The air was crisp and clean; it was a day just like the one when Eddie had ventured out. And disappeared.
Zach eased the Sea Lass away from the dock and past the channel markers.
When he looked back, both Cal and Marni were standing on the dock, watching them head out. He wished he were close enough to read their expressions.
8
Why on earth people would want to do this, Caer couldn’t begin to imagine. Though the boat moved smoothly enough—and with considerable speed, once they had cleared the dock area—it was cold. And windy. The combination was almost painful.
Zach didn’t seem to notice. He held the tiller and kept his eyes on the distant island they were speeding toward.
There was a cabin. He might have suggested that she go inside and stay warm, but he hadn’t. Then again, he didn’t seem to notice the cold, or that the wind, created as much by their speed as anything else, was whipping against their cheeks like a dozen finely honed knives.
She gritted her teeth and sat tight, not about to say a word. It seemed like an eternity before he cut the engine.
Despite having been out for what felt like forever, they had ended up in the middle of nowhere. There were no other boats anywhere near them, and even the island they’d been heading for was a good hundred yards away.
She could barely move; she felt as if her joints had frozen solid where she sat.
Zach was once again oblivious. He stood, and strode back and forth along the deck, looking intently at their surroundings, then started working a winch.
“What are you doing?”
“Dropping anchor,” he told her.
She managed to rise at last, but she hurt.
“Is that how you usually take a sailboat out?” she asked him.
“No. You usually sail.”
“Why does it have a motor, if it’s a sailboat?”
“So you don’t have to sail.”
“Then why have a sailboat?”
“Because you usually want to sail, of course.” He stared at her strangely. “Sometimes,” he explained, “there’s no wind. And sometimes, like today, you just want to move fast.”
She followed him to the front of the boat, moving carefully as she stretched protesting muscles and tried to adjust to the motion of the boat. The sea appeared calm, but the boat still rocked on the water.
“What do you see?” he asked her.
“Water,” she told him.
“What else?”
“The sky.”
“And Cow Cay,” he said thoughtfully.
“What on earth are you getting at?” she asked him, frowning. “Do you think that Eddie is hiding on Cow Cay?”
“No,” he said, and looked at her intently. “Eddie is dead.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because Eddie isn’t a prankster. He would never worry Sean or Kat like this. He wouldn’t have missed Sean and Amanda’s going-away party.”
“Do you think it’s possible that he was hurt, that he fell overboard, that—”
“He had a passenger—we know that,” Zach said. “It’s unlikely they both just fell overboard.”
“Right,” she agreed.
She watched as he disappeared below deck, then reappeared a minute later with a large storage bin. He opened it, and pulled out something large and yellow. He pulled a tab, then threw it overboard, hanging on to a cord so he wouldn’t lose it.
The yellow thing inflated and turned into some kind of a raft.
“What are you doing?” she asked incredulously.
“Going to the island.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“In…that?”
“You bet. I won’t be long.”
“Oh, no, no, no. You’re not leaving me here.”
He looked at her and arched a brow slowly, amused. “You want to come with me?”
“Yes.”
“You’re better off staying here. I’ll keep an eye on the boat the whole time. There’s no one on board with us. I checked it out.”
“I’m going with you,” she said stubbornly.
“You really want to go?”
“Want to? Hell no. But I’m going, anyway.”
“Suit yourself.”
He went to the side of the boat and pulled out a pair of oars from a bin built into the fiberglass hull, then turned back to her. “Come on. I’ll help you down first.”
She eyed him warily, not at all certain that she wouldn’t fall into the water in the process. But his grip was strong, and she made it safely from the Sea Lass into the blow-up dinghy, sitting quickly and carefully, so as not to rock it. He handed her the oars, then followed.
It didn’t take him long to row to the island; still, she felt the icy chill of the water beneath her all the while.
He propelled them right up onto the sandy beach of the small island, then hopped out quickly and reached out a hand to her. “Thank God you’re not the stiletto type,” he said, eyeing her leather boots, with their broad one-inch heels.
“How do you know I’m not the stiletto type on occasion?” she asked.
He looked at her dryly. “Are you?”