IN LOVE WITH MY BROTHER'S WIFE

EPISODE 2

"Who is this? Put Danny on the phone now!"

My voice cracked as I shouted into the receiver. I gripped the plastic casing of the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

"Answer me!" I yelled.

But the line was dead. Just the cold, empty hum of a disconnect tone. Beeeeeeep.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. The screen went black. The unknown caller was gone, but his voice was still echoing in my head. Tell me you have the gold. Or your brother is fish food.

Sarah was standing right in front of me. She looked like she was about to shatter into a million pieces. Her eyes were wide and wet. Her chest was moving fast, up and down, up and down.

"Jack?" she whispered. "Was it him?"

"No," I said. I put the phone down on the table. My hand was shaking. "It wasn't Danny. It was... someone else."

"What did they say?" She grabbed my lapels. Her fingers bunched up the fabric of my wet jacket. "Tell me exactly what they said."

"They asked for the gold," I said. "They said if we don't give it to them..." I couldn't finish the sentence. I couldn't say the words fish food to her. It was too cruel. "They said Danny is in trouble."

Sarah let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. It was a terrifying sound. "Gold? What gold? Danny salvages scrap metal, Jack. He pulls up rusty engines and old anchors. We don't have gold."

"I know," I said. I put my hands over hers, trying to calm her down. Her skin was freezing. "But Danny was looking for something. That map I found in his locker... the coordinates for the Dead Zone. He wasn't just diving for fun."

Lightning flashed outside, lighting up her face. She looked desperate. And beautiful. Even now, with her hair messy and her eyes red, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

"We have to go," she said suddenly. She pulled away from me and started looking for her keys. "We have to go to the police. We have to tell Sheriff Ford."

"No!" I grabbed her arm. "Sarah, stop."

"Why?" She spun around, her eyes blazing. "Someone has Danny! We need help!"

"Think about it," I said, keeping my voice low. "Danny left his wallet. He cut his own air hose—or someone did it to make it look like an accident. He left a secret note for me. He didn't trust the police. If we go to Ford now, and this is some kind of gang... they might kill him."

Sarah froze. She stared at me, her mind working behind those dark eyes. She knew I was right. She slumped against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.

"What do we do?" she asked, her voice small.

I knelt down in front of her. We were eye to eye. The house was dark and silent, except for the rain hammering on the roof.

"We do what he said," I told her. "The note. Check the Blue Buoy."

"The target buoy?" She shook her head. "That's miles out. Near the lighthouse. In this storm?"

"The storm is breaking," I lied. It wasn't breaking. It was raging. "We have the truck. We can drive to the lighthouse point. The buoy is anchored close to the rocks there. I can swim out to it."

"You'll drown," she said flatly.

"I won't," I said. "I'm a better swimmer than Danny. You know that."

It was the first time I had ever said it out loud. It was true. Danny was the daredevil, but I was the fish. I could hold my breath for four minutes. I could navigate the kelp beds in the dark.

Sarah looked at me. Really looked at me. For a moment, she wasn't looking at her husband's brother. She was looking at a man.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"Sarah, no. It's too dangerous."

"He's my husband," she said. She stood up, brushing the dust off her jeans. Her face was set in stone. "And you're driving my truck. Let's go."

The drive to the lighthouse point was brutal. The wind was trying to push the heavy pickup truck off the road. Rain slashed against the windshield like gravel. The wipers were slapping back and forth, fighting a losing battle.

I drove with one hand on the wheel. My other hand was resting on the gear shift. Sarah was sitting next to me.

Usually, there was a safe distance between us. The 'Brother-in-Law Gap.' But tonight, the cabin felt small. Every time the truck hit a bump, our shoulders touched. I could feel the heat coming off her body.

"Jack," she said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah?" I kept my eyes on the muddy road.

"Why didn't you ever get married?"

The question hit me harder than the wind. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. "Not the time, Sarah."

"I need to talk," she said. Her voice was tight. "If I don't talk, I'm going to scream. So tell me. You're twenty-four. You're... handsome. You have a job. Why are you alone?"

I swallowed hard. Because the only woman I want is sitting right next to me.

"I'm busy," I said. "The shop takes up all my time. Fixing Danny's mistakes takes up the rest."

"Don't be mean," she warned.

"I'm not being mean. I'm being honest." I glanced at her. "Why did you marry him?"

It was a dangerous question. I shouldn't have asked it. But the adrenaline was making me bold.

