Reluctantly, he took the paper. “Dar, I appreciate it, but we can handle this. Bud’d sooner cut off his arm than ask for help.” He hesitated. “’Specially yours.” His face was apologetic.

“Too bad,” Dar told him bluntly. “Tell him to grow up and get over it.”

Charlie winced.

“I have to ask people I can’t stand for things every day.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t like you, Dar,” Charlie protested hastily. “He does. We both do. He just can’t forget stuff in the past with your dad, and…”

“I am not my dad,” Dar broke in, leaning forward. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“No, I know that.” Charlie sighed. “I know that, Dar.” He ventured a smile. “Though you did grow up to look a whole lot like him, y’know,” he insisted stubbornly.

Dar sighed inwardly, then gave up the effort, deciding on a different tack. “Yeah, that’s what people tell me,” she admitted.

“Listen, we’re heading out. Anything you guys need out there we can drop off on the way back?”

Now that the conversational topic had changed, Charlie relaxed. “WD40,” he joked, tapping his artificial knee. “Always running out of the damn stuff.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, Dar, you guys were asking about pirates last night.”

“Hm?” Dar crossed her arms.

The big ex-serviceman glanced around. “They ain’t always what they seem,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Dar asked.

“Chuck!” Bud’s voice interrupted. “Fish man’s here!”

Charlie glanced at the kitchen. “Them jerks last night, they ain’t the kinda pirates we know about,” he said quickly. “That’s all I’m saying. Good luck, good trip.” He put a hand on the door, then took a last look at Dar. “Tell your dad I said hey.”

Dar watched him disappear, then released a sigh, letting her glance travel around the inside of the tattered and somewhat threadbare restaurant. With a silent shake of her head, she turned and left the room, emerging back into the sunlight. The island’s emptiness surrounded her, and as she walked back toward the dock, her mind turned over the puzzle pieces that, though scattered, were beginning to nudge at her with their curious nature.

She spotted the loan shark as she walked onto the dock. He was standing next to a small, racy looking runabout with another man, half his size. They were both looking at the Dixieland Yankee, and Terrors of the High Seas 89

they turned to watch Dar as she approached the boat.

“Hey, baby,” the bigger man yelled over. “That your boat?”

Dar paused and looked at him over the top of her sunglasses.

“Yeah,” she replied briefly, as she paused to unloop the bow line.

“Want a good man to drive her?”

Dar tossed the line onboard then walked to the stern, released the boat, and leaped onto the back deck. “No thanks.” She dropped the line and dusted off her hands, turned her back on the two of them, and ignored their ribald laughter.

Kerry emerged from the cabin, an almost fierce grin crossing her face as she spotted Dar. “Thought I heard you,” she greeted her lover. “We outta here?”

“Oh yeah.” Dar made her way up to the flying bridge. “Let’s go find some better scenery.” She took her seat and started up the engines, adjusted the throttles, and eased the boat out of the dock.

At low tide, maneuvering in the cramped space was even more difficult, and she had to really concentrate to avoid taking out part of the dock on her way out.

She cleared the last pylon and turned into the channel, feeling the wind pick up as she increased speed and headed out across the green-blue water.

KERRY CAREFULLY PLACED her deck chair on the stern, half turned so she could look up and watch Dar at the controls of the boat. She settled into it as Bob took the seat next to her, and she resigned herself to a trip full of small talk. “So, Bob—you never did get around to saying last night. Were you on vacation?”

Bob leaned on the chair arm. “Vacation? I wish.” He sighed.

“No, it’s…” he glanced around, “kinda stupid, really.”

If he tells me he came out here looking for his one true love, I’ll chuck up on him, Kerry thought, all the while keeping a pleasant expression on her face. “How stupid could it be?” she asked.

He edged a little closer. “Remember what I said about my grandparents?”

“From Boston,” Kerry promptly replied, lest he repeat his tale.

“Yeah.” Bob nodded. “My grandfather was lost at sea.”

Kerry straightened a little. “Oh. I’m really sorry to hear that,”

she said sincerely. “How did it happen?”

“He was the captain of a…um…fishing boat,” Bob admitted.

“Not very glamorous, I know, but he was really successful at it,” he added. “Anyway, he was out here on a trip to the islands and he just never came back.”

Kerry leaned back in her chair and tucked one leg up under her. “Wow.” She shook her head. “That’s really sad. They never found the boat or anything?”


90 Melissa Good Bob gazed at her. “They know where it went down. This guy who was a witness contacted my grandmother and sold her a map—”

“Sold her?”

