Agape || Rafe Cameron

Chapter Two

The Pogues had no idea that by returning to the main dock of the port for a simple resupply, they would find themselves caught up in a tense and anxious crowd of locals trying to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath a damp white sheet.

They hadn't experienced that pain, while a young teen, who looked to be about a year younger than them, showed them on her phone the morbid photos of a drowned man named Scooter Grubbs.

JJ stood on a beam, with Lyn gently resting on his legs, perfectly positioned to prevent her from taking a nasty spill onto the lower dock. His gaze was fixed on the photo, but his mind wandered through the various events that had unfolded during this day that seemed never-ending.

"What kind of boat did he have?" he asked, suspiciously. 

"Somehow, that dirtbag copped a brand-new Grady-White. Everyone's out looking for it."

Lyn lifted her eyes to meet JJ's, which seemed clouded by a hint of panic. It was rare for her blond friend to show any sign of worry when it came to the reckless things he did, and even rarer for him to let it show.

The five teenagers stood up in a sudden rush, a movement so unexpected that it left the girl sitting on her wooden crate, phone in hand, completely thrown off. 

Her friends rushed toward the boat, while her steps grew slower and slower.

Her lungs began to tighten as her mind spiraled into deeper panic. If the police were to find out about their involvement in the disappearance of evidence, not only would she lose her friends, but she would also tarnish her father's reputation—and that of his company.

Lyn had never been particularly good at handling stress, and it had to be said that staying close to the Pogues wasn't the best way to avoid it. She wasn't the only one panicking, though the reasons for her friends' anxiety weren't exactly the same.

Lakelyn passed through the light door that John B held open for her and curled up at the back of the faded blue couch, which, though rather shabby, was surprisingly comfortable. However, she wasn't truly enjoying its softness at the moment.

Her head turned toward JJ, who was nervously bouncing his leg against the creaking and cracked floor of the property.

"What should we do?"

"You know what we have to do Lyn. Deny, deny, deny," he repeated, suddenly getting up and walking toward the window as if he were already anticipating the arrival of a flashing blue car on the vacant lot next to the Château.

Pope shook his head while Kiara was silently praying, hoping they could return the money to this poor widow, the one they had seen earlier sobbing over the stretcher.

"I told you, It's bad karma guys."

"Karma's not the most important thing right now, Kie. The real question is, how the hell did a guy like Scooter Grubbs afford a Grady-White?" Lyn asked rhetorically, recalling the few times she'd crossed paths with him.

It seemed obvious to her that Figure Eight was not his natural environment, and a boat like that was worth thousands of dollars—money that the unfortunate guy could have only acquired illegally.

Lyn wasn't the brightest of the group, but she occasionally came to some pretty relevant conclusions. She was relieved to see that John B had come to the same conclusion as her, and reassured her that the headaches that had been nagging her since their arrival three-quarters of an hour ago hadn't started eating away at her brain.

John B raised his hand toward her, picking up her thread of thought that had sparked an intriguing idea inside his own mind.

"Lyn's right, we're talking about a dirtbag marina rat who's never had more than 40 bucks in his pocket, and all of a sudden he's got a Grady-White? You know what this means ?"