Sarah looked out the window at the black trees rushing by. "He was exciting," she said softly. "He made me feel like my life was a movie. He was loud and bright and everyone loved him. I thought... I thought if I stood next to him, I would shine too."

"You shine on your own," I said. The words slipped out before I could stop them.

She turned her head slowly. The dashboard lights cast a green glow on her face. She looked at me with a strange expression. Sadness? curiosity?

"You're the good one, aren't you?" she whispered. "Danny is the fire. You're the earth. Steady. Solid."

"Dirt gets walked on," I muttered.

"No," she said. She reached out and touched my arm. Her fingers were warm on my jacket. "Earth holds you up. Without the earth, the fire just burns out."

My heart slammed against my ribs. Her touch was like a brand. I wanted to pull the truck over. I wanted to turn into that touch.

But I didn't. I was loyal. I was the good brother.

"We're here," I said, my voice rough.

I slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded in the mud and came to a stop near the edge of the cliff.

Below us, the ocean was a roaring monster. The waves were smashing against the rocks, sending spray fifty feet into the air. The lighthouse beam swept over the water, cutting through the fog every ten seconds.

Flash. Darkness. Flash. Darkness.

In the flash, I saw it. The Blue Buoy. It was bobbing violently in the surf, about fifty yards out.

"Stay in the truck," I ordered.

"Be careful," Sarah said. She sounded terrified.

I grabbed a waterproof flashlight and a knife from the glovebox. I opened the door and jumped out.

The wind almost knocked me over. I scrambled down the rocky path to the water's edge. The spray soaked me instantly. The water was freezing, numbingly cold.

I stripped off my jacket and boots. I kept my jeans and t-shirt on. I tied the flashlight to my wrist with a lanyard.

I took a deep breath. Do it for her.

I dove in.

The shock of the cold was like a punch to the chest. The water grabbed me, pulling me down. I kicked hard, fighting the current. The waves picked me up and slammed me down. I swallowed salt water. I gagged, but I kept swimming.

I aimed for the buoy. I could hear the bell clanging wildly. Clang-clang-clang.

I reached it. The buoy was a big, rusted steel drum. I grabbed the metal handle and held on. The barnacles cut my hands, but I didn't feel it.

"Okay," I gasped, spitting out water. "Where is it?"

I pulled myself up. The buoy had a maintenance hatch on the side. It was welded shut years ago. But Danny had been coming out here for target practice.

I shined the light on the hatch. The weld looked fresh. But not real weld. It was grey epoxy. putty.

I jammed my knife into the seam and pried. The putty crumbled. The hatch popped open.

Inside, there was a waterproof Pelican case. Bright orange.

I grabbed the case. It was heavy.

Suddenly, a wave crashed over me. It ripped my grip loose. I tumbled backward into the churning water. The case slipped from my hand.

No!

I dove. I opened my eyes in the murky blackness. The flashlight beam cut through the bubbles. I saw the orange box sinking toward the rocks.

I kicked down. My lungs were burning. My ears popped.

I grabbed the handle of the box just before it hit the bottom. I kicked up, breaking the surface with a gasp.

I swam back to shore with one arm, holding the box against my chest.

When I dragged myself up onto the rocks, Sarah was there. She was soaking wet. She had come down the cliff. She ran to me, grabbing my shoulders.

"You got it!" she cried. "You got it!"

She helped me up. We stumbled back to the truck, shivering violently. We climbed inside and slammed the doors. I turned the heater on full blast.

"Open it," Sarah said, her teeth chattering.

I put the orange box on my lap. I took the silver key from my pocket—the one I found in the locker.

It fit the lock perfectly. Click.

I lifted the lid.

Inside, there was no gold.

There was a thick stack of cash. Hundred dollar bills. Maybe fifty thousand dollars.

And under the cash, a laminated map.

"It's the map of the Gilded Lady," I said, pointing to the red X drawn on the plastic.

"What's that?" Sarah pointed to the corner of the box.

There was a small glass vial. Inside was a blue liquid. It looked like ink.

"I don't know," I said.

Then I saw the photo. It was tucked into the lid of the box.

It was a picture of Danny. He was standing on the deck of the Sea Witch. He was smiling that winning smile. But he wasn't alone.

There was a man standing next to him. A man I didn't recognize. He was tall, with a scar running down his cheek. They were shaking hands.

"Who is that?" Sarah asked.

"I've never seen him," I said.

I turned the photo over. On the back, in Danny's handwriting, was a date. Two weeks ago.

"He was meeting people," Sarah whispered. "Strangers."

