8
Providenciales, Turks and Caicos
“DUDE, WHEN DO we get to the vacation portion of this trip?”
“Quit bitching and keep looking,” Briggs said to his friend and teammate, Jackson Elliott, around bites of a massive ham sandwich. He hadn’t stopped eating since making it to civilization late that morning. Leaving India had been one of the toughest things he’d ever done. But having seen the flotilla headed to her rescue, he knew it was only a matter of time before she was saved, giving him a narrow window to escape unseen. “I’m convinced the boat Turtle’s killer used is somewhere nearby. We just have to find it.”
“Tell me again how you landed this case?” Jackson scanned the marina with Zeiss 20 x 60 stabilizing binoculars. At eight grand a pair, they were usually reserved for more high-profile clients, but Briggs reasoned his family was more important than any politician or rock star—not that all of their clients weren’t important. Just sayin’. Though Briggs had yet to formally meet his daughter, part of him already knew her through the perfection of her mom.
“India and I met when I was down here a couple years back on an amateur wreck diving trip.”
“Find anything?”
“Just her.” Sounded corny as hell, but she was a jewel. A true prize. So why didn’t he keep her? Why couldn’t he stop running when being with her felt like his own personal Heaven? What if she was right about him being better than his dad? And that bad parenting and being an all-around shitty human wasn’t hereditary? “I heard pretty mind-blowing news yesterday.”
“You told me.”
“Not about the boat.”
“Worse?”
“I have a kid.”
“Excuse me?” Jackson coughed so hard he dropped the binoculars in the water. Thank God they were waterproof. He dived in after them, retrieving them before they hit bottom. “Damned good thing I saved those,” he said once he was back on their rented Sea-Doo Islandia. The twenty-footer wasn’t fancy, but with a cruising speed of 49.6 mph, at least they got where they needed to go in a hurry. “Harding would have had your ass in a sling.”
“My ass? You dropped them.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one who took them off the company jet without asking, then told me you have a surprise mini-me. How old? Boy or girl? When is the wedding?”
“Twelve-month-old baby girl. No wedding. I’ve never even seen her.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. Less chitchat about me and more about finding the Pearl.”
“You were the one who brought it up. How can you live with yourself, man? Knowing you brought a child into the world, only to abandon her?”
“I’ll send money. She’ll never want for anything.”
Jackson snorted. “Except for her dad. I’ve always thought you were a good guy, but I’m not liking this side of you. It’s no secret you had a crap childhood, but that doesn’t give you the right to turn around and dump on your own kid.”
Food for thought . . .
Briggs was glad when they’d finished searching their current harbor, meaning he could head for deep water, punching the engine at full throttle. He needed the wind in his hair. He needed the rush. The reminder that he was alive. Only the funny—make that sick—thing was, without India by his side, no amount of speed in the world made him feel anything other than flat. He wanted to see his baby girl. More than anything, he had a burning curiosity and an undeniable need to hold her, cradle her, sing to her like one of those perfect TV commercial or movie dads. Sure, he’d be poison to her over the course of her life, but what long-term damage could a short visit do?
Searching Providenciales took the rest of the afternoon and offered no results. It was nearing sunset when Briggs returned Jackson to the estate where the honeymooners and the rest of the team were staying at Starfish Cove.
With the women getting massages around the pool, the entire Trident team had the rare luxury of meeting over cigars and bourbon on the seating area at the end of the property’s pier. Briggs couldn’t recall the last time they’d all been together. Usually one or more jobs overlapped.
“Catch us up to speed, Briggs. Did you and Jackson see any sign of your friends?” Harding leaned back in his sherbet orange Adirondack chair.
“No,” Jackson interjected, “but guess who’s a daddy to a twelve-month-old baby girl?”
“For real?” Harding asked Briggs.
Backslaps and congratulations made the rounds while Jackson spilled the details about Briggs’ no longer-private news.
Meanwhile, Briggs glared at his so-called friend.
“When’s the wedding?” Sawyer asked. “Delilah and I thought India seemed like a great gal—although it’s kind of twisted that she kept this from you.”
Briggs shrugged. “I’m not the marrying or fathering type. We’ll probably maintain status quo.”
“The hell you will,” Harding said. He set down his glass with a little too much force on the wide wooden arm of his chair. I didn’t raise you not to accept responsibility for your actions.”
Briggs notched his chin higher. “You’re my boss—not my dad.”
“Kid . . .” Leaning forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees, Harding’s voice turned low, “you came to me greener than spring grass, barely old enough to wipe your own ass. I taught you every damned thing you know and made you into the top-notch young man you are today. So yes, I very much consider you my son—just as I do each and every one of you here. Trident isn’t just my company, but my family. You’re right, technically, I can’t tell you what to do. But based upon the morals and values I’ve taught you during the years you’ve served under me, you know better than to abandon your own child.”
“Sir . . .” Briggs clenched his fists. The setting sun’s glare blazed his forehead and cheeks. Or maybe it was the embarrassment of having every man he respected and considered a brother watching on while Harding gave him a verbal beat-down that was making him feel sick from heat? “With all due respect, you don’t understand. There’s a lot—”
“Listen up, everyone.” Harding downed his drink, then stood. “Party’s over. From here on out, we’re putting Briggs’ case on the Trident fast track. Those drug-running fuckers had the gall to go after one of our own, and I’m not having it. Let’s split into pairs to find their boat. Nash and Jasper—you take North, Middle, and East Caicos. Everett, Sawyer and I will search the rest. Whoever finds the boat—let’s get these guys under constant surveillance. We need to know who their contact is on Little Palm Cay—” Harding turned to Briggs. “That is where India and your daughter live, right?”
“Yeah. But how did you know?”
“I make it my business to know.” He rose, crossing to Briggs’ chair. “Whether you believe it or not, I know you’re going to make a great husband and dad. Which is why you’re going to be on personal protection duty for India and your baby girl until this case is solved. After that, if you and India mutually agree you’d rather not marry, I can live with that. But rest assured, you will play a prominent role in your daughter’s life from helping her take her first steps to walking her down the aisle. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yessir.” Out of sheer habit, Briggs snapped to attention and saluted.
Harding returned the show of respect.