Into Dark Waters

Rebecca Reilly

Into Dark Waters

Published by Rebecca Reilly at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Rebecca Reilly

All rights reserved.

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All rights reserved.

All characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the imagination of the author.

To John

The Love of my Life

Prologue

December 22, 2012

The cruise ship lurched throwing Carrie against the passageway wall.  She felt a sharp pain in her hip as it slammed into the handrail. She rubbed it until the pain subsided, then she chuckled.  The bruise would be the cheapest souvenir Carrie brought home from her vacation.  She moved forward, this time holding onto the ship’s rail.  Again the floor dropped away.  She laughed for the sheer joy of the experience.  Startled by the grumbling behind her, Carrie turned to see an old man hunched over grabbing tight to the rail.  He looked to be in his early eighties, frail and wrinkled.  His purple sweat outfit hung loosely over his gaunt body.

Rushing to help, Carrie put a steadying hand on his back and encouraged, Walking’s a bit of a struggle tonight isn’t it?  Can I help?

Damn ship, he muttered and glared at Carrie.  I just want a damn cookie so I can take my pills and go to sleep.  Damn ship keeps throwing me around.

The ocean is a bit rocky tonight, she smiled at him.  I’m on my way to the buffet for a midnight snack.  Can I bring you back your cookie?

Peanut butter.  Three of them.  And a glass of milk, he grumbled.  And bring it to me before you eat yourself a long leisurely dinner and forget about me.  I want to get some damn sleep before the sun comes up.

Carrie steadied the old man to his cabin and headed up to the lido-deck buffet for his cookies.  She thought of his grunt of thanks and smiled.  He had awakened more than her compassion.  In some bizarre way, she felt a connection with him.  Thirty-one and unloved, Carrie understood what it meant to be alone and afraid of the future.

Carrie didn’t know it, but her fears for her future had been a pointless waste of time.

A man watched Carrie walk down the hallway and out onto the pool deck.  He’d watched her all cruise.  Her short blonde hair and laughing blue eyes haunted his dreams.  Each night he’d hoped for the chance to see her alone.  Each night she evaded him.  But only by chance, not choice.  She didn't know he existed.  He put his hand in his jacket pocket and touched the scarf he held there.  Rubbing it between his fingers sent a jolt up his arm and down into his groin.  He stepped onto the abandoned deck and smiled. 

Carrie stood alone at the rail.

Basking in the moon’s glow, Carrie paid no attention to the footsteps behind her.  She barely felt a flicker as the scarf slipped around her neck.  The next second, she kicked out as the scarf squeezed tight, yanking her breath away.  It only took a few seconds for her to fall still.  He held her up and glanced over his shoulder.  The laughter in the distance did not alarm him.  Confident in his power, he shifted Carrie’s weight and dragged her toward his room.  He heard voices, and quickly turned Carrie towards him.  He kissed her unconscious mouth, holding her so they appeared locked in passion.

Get a room! a guy laughed and slapped him on the back as he passed.

Alone again, he dragged Carrie into his room, tied her to the bed, and waited for her to regain consciousness.

She awoke to music, her favorite hymn.  Carrie felt at peace.  When her eyes fluttered open, her peace shattered.  His deep blue eyes bore into hers, and then he smiled.  No one heard her scream through the duct tape he’d stretched across her mouth.

Three hours later and in shock, Carrie no longer had the ability to scream.  He had no difficulty guiding her to the back of the ship, where he lifted her abused and battered body, and dropped her into the dark waters below.

Chapter One

January 2012

We have another female passenger unaccounted for.  Jim Tanger pushed his chair back from his desk and stood up in disgust.  His partner, Mark Henry, glanced up from the newspaper he was reading.

Damn it, Mark.  The thirty-three-year-old port cop felt his gut tense and his anger rise.  You would think this news would be important enough to warrant a phone call, not just a notification via bulk email.

 It’s Corporate’s problem.  Deputized by the great state of California or not, we are glorified shore side security. They don’t want our help.  What can you do?  Mark’s nonchalant shrug pissed Jim off even more.

"Something.  Anything.  I’m not gonna read another email like that and say, ‘Oh well, there goes another girl!’  Jim crossed to his partner.  In the last five years, eight young, single, female passengers have disappeared off Sunburst ships.  Jim turned away.  Our ships!

And two old, fat, drunk men.  Mark interjected and took a swig of coffee.

What the hell do they have to do with this?

Come on Jim.  We know those two guys got drunk and stumbled over the side.  Witnesses in both cases testified that the men were obnoxious, rude, and unable to walk or use sound judgment.  No one saw them fall.  But no one was surprised when they did.  It is more than likely these women were in that same condition, with the same result.

