his judgment, because one thing hadn’t changed—Travis had always loved his sister. And Sandy had no doubt he would do whatever it took to rescue her. Making the decision to call Travis had been difficult. She’d worried that his hot-headed temper would hurt her chance of rescuing Ellie, but now she was very glad to have Travis at her side.
Sandy knew that boats often disappeared and were never seen again. It was too easy for a professional thief to steal a boat in the middle of the night, change the serial numbers and sail off to another country to sell it. The Coast Guard couldn’t cover every cove and harbor along the U.S. border. And marinas simply operated on too small a profit margin to employ night watchmen. Usually, the insurance company paid off the claim and the owner purchased a new boat. Finding Vanderpelt’s missing vessel was not going to be easy.
“How can the Shey Group help with the boat?”
“We have contacts in the Coast Guard, the navy and the police. If Vanderpelt’s boat shows up on any official radar, we’ll know about it.”
Travis’s certainty gave her a measure of relief. “You’re assuming Alan and his associate didn’t sink her, or change the serial number.”
“I’m not assuming anything. Can you put out word to the local sailors, and at the marina, that we need to find that boat? Also, if we can get a line on the Grady-White, it might give us a clue as to who we’re dealing with.”
She nodded. “The grapevine is as good as ever.” Fishermen, local guides and pleasure boaters were a tight community. When one of their own needed help, everyone pitched in.
Travis turned the boat around, heading back to the marina. “I’ll order us some jamming equipment. We have to be able to communicate without fear of someone listening.”
Travis sounded sure of his technical expertise, but she still feared his equipment could give away their plans. “But, if we jam the signal, won’t they become suspicious?”
“Not necessarily. Let me deal with it.”
Were they actually working together? It was difficult to believe that she and Travis had had a conversation without ending up in bed or shouting at one another. This had to be a first. And she hoped it would continue.
After they returned to the marina, Sandy typed up a description of Vanderpelt’s boat. She offered a reward for any information, then used the copy machine to make flyers. Her assistant manager would post some at the marina. But she took the majority of the flyers, and a stapler, with her. She and Travis drove up and down the coast, stopping in marinas, bait shops and boat dealers to put them up and talk to people about the missing boat. At this time of year, the waterways were crowded with boaters on summer vacation. Everyone promised to keep their eyes peeled during their journeys.
While Sandy worked, Travis stopped at local bars. He used the pay phones repeatedly, never staying on the line for more than thirty seconds. Then they’d both return to her vehicle and head to the next spot.
Travis checked the sideview mirror for what must have been the hundredth time. “I wish I could pick up a tail.”
“Why?” She was driving since Travis was barhopping. In case anyone was watching, he’d ordered a beer every place he’d stopped. But he probably hadn’t drunk much, because he still appeared clearheaded. Even in their younger days, Travis might have been a hell-raiser, but he hadn’t been much of a drinker. He liked fast cars and faster boats, but he always said high speeds and drinking didn’t mix.
“A tail might give us some clues. Vanderpelt is like chasing a ghost.”
She didn’t like the frustration in Travis’s tone, or the discouragement in the set of his shoulders. “What do you mean, he’s a ghost?”
“Vanderpelt is not a U.S. or Canadian citizen. His name is probably an alias. A corporation owns the island, but it’s a subsidiary of a Swiss company. Normally, the Swiss are not into sharing their financial information with us. But since 9/11, and thanks to a favor Logan Kincaid did for their embassy people in Saudi Arabia, they told us the Swiss company is part of a Libyan conglomerate, headquartered in Tripoli.”
“So you don’t know who he is or where he’s from?”
“Yeah.”
“If his business is that extensive, surely someone must—”
“His cover is deep. We are not dealing with a common criminal. With his connections and wealth, he’s likely tied to any one of a dozen criminal organizations, the Russian Mafia, the Colombian cartels, the Chinese, the Bulgarians—take your pick.”
“So rescuing Ellie is going to be—”
“We’ll get her. These people won’t kill her as long as she’s of use to them. We have ten days, and we’re going to make use of every hour, every second.”
The determination in his tone bucked up her flagging hopes. Travis knew better than Sandy what they were up against. If he thought they could find and rescue Ellie, then it had to be possible. And meanwhile, Sandy would do her best to put her survivor’s guilt away. She’d never understood why Alan had taken Ellie as hostage and not her, except that she couldn’t get out of her mind the way Vanderpelt had leered at the sight of Ellie’s legs. Sandy said nothing to Travis about that look. He had enough worries, and he was already doing everything he could think of to find Ellie. But she also felt guilty that she hadn’t stepped forward and suggested Alan take her in place of Ellie. Taking the Vanderpelt commission had been Sandy’s idea. She was the older partner, and it should have been her taken hostage. But Alan had grabbed Ellie without warning, and Sandy had been so stunned, she simply hadn’t thought fast enough to do more than protest.
Driving up and down the coast stapling flyers to telephone poles didn’t seem like enough. Sandy wanted to do more. She wanted some hint that Ellie was still alive. The minutes seemed to tick by like months, and the stress kept her stomach churning.
If she didn’t known Travis better, she might have thought he had his emotions under total control. But every once in a while, their gazes crossed and she glimpsed desperation and bleak despair, along with fierce determination. They ate a late dinner of clam chowder and burgers. She barely tasted her food, but her body needed the fuel.
When they exited the restaurant, it was dark. Most day boaters would have come in and trailered their boats home hours ago. Those spending the night on the water would be anchored in a safe harbor, or tucked into a slip for the night. For her part, Sandy could do nothing more. But Travis had a restless energy that told her he wasn’t ready to quit.
She was about to suggest heading back to her marina when Travis’s cell phone beeped. He checked the caller ID. “I need to use the pay phone.”
For the first time that day, she accompanied him while he made a call. She was surprised how long it took to go through, but then, he’d dialed an international number. She was praying Ellie had escaped, and someone was calling Travis to let them know his sister was okay. But she knew how unlikely that was. Despite her impatience, Sandy refrained from asking questions Travis couldn’t answer.
“Travis, here.” He spoke into the phone, his voice deep and confident.
Shifting from one foot to the other, she fidgeted and looked for clues on Travis’s face whether the news was good or bad. His eyes narrowed, but he nodded as he listened, and she had the impression some progress had been made.
“Thanks.
