3

BRIGGS SQUEEZED HIS fingers into fists. He and India hardly knew each other.

They’d shared a vacation fling—granted, the hottest he’d ever had, and she was still constantly on his mind—but the fact remained he wasn’t the marrying kind. He’d told her as much. His mom had been out of the picture since giving birth and his dad had been a mean drunk. Briggs himself had nothing to offer beyond what training he’d been given. But this—news that India’s life was in danger? It made him want to kill—usually, a good thing in his line of work. But not in this family restaurant.

“I’ll help get to the bottom of this,” Briggs said. “Sawyer, you and Delilah return to honeymooning. I can take it from here.”

“You sure, man?” Sawyer cocked his head. “I don’t like the sound of any of that.”

“It’s probably nothing,” India reiterated.

“Maybe so,” Briggs said, “but if you don’t mind, I’ll stick around a few days. No one needs to know why I’m here aside from a nice visit.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Her pinched expression read borderline pensive. Almost as if she had something to hide. But what?

They turned their attention to food.

Claiming she wasn’t hungry, India invited Briggs to eat it all.

He did, beyond thankful she’d gone ahead and ordered his favorite.

Once they’d all cleaned their plates and Frenchie presented the bill, Briggs paid, leaving her a fifty-percent tip/bribe. He knew she and India were close, so he got why she’d be miffed with him for leaving, but not to this degree. She was downright hostile.

“I don’t feel right about leaving you here,” Sawyer said when they stood outside as a group on the sun-bleached crushed shell entry. “You don’t even have a place to stay.”

“I’ll bunk with India,” he said, slipping on Ray-Ban Aviators. “Makes sense since she’s the one in danger.”

“Um, yeah . . .” She crossed her arms. “That won’t work.”

“Why not? Worked great my last visit.”

Her scowl proved more intense than the tropical sun.

“Looks like you’ll be renting a room.” Sawyer patted Briggs’ back before shaking India’s hand. “Sorry we didn’t meet under better circumstances. Hope you nail whoever’s responsible for your cousin’s passing.”

“Thanks.”

“Good luck.” Delilah gave India a friendly hug. “If Briggs is even half as good as my new husband, you’re in great hands.”

With his friends headed for the municipal dock to catch an inter-island passenger ferry, Briggs turned to India. “How about we pay a visit to your aunt and uncle?”

“Sure. If you want. But we should probably find you a place to stay first.”

“Okay—but just to be clear, I’m fine with your couch. I didn’t mean to imply I’m expecting anything more than to run a professional investigation into Turtle’s death.”

“I appreciate that. But—”

“Newsflash—you’re a smart cookie, and I’m guessing you don’t really believe yourself to be a victim of a curse. Am I right?”

She nodded.

“Which means someone—quite possibly the same killers who nabbed your cousin—is now after you. If I’m around twenty-four/seven, that gives you more protection.”

“You make sense, but—” She moved a few feet to sit on a bench in the shade of a coconut palm. “You can’t be at my house, Briggs. Not anymore. Not ever.”

Gaze narrowed, he asked, “What aren’t you telling me? Do you have a roommate? Are you in a serious relationship?”

“Yes. Lifelong.”

“Oh . . .” His lungs deflated like leaky balloons. His time with her had been incredibly special. It gutted him that she didn’t feel the same—or, if she had, that she no longer did. But could he blame her? Upon leaving her, in the interest of self-preservation, Briggs made his standard non-committal speech. The whole reason for saying it was to avoid attachment. Why should he then be surprised when it worked? “When did your boyfriend move in?”

“It might be easier to find my cousin’s killer if we focus on him rather than me.”

“Sure. Of course.” She didn’t used to be this cool. But why shouldn’t she be? She’d called him here for a job—not a reunion.

“What about your fee?” she asked. “I probably can’t cover the full amount now, but hopefully, we can make a payment arrangement?”

“India . . .” He removed his sunglasses. “Even though you’ve moved on, you will always be special. I’m not here because you hired me, but because you need help. As someone I care about, I could never charge you a fee.”

Head bowed, hands clasped, she murmured, “Thanks. Ready to go?”

What he was ready for was the full story. Why couldn’t he shake the sense that all was not as it seemed?

“Mr. Aycock,” Briggs shook Turtle’s father’s hand on the covered porch of his small home. Like many others on the island, it was constructed of concrete block covered with brightly painted concrete stucco. In this case, mint green walls with pale blue shutters. The blue metal roof was nicer than the neighbors’. The paunchy, middle-aged man wore khakis and a tropical floral shirt. He’d styled thinning dark hair in a combover. Palpable pain shadowed his sad eyes, yet he flashed a welcoming smile. Briggs felt for the guy. It had to be rough—losing his son in such an awful way. “Sorry for your loss. Your son helped me with dive equipment when I was last on your island. Knowledgeable guy. And nice. Real nice.”

“He was good. The best in all of us.” He stood back, gesturing them into a dark living room. All curtains were drawn. The light from a lone weak lamp shone on two beige leather sofas and matching recliners. A big-screen TV played a muted golf tournament. Family photos lined the mint green walls.

“Uncle,” India said, “Briggs is the man I told you about. His specialty is not only finding bad people, but bringing them to justice.”

As if his frame couldn’t bear the weight of his grief, the man all but collapsed into the nearest recliner.

India sat on the sofa end nearest her uncle, then reached for his hand. “I know this is hard, but Briggs wants to help. He wants to ask a few questions.”

The defeated man said, “I went over everything with police.”

