Covert Cargo

“Oh, Beth,” Helen said with a chuckle. “You keep your distance from everybody. Why should Dillon Randall be any different?”

Beth smiled. She couldn’t argue with Helen’s words. “Did you say he started going to church?” she asked.

“Yes. He fit right in immediately.”

“That’s nice,” Beth said with a pang of sorrow. She had loved being part of the Bracelet Bay congregation. But that was in the past now. She hadn’t attended church in five years. Helen stopped walking. “Let me just catch my breath for a moment.” She clasped Beth’s hand in hers. “You know, there’s no reason why you can’t start going back to church again. The pastor gives me a lift every week to the Sunday service and he always asks after you. I told him that you and I have our own church of two, taking daily worship together, and he told me to tell you that he keeps you in his prayers.” Helen looked hesitant for a moment. “The whole town keeps you in their prayers. You should know that. Five years is a long time to shut yourself away from those who love you.”

Beth squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Helen was often trying to persuade her to embrace life again, to return to church, return to her old friends, but she simply didn’t have the desire.

“I know you mean well, Helen, but I’m doing fine as I am,” Beth said. “I have everything I need right here.” She extended her arm out over the ocean, catching sight of the Jet Ski still bobbing up and down on the gentle waves. “What more could I possibly want?”

Helen didn’t respond, but Beth knew exactly what answer came to mind: a husband, a family, a future without loneliness.

“I often wish I had put more effort into finding someone to share my life with instead of being alone all these years,” Helen said. “Don’t make the same mistake as me. Nobody judges you for what happened on your wedding day, and nobody is laughing at you. I know you find that hard to believe.”

Beth felt the serenity of the ocean breeze ebbing away. “I had to go to the drugstore in town a couple of weeks ago to get some painkillers,” she said. “I don’t normally use the stores in Bracelet Bay, but I had a big migraine brewing.” She looked down at her feet. “I could see everybody whispering and pointing when I got out of the car—look, there goes the crazy lady whose fiancé dumped her at the altar.” She felt her cheeks grow hot with shame. “I left without even buying the painkillers.”

“Have you ever considered that people might be surprised to see you?” Helen asked. “They might be staring because they’re happy, or because you look pretty.” She smiled. “Or because you don’t realize you’ve spilled spaghetti sauce all over your shirt.”

Beth laughed. Helen always had the perfect way of uplifting her spirit.

“Come on,” Beth said, steering Helen around and changing the conversation. “It’s almost time for our daily devotional.”

Helen checked her watch. “Oh, so it is.” She called for Tootsie to come to heel. The dog stubbornly ran in the opposite direction. “That dog is so disobedient,” she said, with a shake of her head. “He’s got a rebellious streak.”

“Just like me,” Beth said. “But you love us anyway.”

“I sure do,” Helen said, beginning the walk along the sand to her bungalow. “And so do a lot of other people.”

Beth nodded, not in agreement but to appease her friend because, in her own mind, she was a laughingstock and always would be.

Before she left, she turned and made one last check on the Jet Ski sitting in the bay. It was still there, and the man was staring intensely at her, wearing a hood pulled up over his head despite it being a bright and clear day. His presence felt sinister in the calm, sunny morning, and she drew her eyes away. She wanted to leave.

“Ted,” she called. “Let’s go.”

Her dog dutifully complied and bounded to her feet, carrying a pebble in his mouth.

“Drop it, boy,” she said. “You know those stones wear down your teeth.”

Ted released the pebble onto the sand, and Beth gasped in shock at the image with which she was faced. Helen reached for her hand, and they both stared down at the unusual stone, appearing totally out of place among the dull gray shingle and golden sand.

“Ted must have picked it up when he was digging in the dunes,” Helen said. “But what on earth is it?”

“I don’t know,” Beth replied, bending to pick the stone up and turn it over in her hands.

It was a normal pebble, the gray kind found on any seashore, but this one had been intricately painted with an array of bright colors, illustrating a picture of a female skeletal figure, shrouded in a long golden robe. In one hand, she carried a vivid blue planet: the earth in all its glory. In the other hand, she held a scythe with a menacing, curved blade. Beth gazed at the skull protruding from the hooded cloak, the eye sockets painted so well that the stone truly seemed to have been drilled away to reveal deep, dark shafts. The image was both beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.

