When Marlowe stepped into Sugar Bay that afternoon, dragging Samantha Blackthorne behind him, the sun clawed through the fog, trying to make nice with a town drowning in secrets beneath its piers.
Declan Cross waited for them at The Salty Seamen, nursing a glass of something dark enough to tell its own sad story. His sharp eyes held the look of a man who had played cards with fate and won by bluff alone.
“Marlowe.” Declan tipped his glass slightly. “Didn’t think I’d see you again unless it was trouble.”
Jack slid into the seat across from him, Sam settling beside him with a smirk sharp enough to cut glass. She pulled off her leather gloves, one finger at a time, her movements deliberate, teasing.
“Trouble’s got long arms, Cross,” Jack said, glancing at her. “And it’s got a partner who insists on driving.”
Sam leaned back, crossing her legs with practiced grace. “You’re just mad because I don’t let you pick the music.”
Declan raised an eyebrow. “Now that we’ve settled the radio dispute, what’s this about?”
Jack leaned in, voice low enough to keep the sharks from circling. “Ever hear of Black Lagoon?”
Declan frowned. “Fairy tale. Locals claim a pirate named Elias Graves stashed a fortune there before disappearing off the map. No proof though.”
Jack slipped a leather-bound journal onto the table, its edges curled like whispers from the past. “His great-grandson thinks otherwise. Loaned me this. Wants to know if it’s treasure or bedtime stories.”
Sam tapped the journal with a manicured nail. “Man’s desperate. He won’t admit it, but he thinks someone else knows. Been looking over his shoulder ever since he put pen to paper.”
Declan drummed his fingers on the table. “And you want me in?”
Jack nodded. “You and Milinah.”
Milinah, watching the exchange with quiet intensity, finally spoke. “What’s in it for us?”
Jack smirked. “Could be treasure. Could be nothing. But someone in Sugar Bay sure as hell doesn’t want us looking.”
Sam tilted her head, her smile playful and sharp. “Sounds like fun. I’ve been meaning to stretch my legs.”
Jack shot her a look. “You mean stretch your trigger finger.”
She shrugged, unbothered. “Same thing.”
Declan exhaled sharply, measuring the risk in the air. “So if we go poking around, someone might decide we should sleep with the fishes?”
Sam grinned, leaning closer to Jack. “Wouldn’t be the first time you dragged me into something messy.”
Jack met her gaze, amusement sparking. “You love messy. Admit it.”
Milinah tilted her head. “Who else knows about this?”
Jack shrugged. “The kind of people who’d rather you not ask.”
Declan downed his drink. “Alright. Let’s find Black Lagoon.”
And just like that, they stepped into a storm that smelled like danger and tasted like blood.
The kind of trouble that wore a velvet glove but carried a loaded fist. Jack Marlowe had danced with it before—it always led to bruises, broken locks, and secrets that made a man sleep with one eye open.
When Jack and Sam stepped into Jessica Hargrove’s bungalow, they knew the place was equal parts dream and crypt. Outside, roses and morning glories tangled in a riot of colors. Inside, the air hung heavy with dust, refusing to let the past go. Books covered every surface—spines cracked, pages frayed, and journals stacked in precarious towers, as though knowledge itself had toppled over her.
Jessica sat at her desk near the window, curtains drawn tight against the light. Still beautiful. Still sharp. A woman marked by what she had seen, touched—and what had nearly devoured her aboard the Dark Currents ship. Her familiar smile greeted them, weary and knowing.
“Jack. Declan.” She paused, her gaze sweeping over Sam and Milinah. “Ladies.”
Milinah claimed the chair beside Declan with the ease of someone who owned the space. Sam, as if by instinct, leaned against Jack’s chair—a casual intimacy that didn’t need confirming. Milinah’s eyes flicked to Sam’s hand on Jack’s shoulder—barely a glance, but enough to lay down the first card in their unspoken game.
Jessica, too perceptive to miss the undercurrents, smirked but said nothing. She tapped the journal on her desk, her fingers dancing over the cracked leather. “You dragged yourselves all the way here for this?”
