invisible by closing her eyes, but forced herself to realize that wasn’t going to do the trick. Taking a deep breath she stretched out flat along the planks, praying that the bulk of the boat was high enough to keep him from glancing over onto the other side if he opened the door. She rested her cheek on the dock, and promptly got a splash of icy water in her face. The shock almost made her cry out, and at that moment the door opened. Instinct took over. Guinevere went as still as a newborn fawn hiding from a predator.
A dim unshielded bulb blinked into life overhead. Cassidy came into the boathouse. Guinevere closed her eyes and told herself it was too late now to jump up and yell, "Surprise!" Nothing she could say would make her look innocent. Damn it, Zac. This is your line of work. You’re the one who’s supposed to be here in this mess, not me.
Another shudder went through her, this time such a mixture of anxiety and cold that she couldn’t sort out one sensation from the other. Guinevere waited in an agony of suspense, wondering what it would be like in that instant when Cassidy walked around the dock and found her lying there. She had delayed announcing herself long past the point where she could have made a halfway reasonable explanation. It was too late.
Too late.
The light clicked off and the boathouse was plunged into darkness. At first Guinevere wasn’t sure what had happened. She heard the door slam shut and cautiously opened her eyes. Another ripple of water beneath the planks drenched the front of her trench coat and slacks. The cold seemed to be sinking into her.
Cassidy’s footsteps dissolved into the distance as he walked back toward shore. Guinevere got painfully to her knees and tried to stand, not sure her legs would hold her. From out of nowhere she remembered that hypothermia didn’t result only from immersion in cold water. You could lose body heat to a dangerous degree just by getting yourself damp in weather like this. Her fingers were feeling numb.
She found out how useless numb fingers were when she tried to brace herself against the side of the gently rocking cruiser. When she realized she couldn’t feel the fiberglass hull beneath her hand Guinevere almost panicked. Frantically she shook her fingers, trying to generate some sensation. Then she began to worry about her damp feet. She should have worn her boots instead of the casual leather shoes she’d chosen.
Grimly she forced herself to calm down. She was all right. She was shivering a little and her fingers were numb, but she was okay. All she had to do was get back to the Buick and turn on the heater. By the time she arrived at the resort she would be toasty warm. She could have a nice hot cup of tea and perhaps a shot of brandy.
That pleasant scenario required that she first get out of the boathouse, however. Uncertainly Guinevere edged her way around the front of the cruiser and over to the door. She paused a moment, listening intently, and then decided she had to act. Cautiously she opened the door and slipped outside into the chill of early evening. The wind was brisk and it startled her when it struck through the dampness of her clothing. She shivered again, more violently. Light rain slashed at her as she ran for the shelter of the overhang of the rest rooms. From there she tried to peer into the shadows of the parking lot. Was Cassidy out there somewhere keeping an eye on his plane?
She couldn’t wait any longer to find out. She was too damn cold. Taking a deep breath, Guinevere ran across the parking lot to the street where she had left the Buick. The physical activity didn’t seem to warm her any. It only made her feel more miserable.
She reached the stolidly waiting Buick without incident and fumbled in her purse for the keys. A few moments later she had the car in gear and the heater going full blast. It seemed to take forever to get warm. Guinevere drove away from the village, following the meandering road that
A dim unshielded bulb blinked into life overhead. Cassidy came into the boathouse. Guinevere closed her eyes and told herself it was too late now to jump up and yell, "Surprise!" Nothing she could say would make her look innocent. Damn it, Zac. This is your line of work. You’re the one who’s supposed to be here in this mess, not me.
Another shudder went through her, this time such a mixture of anxiety and cold that she couldn’t sort out one sensation from the other. Guinevere waited in an agony of suspense, wondering what it would be like in that instant when Cassidy walked around the dock and found her lying there. She had delayed announcing herself long past the point where she could have made a halfway reasonable explanation. It was too late.
Too late.
The light clicked off and the boathouse was plunged into darkness. At first Guinevere wasn’t sure what had happened. She heard the door slam shut and cautiously opened her eyes. Another ripple of water beneath the planks drenched the front of her trench coat and slacks. The cold seemed to be sinking into her.
Cassidy’s footsteps dissolved into the distance as he walked back toward shore. Guinevere got painfully to her knees and tried to stand, not sure her legs would hold her. From out of nowhere she remembered that hypothermia didn’t result only from immersion in cold water. You could lose body heat to a dangerous degree just by getting yourself damp in weather like this. Her fingers were feeling numb.
She found out how useless numb fingers were when she tried to brace herself against the side of the gently rocking cruiser. When she realized she couldn’t feel the fiberglass hull beneath her hand Guinevere almost panicked. Frantically she shook her fingers, trying to generate some sensation. Then she began to worry about her damp feet. She should have worn her boots instead of the casual leather shoes she’d chosen.
Grimly she forced herself to calm down. She was all right. She was shivering a little and her fingers were numb, but she was okay. All she had to do was get back to the Buick and turn on the heater. By the time she arrived at the resort she would be toasty warm. She could have a nice hot cup of tea and perhaps a shot of brandy.
That pleasant scenario required that she first get out of the boathouse, however. Uncertainly Guinevere edged her way around the front of the cruiser and over to the door. She paused a moment, listening intently, and then decided she had to act. Cautiously she opened the door and slipped outside into the chill of early evening. The wind was brisk and it startled her when it struck through the dampness of her clothing. She shivered again, more violently. Light rain slashed at her as she ran for the shelter of the overhang of the rest rooms. From there she tried to peer into the shadows of the parking lot. Was Cassidy out there somewhere keeping an eye on his plane?
She couldn’t wait any longer to find out. She was too damn cold. Taking a deep breath, Guinevere ran across the parking lot to the street where she had left the Buick. The physical activity didn’t seem to warm her any. It only made her feel more miserable.
She reached the stolidly waiting Buick without incident and fumbled in her purse for the keys. A few moments later she had the car in gear and the heater going full blast. It seemed to take forever to get warm. Guinevere drove away from the village, following the meandering road that
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