All eight of them?  And no witnesses? Jim snorted.  That’s pushing it, don’t you think?

Jim kicked his chair hard enough to make it bang into the wall across the room.  He watched it without gaining any release and started pacing around their ten-by-ten foot office.  The ships they protected were beautiful, but the shore side cops were crowded into grey nondescript holes to do their job.  Not that Jim minded.  His stomach threatened to turn inside out every time he stepped onto a ship.  The thought of the incessant rocking made him queasy.  Yep, give him shore side any day.  An office window would be nice, though.

Jim, Mark tried to reason with him.  Remember that little Asian girl that stuffed herself into her friend’s duffle bag?  She wanted to get free, away from the dude who was controlling her life.  Whamo, bammo!  Her friend carries her off at a port in Mexico.  She never slid her card through the reader to tell the ship she’d left.  And whamo, bammo, she was free.

Free for about fourteen hours.  Free until the guy she was running from caught her and cut her to pieces.

That’s beside the point.  Mark drummed his pencil on his desk.  She left the ship unaccounted for.  It can be done.  It has been done.  Very likely most of those girls figured out how to get off the ship without going through the checkout procedure.

The checkout procedures were well thought out and very well executed.  Passengers and crew carried cruise cards with them at all times.  The cruise cards were linked to the passenger’s credit card, so every time they purchased a drink or souvenir on ship, the card was swiped.  Every time they left the ship or re-boarded, their card was swiped.  The ship’s computer knew to the second who was on their ship and who was not. No one left without being swiped.  That was policy.  That was procedure.

Mark watched Jim pace a moment or two longer.  What’s the point in driving yourself crazy?  Corporate is investigating.  Until someone determines a crime was committed, there is nothing we can do.

Jim stalked up to Mark’s desk, placed both hands on it, and leaned in.  Eye to eye, fighting to restrain his frustration and anger, he asked, What if Corporate is wrong?  What if we are inviting single women on board our ships and setting them up as prey for some demented serial killer?

Mark looked up at his friend and partner.  He held eye contact for three or four seconds before he exploded with laughter.

Jim pushed away from the desk and rubbed his hands across his face.  Asshole.  I’m serious.

Come on Jim, Mark tried to placate.  Listen to yourself.  A demented serial killer?  It’s ludicrous.  There are three thousand passengers on some of these cruise ships.  They’re running them all the time, all over the world.  It is eight people out of the thousands upon hundreds of thousands that have sailed with Sunburst in the last five years.  That’s not that many.

It is eight too many.  Jim walked to the door, but instead of opening it, he rested his head against the doorjamb.  Corporate suspects suicide.

Mark looked up.  Shit, he mumbled to himself.  He stood and crossed to Jim.  Wanting to be gentle, trying to be reasonable, he said It could have been.

No.  One word.  Passion, anguish, and fear all wrapped up in that one, two-letter denial. 

Mark moved to the other side of the room, unable to answer his partner’s grief.  He faced the bright and cheerful poster that hung on the wall.  It portrayed one of the Sunburst Cruise ships, loaded with happy, healthy people.  The poster almost screamed the promise of a perfect vacation.  Mark knew a perfect vacation was not enough for some people.  A young woman, who chooses to go on a cruise alone, might be lonely enough to not want to come back.

Jim didn’t answer.  He didn’t even hear Mark.  His mind was reliving, replaying, re-torturing him through the most horrific time in his life.  Three years ago, he was a thirty-year-old Los Angeles Police Force detective.  He worked long hours and, though he tried not to, he sometimes brought his stress home.  He never hit her, or even yelled at her, but he shut his wife out.  Didn’t allow her to help.  Didn’t allow her to know what the job was doing to him.  Then, one night he came home to find his beautiful, young wife Marlena dead. A single gunshot wound to the head--the weapon still grasped in her hand.  There was no forced entry, no unidentified prints, no anything.  Just blood, death, and despair.  It didn’t take long for the formal ruling to come down as a suicide.  It wasn’t.  Jim knew it.  She would never have taken her own life.  He couldn’t prove it.  He couldn’t fight it.  He couldn’t accept it.  He quit the force and wallowed in anger and self-pity for almost a year.  Then he pulled himself together and took the much less intensive shore side deputy job.  It was a definite cut in pay and seniority, and a welcomed cut in stress and time.