“Maybe somebody dropped it,” Beth said, putting the stone inside her pocket. “Or it got washed up from a boat.”

Helen raised her eyebrows. “It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. And a little scary to be honest.”

“It doesn’t scare me,” Beth said, the lie sticking in her throat. “It’s just a rock.” She attached Ted’s leash to his collar. “I’ll take Ted home while you wait at the bottom of the steps. He looks exhausted from all this foraging for stones.” She tried to sound lighthearted, but inwardly the fear wouldn’t budge.

Arm in arm, the women resumed their return walk along the sand. Beth’s stomach was swirling with anxiety. She wondered if her discovery of the child and the stone were somehow connected. Had she stumbled into something more sinister than she realized? And was the man on the Jet Ski part of it?

She thought of Dillon Randall, and his assurance that she could call him at any time if she felt troubled. Beth normally shunned the outside world at all costs, but she might have no other choice than to reach out for help.

* * *

Dillon spread a large map over his desk, studying the suspected trafficking routes that were marked upon it. The smugglers’ boats had been heading up the western coast from Mexico, laden with adults and children from all over South and Central America—people who believed that decent jobs and homes awaited them in the US, but in reality they were destined to be domestic servants, rarely paid or rewarded for their hard work and left with no money to return home. The traffickers seemed to be using flotillas of small motorboats and rowboats for their journeys—vessels that were too small and dangerous for the purpose. One of these vessels had capsized four weeks previously, leading to the deaths of most of its occupants. That was when Dillon was covertly recruited into the coast guard from his SEAL base in Virginia.

There was a knock on the door. “Enter,” he called.

Carl came into the room, closely followed by the station’s chief warrant officer, Larry Chapman. Larry was five years older than Dillon, and Dillon had felt a considerable resentment from his subordinate officer on their first meeting. He sensed that Larry felt cheated out of the top job at the station—a job that the chief warrant officer felt was rightfully his.

“How are you getting used to being back on the front line?” Larry asked. “It must be difficult to adjust to active duty after spending so many years sitting behind a desk, huh?”

Dillon slowly rolled the maps up on his desk. His cover story involved placing him in the Office of Strategic Analysis in Washington, DC, thereby hiding his true past as a SEAL with almost twenty years’ combat experience.

“I’m doing just fine, thanks, Larry,” he replied, sliding the maps back into their protective tube. Larry never missed an opportunity to remind Dillon that he didn’t believe desk work to be real experience. Little did Larry know that Dillon had racked up fifteen active missions, rarely ever seeing the inside of an office.

“Is there anything to report on the traffickers?” Carl asked. “Did the child say something that might help us?”

“The kid’s not saying much at all,” Dillon replied. “The authorities think he’s from El Salvador and they’re trying to locate his family.”

“And I’m guessing there was no sign of the smugglers when you dispatched the search-and-rescue boat,” Carl said.

Dillon shook his head. “No, no sign at all.”

Carl let out a long breath. “How do they keep doing that? It’s like they know we’re coming.”

“They’ll slip up eventually,” Dillon said. “They always do.” He turned to Larry. “I’d like you to analyze the data I put on your desk. Your specialist skills in identifying the type of boats being used could be crucial.”

“Yes, Captain,” Larry said. “I’m on it.”

Both men headed out the door just as the phone rang on Dillon’s desk. He answered with his usual greeting: “Captain Randall.”

The voice on the other end was panicked. “Dillon. Is that you?”

He knew who it was instantly. “Beth? Are you okay?”

Her voice was thick with emotion, and she snatched at her words through sobs. “It’s Ted,” she cried. “Somebody hurt Ted.”

“Ted,” he repeated. “Who’s Ted?”

“My dog. Somebody tried to get into the cottage while I was out, and Ted must have stood guard.” She broke off to catch her breath. “He’s bleeding badly.”

