The Girl in Dangerous Waters (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 8)

by A J Rivers

  "I'm sure your mother and siblings are proud of you," I say.

  "Thank you," Graciela says, reaching down to gather up the bedding. "I'll get your fresh things."

  I don't think about the conversation much more until later that morning when the three of us are walking back from breakfast. Ahead of us, beyond the area of the path enclosed by the plants and trees, I notice the man I know I saw talking to Graciela last night. He's walking down the path again, but this time his stride doesn't have the same intensity or determination that it did when he was walking away from her. He pauses in front of the guest building and glances over like he's looking at someone on the beach. With a quick turn of his head every which way, he steps off the path into the grass and heads down toward the sand.

  “Where are you going?” Bellamy calls after me as I speed up to make my way down the bricks.

  I hold up my hand to quiet her and step off the path, so I'm walking along the edge of the greenery. I creep along the edge, peering through the leaves as much as I can to try to see movement. I get all the way to the edge of the sand before I see the man again. He's walking close to the greenery toward an outcropping of rocks, and I notice someone is walking in front of him.

  "What in the living hell are you doing?" Bellamy hisses as she teeters on her impractical high heels and comes across the grass to me.

  "Shhh," I shush her. "Look. See that guy?"

  "You mean the fellow resort guest who probably spent a massive amount of money to be here peacefully enjoying the amenities of the island?" she asks.

  "Last night when I couldn’t sleep, I went out onto my balcony, and I saw him having what looked like a pretty intense conversation with Graciela."

  "Graciela, the girl who takes care of your room?" she asks.

  I nod. "When she came to my room this morning, I kind of teased her about it, but she was really quick to tell me it absolutely wasn't her. Socializing between guests and staff is strictly forbidden, and she is not about to lose her job, according to her."

  "So, why are we stalking this guy?" Bellamy asks.

  "Because I know it was her. They were right under my room. It wasn't hard to see her. And now there they are again," I say. "Don't you think that's odd?"

  "That she's carrying on a secret relationship and doesn't want a stranger to know about it because it could get her canned? Not particularly."

  I shake my head. "There's something strange about it."

  The man has gotten far enough away for me to move closer. He reaches the rock outcropping and reaches in front of him to wrap his arms around Graciela's waist. Leading her around to the front of the rocks, he presses her back into them and leans down to kiss her. Just before he does, my mouth falls open.

  "That's not Graciela."

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Are you sure?" Bellamy asks.

  "Unless she grew several inches and dyed her hair in the last few hours, yes, I'm sure," I tell her. "That is definitely not Graciela."

  The two move apart, and the man takes a step to start coming back in this direction. Bellamy and I move out onto the sand toward the water, so we don't look like we've been watching him.

  "Maybe now you know what they were having such an intense conversation about," Bellamy points out. "Seems he's been socializing with more than one of the staff."

  I glance over my shoulder and watch him walk up the edge of the greenery without the woman. She's still at the rocks, perched on top of one now, and looking out over the water.

  "I don't know. There's something really strange about the way he's acting," I note.

  “Why are you so fascinated by this?” she asks as we make our way back up the grass to where Eric is waiting.

  “Because she's always fascinated by something,” Eric offers. “She looks for mysteries to solve.”

  “I don't look for mysteries,” I correct him. “I'm perfectly happy when there's absolutely nothing sinister or uncomfortable happening around me.”

  “You just saw someone kiss a girl by the ocean, and somehow you turned it sinister,” Bellamy points out.

  “I didn't turn the kiss sinister,” I protest. “It's the whole situation.”

  “And by situation you mean the same man was having a conversation with one girl one night and kissing another girl the next day? And the girl he was talking to isn't spilling all the details of her personal life to you, a stranger who she kind of works for?” she asks.

  “I don't know what to tell you. It's just sitting wrong.”

  “Maybe because snooping around after people for no good reason and finding drama where there isn't any doesn't fit on the island,” Bellamy says.

  Eric rolls his eyes.

  “Oh, here we go talking about ‘The Island’ again. She's turned it into its own entity.”

  Bellamy gives him a look that's meant to be scathing, but I see humor and affection in her eyes.

  "I can't help it. Observation was trained into me my whole life. When I notice something that seems off, I latch onto it," I try to justify myself.

  "The only thing off is that we are at a spectacular island resort on Windsor Island, and you are more interested in traipsing around after a man who is just acting like… well like a man, frankly. But, fortunately for you, you have your very own vacation coordinator right at your disposal. Let's go."

  "Where are we going?" I ask her as she links her arm with mine and guides me up toward the path again.

  "We're going to get changed into something active, and then we're going on a hike."

  "You hike?" I raise an eyebrow.

  "When I have a tropical paradise at my disposal, I hike."

  *****

  Constance seemed thrilled to give us a full spiel about hiking around the island and offered us a map outlining some of the most popular trails. Following that map led us along to hours of weaving through the trees and flowers, high up onto hills. A note written on the side of the map promises us a spectacular surprise if we get to the end of the trail, and we've finally made it.

