Troubled Waters by Carolyn Wheat

a threat?”
    â€œIf it has to be.”
    He strode through the crowd before I could reply. Always an exit line. I wondered how serious his threat was—and what exactly he was afraid of. Even a million-dollar drug deal from twelve years ago couldn’t hurt him now. In fact there was only one crime he could still be worried about: murder.

C HAPTER E IGHT
    July 15, 1982
    Rap held up his hand for silence. Behind him, Dana watched the lazy lake waves lap the shore. Trees grew along the edge of the beach, giving shade and cover. That was the blessing of fresh water; near ocean, they’d have been exposed on all sides.
    â€œDo you hear something?”
    Dana listened. At first, nothing. Just a wan, overheated breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees that sheltered the little inlet from the road. The persistent lapping of the waves, the pitch and toss of the boat. Then, underneath but growing louder, a whine like a mosquito circling your head on a hot summer night, zeroing in for the kill.
    A siren. Close. Too close.
    â€œI’d better get the Layla out of here,” Rap said, moving toward the boat, lying lazily in the hazy sun. “Jan could be in trouble.”
    â€œJan!” Dana’s wrath, heated by the relentless sun, exploded. “We should have known better than to let her make a run by herself. I should be with her, not out here with my thumb up my ass. Who knows what she’s gotten us into?”
    â€œWhich is why I should move the boat. We don’t want her impounded if the cops roll up.” He turned toward the rickety pier where the cabin cruiser was tied.
    Something about Rap’s haste rang a bell in Dana’s mind. Something about his eagerness to cast off, to take the Layla out of reach of the police—
    â€œRap,” she said sharply. “What the hell have you got on that boat? And don’t give me that innocent look. I remember the first run, when it turned out you had Roberto pay you in—”
    She broke off, panic and anger struggling within her. “You didn’t. You couldn’t be that stupid. That greedy. Oh, Jesus, tell me you don’t have dope on that boat.”
    Even as she said the words, even as Rap opened his mouth to protest his innocence, she knew the truth. Of course he had dope on the boat. He was ferrying people who were fleeing the drug wars of South America; what better currency for them to pay their passage with than white powder?
    â€œFucking shit!” She wheeled around in frustration. “This is supposed to be a rescue mission, you asshole. We’re taking these people to Canada because their lives are in danger. And you’re using the trip to make a buck. I can’t believe—” Words failed her; she regarded her former husband with a loathing she did nothing to conceal.
    A sinewy hand reached up and grabbed her T-shirt, pulling it into a hard knot. The other fist rested lightly against her damp cheek. Rap’s gray eyes were granite chips and he spaced his words with a deliberate slow contempt she’d heard before.
    â€œWhat the fuck do you think I am, babe? The fuckin’ Red Cross? You think I take this boat out, risk going to jail, just to help suffering humanity? You and Father Jerry wouldn’t have an underground railroad without me.”
    His hot breath licked her face; she glared into his eyes, praying the deep fear in her stomach didn’t show on her face. She went rigid, just listened, let him blow it off. Like always.
    â€œSo don’t ask stupid questions about what’s on the boat, and we won’t have any trouble. Okay?”
    â€œOkay,” she whispered. Then gathered courage and said, “Get the boat out of here before the cops come. I don’t want to get busted on your drug rap.”
    The siren had stopped now, but that was no guarantee of safety. Cops could be on their way along the dune road even as they spoke. Rap let her go, let the T-shirt knot