He interrupted her thoughts with, “Want to cut through the old warehouse?”
Obliterating the view to the water was a large metal building that had once been the spot where shipping vessels stored their wares after offloading them onto the island. It had been abandoned years earlier when the big docking stations for the cruise ships—along with their high-tech, machine-operated warehouses—had been built. Tourists avoided the place now because of its menacing air. But the locals knew it was a shortcut to the bars and restaurants along the waterfront.
“That place gives me the creeps after dark.” She shuddered.
“Oh, come on,” Winston cajoled. “Some of the best times we ever had were in that building after sunset. Remember the rave Eddie Johnson hosted there our senior year?”
She flattened her mouth. “I remember you took Molly and spent half the night staring at the glitter on your arms and the other half asking to braid my hair because, quote, ‘It feels like corn silk, Chrissy!’”
He laughed. “Whatever happened to Eddie anyway? He was the only guy I ever knew who could pull off wearing a conch shell necklace un-ironically.”
“Last I heard he was doing a dime after getting caught trying to sell the grouper he found on the beach outside his folks’ house.”
Drifting microwave-size packages of cocaine were known locally as “groupers.” After being jettisoned by smugglers fleeing the authorities, the packages sometimes washed up on the beaches or else were found floating out at sea by fishermen. No one knew exactly howmanydrugs were recovered. The mishmash of agencies, from the DEA to the Coast Guard to the local cops, didn’t tend to share information with each other. Also, a good number of the found drugs never made it into the hands of the authorities.
A lot of locals sold their “catch” on the streets. Despite the risk of prison time, one grouper could net an islander more money in a week than they could make in a year from their fishing boats or T-shirt shops.
“That’s too bad,” Winston frowned as he pulled her toward the slightly ajar door on the side of the warehouse. The chain that had kept it locked had been cut years ago. Now the busted links lay on the ground in a rusty pile. “I always liked Eddie.”
He slid through the door, dragging Chrissy in after him. The air inside the warehouse was dank and foul-smelling. At night, the place was pitch black, the only light coming from the moon shining through the holes in the roof or from the flashlight feature on a cell phone.
Chrissy reached into her hip pocket to pull out her phone, but stopped when she realized one of the old cargo doors facing the water’s edge was open. The ambient glow from the lights along the wharf drifted into the warehouse, casting everything in shades of deep gray.
She blinked until her eyes adjusted. Once they did, she saw the dark shape of a pickup truck parked next to the open cargo door.
“What in the world?” Winston whispered as a diver climbed up the ladder leading down into the water. Sitting on the edge of the loading bay, the diver pulled off his fins and shrugged out of his tanks. Then he stood and dripped water onto the stained concrete floor as he walked to the back of the truck. The sound of him throwing his fins and tanks into the metal bed echoed around the empty space like a cannon shot.
Chrissy’s heart beat a fast rhythm. The hairs along the back of her neck stood up. Something wasn’t right.
“Let’s go.” She tugged on Winston’s arm.
“Way ahead of you,” he whispered, having already turned to herd her back through the cracked-open door.
“Who are they? Do you recognize them?” she hissed over her shoulder.
Winston didn’t have a chance to respond before a loudbangblasted through the warehouse. Instinct made Chrissy duck. When she turned back, it was to see a dark stain blooming like a fiendish flower across the front of Winston’s T-shirt. His eyes flew so wide the whites glowed in the gloom, beacons of disbelief and terror.
“Winston!” she cried and grabbed his outstretched hands. But his fingers slipped through her grip as he fell backward.
He wasn’t a small man, so he timbered like a redwood, hitting the floor and bouncing sickeningly.
Horror made her blood run thick and hot, and she instantly dropped to her knees. Which meant she saw Winston’s eyes roll back in his head and heard the long, rattling breath that exited his big chest right before he fell ominously still.
A noise like an animal caught in a steel trap pealed from the back of her throat. Abject terror had a sound, and she was making it.
Winston, no!
Another loud report reverberated around the warehouse and a neat hole opened up in the metal wall over her shoulder. The streetlight outside lasered its golden glow through the breach.
Her heart was the surf during a storm, crashing violently against her ribs. Her breaths were fast and shallow and seemed to bring no oxygen. But her brain was still functioning.
It screamed,Get out, get out, get out!
Grabbing Winston’s ankles, she heaved with all her might. Her heels scrabbled against the slick floor, and from the corner of her eye, she saw a man round the hood of the truck. Not the slightly built diver. No, this guy wasbig.
The end of the gun in his hand blinked bright orange a split second before another bullet whizzed by her, slamming into the door behind her and pushing it open another inch.
Fear was fuel for the adrenaline that scorched her veins. For a split second she was caught between the need to save her friend and the need to save herself. Instinct made the decision for her when she saw the huge pool of blood spreading from beneath Winston’s body. It was black and sparkled evilly in the dim light of the warehouse.
