want to know what’s going on. Who were you just talking to?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“On the phone, just now. Who were you talking to? You said ‘call me if you see any boats coming ashore.’ Ashore at Nightshade Island? What are you up to?” She nodded toward her duffel bag, lying open on the floor. “Why were you going through my bag?”
“Put the gun down.”
She shook her head. “I’ll keep the Walther.” But she lowered her hand again. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m here to do a job. But I don’t know you from Adam, and I don’t like your snooping through my things.”
“Back at you.”
“Your bag was lying open.”
“Fine. I’ll rephrase. I don’t like being interrogated at gunpoint.”
She laid the Walther on the top of the cabinet nearest her. “Better?”
“I carry a gun for protection. Why do you carry one?”
So he’d seen the GLOCK. “Same reason. I have a license.”
“So do I.”
All her family had concealed carry licenses. She supposed it wouldn’t be unusual for a former marine to have one as well. “That still doesn’t answer my question. Who were you talking to?”
“Lydia Ross. I asked her to go to the high point of the house and look around to see if there was any unusual boat activity around the island.” He took a couple of steps toward her. Slow and steady, as if he were being careful not to spook her.
She was spooked anyway. “Why would you think there might be?”
He moved closer still, his big body looming in the small cabin. He barely had headroom at all, his hair brushing the top of the cabin. He would have to duck to get through the door, she realized. But he could do a lot of damage to her if he wanted.
Did he want to?
“Because someone sabotaged the boat.”
A chill washed over her. “How?”
“Don’t you know?”
The conversation was careening off into unexpected territory. “How would I know?”
He took another step. A long one, bringing him only a few inches from her. His nearness seemed to steal the air from the boat cabin, leaving her feeling light-headed and sluggish. “Someone put at least a half gallon of water in the fuel tank, no doubt in an effort to strand this boat out in the middle of the Gulf. I didn’t do it. But I left you in here for several minutes. All you’d have had to do is grab some of the bottled water in the fridge, go down to the engine room and add the water to the tank through the access port.”
“I wouldn’t know a fuel tank from a fish tank,” she said flatly.
“You said you grew up in a marina.”
“I said I practically grew up in a marina. Which means I know my way around a fishing boat, sure. But nobody ever let me mess with the engines. And they were mostly outboards anyway.” She cocked her head. “You think I’m trying to keep you away from the island so someone else can—do what? Have there been threats to Mrs. Ross?”
Gideon backed away from her a few inches, his blue eyes narrowed to slits. “She’s a wealthy woman. She owns things of value.”
The picture became a little clearer. “You’re not just the caretaker at the island, are you? You’re her bodyguard.”
His grim mouth curved a little, carving a surprising dimple in his cheek. “Just don’t let her hear you say that.”
She dragged her gaze away from the dimple and tried to gather her suddenly scattered thoughts. “You think someone’s trying to keep you away from the island so Mrs. Ross will be more vulnerable?”
“I think we need to get back to the island. Now.”
She stepped aside when he moved forward, bracing herself as he reached for the Walther on the table where she’d placed it. But he just slipped it into the waistband of his jeans.
He stooped under the door and turned to look at her. “You coming?”
“Can I bring my GLOCK?”
His lips curved, triggering the dimple again. “Do you know how to use it?”
She gave him a withering look that only spread his smile so that the other side of his face formed a dimple as well.
“Do what you want,” he said, and headed up the ladder.
She grabbed her GLOCK, still in its holster, and clipped the whole thing to her hip. At the last minute, she went back to the galley and grabbed a couple of bottled waters, tucking them under one arm as she climbed one-handed up to the pilothouse.
“Here,” she offered, holding out one of the bottles to him. “I counted, by the way. Five bottles of water left. I drank one earlier and here’s two more. Eight total. How many did you put in the fridge?”
“Eight,” he admitted.
Suddenly a low moaning wail rose in the air, distant but loud. Beside her, Gideon Stone tensed, his features hardening.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Trouble,” he answered. He grabbed a phone receiver built into the instrument panel and dialed. “What’s wrong?” Anger darkened his face, ice forming in his blue eyes as the person on the other end of the call answered. “Are you sure?”
Shannon tamped down her impatience, peering in the direction of the noise. She realized she could see the island now, a dark mass in the middle of the murky gray-green of the Gulf. It was no more than two miles in length and, from the looks of it, even narrower in width.
The noise was coming from somewhere on the island.
Gideon hung up the phone and reached into his bag, pulling out a pair of binoculars.
“Was that Mrs. Ross? What’s happened? What’s that sound?”
“It’s a foghorn on the lighthouse on the western side of the island—see it there?” He pointed dead ahead. Sure enough, she saw a tall white lighthouse rising above the tree line. “It’s not in use anymore, but the horn still works. I don’t like leaving Mrs. Ross alone on the island, but sometimes I have to, so I had someone rig the power connection from the horn to go to the main house. Mrs. Ross can trigger the horn from the house now. You can hear it all the way to the mainland.”
“Why did she trigger it?”
“There was a boat attempting a landing. Rubber raft, really, with an outboard motor. She saw it from the widow’s walk on top of the house. So she ran and sounded the horn.” He swung his binoculars in an arc, apparently looking for the offending boat. “She said they turned back around and started hightailing it away.”
“Is