Dillon checked his watch. “I can be there in ten minutes. Stay exactly where you are, and wait for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

He hung up the phone and raced out into the hall, grabbing the truck keys from the hook in the corridor. Once he was in the vehicle, he activated the sirens to reach the lighthouse in extra-quick time, and he found Beth kneeling on the grass outside her home, cradling her limp dog in her arms. The animal was breathing but bleeding from a wound to its rib cage. He looked to have been stabbed, and his shaggy fur glistened with a dark, sticky patch.

Dillon didn’t say a word of greeting. He simply bent down, lifted Ted from Beth’s lap and carried him to the truck. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll get him to the vet in no time.”

He saw Beth rise and follow, rubbing her bloodstained hands on her light blue jeans. “There was a man watching me from a Jet Ski in the bay earlier,” she said, her voice noticeably shaking. “I think he tried to get in while I was at my friend’s house. There are pieces of a torn shirt on the floor in my living room, so Ted might have injured the guy before being hurt himself.”

“How did the attacker get in?”

“I never lock up when Ted’s at home,” she replied. “It’s usually so safe.”

“Go lock up now,” Dillon said. “Let’s not take any more chances.”

He laid Ted across the backseat of the truck and stroked the dog’s small pointed ears. “Good dog,” he whispered.

He watched Beth turn the key in her front door with shaking hands before she ran to the passenger side and slid into the seat. Her skin was deathly pale and her full lips had been drained of their deep pink color.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for calling, but I panicked and you were the only person I could think of.” She looked into the backseat where the dog lay. “Ted means so much to me.”

He shut the passenger door and went around to the driver’s seat. “Don’t ever apologize for calling me,” he said. “The most important thing is that you’re safe.”

He switched on the siren and raced back along the coastal road, heading for the veterinarian’s office in the town. The fact that Beth’s house had been broken into so soon after she saved the young boy was no coincidence. He suspected that the cartel was responsible, and he needed to find out why this woman was of interest to them. Had she been targeted for elimination because she had seen the face of one of their men the previous evening?

He glanced over at her. She had turned her body to the left, to reach an arm around and stroke the dog’s head. A tear slipped down her cheek. This young woman was in danger. He didn’t know how or why, but he knew it wasn’t good to be on the radar of a Mexican cartel. She would need protecting.

This situation just got a whole lot more complicated than he would have liked.

TWO

Beth felt helpless. She had been sitting in the waiting room of the vet’s office for two hours. She looked around the room, with its bright strip light shining on the metal chairs and coffee table, piled high with various pet animal magazines. Before buying the lighthouse and changing professions, she had been a real estate agent and had shown the young vet, a red-haired man named Henry Stanton, around the building several years ago. He had purchased the property, set up his practice and the rest was history. And now that same man was trying to save the life of her beloved dog.

Dillon sat opposite, flicking through a back issue of Dog News. He had insisted on staying with her, despite her protests. She was grateful for his help, but she didn’t want to spend time alone with him. She felt awkward in a man’s company. She’d gotten too used to her solitary lifestyle. Dillon seemed to read her mood perfectly, and he stayed quiet, occasionally taking a whispered phone call in the corner. She knew he wanted to quiz her about the man she had seen on the Jet Ski in the bay, but for now he kept his questions to himself. Various customers from the town had come and gone, bringing a range of animals, but now the waiting room was empty and the receptionist on a break. The silence lay heavily in the air, loaded with anxiety and unanswered questions. All the while, Beth was conscious of the bulk of the stone in her jacket, weighing down her pocket and her mind in equal measure.

The vet entered the waiting room and sat down on a chair. He had a smile on his face, and Beth’s heart lifted with relief. Henry wouldn’t be smiling if the news were bad.

“Ted is fine,” Henry said. “But he’ll need to stay in for observation, probably no more than a day or two. He suffered a wound to his liver and I want to make sure he doesn’t have an infection.” He looked between her and Dillon. “Is this okay with you both?”

Beth suddenly realized that Henry thought she and Dillon were romantically involved. She considered explaining the situation but decided against it. It was too complicated.

