“Sure. How far is it?”
“Just under five nautical miles. You sure you want to go back north?”
“I do.”
Jake steered A Dog’s Cat out of the anchorage while Shannon unzipped the main sail cover and stepped on the top of the cockpit roof to reach the end of the boom. He knew he shouldn’t stare at the deepening tan on her smooth skin, but the long legs were only inches from his face, and he was a man after all. Then he reminded himself he wasn’t ever, and he meant ever, going to get involved with an adventurous woman again. Becky hadn’t even seen herself as adventurous. She’d thought she was timid compared to others living in the mountains, but her lack of timidity got her killed.
Shannon reached for the halyard, and Jake turned the boat into the wind.
“You want me to hoist it?” he asked.
“Nope. I can do it.”
“Tough girl, are you?”
“Do I have to keep reminding you I know how to sail?”
Piddles trotted to the bow and sat in the shade provided by the bridge and leaned on one of the windows.
“She should stay in the cockpit,” Jake said.
“She’s fine,” Debi said. “She grew up on a boat.”
Jake shrugged. Not his problem. They were only in eight feet of water.
With the main sail hoisted and the boat on a beam reach, Debi pulled the leeward sheet and tightened the genoa until the sail stopped fluttering. The catamaran picked up speed to eight knots over ground, and Jake settled behind the wheel.
They approached a shallow area on the banks. Time to head west. They prepared to gibe, and the boat swung through the wind. The genoa sheet flung across the deck. The loose end of the line caught Piddles by her legs, wrapped around one ankle, and tossed her overboard.
Debi screamed.
Jake hit autopilot and dove into the sea.
Shannon rushed to the port side, tossed the horseshoe overboard, and grabbed the wheel.
Jake made eye contact with her. He watched her hit the button that turned off the autopilot. She turned the bow toward him. Knowing Shannon had the boat under control, Jake swam toward Piddles, but the dog-paddled toward shore.
“Peanut, come,” Jake yelled, but she kept swimming away from him. He switched to an overhand crawl and closed the gap that kept him from reaching her, hoping Shannon had turned on the engines and dropped the sails.
He reached Piddles and grabbed the back of her harness, pulling her toward him. “Good girl. You’re okay.” Her little eyes were wide with fear, and he used his voice to soothe her. He rotated and faced A Dog’s Cat. A wave slapped the side of his head and filled his mouth with water. He coughed and lost hold of Piddles. She swam away from him again toward shore.
Jake swore and instantly regretted opening his mouth a second time. He spat before he swallowed the vile tasting salt water. His eyes stung, but he kept them open and focused on Piddles. He reached her and grabbed her harness again.
Shannon brought the boat close to them and turned into the wind. The boat slowed, almost to a stop. Debi lowered the ladder off the back step, and Jake swam toward the stainless steel rungs, dragging Piddles with him. He gently put her on the back step and climbed the ladder behind her. His board shorts and t-shirt stuck to his skin, but with the warmth of the day, the wet clothing didn’t bother him. Almost losing the dog did.
Debi looked close to tears, and Shannon wore a big grin on her face.
“What are you smiling at? I told you the dog shouldn’t be up front alone.”
“You’re big on the ‘I told you so’,” Shannon said to Jake. “Besides, I thought you didn’t like dogs.”
Jake used his gruffest voice. “I don’t.” Christ, he’d saved the dog’s life. What more did she want? “I’m a cat person.”
“Thank you,” Debi said. “That was my fault. I didn’t secure the line.”
“No harm done.” Jake strode into the main salon, stomped down the steps, and slammed his cabin door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fourteen-Year-Old Boy
Somewhere in Canada
Fourteen Years Ago
The boy needs to make it look like he’s sorry. Adults are so dumb. They think a few tears and a red face mean he understands he’s been bad, and he’s showing remorse, whatever that is.
The one thing he’s figured out is how to appear sad. He needs to make himself cry now. He can watch any video of his life, right inside his brain, from the time he was eight.
