CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

Charles Friedman sat alone on the Emberglow, which was now moored offshore near Gavin’s Cay. The night was quiet. His legs rested up on the gunnels, and he was halfway through a bottle of Pyrat xo Reserve rum that was trying to help him make up his mind.

He should just take off. Tonight. What Karen had told him, about people on his tail, worried him. He had a house he’d bought, on Bocas del Toro, up in Panama. No one knew about that. No one would trace him there. Then from there maybe on to the Pacific if he had to…

The way she had looked at him. What are you going to do, Charles, run the rest of your life…

He shouldn’t involve them now.

Yet a new stirring rose up in him. The stirring of who he was, who he’d been. Seeing Karen had awakened it. Not for her-that part was over. He’d never again regain her trust. And didn’t deserve it. That, he knew.

But for the children. Alex and Sam.

Her words echoed: They’ll forgive you, Charles…

Would they?

He thought back to the sight of them leaving the graduation. How hard it was just to look, aching, and then drive on. How deeply the sight of them burned in his memory, and the longing in his blood. It would be nice to reclaim his life. Was that a fantasy? Was it just a drunken hope? To seize it back, no matter what the cost. Who he was. From these people.

Why do they get to win?

What had he done? He hadn’t killed anyone. He could explain. Serve time. Pay back his debt. Steal back his life.

Seeing what he’d lost made Charles realize just how sorry he was to have let it go.

Neville was on shore. At a sailors’ party. In the morning they were supposed to head to Barbados. There he would leave the boat, fly to Panama.

Seeing her had suddenly made things hard.

A year ago he’d had a similar choice to make. He had watched the boy get killed. Run over in front of his eyes. Watched in horror as the black SUV drove away. Something inside told him there that he could never turn back. That that world was closed to him. The grave already dug. So why not use it? For a moment he’d given some thought to calling a car. Directing the driver to head up the Post Road. To his town-Old Greenwich. Then down Soundview onto Shore-in the direction of the water. Home… Karen would be there. She’d be worried, panicked, hearing word of the bombing. After he hadn’t called. He would say he’d been confused. Confess everything to her. Dolphin. Falcon. No one would have to know where he’d been. That was where he belonged.

Instead he had run.

The question continued to stab at him. Why do they get to win?

The image of Sam and Alex shone in Charles’s mind with the answer: They don’t. He thought of the joy he’d felt with Karen, just hearing her speak the sound of his own name.

They don’t. Charles put down the rum. The answer suddenly clear in his head.

He ran below. He found his cell phone in his cabin and left a detailed message for Neville, telling him just what he needed him to do. The words kept ringing: They don’t. He went to the small pull-out counter he used as a desk, switched on his laptop. He scrolled to Karen’s e-mail address and typed out the quick, heart-felt words.

He read it over. Yes. He felt lifted. He felt alive in his own body again for the first time in a year. They don’t. He thought of seeing her again. Holding his kids again. He could reclaim his life.

He pressed send.

A noise came to him from up on deck, like a boat tying up. Neville, back from his reveling. Charles called out the captain’s name. Excited, he headed up to the deck. His heart was racing. He ran out from under the bridge. “Change of plans-”

Instead he stood facing two men. One was tall, lanky, in a beach shirt and shorts, holding a gun. The other was shorter, barrel-chested, with a small mustache.

Both were looking very satisfied, as if a long search had ended and they were staring at a prize they’d waited to see for a long time. The man with the mustache wore a grin.

“Hello, Charles.”

CHAPTER NINETY

“Ty, wake up! Look!” Karen stood at the side of the bed, shaking him.

Hauck sat up. He’d been unable to get back to sleep for much of the night, troubled by his realization about the boat.

“There’s a message from Charlie,” Karen said excitedly. “He wants us to come.”

Hauck glanced at the clock. He saw it was going on eight. He never slept this late. “Come where?”

Karen, in a hotel robe, just out of the shower, shoved her BlackBerry in front of him as he tried to shake the sleep out of his eyes.

Karen. I’ve been going over what you said. I didn’t tell you all I knew. Neville will be at the dock at ten and will bring you to me. You can bring who you like. Maybe it’s time. Ch.

She latched onto Hauck’s hand and clasped it victoriously. “He’s gonna come in with us, Ty.”

They dressed quickly and met in the breakfast room downstairs. That was where Hauck informed Karen, afraid of under-cutting her excitement, that Charles would have to be arrested. Shaving, he had determined that the only way to make this work was to have Charles come back to the States with them of his own accord. Hauck could take him into custody there. Here, Charles would have to remain in a jail awaiting extradition. They’d have to produce a warrant, which meant going through everything with the people back home, including, in no small way, Hauck’s own part and what he’d done. That could take days, weeks. The extradition could be challenged. Charles might get cold feet. And Dietz and his people were already circling nearby.

Shortly before ten he and Karen made their way to the dock. Neville, at the helm of the white-hulled Sea Angel, was just cruising in.

Karen waved to him from the pier.

“Hello, ma’am.” The captain waved back as the boat pulled close. A dockhand from the hotel grabbed the line. He helped Karen climb aboard, Hauck following on his own.

“You’re taking us to Mr. Friedman?”

“To Mistuh Hon-son, ma’am. That’s what he ask me,” Neville replied dutifully.

“Are we going back to the same place?”

“No, ma’am. Not this time. The boat is at sea. It’s not far.”

Hauck took a seat in the rear, and Karen sat across from him as the dockhand threw Neville the line. Hauck felt in his pocket for the Beretta he’d brought along. Anything could happen out here.

They headed west, never more than a quarter mile out at sea, hugging the coastlines of tiny, speckled islands. The sky was blue but breezy, and the boat bounced, the twin engines kicking up a heavy wake.

Neither of them said much on the journey out. A new uneasiness had settled over them. Charles could give Hauck the line onto AJ Raymond’s killer, why he had started out in this from the beginning. Karen was quiet, too, maybe dealing with how she was going to explain all this to her kids.

About four islands east from St. Hubert, Neville brought the engines to a crawl. Hauck checked the map. It was a strip of land called Gavin’s Cay. There was a town on the north side of the island, Amysville. They were on a barely inhabited part, on the south. They came around a bend.

Neville pointed. “There he is!”

A large white boat sat at anchor in an isolated cove.

Hauck steadied himself on the railing and headed up to the bow. Karen followed. The boat was maybe sixty feet. Probably slept eight, Hauck figured. A Panamanian flag flew from the stern.

Neville slowed the engines to under ten knots. He traversed around a reef expertly, obviously knowing the way. Then he picked up a walkie-talkie receiver at the controls. “Sea Angel comin’ in, Mistuh Hon-son.”

No reply.

Charlie’s boat was about a quarter mile away. At anchor. Hauck couldn’t make out anyone on deck. Neville picked up the walkie-talkie again. The tone was scratchy.