started after him, deciding she’d kill a few more minutes saying hello.
As she watched, he ducked into the boathouse. By the time Guinevere reached the far end of the dock he hadn’t reappeared. Maybe Cassidy was also inside the boathouse. Or perhaps Springer was going to take out a boat. She paused, wondering if she should go any farther. If Springer had business with Cassidy, she might just be a nuisance.
Guinevere changed her mind about saying hello. Turning, she started up the ramp. There was an old public toilet on her right. A worn sign on the side nearest her read LADIES in capital letters, and an overflowing trash can guarded the entrance. Guinevere angled around in front of it, following a path that would lead her back toward Zac’s car.
As she walked past the far end of the building she glanced back at the boathouse. Cassidy and Springer had both emerged. They were facing each other, and although she couldn’t hear what was being said Guinevere got the distinct impression they were arguing.
She also got the impression Cassidy was winning the argument. In fact, she decided as she stood watching them in the shadows of the rest rooms, she would have said Cassidy looked very much like a man giving orders. His hand moved in a flat, negative gesture, and Springer appeared to look resigned. He nodded once, stiff with obvious resentment, and then he swung around and started back toward the parking lot.
Curious, Guinevere switched her gaze back to Cassidy. He was watching Springer, but when the younger man climbed into his car he turned around and walked over to the bobbing Cessna. Opening the craft’s door he stood under the high wing and looked around inside the cabin for a moment. Then he shut the door.
As he walked back along the floating dock toward the boathouse Guinevere realized he was carrying a gun. He held it unobtrusively against the right side of his body. No one watching from the marina would have noticed. But from the shadows of the rest rooms Guinevere could see the black metal of the barrel.
She was so startled that she failed to move until Cassidy reappeared from the boathouse. He no longer seemed to be carrying the weapon, unless he’d concealed it somewhere in his clothing. As she watched he ambled leisurely up the ramp and turned left, heading for a small coffee shop that catered to the boating crowd. He had the collar of his flight jacket turned up against the rain but he hadn’t bothered with a hat. Dashing—and dangerous.
Guinevere stared at the boathouse and the plane for a very long time. It was getting late, and at this time of year the days were exceedingly short. By four o’clock it was going to be growing dark. There wasn’t time to run back to the hotel and convince Zac that he ought to take a look inside that boathouse. If the job was going to get done, Guinevere told herself resolutely, she would have to display a little of the right stuff herself and do it.
She felt the odd little frisson of excitement that she had first known when she’d followed Zac one night during a search he had made of a private house. It was compounded of one part fear, one part adrenaline, and one part thrill. It was heady stuff, but she knew it was also very dangerous. Zac was to blame for having introduced her to it.
Could she make it down to the plane’s dock without Cassidy spotting her from the café where he’d gone for coffee? The question was taken out of her hands when Cassidy suddenly emerged from the café and started up the street toward the center of the village.
It was now or never, Guinevere told herself. She emerged cautiously from the protection of the rest rooms and made her way down to the dock. Once on the dock she felt naked and exposed. Anyone who chose to come in this direction from the marina would see her. Halfway along the gently shifting planks Guinevere’s heady sense of excitement became two parts fear and one part adrenaline. The thrill was gone.
She couldn’t
As she watched, he ducked into the boathouse. By the time Guinevere reached the far end of the dock he hadn’t reappeared. Maybe Cassidy was also inside the boathouse. Or perhaps Springer was going to take out a boat. She paused, wondering if she should go any farther. If Springer had business with Cassidy, she might just be a nuisance.
Guinevere changed her mind about saying hello. Turning, she started up the ramp. There was an old public toilet on her right. A worn sign on the side nearest her read LADIES in capital letters, and an overflowing trash can guarded the entrance. Guinevere angled around in front of it, following a path that would lead her back toward Zac’s car.
As she walked past the far end of the building she glanced back at the boathouse. Cassidy and Springer had both emerged. They were facing each other, and although she couldn’t hear what was being said Guinevere got the distinct impression they were arguing.
She also got the impression Cassidy was winning the argument. In fact, she decided as she stood watching them in the shadows of the rest rooms, she would have said Cassidy looked very much like a man giving orders. His hand moved in a flat, negative gesture, and Springer appeared to look resigned. He nodded once, stiff with obvious resentment, and then he swung around and started back toward the parking lot.
Curious, Guinevere switched her gaze back to Cassidy. He was watching Springer, but when the younger man climbed into his car he turned around and walked over to the bobbing Cessna. Opening the craft’s door he stood under the high wing and looked around inside the cabin for a moment. Then he shut the door.
As he walked back along the floating dock toward the boathouse Guinevere realized he was carrying a gun. He held it unobtrusively against the right side of his body. No one watching from the marina would have noticed. But from the shadows of the rest rooms Guinevere could see the black metal of the barrel.
She was so startled that she failed to move until Cassidy reappeared from the boathouse. He no longer seemed to be carrying the weapon, unless he’d concealed it somewhere in his clothing. As she watched he ambled leisurely up the ramp and turned left, heading for a small coffee shop that catered to the boating crowd. He had the collar of his flight jacket turned up against the rain but he hadn’t bothered with a hat. Dashing—and dangerous.
Guinevere stared at the boathouse and the plane for a very long time. It was getting late, and at this time of year the days were exceedingly short. By four o’clock it was going to be growing dark. There wasn’t time to run back to the hotel and convince Zac that he ought to take a look inside that boathouse. If the job was going to get done, Guinevere told herself resolutely, she would have to display a little of the right stuff herself and do it.
She felt the odd little frisson of excitement that she had first known when she’d followed Zac one night during a search he had made of a private house. It was compounded of one part fear, one part adrenaline, and one part thrill. It was heady stuff, but she knew it was also very dangerous. Zac was to blame for having introduced her to it.
Could she make it down to the plane’s dock without Cassidy spotting her from the café where he’d gone for coffee? The question was taken out of her hands when Cassidy suddenly emerged from the café and started up the street toward the center of the village.
It was now or never, Guinevere told herself. She emerged cautiously from the protection of the rest rooms and made her way down to the dock. Once on the dock she felt naked and exposed. Anyone who chose to come in this direction from the marina would see her. Halfway along the gently shifting planks Guinevere’s heady sense of excitement became two parts fear and one part adrenaline. The thrill was gone.
She couldn’t
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