“Can I see him?” she asked.

“Ted is highly sedated at the moment,” Henry replied. “If he sees you, he may get overexcited and try to stand. It’s best that you leave a visit until tomorrow.”

Beth felt her shoulders sagging. The thought of returning to the lighthouse without Ted was horrible, but it was made worse by the fact that she couldn’t even see him.

Dillon noticed her sadness and stepped into the conversation. “Thank you for all your help, Dr. Stanton,” he said, rising. “We’ll come back tomorrow and see how Ted’s doing.”

The vet stood also, and the two men shook hands. “Please call me Henry,” he said. Then he looked at Beth. “And can I say how pleased I am to see you, Beth? It’s been too long.”

She forced a smile. She was too ashamed to admit that she normally used the veterinarian who lived in the next town, but she guessed that Henry already knew. Nobody could keep any secrets in a town like Bracelet Bay. She stood, pulling her long sweater down to cover the bloodstains on her jeans. She thanked Henry and headed for the door.

A light rain was falling outside and the temperature of the earlier sunny day had dropped away. Beth pulled up the hood on her raincoat and felt the painted stone hanging in the pocket. Dillon stayed by her side, his face a picture of tension. The air seemed to feel different, as though particles of fear itself were being swept on the wind over the water. Ted’s stabbing had struck deep into her psyche. She was too numb to even cry.

“This incident changes everything,” Dillon said, standing so close that she could see his curly hair collecting tiny droplets of water, as delicate as a spider’s web. “You can’t be alone at your lighthouse anymore.”

Beth took a deep, steadying breath. “There’s something else you need to know,” she said, curling her fingers around the stone hidden beneath her coat. “Ted found something on the beach this morning.”

His eyes widened and he steered her toward the truck, checking their surroundings before bringing his attention back on her. “What?”

Beth slowly pulled the smooth stone from her pocket and held it in a flat palm. The skeletal figure seemed to have become even more sinister, even more ominous since she had last looked.

Dillon took the pebble and studied it hard, his eyebrows crinkling in concentration. “This is Santa Muerte,” he said finally. The way he said the words struck dread into Beth’s heart. His tone was grave.

“Who is Santa Muerte?” she asked. “And what does this mean?”

Dillon seemed reluctant to answer, and Beth’s heart began to hammer. “Ted found it on the dunes right by my house,” she said. “I think it may have been left there by the man on the Jet Ski in the bay.” She looked up into his face. “If you know what it is, please tell me.”

He swallowed hard. “Santa Muerte is a saint worshipped in some parts of Mexico, where she is also known as Our Lady of the Holy Death.”

Beth clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. The mention of death was chilling. The significance of this find was worse than she’d thought.

Dillon opened the truck door and gently guided Beth onto the passenger seat, but he remained standing in the lot, his outstretched arm resting on the open door as though he were holding a shield. “Santa Muerte is particularly revered among Mexican drug cartels, who pray to her for protection, for guidance and to grant them a painless death. People also sometimes ask her to grant them success in eliminating targets.” He looked down at the stone. “They often perform a ritual to Santa Muerte when a target has been identified.”

“Is this a ritual?” Beth asked, unable to keep her eyes off the bony image staring up at her from Dillon’s hand. “I’m the target, aren’t I? That’s why the stone was placed by my home. They want to eliminate me.” She realized that her voice was becoming quick and breathless, so she tried to steady it. “The cartel wants me dead, right?”

Dillon said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.

“Why me?” she asked, rubbing her moist palms on her jeans. “What did I do?”

Dillon shook his head. “I don’t know. Not yet anyway. But I’ll need to assign you protection.” He held up the bright stone. “This is too serious to ignore.”

Beth thought of her tranquil little cottage, cramped with people allotted to look after her. She and Ted had gotten used to a quiet life. Could she handle the intrusion of others sharing her space? But she knew that Dillon was right. This ritual to Santa Muerte was far too serious to ignore. She turned her head to look over the ocean.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Who would be staying with me?”