He thinks of Sheba. He blames his guardians for her death. Who leaves a cat outside overnight? Talk about stupid. At least the car killed her quickly. He won’t forgive his guardians for being careless with her. They offered to buy him another cat, but he didn’t want one. Sheba was the last remaining part of his life with his parents. His guardians don’t understand the connection. He forwards his memory to digging Sheba’s grave in the backyard. That always brings on the tears.
“You can’t keep getting into trouble at school,” his guardian says. She leans over the kitchen table, putting her face closer to his. He knows this gesture well. She uses it every time she wants his full attention for one of their serious talks. She’s eaten garlic at some point in the day, and he wrinkles his nose. Another stupid moment he won’t forget.
“I know.” He thinks of wrapping Sheba’s silky body in a blanket and placing her in the grave. His eyes moisten.
His guardian puts her hand on his. She’s feeling sorry for him. “Can you tell me what happened?”
In his mind, he pets Sheba for the last time and covers her face with the blanket. In the present, he forces a hiccup. “It was career day. You know where the teachers set up booths, and the kids get to talk to people about different careers. I talked to a cop.”
“You want to be a police officer?”
“Maybe.” He glances at the floor like this is difficult for him to talk about. He takes his mind back to Sheba. He’s lifting the shovel. Dropping the first grains of soil on her. The thump of the earth hitting her tiny body booms inside his brain. More tears fill his eyes. “I thought, you know, because of my memory, I’d make a good cop. I’d remember every detail of every criminal I met.”
“That’s true.” His guardian removes her hand from his, and he can tell he has her full attention.
“The guys in my class laughed at me. Dougie said I was too small. What crook would take me seriously?” He kicks his feet against the table leg, and milk slops over his glass. “Sorry.” He grabs a cloth, wipes the table, and throws the soggy mess into the sink.
“I don’t think that’s an issue.”
“He wouldn’t shut up about it. He called me Memory Boy. Asked if I was going to wear a cape with a big M on it. M for meek. I said, ‘Big word for a dunce.’ He shoved me. I tried to walk by him, but he shoved me again. I know it was wrong, but I wanted to prove I wasn’t too small. I hit him in the nose, and I think I broke it.”
“That’s what the principal said when she called.”
“I’m sorry.” The boy focuses on the video in his head. He sees a small mound of earth. He knows he’ll never hug Sheba again. He lets the tears roll freely. “I’ll try harder.”
His guardian moves to his side of the table and crouches beside him. She wraps her arms around him.
“We’ll work it out.”
Sucker, he thinks. He can do whatever he wants as long as he says he’s sorry.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Shannon
Norman’s Cay, Bahamas
Shannon steered A Dog’s Cat toward the east-side anchorage at Norman’s Cay at low tide. She motored past One Tree Island and turned northwest between the cay and a sunken plane. The shell of the long ago downed plane broke through the surface of the water. The story was the plane belonged to a drug dealer, was shot down and left as a message that drug trafficking would not be tolerated. The cay was two-hundred and ten miles east of the Florida coast. Far enough away to be hidden, close enough to transport goods—both
legal and illicit.
“Look for a sandy spot,” Shannon said to Jake.
Jake held the control of the windlass in his left hand and leaned over the bow. “Thanks for the tip.”
The odd mound of sand protruding through the grass on the bottom provided small areas to drop the anchor. Jake was going to have to aim well.
He pressed the down button with his thumb and let the anchor drop slowly.
“Did you hit sand?” Shannon asked.
He glanced at her but didn’t answer. She suppressed a smile. He was too easy to needle. When he gave the signal, she reversed. She watched the GPS speed over ground and knew instantly the anchor hadn’t set.
“Hey, captain. You didn’t hit a sandy spot. We’re dragging.”
“Wait thirty seconds, and it’ll set.”
“I don’t think so.”
Debi sat in the cockpit with Peanut cuddled into her leg. “Is this what I’m going to have to live with? The two of you arguing over every boat maneuver?”
