond, not trying to kill Emily and me... and everyone else along with us? This is...”

“Amazing. Right now, I don’t fucking care how any of this shit got here. I only care about installing it.” My brain is whirling.

“Yeah, no way either of us is going to sleep now.”

“Fuck no. Help me get the rest of the boxes out.” I grab three red boxes and stack them on the table. A few hours later, we’ve got ten boxes of components, and fuck me, I only knew seven of them were damaged. Which somehow pisses me off even more. Most of the parts are plug and play. Which is fabulous. But the high-frequency radio, the one that could get us some actual help? There are no parts for that one.

“Something else must have gone wrong.” Easton’s pushing the trash from the boxes into a bag. I’ve got sweat running down my back and one of the last parts in my hands.

“What do you mean?”

“Why put all these parts in the wall if you weren’t going to come and claim the yacht?”

“We were in a weird current with the storm. The other raft got yanked in the direction we should have been.”

“So you think whoever was going to put all this back in found my sister’s raft?”

“I don’t know anything anymore, but yeah, sure. That sounds plausible.”

“Don’t get snippy about it. We’re talking about my sister and my dad. Now I’m not sure it’s a good thing if they were found.”

“And Anders, Shayla, the rest of the crew. I’m not snippy. I’m never snippy.”

Easton glares. “You’re the definition of snippy, grumpy, whatever you want to call it.” He’s got that I’m counting to ten look. The one my dad used a lot. Huh. Right, well, maybe I am snippy. “Whatever the fuck you want.”

The VHF radio on the sideboard crackles, and excited voices come over it. Voices that sound remarkably clear.

“Kill the light.” I grab the manual binoculars and flare gun. Easton moves to go to the back deck, but I grab his arm. “Up top, stay low.”

We fly up the stairs, and when we get there, we’re only there for a few seconds before Easton turns to me. “There’s too many of them.”