Cole lowered the binoculars and said, “How am I going to get back to my boat without him seeing me?”

She started to reach for the glasses, then stopped. “Your boat?”

“Yeah, I’m anchored in the bay on the other side of the fort.”

He handed her the binoculars, but she just held them in her lap as she stared at him. “You have a boat?”

He shrugged. “A trawler — converted shrimper. Sixty feet. Dark blue hull.”

Riley had started to lift the glasses for another look, but she lowered them again and looked at him. “I saw that boat when I was up at the fort. That’s yours?”

“Yeah. Shadow Chaser.”

Riley was having a difficult time changing gears and reevaluating who this Cole guy was. That boat was a serious boat, not some plastic toy. Who was this guy? She lifted the glasses to look again at what was happening on the wharf, hoping to give herself time to digest this new information. Ponytail Man and the new arrival had moved into the shadows, and she could barely make out where they stood, much less any recognizable features. It looked like Ponytail was now carrying the other bigger guy’s bag.

When she dropped the glasses back into her lap again and looked at Cole, he looked different somehow.

“Listen,” he said, “that guy in there, his name is Spyder Brewster, and he’s bad news. I feel awful that I’ve somehow got him looking at you. You want to stay away from him. He’s a poacher, a pirate and he’s after something I’ve got. Crap. I need to get back to my boat.”

Cole took the binoculars back from her, then trained them on the wharf. “It looks like the new guy is going off into town, and Spyder is standing by on the wharf.” He lowered the glasses. “I suppose I could swim to the beach—”

The words came out of her mouth before she was aware of thinking the thought. “I could sail you around to your boat.”

He was kneeling on the cockpit cushion next to her, and he swung round on her with the enthusiasm of a game show contestant. “Miz Maggie Magee,” he said cupping her face in his rough hands, “you’re beautiful!” He leaned in close, then his face broke into an embarrassed smile and he lowered his hands. “Thanks,” he said turning away from her.

She jumped to her feet and began coiling the main sheet as she issued orders, telling him  what to do before they could depart, but even as she spoke she felt dizzy, like when she hyperventilated just before a free dive. Her heart was beating like a run away engine with a faulty governor. She looked up at the star-filled sky and took a slow, deep breath.

What was wrong with her? So he’d touched her. Big deal, right? Why did she feel so angry? Was it because of what he had just done – or because of what he hadn’t done?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Aboard the Bonefish

March 26, 2008

8:00 p.m.

She decided to sail Bonefish out, to avoid using the boat’s engine so as not to attract any undue attention. The forecast had been for winds outside the bay blowing twelve to fifteen knots out of the due east, but inside the bay they had less than ten. While she readied the interior for sailing, stowing things that might fly when they heeled over, Cole climbed into her dinghy, rowed aft and tied it to the stern. As soon as the anchor was off the bottom, she unfurled her headsail. Gradually, the boat gained steerage as it fell off the wind. The only noise was the sound of the water under Bonefish’s transom or the occasional music that flowed from another sailboat’s open hatches. The waning moon was due to rise soon and would aid them as they picked their way into the next bay. For now, she was thankful for the cover of darkness, wondering if she was succumbing to Cole’s conspiracy fears.

Once Riley completed the turn, the boat ran almost dead downwind out of the anchorage picking up a little speed as she ghosted past the last of the anchored sailboats in the bay. There were not as many boats as she had thought — maybe a dozen sailboats with flags from nearly as many different countries, and one big sportfisherman. They were gliding along at three knots when Cole came aft and slid onto the cockpit seat ahead of her.

“I can see why sailors love this,” he said. “No engine noise. Just the sound of the wind and the gurgle of the water in our wake.”

“Yeah, it’s addictive. I’ve been hooked ever since my dad taught me.”

“Does your old man still sail?”

She almost made a defensive wise crack, but closed her mouth and took a breath. She started again. “No, my father’s got dementia. So bad now he can’t take care of himself, much less sail.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Riley shrugged. “He was always older than my friends’ fathers, so it wasn’t like we were close. But sailing was the one thing we had together.”

“You were lucky to have that.”

Luck. She leaned back to check the set of the jib, and the sigh that escaped from her lips was louder than she’d intended. It was time to change the subject. “I don’t think we’ll bother to raise the main. We’re only going around the headland and into the other bay.” She switched on the autopilot and pulled her legs onto the seat, crossing them Indian style. “So, tell me about this guy. Why is he looking for you?”

He spread his arms out atop the coaming behind him. “It’s complicated. I’m not sure I know where to begin. My boat, the Shadow Chaser, is a former shrimper that I converted for wreck diving and salvage up in North Carolina. We ran into Spyder in Hatteras.” He sighed. “See, my mate and I, we’re searching for a wreck.”

He paused, then crossed over to the opposite seat and scanned the anchorage with her binoculars.

So he was one of those guys chasing treasure. Figured. She wanted to ask him more about this “mate” of his, like whether it was a he or a she, but she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression.

“This wreck — would it be the Surcouf?” she asked.

He dropped the glasses to his lap and stared at her, naked suspicion in his eyes. “How did you know?”

“That was the name you gave me. Robert Surcouf. When I mentioned it to the Immigration guy, he told me some story about pirates and submarines.”

Cole laughed. “I forgot about that — the fake name. Sorry. But this submarine is more than just some story. It’s an amazing tale of treachery and treasure.”

“When I tumbled with that Spyder guy, I found this picture —”

Before Riley could finish, the headsail fluttered in a wind shift, and she reached for the winch handle to trim the sheet. They had to tack their way east before they could turn into Marigot Bay, and for the next half hour or so, working the boat required most of her attention. The short tacks gave them brief moments of quiet broken by the noise of the slapping sails and ratcheting winches as they brought the forty-footer around through the eye of the wind.

When they cleared the point under the fort, the three quarter moon was rising ahead of them, looking like a piece of yellow sea glass worn down on one side. When Cole asked if he could steer, Riley turned off the autopilot and stepped out from behind the helm.  The boat began leaping over the swells, and she saw his teeth white in the moonlight. He stood behind the wheel flexing his bare legs to stay upright in the growing swells, his shaggy hair blowing back around his ears, a big grin on his face. With the dark tattoo of the words Carpe Diem across his collar bones, he looked every bit the raffish salvage diver.

Riley looked away. Damn Speedo. She wished she had something to give him to cover himself with, but she had exhausted her supply of man-sized clothes on his last visit. A towel at least — because she was a normal woman after all, and given all these months of sailing solo, how could she not look?

She jumped up and hurried below to search for the biggest beach towel she had aboard. When she climbed back into the cockpit, she tossed it onto the seat next to him. “In case you get cold,” she said.