Pirate (Fargo Adventures 8)

A crack of thunder in the distance brought them to attention, and Sam hoped that if lightning struck anywhere nearby, it would hit the island, not the water.

As the rain pelted down, dusk turned into dark. They clung to what was left of the Zodiac, the wind tossing them about. And just as it occurred to him that the tiger sharks they’d seen earlier were nocturnal hunters, Remi said, “I’ve been thinking . . .”

He looked over at his wife, grateful she was alert and calm. “About what?”

“That vacation you promised me.”

“Oh?”

“We should hold off for a bit. Don’t you think?”

It was moments like this that his love for Remi magnified. Here they were, clinging to a sinking raft, and she found the absurdity in all of it. “Good idea. Let’s say . . . day after tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow?”

“We should at least wait until we get back to the mainland. Figure out where we’re going next.”

She smiled at him, and he grasped her hand a moment, thinking about how they’d ended up in this predicament. There was only one way their whereabouts could have been revealed. Bree.

Now was not the time to bring up the obvious betrayal by his wife’s friend. They needed to concentrate on surviving. But she must have read his mind because her next words were, “I’m sorry.”

“Never, Remi. We’re in this together, you and I. Always.”

He wasn’t sure, it was too dark to tell, but her smile this time looked pained. When she gave her heart, she gave all of it. It broke his to see her hurt, but there was nothing he could do or say to change their circumstances.

Except survive.

For the next several hours, that’s what they concentra

ted on. The Zodiac was losing what was left of its buoyancy, and he feared they were being pulled out to sea, far from the island and where anyone might look for them.

They both were exhausted and hungry. The strangest thought came to Sam as he closed his eyes to rest a moment, the crazy idea of seeing a desert mirage on the water. A light nearing them as though they were drifting closer to shore. He blinked, then realized there really was a light and it was getting closer.

Eighteen

Remi . . .”

“I see it.”

A boat heading toward Snake Island.

If it continued in that direction, it would miss them. They’d drifted too far.

Sam and Remi called out, waved their arms, but their voices were lost in the wind.

They watched for several minutes when suddenly the vessel turned away from the island, a beam of light sweeping the choppy waters as it moved toward them.

They shouted and waved again until their voices were hoarse. After what seemed to take forever, the most beautiful, ancient, rusty, hulking shrimper Sam had ever seen chugged toward them, its spotlight bouncing over the waves, then blinding them.

Sam and Remi waved as the boat pulled alongside and someone threw over a couple of life preservers on a rope. Sam reached out, caught the first one, slipped it over Remi, making sure she was safely assisted on board, before he grasped the offered hand.

António, their angel in disguise.

“Thank you,” Sam said.

The young man smiled. “Not me. My uncle.” He nodded toward the helm. “Come inside. Out of the rain.”

He drew them into the cabin where his uncle, a grizzled man with salt-and-pepper hair, stood at the helm. He said something in Portuguese to another man, slightly younger, who took his place as he walked back toward Sam and Remi.