"He was making a deal," I said. "This money... this is a down payment."

Suddenly, high beams flooded the cab of our truck.

I squinted into the rearview mirror. A black SUV had pulled up behind us on the cliff road. It was blocking us in.

"Jack?" Sarah's voice spiked with panic.

"Hold on," I said.

The doors of the SUV opened. Two men got out. They were wearing dark raincoats. They didn't look like locals. They didn't look like police.

One of them was holding something in his hand. A tire iron.

"Give me the box!" I shouted to Sarah. "Put it under the seat!"

"Jack, they're coming!"

I slammed the truck into gear. The tires spun in the mud. I didn't wait for them to get close. I floored it.

The truck fishtailed, sliding dangerously close to the cliff edge. Sarah screamed. I corrected the wheel, fighting the slide. The truck found traction. We roared past the men.

One of them swung the tire iron. BANG.

It smashed into the passenger side mirror, shattering the glass.

"Get down!" I yelled.

I sped up, bouncing over the potholes. I watched the rearview mirror. The SUV was turning around. They were coming after us.

"Who are they?" Sarah cried. She was curled up on the seat, her hands over her head.

"The people Danny owes," I said grimly.

I drove like a madman. I took the back roads, the logging trails I knew better than anyone. I killed the headlights and drove by moonlight for a mile, terrified we would hit a tree.

Finally, we lost them. I pulled the truck deep into the woods, behind an old abandoned barn.

I killed the engine.

Silence. Just the rain on the roof and the sound of our breathing.

I looked at Sarah. She was shivering, wet, and terrified.

"Come here," I said gently.

I reached into the back seat and grabbed an old wool blanket I kept for emergencies. I wrapped it around her shoulders.

She looked up at me. Her eyes were huge. "We almost died."

"I know."

"Danny..." tears spilled over her cheeks. "What has he done, Jack? Who are these people?"

"I don't know," I said. "But we're going to find out."

She leaned into me. She buried her face in my neck. She was freezing cold. My instinct took over. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her tight against me to share my body heat.

It wasn't s****l. Not at first. It was survival. It was comfort.

But then she shifted. Her leg brushed against mine. Her hand came up and rested on my chest, right over my heart. She could feel it beating.

She lifted her head. Her face was inches from mine. In the darkness, her lips looked soft. Vulnerable.

The air in the cab changed. The fear turned into something else. Something heavy and hot.

I looked at her mouth. I couldn't help it.

"Jack," she whispered. It was a question.

I leaned in. Just an inch. The smell of her—rain and vanilla and fear—filled my head. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to kiss the fear away. I wanted to claim her, to protect her, to be the one she held onto.

My thumb brushed her cheek. She leaned into my hand. Her breath hitched.

We were so close. I could feel the warmth of her breath on my lips.

Kiss her, a voice in my head screamed. He left her. He put her in danger. She's yours now.

But then the image of the orange box flashed in my mind. The money. The photo.

And the note inside the cash bag. I hadn't shown her the note yet.

I pulled back. It took every ounce of strength I had.

"We need to check the rest of the bag," I said, my voice shaking.

Sarah blinked, looking dazed. She pulled away slowly, a flush rising on her cheeks. She looked embarrassed. And disappointed.

"Right," she said. "The bag."

I turned on the dome light. It felt harsh and yellow after the intimacy of the dark.

I pulled the bag of cash out from under the seat. I dug to the bottom.

There was a piece of paper there. A scrap of a nautical chart.

On it, Danny had written three sentences.

1. The Gilded Lady isn't a ship. It's a vault. 2. The Third Diver knows. 3. If I don't come back, don't trust Jack.

I stared at the words. The blood drained from my face.

Don't trust Jack.

Sarah was reading over my shoulder. I felt her stiffen.

She pulled back from me, sliding against the door. The warmth between us vanished instantly, replaced by a wall of ice.

"Jack?" she said. Her voice was different now. Suspicious. "Why would he write that?"

I looked at her. "I don't know, Sarah. I swear to you, I don't know."

She looked at the note, then at the money, then at me. Her hand moved to the door handle.

"Did you know about this?" she asked. "Did you know about the money?"

"No! You have to believe me."

"He was your brother," she said. "He told you secrets. He told you everything."

"Not this," I pleaded.

But the doubt was there. It was a poison. Danny had planted it from the grave. He knew I loved her. He knew I would try to save her. And he had set a trap to keep us apart.

"Take me home," she said coldly. "Now."