Cap didn’t believe that for a second. Once they found the bag, they’d all be dead.
Part of him hoped not to find the bag, but he’d look, because not looking wasn’t an option.
Glancing over his shoulder, he found the ladies and Jonathan standing at the sides of the boat, peering out over the water just as they were told to do.
Cap eased the boat into motion and began the grid. Back and forth. Slow and deliberate. Moving closer to shore with each pass. The depth of the water decreased, but it was still too deep to ensure they’d spot the bag with the fish finder, and between the wind and waves, who knew how far the bag had traveled? It was also possible that another vessel spotted the bag and scooped it up.
Minutes crawled.
“Where the fuck is this bag?” the Colombian yelled.
Emma flinched but didn’t say a word. Probably too scared to speak. Cap admired her quiet strength, holding her composure. It wasn’t every day that a Colombian drug dealer with a gun stood next to you.
They’d only been at it for a few minutes. What did this guy expect? Didn’t he realize how enormous Lake Michigan was?
“We’re searching. This lake is big. It’ll take time.”
“We don’t have time.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m doing the best I can. We’re looking. I’m watching the equipment. Did the bag sink? Is it floating? Did someone else pick it up? I don’t know.”
The man’s eyes went wide and dark. The vein protruding out of the left side of his forehead pulsed and grew larger. He lifted his hand and tapped his fingertips to his temple. Had it not occurred to him that somebody else might have beaten him to the bag? Is that thought what had brought on this nervous tic?
“Son of a bitch!”
In silence, Cap continued to move slowly, back and forth in a grid motion.
The radio crackled.
“Cap, this is Mick.”
Cap’s heart thudded.
It was Mick from Fish Stalker Charters calling out to him.
The Colombian’s gaze snapped to the radio.
“Do not answer.”
“If I don’t, he’s going to think it’s strange and that maybe something’s wrong. We communicate out here all the time. We don’t ignore each other.”
“Cap, are you all right over there? I see you running a grid. Makes me think you’re catching some fish in that spot if only you had lines out on the water. Do you need help? Is something going on?”
Concern laced Mick’s tone.
Cap wanted to answer his friend, but what would he say? He probably looked stupid right about now, running a grid formation on the water without rods in holders and lines in the water.
He hoped Mick wouldn’t come over. There would be hell to pay if he did, but he didn’t know that.
“Cap,” Mick sounded over the radio, “why is there a cigarette boat following you, and why do you not have lines in the water? What’s going on?”
Cap fixed his gaze on the Colombian. “I’m going to have to answer him. He’s not going to let it go.”
“Cap, do you need help? Do you need the Coast Guard? Do you need the police boat? Is something going on?” Mick asked as his vessel narrowed in on them.
The Colombian’s jaw tightened.
The last thing they needed was for the Coast Guard or the police boat to show up.