Sam tugged off her gloves, one finger at a time, slow enough to draw Milinah’s narrowed gaze. “Wouldn’t have bothered if it was just another bedtime story.”
Declan exhaled. “We’re betting it’s more than that.”
Jessica flipped the journal open, her sharp eyes scanning the pages. Her fingers traced the ink, stopping in places only she could see patterns, piecing together threads invisible to the untrained eye.
Jack and Declan exchanged a look, giving her the space to work.
Sam leaned in, her voice a soft murmur against Jack’s ear. “Milinah’s watching us.”
Jack smirked. “She’s got taste.”
Sam hummed, tilting her head. “She sure thinks so.”
Milinah, catching the exchange, shot them a dry glance. “I don’t have time to watch a couple of lovebirds play detective.”
Sam flashed her a slow grin. “Jealous?”
Milinah’s expression didn’t waver. “Of what? Your fashion choices?”
Jack stifled a chuckle, but Jessica cut in before the tension could spark.
“This pirate,” she murmured, tapping the journal, “was no fool. No direct map, but—” She flipped back a few pages, cross-referencing symbols with the precision of a clockmaker. “Black Lagoon is real. And I know where it is.”
Everyone leaned in.
Jessica leaned back.
Jack let out a low whistle. “That fast?”
She shrugged. “People hide truths in stories. They forget words are maps, just like ink on parchment.”
Declan whistled, shaking his head. “Looks like we’ve got a destination.”
Jessica poured herself tea, the steam curling into the room like ghosts revisiting old sins. “Tread carefully. You’re not the only ones looking.”
Her warning was still fresh when they returned to their motel—only to find it ransacked. Drawers yanked loose, the mattress flipped, clothes and papers scattered like leaves after a storm.
Jack surveyed the destruction, rolling his shoulders. “Someone was desperate to find something.”
Sam picked up her cracked compact mirror, sighed, and slid it into her coat. “And I’d bet they didn’t find it.”
Milinah crossed her arms, her sharp gaze sweeping the wreckage. “Which means they’ll come looking again.”
Declan exhaled heavily. “I hate being right.”
Jack gave him a half-smile. “So do I.”
Sam leaned against him, her expression telling him everything he needed to know.
“We find Black Lagoon,” Jack said.
Because if someone was willing to tear Sugar Bay apart, the treasure was real. And that meant things were about to get very, very ugly.
The air around them turned heavy after the discovery at the motel door. A single word etched deep into the wood carried weight—Death.
Milinah hesitated, her fingers brushing the doorframe, tracing the rough carving like it might speak if she lingered long enough.
Declan’s voice cut through the fog creeping into her thoughts. “Come on, Milinah, or you get left behind.”
Her head snapped up, and she regained composure in an instant. “I’m coming!” she said, too quick, a little too loud.
Jack waited by the car, a cigarette perched at the corner of his mouth. His sharp gaze flicked from Milinah to the door she’d stepped away from, taking in her tension without comment.
Beside him, Sam crossed her arms, scrutinizing Milinah with just enough intensity to let her know the stumble hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“You alright there, princess?” Sam asked lightly, the undercurrent of challenge undeniable.
Milinah bristled, brushing past her with a forced smile. “Better than you look after a night in that dump.”
Jack chuckled low, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Play nice, ladies. We’re all on the same team here.”
Sam’s reply came sharp, cutting: “Sure we are. Just some of us play better than others.”
Milinah settled into the back seat, letting out a tight laugh. “And some of us don’t need to try so hard.”
Declan slid into the driver’s seat, rolling his eyes as he started the engine. “If you two could save the barbs until we’re out of range of whoever just marked us for death, that’d be great.”
The car rumbled to life as they pulled away from the wrecked motel, leaving the carved warning behind—but not the weight of its message.
The motel clerk’s details about a black Plymouth sedan with white-wall tires played over in Jack’s mind like a bad tune that refused to quit.
“You think they’ll come back?” Milinah asked quietly from the backseat. Her usual edge softened, betraying a sliver of doubt.