“Take her out of reverse, and we’ll try again,” Jake said.
“Just like I thought,” Shannon said to Debi.
When they were set after the third try, Shannon and Jake tidied the boat.
“Let’s go to the bar for dinner,” Debi suggested.
“I’ll stay with the boat,” Jake said.
Shannon lightly punched Jake on his bicep. “Oh, come on. Don’t be mad about the anchor.”
“You’ll know when I’m mad, and this is not it. The tidal current is strong through here, which means at some point we’re going to swing with the tide. I want to be on board when that happens to make sure we don’t drag.”
“Fine. We’ll go without you,” Shannon said. “I could bring you dinner back.”
Jake smiled and the tension left his face. “Thanks.”
Peanut beat Shannon and Debi into the dinghy and turned, wagging her tail, giving a clear signal she was going, too.
Shannon drove the dinghy onto the sandy beach and tilted the engine, so the propellor blades wouldn’t hit the sand. Peanut bounded off the dinghy, over the waves cascading the shoreline, and hit the sand without getting her paws wet. She ran across the beach to the Casuarina trees, sniffing at scents only a dog could detect.
Shannon and Debi exited the dinghy at a more leisurely pace. Shannon shoved the dinghy away from the beach and threw the anchor.
They strolled to the bar along a paved road that was slowly going to ruin.
“Do you think Bobby ate here?” Debi asked.
“It’s possible. We know he anchored here if what the guy in Nassau said is true.”
Ten minutes later, they crossed the island’s small aircraft runway. The airport consisted of a floral-colored sign that said, “Welcome to Norman’s Cay.”
The restaurant’s generator hummed, blocking out the sound of wind through the trees. Debi attached the leash to Peanut’s harness and made her heel. They entered the screened-in restaurant and sat at the bar. Peanut tucked underneath Debi’s feet.
They ordered white wine and conch fritters from the bartender who wore a sleeveless t-shirt, surf shorts, and sandals. His sun-fried hair with blond tips curled around the tanned skin on his neck and cheeks. Cute, but too young for her. She inwardly laughed at herself. Since when had she become the woman who ogled younger men?
After some harmless chit chat, Shannon determined this was the bartender’s third winter in the Bahamas and asked him, “Did a boat named Waterfall come through here last winter?”
He shrugged and gave her a lopsided, probably meant to be charming, smile. “Lots of boats come through here. I can’t remember them all.”
“The owner’s name is Bobby. He’s in his late forties. He has curly brown hair and a scar on his right cheek, just below his eye.” Shannon didn’t want to talk about Uncle Bobby in the past tense to a stranger. She remembered the day he’d been hurt. Years before her parents died, Uncle Bobby had been teaching her to ride a bike, and once she was steady, he straddled his own bike and rode beside her. She drove her bike into his and knocked him to the ground. He called the scar Shannon’s Gift. He said every time he looked in the mirror he thought of her. In his own way, he’d been telling her not to feel guilty about hurting him.
The bartender dried a glass with a stained tea towel and placed it on a shelf behind the bar.
“Did he have a young girlfriend?”
Shannon glanced at her aunt. Debi shook her head.
“He might have had crew with him,” Shannon said.
“I remember him. Funny guy. Laughed a lot.”
“That would be him. Do you recall when he was here?”
“Maybe just after New Year’s. I’m not sure.”
Peanut pulled at her leash and faced the door.
“I’ll take her out before we eat.” The screen door slammed behind Debi, and her flip-flops slapped against her heels as she stomped away.
The bartender put his elbows on the bar and leaned toward Shannon. “Sorry about the girlfriend comment. I could tell your friend didn’t like it.”
“She’s my aunt, and my uncle just wasn’t that kind of guy.”
The bartender scrunched his cheeks. “Sometimes guys do things away from home that they wouldn’t do at home. Being out here changes people.”
The bartender moved his hands forward until his fingers touched Shannon’s. She shifted her hands away but was flattered. Who doesn’t like a hot guy making moves on them?
