Jennifer braked the rental car.
The man she’d been trailing stepped out into the sunlight and began walking briskly along the pier. The limousine driver made a U-turn, and the big car rolled toward her. She averted her face as it approached, but it never hesitated. She glanced into her mirror, watching as it rounded the curve then vanished from sight.
With a sinking heart, she saw L.R. Campbell walk briskly toward a small cabin cruiser that lay at the end of the pier. He clambered aboard, waved to a bare-chested man lolling in the cockpit of a motorboat moored nearby, and then Jennifer heard the low thrum of an engine. She watched helplessly as Campbell’s boat edged from the dock and began making its way out to sea.
Now what? Had she come all this distance only to run into another dead end? Campbell might return in an hour; he might return tomorrow. For all she knew, he might be heading off for a long weekend on the water. It would be dark soon. Would it be safe to pull off into the parking area and wait? Or—
The cough of an engine starting carried toward her on the warm air. The man in the motorboat was leaning over the side, reaching for his mooring lines. He had greeted Campbell. Maybe he would know where Campbell was heading and how long he’d be gone.
The last line came free.
“Wait!” Jennifer yelled. She wrenched open the door of the car and raced toward the water. “Wait!” she called again, waving her arms crazily. “Please—señor.”
The man turned and looked at her. “Sí?”
“Por favor,” she said breathlessly, “la barca—donde esta la—la barca—” So much for high-school Spanish. Jennifer muttered a short, unladylike word under her breath. “Do you speak English?”
The man smiled. “Sí.”
“Please—do you know where the boat’s going?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
A hollow feeling spread within her. “Well then—do you know when it’ll return?”
“I am sorry, I do not.”
“But you must know. You must have some idea—”
He looked at her. “I cannot help you, señorita.”
After a moment, Jennifer nodded. “Gracias,” she said softly. She watched as he pushed the throttles forward. Within seconds, his boat was pulling out into the harbor.
She stood staring blindly out to sea, and then she turned and walked slowly to where her car stood abandoned in the narrow roadway, the driver’s door standing open like a bird with a broken wing. By the time she reached it, there was a tight lump lodged in her throat. She sank back against the side of the car and took a deep, shuddering breath.
What next? She had botched everything. The private detective had been right; she was incapable of handling this on her own. She’d spent almost all her money, she’d come thousands of miles, and for what? To waste time, that was all; time that was precious, time that was—
A horn blared harshly. Jennifer spun around. A car—something low, long and fast-looking—had come around the curve and was barreling down the narrow road toward her. It skidded dangerously on the gravel as its driver stood hard on the brakes and the horn blared again
. But it was too late. She watched in horror as the car slammed into the open door of her car. The door rose into the air like a missile, turning over and over before coming to rest yards away, the jarring impact of the crash reverberating through her, and then, as if in slow motion, she was on the ground, fighting to draw air into her lungs.
A car door slammed, a man bent over her. She tried to focus her eyes on his face. He was asking her a question, over and over, and after a few seconds, the words began to sort themselves out and make sense.
“Are you all right?”
Was she? She swallowed carefully, moved her arms, then her legs. There was a dull throb in her temple, where she’d hit it as she fell, and all her bones felt as if an army had marched over them. But everything seemed to work.
“I—I think so,” she said carefully. She put out her hand, pressed her palm flat against the ground and began to stand.
The man standing over her barked out a command.
“Don’t move.”
“Really, I’m okay.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Just stay where you are until we’re sure.”
He bent down and she fell back and let him run his hands lightly over her. His touch was impersonal and efficient. She still couldn’t see his face—he was a dark blur silhouetted against the sun that was beginning its plunge to the horizon—but something about him seemed familiar.