Jack shrugged. “If they didn’t find what they wanted, sure. Question is, what’s their next move?”
Sam, sitting shotgun, tapped her fingers against the window, lost in thought. “I’d bet they’ll keep tabs on anyone tied to this journal. If we’re lucky, they might slip up and lead us to whoever is pulling the strings.”
Declan grunted. “And if we’re not lucky?”
Sam’s lips quirked into a wry smile. “Then they find us first.”
Milinah leaned forward, her tone sharp as ever. “Just so we’re clear—who’s supposed to be the brains of this operation?”
Jack grinned, catching her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Depends on the day.”
Sam turned, locking eyes with Milinah. “But it’s definitely not you.”
The tension simmered in the car, an unspoken truce holding them together—for now. Whatever awaited them at Declan’s place might bring safety, but it wasn’t likely to bring peace. Not with secrets piling up faster than answers and danger breathing down their necks.
The night deepened into an uneasy quiet, the kind that made the hum of Declan’s refrigerator and the crackle of the old radio too loud. A Buck Rogers serial spilled over the room, its retro futurism clashing with the tension settling thick between them.
When the knock came, it was soft. Deliberate.
Declan hesitated, then moved to the door. Jack followed silently, his hand instinctively resting on the revolver at his side.
He nodded to Declan, signaling him to proceed. Declan turned the knob and opened the door.
Jessica Hargrove stood there, one hand in the pocket of her coat, the other brushing her slightly mussed hair.
“I thought I’d join the festivities,” she said, flashing a crooked smile as her gaze swept over Jack and Declan, lingering briefly on the others. “Looks like I missed the party at the motel.”
Jack stepped back, letting her in, his expression unreadable though his grip on the revolver eased. “Thought you weren’t much for parties these days, Jessica.”
She shrugged, slipping off her coat and tossing it over a chair. “Desperate times. Besides, I heard you might have some light reading.”
Sam, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly did you hear that?”
Jessica glanced at her, cool and sharp. “I have my ways. You, of all people, should understand that.”
Milinah scoffed from her perch on the couch, eyeing Jessica critically. “Seems like everyone in this town’s got their ‘ways.’ What makes you special?”
Jessica’s gaze flicked toward her, considering, but she said nothing pointed. Instead, she turned to Jack. “The journal. Let’s see it.”
Jack hesitated but pulled it from his jacket, handing it over. Jessica took it with reverence, though something darker flickered in her eyes.
As Declan poured coffee at the small kitchen table, Jessica traced her nail over the faded ink as though it held answers only she could see. The silence thickened, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing down.
Suddenly, Jessica tore a page from the journal. The sound of ripping paper was loud enough to snap everyone to attention.
“What the—” Sam started, moving toward her, but Jack raised a hand to stop her.
Jessica held the torn page to the light. The ink shimmered, revealing hidden symbols and numbers.
“It’s a set of coordinates,” Jessica murmured, her tone reverent.
Jack leaned in, narrowing his eyes. “Coordinates for what?”
Jessica pointed to the ornate lettering etched alongside the numbers, her finger tracing its shape. “This,” she said, voice steady, “is an amalgam for the word Seraphim.”
Declan exhaled sharply, sitting back in his chair. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Milinah shifted uneasily, glancing between the page and Jessica. “Seraphim? What is this, some conspiracy theory?”
Jessica lowered the page, meeting Milinah’s skeptical gaze. “Conspiracies don’t survive centuries without a kernel of truth.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “If this ties to Black Lagoon…”
“It does,” Jessica cut in. “The coordinates lead to a site just outside town. Somewhere no one’s dared to dig.”
Sam smirked faintly, leaning into the moment. “Dared to, huh? And why’s that?”
Jessica hesitated, her fingers flexing against the torn page. “Because some secrets were meant to stay buried.”
The room fell silent, her words settling over them like a dark shroud. Whatever lay at Black Lagoon wasn’t just treasure—it was power, history, and something far darker waiting in the depths.
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