“I can’t believe that’s true about my uncle.”
“The woman he was with was very friendly toward him. She kept touching his arm or his cheek, and she batted her eyelashes a lot. Come to think of it, it was more like she was hitting on him, and he enjoyed the attention.”
Shannon had never seen Uncle Bobby flirt with another woman, but she was getting a bad feeling about him not contacting Debi for so long. Something wasn’t right, but how could she ask Debi?
“Do you remember her name?”
“Nancy. Naomi. Something like that. The only reason I remember them is because we all talked about the lucky guy getting a woman who had to be twenty years younger than him. And she was good looking. I mean over the top like a Sport’s Illustrated swimsuit issue star.”
“Do you know where they were headed?”
“If he’s your uncle, how come you don’t know?”
“My aunt lost contact with him last January, and he died in February.”
“Sorry to hear that, but I can’t help you. They didn’t say. Are you going to George Town?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“If you want to find out where he travelled, that’s a good place to start. Hundreds of people spend winters there on boats. It’s totally gossipy where everyone knows everything about everyone else. That’s the best place to find any kind of info on your uncle.”
* * *
Shannon and Debi arrived back at A Dog’s Cat, tied the dinghy off the stern, and climbed the three steps into the cockpit.
“So, what’s up with Lance,” Jake asked.
Shannon flashed him a dark look. “Nothing’s up with Lance.”
“You sure about that? Your phone’s been buzzing every fifteen minutes with texts from him.”
What if the messages contained something embarrassing? Next time she left the boat without her phone, she’d be sure to turn it off. This boat was too small to be sharing intimate details with Jake.
“You read my private messages?”
“I didn’t read them. You left your phone on the salon table, and it was getting annoying. When I tossed it below, I glanced at the screen just as a text came in.”
“I can’t help it if the loser is messaging me.”
“Must be important. He sure wants to get in touch with you.”
Debi steered Shannon away from Jake. “This is not exactly a topic up for discussion. Lance is her ex, and we’d like him to stay that way.”
A knock on the side of the hull distracted
them. Shannon shoved past Jake without looking at him and met the visitor. Peanut beat her to the dinghy and greeted the driver, wagging her tail and whimpering.
“Not much of a guard dog,” the guy in the dinghy said.
The tone of the man’s voice on top of his words put Shannon’s hackles up. Without being invited, the man hopped onto the deck and entered the cockpit.
Shannon followed him.
“I didn’t realize we needed a guard dog here,” Jake said.
“She loves everyone,” Shannon said to the guy. “Don’t be rude,” she whispered to Jake.
“Name’s Darren. I’m on the Hunter just over there.” He pointed to a white sloop anchored to the north and lifted his ball cap, showing Orion embroidered on the side. “I was in the bar and overheard you talking about Bobby.”
“You knew him?”
Debi grabbed Shannon’s shoulder and pinched her collarbone. She introduced herself, and Shannon could tell she was forcing herself not to appear overly interested.
“I met him last year. We sailed from Florida to Nassau together.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Debi asked.
“The night before he left Nassau.”
“Do you know if he was traveling with anyone?” Shannon asked, and Debi elbowed her.
“Invite the man to sit,” Jake said. “We’ve got cold beer.”
Tied to the cleat on the back step, Darren’s dinghy jumped repeatedly off A Dog’s Cat’s dinghy. Water slapped both dinghies, and the change in tide caused them to back into the hull.
Jake handed Darren a beer.
Shannon snapped the leash onto Peanut’s harness. She didn’t want Peanut to pee on the man. Darren’s white t-shirt had turned gray, probably several years ago, and was ripped in several places. His shorts might have once been light blue, but had faded to a colorless shade. He probably wouldn’t care if the dog peed on him.
“You can let her go,” Darren said. “I like dogs.”
Jake guffawed. “Not this one. She pees on anyone who pets her.”
“Interesting habit.”
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