Bob shrugged. “Yeah, I know, probably a sucker deal. But she gave me the map, and I decided I’d come out here and see what I could find.”

Kerry frowned. “You don’t even know if it’s accurate.”

“No, but it’s something,” Bob said. “Problem is, I came out here and found out that the spot he supposedly went down has been licensed by some salvage outfit.”

One of Kerry’s eyebrows hiked slightly. “Really?” she said. “A salvage outfit, huh?”

“Yeah. I tried to talk to them, but they ran me out of there.”

Bob shook his head. “Real bunch of jerks. Big-money types, you know.” He gave her a wry smile. “The kind that like to let you know it.”

“Uh huh.” Kerry wondered if it was the same pair they’d run into. “Were they sort of young, a thin guy and a bossy woman?”

Surprised, Bob nodded. “Yeah! You know them?”

Kerry got up and paced over to the cooler, opened it, and removed a chilled bottle of iced tea. She was aware of Bob’s eyes on her back—could almost feel the heat between her shoulder blades—

and she briefly wished she’d put her overalls on over her sheer bathing suit. “Not exactly,” she answered his question. “We ran into them back at that island. They were asking about a site Dar and I dove that day.” She returned. “I guess it was part of that area you’re interested in.”

“Really?” Bob murmured. “So you’re a real diver, huh? Got all your own gear?”

Kerry nodded. “Sure.” She opened her tea and took a sip.

“Dar’s a master diver.” She glanced fondly up at her lover, who was leaning back with one bare foot propped up against the console.

“We’ve even got a compressor on board for refills.”

“I always wanted to learn to dive,” Bob said. “You got any pointers for me?” he asked. “Hey, how about a lesson tomorrow?”

Eight-bit card, thirty-two bit bus. Kerry sighed inwardly. “Sorry, we’ve got plans,” she said. “But there are lots of places in St. Johns that have certification courses.”

“Yeah. I’d better get my insurance stuff straightened out tomorrow, anyway.” Bob sighed. “You staying anywhere special on the island?”

“Dar made the reservations.” Kerry smiled. “I can’t remember the name of the place.”

“Oh.”

Kerry spotted a fringe of land on the port side of the boat. She got up and peered around the corner of the cabin. A low, beautiful Terrors of the High Seas 91

island stretched out before her, offering a semicircle of pure white beach backed by lush, green foliage. “Wow.”

Bob came up behind her. “Yeah. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Hey, maybe I’ll stick around a few days. Since I can’t do anything else, might as well catch some rays, right?”

Kerry exhaled silently, rolling her eyes outside of his line of vision.

“Besides, I owe you dinner and a drink,” Bob said. “You gotta at least let me do that, for what you did for me.”

Yikes. Kerry watched the marina approach. “Dar, you want me to call in to the dockmaster?”

“Yep,” Dar responded. “Looks like it’s busy.”

Kerry turned. “Excuse me.” She waited for Bob to back off, then walked to the cabin radio. “St. Johns Marina, St. Johns Marina, this is the Dixieland Yankee. Over.”

“That’s a cute name,” Bob offered. “Does it mean something?”

Kerry eyed him wryly. “She’s the Dixie part and I’m the Yankee,” she explained simply.

“Dixieland Yankee, this is St. Johns. G’wan.”

Bob cocked his head, producing a puzzled smile. “Oh. You guys related?”

Kerry sighed and leaned against the cabin door. “St. Johns, we have a reservation for a berth. Please advise.” She gave Bob a kindly smile. “You might want to sit down. Sounds like a busy dock.”

“Okay.” Bob wandered over and took a seat, leaving Kerry to finish her radio work.

“Gotcha, Dixieland Yankee. Tenth row, third berth. You’ve got 54 feet, yeah?”

“That’s a roger,” Kerry replied. “Thanks.” She put down the radio mic and walked to the ladder, climbing up it as fast as dignity allowed and joining Dar at the console. “Row ten, slot three.” She sat down and rested her elbows on her knees. “Dar…”

“How’s your little worshipper doing?” Dar drawled, giving her a wicked smile. “He invited you to dinner yet?”

Kerry sighed. “Dinner, drinks, diving, you name it,” she muttered. “Why do guys always do that?”

Dar eyed her. “’Cause you’re charming and adorable?”

“Pffffttt.” Kerry stuck out her tongue. “But you know something? He had a run-in with those 24 karat sleezoids we met on the island, too.”