Staying On Top(73)

“I can’t wait to go sailing.”

“You know how to sail?” My eyebrows went up. “You never mentioned it.”

“You never asked. I have many, many talents I plan to let you discover.”

His arms went around my waist from behind as we waited in line for a taxi. A thrill went down my spine before I could think about stopping it. “Is that right?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He murmured into the back of my neck, leaving a kiss in its wake.

“Next!”

The valet gave us a stern look that would have made me smile if my heart wasn’t in my stomach. Sam and I climbed into the backseat, and the cabbie, who was too much of a Jamaican cliché to make fun of —because he could probably put a voodoo curse on us—turned to ask where we were going.

“The Yacht Club, please.”

“Is the house here? Does your dad have a boat at the marina?”

I didn’t answer, unwilling to say anything incriminating in front of the cabbie, who stared into the rearview mirror without reservation. Sam got the hint, reaching over to hold my hand and then watching out the window. As was the way with all taxis, for some reason the guy had the windows down. In Jamaica, as in Greece, there wasn’t anything sweeter than the fresh, salty smell of the warm air. Going back to Florida would be downright dreary after the last two stops of our trip.

The Yacht Club had security, but the taxi driver just waved on his way through. I hadn’t spent a ton of time in Jamaica, but I knew the island had a growing problem with corruption and crime that worked in my favor. The plane tickets had soaked up over four thousand bucks for the two of us, which mean only about a thousand remained in my pocket. Sam had five or six hundred left at last check, and even though it would be plenty of money to get us to the Caymans, it was little enough to make me nervous about leaving the Caymans.

“You can just let us off at the docks,” I instructed, pulling out cash and a tip that might be generous enough to keep his mouth shut if news of a stolen boat reached his ears later tonight.

He took the money and sped off, then Sam turned to me and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. I didn’t answer, wandering down the dock looking for a sailboat with specific specifications—not too big, since the two of us would be sailing it alone, but too small wouldn’t do, either. It would only take us six hours or so, depending on the wind and the chop, to make it to Grand Cayman. Too fast for anyone to notice their boat was gone, report it, and chase us down.

Especially if we found the right boat.

Third from the end, a little Catalina 335 series, gleamed like the answer. The sails and cushions were a tad faded and weathered, and the gorgeous teak interior needed a shine. It hadn’t been attended to regularly, which meant a higher likelihood that no one would miss it right away.

“I thought your dad’s boat would be bigger. And what’s with the name?”

I walked around to the rear, snorting when the boat’s painted name came into view. Who the hell named their boat Wiggler?

“I don’t know,” I replied, tossing my backpack in and climbing on board. I grabbed Sam’s backpack and tennis bag, stowing everything in a locker by the anchor.

“You don’t know why your dad named his boat the Wiggler?”

He hadn’t moved from the dock, squinting down at me in the bright midday sun. The set of his posture, the clench of his jaw, said he knew the answer to his question but still wanted me to say it.

A sigh spilled out before I could stop it, even though it would have sounded more at home coming from a petulant five-year-old or an exhausted mother of seven. Ever since I’d heard from my dad, I’d wanted nothing more than to get this over with and go home.

To stop pretending and accept the inevitable.

“It’s not our boat, Sam. We’re borrowing it.”

“Stealing it, you mean.”

“No. Same as the car in Austria. We’ll give it back. We’re just taking it on a short trip to the Caymans. No big deal.” He didn’t move. “This is it, Sam. What we set out to do. If my dad is on dry land, he’s in the Caymans, and this won’t be the first crime you’ve committed since insisting you come along instead of giving me your information and letting me use it. If you want out, give me what I need and go. If not, get your ass in the boat.”

He got in after the briefest hesitation, reaching for the mainsail and rigging without being asked. I checked the rudder then slid the jib into place, leaving both sails unfurled until we puttered free of the marina and sluiced into the open water.

We worked together to unfurl the sails and secure the mainsheet and boom, until the wind caught us and drove us forward at a comfortable pace. The day was beautiful, lending to the serenity of the sounds of the slapping waves and the light spray cutting off the bow. We tacked into the wind, then settled back to let the boat and the water do the majority of the work.