Now the public relations gurus and the corporate accountants wanted to protect the image of the Sunburst Cruise Line.  It was easy and explainable, and certainly not the fault of the cruise line, if a lonely woman threw herself overboard.  Just rule it suicide.  Case closed.  But Jim could not accept that.  He knew in his gut they were wrong.  For those eight women, for the myriad of women who would soon be coming on board, and for Marlena, Jim would do everything he could to find out what really happened.

Chapter Two

Joel and Julie

The wipers’ frenzied attack across Julie's windshield couldn’t keep up with the downpour of rain.  Julie squinted to see where she was going and felt a large measure of relief when she pulled into a parking space at the mall.  The relief diminished when she realized how far she was from the door and that her umbrella sat in her closet at home. 

Julie ran, stepped in one big puddle, and laughed when she reached the door.  She felt a bubble of excitement growing inside her.  Her grandmother may have said the key to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but Julie's husband's heart could be found through the exotic inventory at Victoria's Secret.

Before Christmas, Julie and Joel had wandered through the mall hunting for presents--practical presents when Joel chose them, whimsical ones for Julie’s friends. The mannequin in the window of Victoria’s Secret had been draped in a dark red nightgown that was never meant to be slept in.  The black lace bodice revealed enough to tantalize but not enough to flaunt.  It was short, and the black lace thong beneath topped the incredible long legs of the mannequin.  Julie recognized the look in Joel’s eyes and knew what would be under her Christmas tree this year.

But when Christmas came, and the packages were all opened, there was no romantic lingerie in Julie’s pile.  Joel had given her a knife set for the kitchen--an expensive one so she knew he got it on sale.  He’d also given her some gloves, a scarf, and a very ugly watch that was waterproof and would keep track of her time in the unlikely event she ever went jogging.  

A surprise gift from Julie's parents made up for Joel's lapse in romance. They gave Joel and Julie a thirteen day cruise to Hawaii, setting sail in late March.  Now Julie had an excuse to buy that incredible, sexy, stunning piece of lingerie for her husband.  Julie smiled.  It is more blessed to give than to receive.

Julie dashed through the mall, dripping water on the tile floor, hoping the Christmas nightie was still hanging in the window for the after-Christmas shoppers.  She laughed when she saw it, partly from the anticipation of making Joel happy, and partly from seeing her dripping reflection in the glass. 

*****

Joel laced up his Asics, adjusted his headphones, and zipped up his neon windbreaker. There was something liberating about running in the rain through the tree-lined streets of Sacramento.  The energy, the power, the force of the storm surrounded and engulfed him.  He chose to take it on, suck in the energy, and conquer. 

Life is good, he thought, as the rain pelted his face and George Thorogood tunes assaulted his eardrums.  He was only 32 and had just been promoted to Executive Supervisor of Finance, with the promise of a vice presidency if he proved himself.  And he would.  His 6’2" body was lean and muscular; much more so than when he was a skinny, dorky college student at UCLA.  And he knew at least one very sexy woman at work who found him attractive.  His golden hair was still thick, unlike his childhood friend who was already nearly bald.  He kept it conservatively short on the sides and combed back the extra length he allowed on the top.  Joel enjoyed being characterized as well-groomed.  His eyes were a stunning deep green when he wore his colored contacts and a hazel green when he wore his glasses.  His lips were full, almost feminine. He toyed with the idea of growing a mustache, but the results had never matched his vision, so he stayed clean shaven.  More money flowed into his bank account than he’d ever thought possible.  He had a comfortable home in an up and coming neighborhood, a wife who adored him no matter what he did, a yellow lab named Duke, and an office staff that catered to him so well he believed all the good things they said when they flattered him.  Half of him was surprised that he was the master of such grandeur; while the other half was sure he deserved to be.

*****

Julie stood in front of the dressing room mirror. Her chocolate brown hair was cut short and shaggy.  She parted in on the side, so her bangs swept across covering the tip of her right eye and leaving most of her forehead visible.  Her pointed chin and broad cheekbones gave her a pixy look.  People described her as cute rather than beautiful.  Her large brown eyes lit up whenever she talked, and her broad smile was never too far from the surface.  She’d outgrown the freckles that used to dust her small nose, and the beginnings of crow’s feet were noticeable around her eyes.  People who knew Julie knew those lines came from laughing.  She was childless, but filled her mother-heart and her work days teaching and playing with preschoolers. 

