Dawn arrived too soon, yet I welcomed it. The alarm's soft chime pulled me from tangled emotions like never before.
We dressed quickly and stopped again at the deli, this time ordering roast-beef and chicken-salad subs. The worms had stayed fresh in the refrigerator; the boat launched without complaint. Once clear of the harbor, Marta leaned into the wind, hair whipping like dark silk. "It feels so different on this boat," she murmured. "Simpler. Freer. Because it's yours… because it's you."
I reached for her hand, lacing our fingers as the tri-hull planed across the Sound. The GPS and fish-finder guided us straight to the wreck. I anchored carefully, letting the boat settle above the site. Two hookless lines went overboard as cover. I shrugged into the wetsuit, checked my regulator and the Glock holstered at my weight belt, then tied the thin safety line to my harness. "Five sharp tugs if anything approaches. I'll surface immediately."
Marta nodded, eyes steady now, trust anchoring her fear. I rolled backward into the water.
The cold embraced me like an old adversary, but the suit warmed quickly. At thirty-five feet the yacht rested upright, ghostly in the green murk. Visibility hovered around twelve feet; my dive light carved sharp beams through the gloom. I circled the hull first—no bullet holes, no impact damage. Inside, the sea cocks stood wide open. Deliberate flooding. Marta's purse lay exactly where she had described. No trace of David. No blood, no shell casings. The story she had told me was true; the one he would spin for the world was a lie.
I surfaced behind the boat and handed up the dripping purse. Marta's fingers brushed mine as she took it, a silent thank-you that carried more weight than words. I stowed my gear, peeled off the wetsuit, and we motored a safe distance to a productive ledge off Crane Point. Fresh bait went down. I passed her a rod.
Before she could ask, I spoke. "No bullet holes. Sea cocks opened from inside. David wasn't there—and he never intended to be. He staged it. The other boat found you at night because he wanted them to. He's trying to disappear and collect on a life-insurance policy he took out on you without your knowledge."
Marta's face paled, but she did not cry. Instead, a quiet fury kindled in her blue eyes—steel beneath the softness I was coming to cherish. "He was going to let me die for money."
I nodded, anger simmering in my own chest. "I think so. But he won't succeed. Not while you're with me."
Her rod suddenly doubled over. She gasped, then laughed in startled delight as the fight began. I coached her gently—steady pressure, no panic. Minutes later a respectable three-pound blackfish came over the rail. Her grin was radiant, the kind that lights the darkest water.
We fished for two hours, trading stories between strikes. Later on my childhood friend Jimmy—now deep in family business I had always stayed clear of—answered my call, he listened without judgment. "Heavy guys are looking for your David," he said. "Quarter-million plus vig. I'm sending eyes on you. Quiet ones. Don't argue."
I thanked him and explained to Marta. "We'll have discreet protection. You're safe."
Another fierce strike bent her rod nearly in half. This time the fish fought like a demon. Twenty minutes of sweat and concentration later, an eight-pound blackfish lay glistening in the net. Marta whooped, threw her arms around my neck, and kissed my cheek, grateful, while nearby boats cheered.
Bait ran out too soon. We headed in, the day's catch cooling on ice. At the ramp I spotted Jimmy's men—subtle, professional. They noted Marta without acknowledgment. One less worry.
Back home I filleted the fish with practiced strokes while Marta watched, then joined me making a salad.
In the afterglow while eating what we prepared I tried to ease her worry. "Tomorrow we go to a family dinner. My other family. You'll be safe there—and welcomed."
She nestled closer to me in the sofa, voice soft. "I already feel safe… with you."
Her trust settled over me like warm sunlight on still water. Whatever storm David had summoned, we would face it together.