Island Peril by Jill Sorenson Page B

close enough to smell him. She detected an intoxicating hint of sunscreen and sports deodorant on warm male skin. He was tall, almost a foot taller than her. She studied his grip on the notepaper. He had big hands.
    “Looks like we’re at Class II/III today. Should be a breeze.”
    “Do you have helmets?” Abby asked.
    “Absolutely. I wouldn’t go into a sea cave without them.”
    Abby seemed relieved by his commitment to safety. They’d kayaked in calm waters like La Jolla cove, but never across the open ocean. Even Ella was a bit intimidated, though her excitement about metamorphic rock formations outweighed any fears. Brooke lived for adventure and had no reservations whatsoever.
    They hiked down the sandy path to the loading dock, where the kayak equipment was stored. Paul gave them a quick refresher course on the beach before they prepared to launch. He was a good teacher, giving clear instructions. She admired the flex of his biceps as he demonstrated the strokes, his back to them. He had to be at least twenty-five, maybe thirty. Those shoulders belonged to a man, not a boy.
    At the end of the session, he lowered his paddle and turned around to face them. “Any questions?”
    “Are there speleothems inside the caves?” Ella asked.
    His gaze sharpened in appraisal. She knew how nerdy she sounded; Abby was practically groaning beside her. Ella usually tried to dial it down on the science terms, but they popped out whenever she was nervous.
    “Stalagmites, stalactites, that sort of thing,” she said, blushing.
    “Those are more common in limestone caves,” he said. “The ones we’re visiting are mostly volcanic.”
    Ella was thrilled by his informed response. She wanted to ask him about fault-line activity, but the topic might disturb Abby. The same earthquake that had traumatized her sister had inspired Ella to change her course of study in college. She’d chosen a career that would enable her to use geophysical research to save lives.
    He moved on, taking the dry sacks from the storage compartment. “These are for anything you don’t want to get wet. They aren’t completely waterproof, so leave your electronics here in the lockbox.”
    Abby frowned. “I can’t bring my cell phone?”
    “They don’t work on San Miguel anyway.”
    “What if we have an emergency?”
    “I’ll use my radio.” He showed her his first aid kit and rescue supplies. “I stay in contact with the other guide at the campsite. I can also call headquarters.” Picking up the radio, he pressed the talk button. “We’re about to head out, Ramona. Over.”
    Ramona responded a second later. “Thanks for checking in, Paul! Have a great trip. Over.”
    Somewhat mollified, Abby left her cell phone in the lockbox. He secured it with a key he wore on an elastic band around his wrist.
    “Are you two sisters?” he asked, glancing from Abby to Brooke.
    Abby’s face, which had grown tense, relaxed at the compliment. She was young for a divorcee with a teenager, and she took excellent care of herself. It wasn’t the first time a charming man had asked her this question.
    “She’s my mom,” Brooke said in an annoyed voice.
    Abby hooked her arm around Ella’s neck. “This is my sister.”
    “My mistake,” he said with a smile. “Good looks clearly run in the family.”
    As he lifted his kayak and carried it to the water’s edge, Abby arched a brow at Ella. He was smooth—Ella would give him that. He’d already won Abby over. Her sister grabbed her kayak and followed him to the shore.
    “Where are you from, Paul?”
    “San Diego.”
    “Really? So are we.”
    “I live in Oxnard now,” he said, naming a suburb of LA.
    Abby elbowed her. “Ella just moved to Northridge.”
    “Oh yeah? We’re practically neighbors.”
    She set her kayak on the wet sand, feeling self-conscious.
    “What brought you to this area?” Abby asked.
    “I came with a girlfriend.”
    “How did that work out?”
    “It didn’t.”
    “How