Julie wrinkled up her nose, tilted her head sideways, and gazed at herself in the mirror.  The lingerie was beautiful, but not quite as stunning as it was in the window.  Well, she groaned, she was not quite as stunning as the sleek plastic doll that modeled it.  Her body had gotten a little, just a little, pear-like in the past seven years.  Never tall and always small breasted, the extra fifteen pounds she had put on all landed around her belly and thighs.  The medium sized garment stretched a bit across her belly, enough so you could see her belly button.  That was not attractive, she admitted to herself.  But a large?  She’d never had to buy a large before.  Okay, she told her reflection in the mirror, I can get the large and cut the tag out so I don’t see it every time I put it on, or I can get the medium and just lose ten or so pounds before the cruise.  Julie put the large back on its hanger and left it in the dressing room.

Chapter Three

The Mistress

Joel loved going into work.  He felt great satisfaction each time he pulled into his own parking space.  When he walked through the big glass doors, the security guard greeted him by name.  He worked out of a private office big enough for a multitude of green plants.  Three pieces of real art, not prints, hung on his walls.  He knew the employees at Harper, Chase, and Wry respected him.  He found his work thrilling, and the decisions he made affected many lives in major ways.

Home was comfortable, easy, and boring.  The office vibrated with life, stimulating conversation, money and power.  Julie was great--really great--but conversation with her usually revolved around a 3-year-old learning to count or trivial household details.  Exciting?  Not even close.  It felt like they had had the same conversation every weeknight for the last seven years.  But he was fond of her--really fond of her.  And glad he married her.  You can’t have everything--at least most people can’t.  Joel walked to his window and looked down the four stories to the parking lot.

*****

Kim Rochelle opened the door of her BMW and rotated her backside so both of her long legs could exit the car at the same time.  She had practiced the move just in case someone of value was watching.  It was a mind-numbing, sexy show.  Too bad it was wasted this morning on the night janitor who’d stumbled by, searching for his car through a sleepy haze.  Kim didn’t mind.  Odds were, someone watched from the office windows above. 

Kim’s flawless walk to the building wasn’t hampered by her 4" stilettos, or her tight business suit.  The six-inch slit up the back of the skirt insured easy movement.  She had chosen a conservative grey this morning; conservative in color, anyway.  The jacket bulged over her breasts, a gift from her father for graduating from high school.  He had given Kim the choice between a boob job or a year of college.  She chose the boobs.  Kim figured they would be more valuable to her in the long run.  She would figure out how to pay for college some other way.  And she had.

Good morning, Miss Rochelle, the building’s security guard came close to drooling as she approached.

Good morning, Harry! Kim grabbed his chin and jiggled it gently.  She leaned toward him, so close he knew one of these days she would lean all the way in and kiss his sixty-year-old lips. She looked in his eyes and asked, How are you today?

Better now that you are here, Miss Rochelle.  He breathed deep to absorb the scent of her.  Much better.

Kim patted his cheek.  That’s good.  Have a nice day.  She walked away from him, and toward the elevator knowing he enjoyed that view, too.  Men were easy.  It didn’t take much to make them like you. Women were much more difficult, especially when you chose to dress for the men.  But Kim wasn’t stupid enough to neglect the female of the species.  Nothing can ruin plans quicker than a backstabbing, jealous woman.  It took more sugar, more time, more discretion, and more rules to become one of the girls.

Kelly, I love your hair!  New style and you are glowing.  You are going places girl!  Kim faked sincerity well.  She remembered things too.  How was the baby shower last weekend?  Sorry I couldn’t make it.  Hope you liked the music box!  And she empathized.  I heard, and I’m so sorry.  Is there anything I can do?  This accompanied by a gentle hand squeeze.  The women of the office raised their eyebrows at her clothes, looked down their noses at her bleached blonde hair, and sneered at her boob job.  But after six months, they welcomed her into their club--on probationary status, of course.

Kim sat at her cubicle desk and was not even tempted to remove her heels.  She unlocked and opened her bottom drawer and placed her purse inside.  She gave the drawer an extra tug to pull it far enough out to see the crown she had hidden in the back.  Kim stared at the rhinestones for a moment.  No one would understand why she carried her high school’s Homecoming Queen crown with her wherever she went.  No one needed to understand.  It was for her and her alone.  It motivated, challenged, and reminded her how life works, how she would have to work to get what she wanted.   She slid the drawer closed, locked it, and pulled out the Williamson file.  Glancing over it, she noted important details on sticky notes, grabbed a corresponding file, and took them both to her boss’s office.

Come in, Joel responded to her knock.  Ah Kim, do you have the files?  He stood up from his desk and moved to the door.  Sticking his head out, he spoke to his secretary.  Marcia, could you hold my calls for, He looked back at Kim and asked, How long do you need?

Thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes, Marcia.  Thanks.  Joel shut the door, turned to Kim, and began to slowly, seductively unbutton her jacket and feast on the joys beneath. 

Chapter Four

Late

Julie felt the grocery bag shift and begin to slide out of her hands as she struggled to fit the key into the front door of their suburban tract home.  Lifting her right knee up under the bag to catch it, she hopped on her left foot to maintain her balance.  She got the lock to turn, pushed the door open, and all but fell inside.  Both bags tore, spewing canned goods and vegetables across her laminate entryway.

Well that’s an entrance! Julie announced to the empty house.  Crawling and collecting, she made her way to the kitchen.  She chose to ignore the blinking light on the phone’s message machine, knowing that if it was important they would have called her cell phone.  Crossing to the stereo, she selected Kyle Hovatter’s Aloft, closed her eyes and breathed deeply into the music.  This was her favorite part of the day.  Joel was not yet home, but anticipated.  She would create a meal to please him.  And she had a moment of peace before she began.  All she wanted was here, or soon would be.

An hour later the lemongrass chicken was ready, the rice already fluffed, and the homemade ginger bread sliced.  Julie made her third trip to the front window.  He was only thirty minutes late.  Probably bad traffic or an accident somewhere that was slowing everything down.  Accident.  She wouldn’t think about it.  He was safe.  She was an idiot.  Must be hormones screwing up her emotions.  But where was he?

*****

Joel walked out of the corporate business meeting feeling exhilarated and energized.  It did not matter that it had lasted two hours longer than anyone anticipated.  It didn’t matter that up until the last moments it was tedious--no, that was too polite a word to describe it. It didn’t matter; he had gotten the job done.  The success of the acquisition of their chief competitor was largely due to him.  And a few hundred lawyers.  But mostly him.

Great job! Joel’s boss and CEO slapped him on the back.  You showed good vision, good preparation, and good follow-through.  It’s going to mean a lot to our business.  And a lot of overtime for you.  Glad you’re salaried.  He laughed at his own joke.  Let’s grab a drink to celebrate.

Thanks, Rick.  I’ve got to take a rain check and get home.  Julie probably has dinner on the table.  Joel glanced at his watch.  Oh man, I’m really late.  Hope she didn’t feed mine to the dog.

Give her a call and get home to her.  Rick started to walk away, and then turned back to Joel.  You probably don’t realize how lucky you are to have the woman you love waiting for you--with the bonus of a home-cooked meal.  Rick paused for a moment, wondering how Joel would take advice on his personal life.  It’s easy to screw up.  I know.  I screwed up my marriage big time, and I’d give anything to have it back.  After a long serious look at Joel, he turned and, sighing, went to his car.

Stunned by the words and the look, Joel watched Rick leave.  He had no intention of screwing up his marriage.  He was fond of Julie.  He cared about her, and took care of her.  The other?  Well, it was just temporary.  It was part of the job, part of what gave him the edge and the confidence to set him apart.  Kim was an exciting interlude, and damn it, he’d earned that interlude.  She was part of his fast ride up the corporate ladder. And what a ride it was. He would protect Julie.  She would never know about it; he would do whatever it took to make sure of that.  He didn’t want to hurt her.  But he also couldn’t give up what Kim offered.  There was a definite feeling of guilt in his gut--just not enough to make him walk away.

Joel spent the drive home vacillating between thoughts of self-justification, self-delusion, and self-satisfaction.  His relationship with Kim was purely physical.  He would be a better husband and lover because of what she taught him.  Julie never told him what she wanted from him in bed.  She just took what he offered.  Now he had more to offer.  She’d like that.  He wasn’t screwing up his marriage, he was making it better.  Being with Kim was like being with a coach or trainer.  That was it.  There had never been, nor ever be, any plans to leave Julie for Kim.  He was very fond of Julie--protective of her, even.  

*****

By eight o’clock Julie was frantic and tearful.  There had been no accidents reported on the evening news, and Joel’s cell phone went straight to message (she’d left him four).  His office was closed by now.  She even debated calling the local hospitals.  Before she did, Julie remembered the blinking light on the home phone message machine.  Relief, sudden and rushing, had every muscle in her body relaxing.  How stupid she was to forget about the message.  She pushed the play button expecting to hear Joel’s voice. 

Hey Sweetheart, it’s Mom.  Just wanted to chat.  Give me a call when you get this.

It felt like a punch in the stomach.  Julie dropped in the middle of the kitchen floor.  It wasn’t like Joel had never been late before.  He had, many times, but he always called.  She knew if something had happened to him, someone would have let her know.  Julie