“Sir . . .” Briggs cleared his throat. “Sometimes it helps to repeat the information. Retelling might trigger new thoughts.” Too antsy to sit, Briggs closed the wooden front door, leaning against it. A window-mounted air-conditioning unit hummed on the far side of the room. “It’s worth a try.”

“My husband told you all he knows.” A woman shuffled down a dark hall and into the living room’s relative light. She wore a threadbare nightgown and slippers. Her short hair was matted—pressed to her skull as if she’d slept in the same position for days.

Briggs shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Are you Turtle’s mom?”

“His name is Montgomery Clift—like the actor.”

“Was,” Turtle’s father interjected.

“Shut up, old man.” She took the recliner alongside him.

Briggs caught himself holding his breath.

A glance toward India showed her posture stiff aside from her tapping left foot.

“My son is an angel. He will forever live in my heart. He was murdered and you know it.” The look she cast upon her husband might as well have been a gunshot. Did she blame him? If so, why? From everything India relayed, it made no sense. “He’s a good boy. Always brings fresh conch for fritters after church on Sundays.”

“Ma’am . . .” Briggs cleared his throat. “Pardon me for being blunt, but why do you think your son was killed? Did he have any enemies?”

“None.” She practically spat the word. “The whole island loved him. That is all you need to know.”

“But, Auntie, don’t you want—”

“Go!” For such a small, frail woman, her voice carried a surprising command. “We’ve said all we know to the police. This man you bring to our home is a stranger. He’s hurt our family enough.”

What? Just when Briggs believed the visit couldn’t get weirder, it did. Leaving the shadows, he approached the woman. “Ma’am, please tell me what you believe I—”

“Let’s go.” India was up from the sofa, jerking Briggs’ forearm to tug him toward the door.

Sensing he wouldn’t get additional information from this emotionally adrift couple, Briggs followed India outside.

“What the hell was that?” Briggs’ eyes protested the transition from darkness to blinding sun. “Why does Turtle’s mom claim I’ve hurt your family?”

“Nettie’s an old, grief-stricken woman. Same with Sam. They don’t know what they’re saying. Sorry that turned out to be a dead end. What do you want to do next?”

Briggs slipped on his sunglasses before sighing. “A lot. Talk with police. Visit the dive site where the incident occurred.”

“This wasn’t an incident, but my cousin’s life being purposely taken. Someone has to pay.”

“Don’t you think I get that? What’s with the animosity? You called me, remember?”

She climbed behind the wheel of her red Jeep, taking gold-rimmed sunglasses from the glovebox, then slipping them on. God, she was a looker. The gold looked great with her dark complexion and exotic red hair.

Briggs joined her on the passenger side, remembering his last stay. They’d spent hours in the rag-top, island-hopping, discovering remote beaches. Exploring each other. What had changed? If she was with another guy, he got it. But this felt like more. An underlying tension from not just her, but her aunt and uncle and even the waitress at the place where they’d had their daily breakfasts.

India started the engine, aiming the car toward town.

“You ever going to tell me what’s really going on?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She never took her eyes off the crushed shell road.

“Drop the B.S., India. Explain the hostility toward me—from everyone—or I’m going home.”

“Fine. I was stupid to call. Leave. That is what you do best.”

Growling, Briggs took the wheel, veering it hard to the right. The shock caused India to lift her foot from the gas, killing the engine, which had been his goal. The vehicle rolled to a harmless stop in an overgrown vacant lot.

“What the hell?” She was breathing heavy. “We could have been killed!”

“We were going fifteen. It was a calculated risk that paid off.”

“I’d appreciate you not taking any more risks with my life.”

“Sorry, but we need to talk. What happened? What really happened between us? I thought we were good, but . . .” He arched his head back, staring at the fathomless blue sky. This place was once paradise. Now, it felt like hell.

“Sorry. Turtle’s death has cast a pall over my whole life. I can’t eat or sleep. The sun shines less bright.” Tears shimmered on her cheeks. “I’m not even sure people believe me that Turtle’s death was a murder rather than an accident—or this stupid supposed curse.” She forced a deep breath. “No matter what I say, please don’t go. I-I need you.”

She raised her sunglasses. Her teary gaze prompted him to lean in for a hug.

Holding her felt good. Right. It always had. She smelled so damned good. Like coconut and limes and a time when anything had seemed possible. The two of them had never been the issue.

It was his past that had served as an uninvited third person in every room.

On every date and call.

Pulling back, she said, “Ready to go to the police?”

He shook his head. “If you’re up for it, I’d rather you show me where Turtle died. Think you can find it?”

“Sure. It happened near a local coral landmark. Only . . .” She worried her lower lip.

“You haven’t been diving since?”

She nodded. “I-I’m not sure I can.”

“You’ll be fine.” I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you. When he held out his hand, he was surprised she took it, gliding her fingers between his. It wasn’t the clasp of a woman involved in a meaningful relationship with another man. It was the same way she’d held his hand when she’d been with him. What did it mean? Was he reading something into nothing?

“My cousin was one of the best divers on the island. If he could die, anyone could.”

“True. But someone had a reason to kill him. Let’s hope the same isn’t true for you.”

“What if it is?” The hitch in her breathing told him she was scared. “At breakfast, I played off the string of accidents like they were no big deal, but I’m starting to think maybe they are. People very dear depend upon me. I can’t leave them. I can’t let them down.”

“Your parents?”

She nodded.

Your boyfriend? Though he wanted to know more—everything—about her supposed commitment, he couldn’t bring himself to ask the question. She might have been afraid of sharks and diving, but what scared him on a visceral level?

The thought of India being involved with any man other than him.