Twenty-One

Gold-tinted marsh grass moved gracefully with the morning breeze in the protected area south of the lobster pound and the cottage Teddy Shelton had rented. The fingers of saltwater were a dark blue under a sky dotted with puffs of fair-weather clouds. A migrating hawk flew high overhead. It was all a pretty sight, but

J.B. was focused on Teddy Shelton's truck. Yellow birch leaves had fallen onto its windshield.

Once he found out about last night, Bruce Young had gone on the hunt for Shelton so he could throw him out of the cottage, never mind that it appeared he'd already left voluntarily. J.B. ran into him at the lobster pound and suggested he do the driving. Nobody, even Bruce, liked the idea of Shelton beating up an unarmed twenty-two-year-old without more provocation-as much as they didn't mind the idea of Kyle Castellane with a fat lip.

Bruce was the one who'd spotted the tire tracks in the protected marsh's delicate, picturesque landscape, most of it without trails. The tracks led them straight to the truck. It was locked. Bruce was willing to crowbar it, but J.B. dissuaded him.

"It's a long walk to town," Bruce said. "Maybe he stole a boat at the lobster pound or hitched a ride with one of the guys. I'll check."

J.B. nodded. "I'll drop you off. Let me know what you find out."

When they arrived back at the lobster pound, Bruce jumped out of the Jeep, then hesitated. His coat was open, a cold breeze lifting the ends of his hair. "You sure Kyle's okay?"

"I saw him at breakfast," J.B. said. "He's colorful, but he'll be fine."

"Hate to see anyone go through something like that. Think he's not pressing charges because he's scared Shelton 'll find him and finish the job?"

J.B. had thought this one over on his own. "I think it's because he didn't tell us the whole story." Bruce nodded. "Maybe he wasn't just standing next to Teddy's truck."

"Could be."

"Teddy could have freaked once he realized he'd knocked the shit out of a Castellane. He could be long gone, you know." Bruce exhaled, obviously not relishing this development. "Christina? She okay? I didn't stop by the café this morning."

J.B. had breakfast there with Zoe, who was distant, not cool, just not that approachable. Since he had things on his mind, too, J.B. didn't mind eating his eggs and home fries in silence. She'd had a goat-cheese-and-chive omelet. One of the lobstermen teased her that year she'd spent in Connecticut was showing. Christina had seemed very pale and drawn, even more tired, just going through the motions of her café routine.

"She's hanging in there," J.B. said.

"Yeah. Well, I'll see what I can find out about that jackass Teddy."

"Don't go up against him, Bruce."

He grinned. "What, you think if he can beat the crap out of Kyle, I'm a goner for sure?"

"No, I think he's probably armed to the teeth. He likes guns, Bruce. That's what put him in prison."

Bruce shook his head in mock amazement. Not much got to the guy. "You think the FBI's got a file on me?"

"If not, I'm making one. Keep me posted."

"I'd ask you to do the same, but I know you won't."

Fifteen minutes later, J.B. was back at Olivia West's house, standing on the bluff as Zoe dragged her lime-green kayak through the rose bushes, which made him think of her rose tattoo, which in turn brought up his long, tortured night. Not good. He was in deep with this woman. It was like having someone grab him by the ankle and jerk him over a cliff. He was plunging headfirst, no bottom in sight, anything possible, from a smooth dive into the water at the bottom to smashing himself to death on the rocks.

He stood at the edge of the waist-high roses. "Glutton for punishment, aren't you?"

"You know how it is." Her kayak was at her feet, half pushing her down the steep path. She had on leggings, a turtleneck and fleece vest, her orange life vest hanging open. She squinted up at him, the sun high and bright above her. "You've got to get right back up on the horse again. If I get dumped out today, I might consider a new hobby."

"Do you have another kayak?"

That took her by surprise. "What?"

He smiled. "Another kayak. I can go with you."

"Have you ever been kayaking?"

"Nope. Looks easy enough."

"This cockiness of yours is why people around here want to set fire to your boat. I guess compared to what you do for a living, probably kayaking does look easy." She sighed, gestured toward the house. "There's one in the garage. It's shocking pink."

"Not going to let me use the green one?"

She grinned at him. "Your reputation might benefit from a pink kayak."

He found it in the back of the garage and dragged it, a paddle and a life vest out to the path. Zoe was lifting her lightweight kayak over a stretch of jagged rocks. She wasn't doing this because she got dunked yesterday- she was doing it to make sure she minded her own business and stayed out of the police's way. Let them find Teddy Shelton and talk to him.

J.B. knew he should follow her lead, but that wasn't why he'd offered to join her. He didn't want her out on the water alone. It wasn't a protective impulse so much as a common-sense one. Zoe could take care of herself, but she wouldn't naturally or easily regard anyone or anything in Goose Harbor as dangerous. J.B. didn't have that problem.

He made his way down the steep rock path and slid his kayak over the gravel beach. The air was clear and ice-cold down by the water. If he didn't take to kayaking, it could be a rough few hours.

Zoe zipped up her life vest. "Quick lesson. Wear your vest. Put it on properly. If you get into trouble, blow the whistle."

"Got it."

Next she demonstrated how to hold her paddle. "You want to stay centered in your boat. Don't lean with your shoulders or your torso or you'll go over. Just find that center line and hold it."

J.B. noticed the dark circles under her eyes. He doubted she'd slept well. "I don't want to capsize."

"Then don't lean."

Next she showed him how to paddle. Stay centered. Use his shoulders. Develop a rhythm. To turn, paddle on the opposite side he wanted the boat to go. She showed him how to do a power turn to reverse direction, but he didn't know if he'd remember that maneuver. She said it was easy. Natural.

"We'll stay in calm waters, close to shore," she said. "The hard part is when you run into winds, currents, big swells, rapids, swirls, unexpected rocks. You should have a proper lesson, but at least I'll be with you if something happens." She grinned at him. "Then I can blow my whistle."

"Okay, Captain, let's launch."

"Another thing. You'll get wet. It's unavoidable. You'd do better in a wet suit, especially on a day like today. But so would I."

He had on khakis, a canvas shirt and his boat shoes. If he got wet, he'd stay wet. He noticed her outfit emphasized the shape of her slim body. "That'd be something. You in a wet suit."

"Don't even go there."

But he already had, and would again before his first-ever kayaking expedition. It'd be something to do out on the water. Think about Zoe in a wet suit.

He had to be out of his mind. He'd need another vacation to get over this one.

She pushed her tights up to mid-calf. She was wearing beat-up water sneakers with no socks and just plunged into the rising tide, dropping seat-first into her kayak and shoving off with her paddle. Her moves were competent and effective if not smooth. She used her paddle to keep from getting pulled back to shore with the tide. "I forgot to tell you how to get in the boat. Did you see me? Butt first. Legs next. Don't drop your paddle. And zip up your life vest. It won't do you any good if it falls off."

Or if he froze to death before he could get back in his boat. J.B. complied with her instructions, but he wasn't smooth or competent in launching-and he got wetter than she did. But he ended up in his boat, and after some remedial instruction from his guide, he was paddling along fairly well. As promised, he did get wet.