Ham kept smiling, paddling, feeling the strain in his shoulders. He didn’t have much upper-body strength. “Great. I need to stretch my legs.” He did, too. He hadn’t taken the time to adjust the seat properly, and his knees were almost up to his chin. “My name’s Ham.” He didn’t know what else to say, then added, lamely, “I’m here on vacation.”
The girl watched him, suspicious, as he pushed his kayak onto a muddy, grassy spot just a few yards down from her pine tree and climbed out, splashing into the water in his moccasin shoes, yelping at how cold it was. That made her smile.
He gave a small, awkward laugh. “I’m not used to Vermont lakes.” He laid the paddle across the top of the kayak’s cockpit. “Ah. Sorry if I startled you.”
“That’s okay. I didn’t see you in the fog.”
“Are you from around here?”
She nodded.
He glanced around at the small clearing, surrounded by blueberry bushes, a simple wooden picnic table sitting in the shade of an oak tree. A pretty spot. “Would you freak out if I asked you to show me to the spring?”
“I can’t. My dad’s meeting me here in a few minutes. He’s a state trooper. My aunt’s coming with him. She’s a federal marshal.”
The kid was nervous. Ham didn’t blame her. He smiled. “Wow. A trooper and a marshal in the family.”
“I have another uncle who’s a town police officer.”
Probably the guy at breakfast. Ham squinted at her in the bright sunlight. “Cool.”
Cop’s daughter that she was, she narrowed her eyes on him. “Where’s your water bottle?”
Fortunately, the outfitters had insisted he take basic supplies with him, and he was prepared. He got his hip-pack from where he’d stuffed it down into the cockpit, unlatched it and pulled out a brand-new neoprene water bottle that he’d bought from the outfitters, hoping to keep them from becoming suspicious.
He held the bottle up toward the girl. “It’s right here.” He gestured toward the woods, grinning at her. He had a fair idea of what Tatro had put her through the other day and didn’t want to scare the hell out of her. “Any lions, tigers and bears back there?”
She seemed to relax somewhat. “Maybe a bear, more likely a fisher cat or a fox, and probably some wild turkeys, but they won’t bother you.”
“Good to know.”
Ham had no doubt he looked out of his element. Never mind that he’d climbed mountains all over South America, he figured he’d always look like a mad, nerdy scientist. Since he was a scientist, he didn’t shatter anyone’s stereotypes, even when he wore his black cowboy hat and cowboy boots. He had on cargo pants and a sweatshirt and had pulled his hair back into a neat ponytail, but the bug bites on his face couldn’t help his cause. Since now he really was thirsty, he figured he’d fetch some water from the spring.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said.
“Nice meeting you. I need to go meet my dad.”
Ham silently applauded her for sticking to her obvious lie. The kid was taking care of herself. It was better than he’d done for himself in recent months. He shambled off onto the path amid yellow-leafed birches and young pine trees, knowing she’d be long gone when he got back and he’d missed his chance to ask her where her aunt had pitched her tent.
He stopped abruptly. Hell! He’d been so damn concerned about reassuring the girl he’d left the emeralds behind in his pack. To go back now would just draw more attention to him. He’d just make quick work of his jaunt to the spring.
Wendy waited until Ham was out of sight on the path to the spring before she scrambled off her rocky point and over to his kayak, recognizing the logo of the place where he’d rented it.
She’d been watching the ducks on the other side of the point when he’d materialized out of the fog. Ham—what kind of name was that? Was it his real name? Who was he?
Trust your instincts.
It was what her father had always told her.
Her instincts were on high alert, as if they were trying to tell her something that she just wasn’t getting.
She didn’t feel safe.
She noticed that the main compartment of Ham’s hip-pack was still open in the cockpit. She squatted down and glanced behind her, but she didn’t see him—it was a good hundred yards to the spring. She didn’t want to get caught snooping, but why hadn’t he just waved to her and kept paddling? It seemed odd that he’d come to shore the way he did, even with the spring right there.
He’d shoved a mess of stuff into his hip-pack, but sitting right on top was an unopened bottle of store-bought spring water.
He hadn’t needed to stop at the spring.
Her ears were ringing from tension and indecision.
What was going on?
She gingerly moved aside a couple of crushed granola bars and pulled out what looked like an airline boarding pass and a battered wallet.
The boarding pass was issued to Hamilton Carhill. Ham.
Okay, so that really was his name. Feeling a little more reassured, Wendy opened the wallet and saw a Texas license with a photo of the man who’d just headed off to the spring.
Maybe she was just paranoid.
“Wendy! Wendy—run!”
She shot to her feet. The yell came from the woods. Ham, but she couldn’t see him.