“I have a friend—Tyler Beck—and I’ve already put in a request to transfer him into the Bracelet Bay Station to assist us with some duties. He’s a surveillance expert working for the Department of Homeland Security on the East Coast. If you’ll allow us to create a lookout post in your lighthouse tower, Tyler and I will set up home there until the cartel members are in custody and no longer a threat to you.”

“You do realize how small the lighthouse tower is, right?” Beth asked. She imagined two big men bedding down for the night in the tightly curved space, dominated by the huge lenses of the disused beacon. “It’ll be a really tight squeeze.”

Dillon smiled. “Tyler and I have worked plenty of missions in the past where space was limited. We’ll manage just fine.”

“Missions?” she questioned. “You make it sound like a military operation.”

“The coast guard is a branch of the US armed forces,” he replied. “Not many people realize that we are part of the military. The coast guard is trained in reconnaissance, search and rescue, maritime law enforcement and many more things besides. And these are all very good reasons why you should place your trust in us to keep you safe.”

Beth rubbed her hands together, creating friction to keep them warm in her lap. Dillon’s words and tone sounded formal, and they made her feel even more ill at ease. Her safety seemed like a military mission to be accomplished, and the severity of her situation had hit home.

“So you and Tyler would be with me twenty-four hours a day?” she asked.

“I’ll be continuing to work at the station during the day while staying at the lighthouse during the night,” he answered. “Tyler will take the lead in providing protection for you.” He must have noticed a look of disappointment sweep over her face. “Tyler is a highly trained individual. You can rely on him.”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s just that I kind of figured you would take charge of things.” She felt awkward and uncomfortable asking him to take the lead, but if she must accept somebody being responsible for her safety, she would at least prefer it was someone she was already on a first-name basis with. And although she didn’t want to admit it, he radiated a strength that reassured her. She felt secure with him.

Dillon kept his fingers gripped firmly around the painted pebble as he spoke. His face had lost the previous expression of concern and was replaced by one of detachment. “I’m afraid it’s not possible for me to take my focus away from my job and put it onto you. I’ll do whatever I can to assist Tyler, but I need to keep my sights elsewhere.” He cast his gaze out over the ocean as if to emphasize his point. “I can’t afford to let myself be sidetracked.”

Beth watched Dillon’s eyes scan the ocean, darting back and forth across the waves. He always seemed to be searching the sea, permanently on the lookout. His awareness was constantly heightened, and she wondered whether his single-minded focus was the reason he’d been given the top job at the coast guard station. He had an important smuggling assignment to oversee, and her situation must be like a thorn in his side. She suddenly saw herself as he did: as a nuisance and a distraction. It made her defensive streak rush to the surface and prickle her skin.

“I’ve been managing by myself for five years,” she said, crossing her arms. “Once Ted has recovered from his surgery, I’m sure we’ll be able to cope alone. I really don’t want to divert resources from your day job.”

He clearly guessed he had hit a nerve. He took his eyes away from the ocean and settled them on her. “Ensuring your safety is as important as any task I need to accomplish in my day job, but I can’t take personal responsibility for protecting you.” He sighed. “It’s complicated.”

She looked him full in the face. She figured he was casting her off with excuses, trying to make her feel better about being such a drain on his brand-new job as station chief. She also knew that all her insecurities about being a burden shouldn’t be laid at his feet. They had been stored up nice and tight for a long time.

“One thing I’ve learned over the years,” she said, “is that things are always complicated.”

He leaned in close to her on the passenger seat. “I know that you’re an independent woman who’s going to struggle to adapt to a couple of big men lumbering around your little lighthouse like giants.” She smiled in spite of her swirling emotions. “And I also know that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself under normal circumstances,” he continued. He uncurled his fingers from the stone and held it in his palm. “But these are not normal circumstances. Although I won’t be the person taking overall responsibility for your security, I will make absolutely sure that nothing bad happens to you.” He laid a hand over hers. “You deserve all the resources we have, and you’re worth the effort. You should know that.”

His words almost took her breath away. Had he been able to guess that she saw herself as worthless? That she felt of little value to anyone? Had he seen through the air of confidence she had created to hide the pain of being publicly rejected?