  Stepping through the lush growth, we emerge onto a rocky cliff that juts out over the water. Bellamy gasps when she sees the incredible expanse of blue ocean in front of us. The sunlight sparkles on it, making the rolling waves look like they’re bringing in glittering gold dust from the depths of some sunken treasure.

  In the distance, I notice something fairly large bobbing near another rock outcropping. The longer I look at it, the bigger it gets.

  "What are you looking at?" Eric asks.

  "I think it's a boat," I say, nodding toward the shape. "It doesn't look like any of the ones available for rent."

  "Maybe it's for supplies," Bellamy suggests. "They have to get food and things here somehow."

  "That's true."

  I walk out to the edge of the rocks to get a better look at the ocean. Peering down, I see the water coming onto shore. Rather than the soft glitter-flecked waves rolling in like those in the distance, these waves rise up to white peaks and smash to the sand. The curve of the rocks and the shadow of the cliff overhead makes the water look darker gray rather than the crystalline blue of the rest of the sea. It's suddenly harder to breathe, and for an instant, it feels like I'm toppling down toward the sand.

  A hand in the middle of my back stops me, and I look up. Eric's eyebrows pull tight together over concerned eyes as he supports me with his hand.

  "Emma, what is it?" he asks. "What's wrong?"

  I shake my head, trying to get the thoughts out of it.

  "Nothing," I tell him with a tense smile.

  "I know you better than that," he says.

  "It's not befitting of ‘The Island’," I tell him, trying to put some humor into my voice.

  Bellamy steps up on the other side of me and shakes her head.

  "That's fine. Tell us what's wrong," she says. "What did you see that's bothering you so much?"

  I hesitate, not sure if I want to talk about it. But they're staring at me, and I know if I don't let it
out, the thoughts will keep digging into me, so I gesture down over the edge of the cliff.

  "I was looking at the water, and it made me think of Greg. Or actually his body. I just keep going back to him being found at the edge of the water. I know I’ve talked about it a thousand times and tried to figure it out over and over, but it just doesn't make sense to me. Greg didn't like the water. He especially didn't like the ocean. It seems so out of character to me that he would go through everything he did and be discharged from the hospital only to immediately go to a place he hated,” I say.

  “We've talked about that,” Eric says.

  “I know. I know we've said it's entirely possible him hating the water is why he went in the first place. It was a way to confront the fears and blocks he had in his mind from before he was captured. It was a way to grow his character and get a new lease on life. We talked about all of that, and it makes sense. Really, it does. For someone else. For anybody else. But I just don't see Greg doing it. Even after everything he went through. Even after the changes I could see in him while he was sitting in the hospital. I just honestly don't see that being the thing that comes to his mind. There are so many other things he could do that would challenge him and prove he could move forward with a new perspective. Going straight for the water doesn't make sense," I say.

  "Especially that particular stretch of beach," Bellamy chimes in. "It was kind of a random area. That area didn't have any kind of special meaning for him, did it?"

  "No," I say, shaking my head. "We never went there. I never heard of him going there. I never even heard him mention it. And even if we're going to go with the theory that he chose to go to the water for personal growth or to make a statement to the universe or something, that doesn't explain that blonde woman. The nurses said she didn't ever come up to the floor to visit him ever and wasn't there that day. All we see of her on the security camera footage is her leaving with Greg, and if you pay attention, he looks really happy to see her. Who was she? How did he know her?"

  "And why hasn't she come forward?" Eric asks.

  "Exactly. It's not like they were cuddling or holding hands, but the way they were acting with each other wasn't how people act when they first meet each other. Especially Greg. They knew each other. And that means she has seen the news about his death. It was splashed all over every channel for months. If she turned on a TV, looked at the internet, read a newspaper, or went on the Metro anytime in the last year, she knows he's dead. She saw herself in that footage that was shown over and over on the news. Yet she hasn't said a single word.”

  “Maybe she can't,” Bellamy says. “There is the possibility that she and Greg left the hospital together, and whoever killed him did the same to her.”

  “Then why hasn't she been found?” I ask. “Greg was killed right out in the open. Not a single bit of effort made to conceal it or keep somebody from finding him. Why would the same person kill one person so publicly and hide another one, so she isn't found even a year later?”

  “Unless they still have her,” Eric suggests. “That is a possibility.”

  I nod. "It is. The problem is we don't know. It all comes back to the questions. It all comes back to not knowing, and that's the most infuriating part. If there was just one detail we could figure out. The smallest thing we could identify, we might be able to unravel the entire thing."

  We stand in silence for a few seconds, staring down at the water, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, I step back and shake my head. "Alright. That's it."

  "What's it?" Bellamy asks.

  "I'm done. That's all the thinking about that I'm going to do during this trip. I'm going to relax and enjoy being here," I tell them.

  They grin at me, and Eric throws his arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze.

