And as he sank to the ground, he kept watching the burning yacht, and he felt an emotion he did not at first recognize because he hadn’t felt anything like it in such a long time.
It wasn’t despair and it wasn’t elation.
It was, quite simply, relief.
AFTER
He became aware of a bright light and a throbbing in his eyeballs and an insistent beeping, a cacophony of beeps from everywhere. Voices murmuring; someone groaning in pain. Shapes floated across the scrim of his closed eyelids. His eyes felt glued shut. It hurt when he opened them. He saw a ceiling, a curtain rod, became aware of commotion, the hubbub of many voices.
He was in a hospital bed.
He swallowed and his throat hurt immensely. He groaned aloud.
“Baby?” A woman’s voice. “Danny?”
Lucy’s. He smiled. “Luce?”
“He’s awake,” she said. To him? He wasn’t sure. Why was she here? He didn’t want to ask.
“He,” Danny said, “has a headache.” It took effort to speak. He felt drugged, slow and gauzy and a thousand miles away. “And the worst sore throat in the world. He tried to smile. “You finally got me in a hospital. You know I hate hospitals.”
“I figured it was better to leave the trauma surgery to the experts. If I could have taken the bullet out myself, I would have.”
Danny squinted, thinking he’d misheard. “I didn’t get shot.”
“Yeah, you did. You’re gonna be fine, but you’re going to have a nasty scar on your shoulder.”
He struggled to sit up, felt a burst of pain. An alarm began to sound, a different sort of beeping, rapid and high.
“Where’s Abby?”
A nurse yanked open the curtain. “What’d he do now?”
“Where’s Abby?” he repeated.
“Abby’s at the Galvins’,” Lucy said.
The nurse pulled the sheet away, tugged something off his chest, ripping chest hair painfully. She adjusted whatever it was-an adhesive lead, he saw-and pressed it back down on his chest. “Please don’t try to sit up again, Mr. Goodman.”
“Can I get a glass of water? I’m really thirsty.”
“Not until your blood pressure stabilizes, and not until we see some urine. Lie back down and please stop moving.”
He shrugged and felt the pain shoot down his right side.
“Abby’s doing fine,” Lucy said. “Shaken up, obviously. She was pretty traumatized, but she seems to be doing okay.”
“I want to see her.”
“She was here for a bit while you were asleep. Now you’re going to have to talk to the FBI.”
“FBI? Wait…”
“There’s two of them, but the nurse will only allow one in here at a time. They say they just want information. They’re sitting in the waiting room. I could tell them to come back.”
“But why…”
“The explosion, sweetie, remember? Getting shot, everything at the dock?”
Danny closed his eyes, felt it coming back to him now. The gunfire, the blat of outboard motors, the immense, deafening blast.
A minute or two later, he heard the scuff of a chair on the floor nearby. “Mr. Goodman, I’m Agent Steve Nocito with the FBI, and I was wondering whether I could ask you just a few questions.”
Danny, lying down, turned his head to one side. He remembered the elaborate con perpetrated on him by the impostors Slocum and Yeager. “Can I see some ID?”
“Of course.” The agent handed him a black leather folding credential wallet. Danny glanced at the badge and ID-it felt heavy, substantial. He handed it back.
“Mr. Goodman, you were at the scene of the… explosion last night.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Why were you there?”
Why was he there? Ah, yes. How much could he say? As he thought-his brain was working far too slowly-he remained silent.
“Did you know the deceased, Thomas Galvin?” the FBI man prompted.
The words hit him in the gut. The deceased. “I did.”
“Were you a friend?”
Danny thought a long while. “Yes. I was.”
“Was he planning to flee the country?”
He thought some more. What was supposed to be known, and what wasn’t?
“Yes, I believe he was,” Danny said.
“Do you know where he intended to go?”
Danny shook his head.
“Might it have been Anguilla? He and his family used to vacation there regularly.”
“Could have been. Yes, I think so.”
“Did he have enemies?”
Danny could hear one set of beeps accelerate as his heart sped up. “Of course.”
Agent Nocito waited for more, but Danny had fallen silent. After a moment he went on: “Our preliminary investigation indicates three other deaths in the explosion. Two of them are former employees of the Drug Enforcement Administration. Were you familiar with them, by any chance?”
What was the right answer? He guessed: “No.”
“Do you know whether they were associates of Mr. Galvin?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I see. Now, your… your daughter was taken hostage for a short while last night.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
“The man wanted to know where Galvin was.”
“The man being…” The agent took out a sheaf of photographs and flipped through them. He pulled one out and showed it to Danny. “This individual?”
Danny nodded. The bald head, the rimless glasses, the mocha skin. Looking at Dr. Mendoza’s face made his stomach go cold.
“You told him where Galvin was.”
“I didn’t really have a choice. My daughter-”
“I understand. She’d been abducted. Did the man who abducted her-this Mr., uh, Mendoza-did he say what his connection was to Galvin?”
Danny paused. “I believe he was employed by the Sinaloa cartel.”
“You don’t have any proof of that, do you?”
“No.”
“Then that’s not really something you want to speculate about. This is a sensitive area for a lot of parties.”
Danny, head turned toward the side, couldn’t quite make out the FBI agent’s facial expression. “That’s what Tom Galvin thought.”
“Did he have any proof of that?”
He looked at the FBI man, and for a moment their eyes locked. Nocito’s head moved imperceptibly, a gesture of-warning? Then he leaned in and whispered in Danny’s ear. “Be very, very careful how you answer this, do you understand?”
Danny realized he was holding his breath. Nocito sat back in his chair, a neutral expression returning to his face. He repeated his original question.
“Do you have any proof of this? Anything beyond mere speculation, about…”
And Danny understood suddenly. It was like a puzzle piece falling into place. Something he’d known all along, in his gut, without ever quite realizing he’d known.
Galvin had been a confidential source for the DEA. Mistakes had been made, things were being covered up. Powerful people didn’t want to be embarrassed.
“Mr. Goodman, do you need me to repeat-”
“No, no-there’s no proof. Not sure why I said it. My head…”
“Yes, I understand. You’re disoriented, not thinking clearly. It’s best for a lot of reasons to keep your theories to yourself. Not least Mr. Galvin’s survivors. His family.”
“My memory, it’s not so good.”
Danny watched Nocito’s stern gaze melt away, like an actor on cue. The agent now smiled benignly, stood. “That should cover it, then,” he said. “Thanks for giving me a few minutes of your time, Mr. Goodman. Feel better, okay?”
Danny had drifted off to sleep. When he woke up, the FBI man was gone and Lucy was sitting in his chair. He saw her and smiled.
She said, “You weren’t telling him the truth.”