  "Ready to start the trek back?" he asks.

  "Absolutely." We start away from the edge of the cliff, and I look over at Bellamy. "Hey, vacation coordinator?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Next time you decide to bring us on a tropical survival march, think about packing a picnic."

  Eric laughs and heads back down the trail at a jog.

  By the time we get back to the hotel, we are hot and tired and agree to take a break in our rooms before getting back together in the evening. I say goodbye to them at the door to my room and head inside. Closing the bedroom door behind me, I go to the bed and pull my suitcase out from under it. I reach into the pocket on the outside and pull out a small box. Opening it, I run my fingers over the dog tags nestled inside.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ten months ago…

  The first time Emma walked through the cemetery toward the grave that bore her mother's name, it was unsettling and upsetting. She didn't understand why the grave existed. From the time she was a little girl, not even twelve years old when her mother was murdered, she looked at the urn her father picked out and understood her mother's ashes were in there. During the dark and fitful times when she questioned everything, and the thought of a white sheet covering the stretcher made her wonder if she had really died at all, thinking about that urn forced her through. She could walk up to it and touch it, put her hands around it and see her mother's name etched into it. It wasn't the same as having seen her face, but it gave her something tangible.

  It was like the urns that held her grandparents' ashes. They didn't give her any sense of who they were or the type of comfort they seemed to give her mother when she was alive. But Emma could look at them and understand that's where their bodies were. Not in Russia where they died. Not in a cemetery somewhere marked by a stone that blended in among the rolling landscape of identical markers. They were there in those containers, and her mother was there in hers.

  So why was she walking through a cemetery? Why did Bellamy find a death announcement that included information about a wake and a burial? It made no sense when her best friend went to Florida and found the information in the first place, and it made even less sense when she first crossed the grass and looked down at the stone with her mother's name on it.

  She wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel in that moment. If it was supposed to be emotional in some way, or if it was supposed to bring her peace that she knew the body wasn't there. The problem was, she didn't know what to think. Anything could have been buried down in that grave.

  But she didn't feel that way anymore. The sense of peace she felt might have been missing that first time but it came over her as she walked across the cemetery toward the plot. The May afternoon was bordering on hot, but the sunlight felt good beating down on her back. She got to the grave and knelt down in front of it. Brushing away some wayward bits of cut grass that clung to the stone, she set her mother's urn up against the stone.

  “Happy Mother's Day, Mama,” she whispered. “I thought it would be nice to come and visit you here today. But, of course, we both know you're not in there. So, I brought you.”

  Ian laughed beside her.

  “I forgot how much like her you were,” he said. “Maybe you weren't this much like her when you were younger. But you definitely have her sense of humor.”

  Emma looked at her father and smiled. That was the best compliment anyone could give her. She would cling to anything that connected her to her mother. Her long legs and blond hair were a hint, but being anything like her as a woman meant so much more.

  Looking back at the grave, she reached over to the stone set close beside the one with her mother's name on it. There were a few more blades of grass covering the marker. She brushed them away, too.

  “Hi, Elliot,” she said. “This is the first time I'm seeing your gravestone. It looks nice. Better than that little white thing with a number on it, right?”

  It still hurt her to think about how long he’d lain there in the potter's field, unidentified and without even the dignity of a real tombstone. She liked knowing he was here in the Florida graveyard now. Still watching over her mother, even after all these years.

  Her father had give
n her all the information he had about the man she’d once known as Ron Murdock. According to him, Ron's real name was Elliot. He had no family. He started working with the rescue group Spice Enya years before Mariya even did but became particularly close to Ian and Mariya. They were the closest thing he had to a family when he was alive, and Emma wanted to be certain they remained his family even now.

  He deserved recognition and respect. He spent years protecting her mother and facilitating the rescues of people in extreme danger. He put his life on the line countless times to ensure her safe passage from place to place and assignment to assignment. And in the end, he offered up his own life in one last effort to protect Emma.

  She wished it hadn't turned out that way for him, but she also knew he didn't die in vain. It was because of him she started pulling the thread that eventually led her to understanding what happened to her mother. Emma could only hope that would be what he wanted.

  She and her father sat at the graves with a picnic spread in front of them, talking and sharing memories, feeling truly connected as a family for the first time in so long. Mariya might not be there physically, but Emma could feel her. She could almost smell her and feel the touch of her soft cheek when she leaned down and kissed her.

  They'd been sitting there for over an hour when a figure came across the cemetery toward them. The woman got to within only a few yards before she looked up, and Emma recognized her.

  "Christina," she said, getting to her feet. "What are you doing here?"

  "Hi, Emma," she smiled.

  Her eyes moved over to Ian, and Emma noticed a fleeting expression of sadness mixed with happiness cross the woman's face. Christina Ebbots was the daughter of the head of the rescue organization, a man Emma now affectionately knew of as Grayson, a.k.a. Spice. Christina had provided vital clues to Emma throughout her journey, even if she didn’t realize it at the time.