Chapter 4

Zoe would slap him the first chance she got. "You wish you knew," she growled.

"True." Dane turned to her mother. "She should wear this while she sleeps. Or at least twenty minutes every few hours since I don't know if she'll get much sleep."

"Don't you have a business to run?" Zoe interrupted, her aggressive tone completely justified.

"It's Greg's day at the gift shop. Lilly is checking in tourists and both the party boat and the three snorkeling/eco tours are captained. We have no scuba groups until tomorrow afternoon."

"I needed the money from this weekend, Dane. You're costing me."

"Use your sick days."

"I don't have sick days."

"You do now. Babe, I'm the boss."

Sick days? She tried to protest. Wanted to argue that the other employees already thought she was sleeping with him. Why else would he have agreed to merge their businesses? Leaving him little time for the treasure hunting trips he was known for? Now, she was given sick days? But it wasn't her business anymore. It pained her as much as it relieved.

"I can't sleep with the noise of that machine, Mom. I'll wear it later. Right now, I'm going to finish this disgusting tea and catch up on email. You have one night. Both of you." She pointed a finger from her mother to Dane. "I have Ultimate Frisbee tomorrow at two."

They looked at each other and spoke some silent language. The nerve.

"I've been wanting to crash Sunday Ultimate Frisbee for years," Dane said as he winked at her mother, then turned to Zoe. "I'm taking your place."

"You," she said flatly. "Can you even throw a Frisbee? Do you know how to play?"

"Look at me." He gestured the backs of his hands from his shoulders to his hips. "I can't look like this and not know how to throw a Frisbee."

"Arrogant—"

"Careful, babe. Your mother's here. It's like rugby, right?"

"You don't even know the rules." Although, she knew he would be good, great maybe. Would her team want her back? "How many steps can you take when you have the Frisbee?"

He squinted at her before he answered. "None."

Arrogant mind reader.

"Look, Zoe. This is serious. Use your head. I'm outta here." He kissed her mother on the forehead. "I'm sorry about the scene, Harmony. Your home is as lovely as ever."

"You should thank Dane for going to the trouble of bringing your tank for you, dear." It may have sounded like a suggestion, but it wasn't.

"Thanks, boss."

* * *

Now, all Dane could think about was Zoe's perky A cups. Imagining high school A cups gave him the creeps. Yet, there they were, right in his face.

He had to drive all the way inland because the only drugstore on Ibis Island didn't carry extended oxygen tubes. 'Can't sleep with the noise of the machine.' She was the most high-maintenance, independent, fascinating, low-maintenance woman he'd ever known.

An image of her sleeping with those damned adult B cups—possibly C cups—rising and falling soundly kept his foot on the gas all the way to the inland store. And he had to captain her party boat that night. It was Liam's day off. A fact he would have had no trouble ignoring if Zoe hadn't pointed it out. She was going to make him insane.

He parked in the farthest spot of the drugstore lot. Zoe liked to call it new-car-parking and relentlessly teased him about pampering his jeep. He was simply taking care of his vehicle. She was a woman. She wouldn't understand.

Also in the figurative new-car-parking section was one black Beemer convertible. He wondered who it could belong to. Not. Richard Beckett was the island's richest, most successful jackass realtor. He cared only about his and his own and gave no respect to the sea turtles. That kind of thing didn't set well with a family like the Clearwaters.

Beckett came out in his Italian shoes, pants and matching linen shirt. He slid his $300 sunglasses over his eyes and ran his hand through his $80 haircut. "Dane!" Beckett said with a salesman smile. Must play nice with the locals.

"Hey Beckett. What brings you out in this heat?"

"It is a warm one." Beckett held out his hand.

Dane shook like a gentleman. "I see you bought the place next to my shop. Welcome to the neighborhood," he lied and realized he had no idea what Beckett wanted with the area.

"I've got a bid on the property next to it, too." His face fell as if he'd just realized he was forgetting something important. "Don't mention anything to your new employee, will you?" he whispered as if anyone could possibly hear him. "No need to stir the pot over nothing."

He assumed he meant Zoe but wasn't sure what pot he would be referring to. They said their empty well wishes and Beckett spun out in his BMW. Dane couldn't help it, he glanced down at his clothes and decided it might be time to grow up.

* * *

Zoe's eyes flew open. The moon cast stripes of light on the desk at the opposite side of the room. She'd heard a crack. It was the dream she'd been having. The skull stared at her as she lay on her parents' futon. The knife had turned itself just enough to crack the thing open, spilling pieces of Luciana Bezan's dowry between the barnacle-infested bones. Sparkling necklaces and silver flatware slithered out like the Moray eels of her last dream.

Freaking scary.

She knew her way around the room enough to keep the lights off, but with the creepy dream and creepier noise, her fingers ached to turn on the bedside lamp. She was no wimpy girl and instead forced her hands into the pockets of the sweat pants she wore to bed before standing and shaking her head clear. Clearwater's were not scared of the dark.

The extended oxygen tube Dane had brought her made it all the way to the bathroom. She pulled the thing off her face and set it on her pillow.

The digital clock on the desk read 2 a.m. She would get herself some of the raspberry decaf tea her mother had been drinking the night before, not any of the chamomile crap. Maybe she would read some news on her Smartphone, then get back to sleep. Although shivering another post-dream aftershock, she forced herself to stay away from the light switches.

The only bedroom in the house that acted as a bedroom was her parents'. She guessed when all of your children—all of your living children—resided on an island ten miles long, it wasn't necessary to keep guest rooms. She passed Raine's old room on the way to the kitchen. Raine and Seth were the oldest and had had their own bedrooms. Raine's was now a craft room and Seth's a music room with wall-to-wall string and wind instruments. Two banjos, Willow's old cello, an acoustic guitar, and an ancient accordion with marble keys.

It made her nearly forget about the dream and the tea. She wandered the room as the light of the moon forced its way through the paper-thin blinds. Propped in a corner were a few of Seth's things. It was worse than if her mother had been one of those parents who kept their dead child's bedroom exactly as it had been. Because he had no bedroom. No place. No house. No widow. No children. Nothing but the wide-open water somewhere in the sky Zoe hoped he was diving in right at that moment.

His wooden chest rested in the corner closet. Her mother refused to open it. She told everyone Seth wasn't in his dresser. His soul had moved on. One of those eccentric ways her mother had about her. Zoe was used to the odd antics. As a young woman, Zoe grew to adore and sometimes admire them. Now, she thought her mother was full of shit. She was stuffing her grief and avoiding closure. As if Zoe had room to judge. She was still looking for her dead brother in random caves every Saturday.

The dresser he owned stood as guard of the closet. It was odd the closet door was open. Her mother may be cluttered and eccentric, but she was tidy. Zoe's eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see the scratches in the worn fronts of the drawers... that had also been left open?

Shadows from tree branches blowing in the wind were strangely alive. It was the dream, that was all. Regardless, some light seemed like a necessity after all. As she headed for the switch by the door, one of the shadows followed her. It grew and sprouted on a front wall, the moonlight giving away the form of a man. Too frightened to turn and see, she took off for the open doorway in a silent panic. But the man was faster. He covered her already speechless mouth with his hand and wrapped his other arm around her neck. How? Her brain spun in a worthless mass of fear and confusion. Why?

His arm flexed and squeezed her neck, closing off her air. She didn't think. Her fear reacted for her. Twisting like a mad woman, she dug her elbows in his ribs, right then left, again and again. He let go enough for her to scream, scream at the top of her lungs.

The man shoved her aside, sending her toppling over Willow's cello. She squirmed as if she had bugs crawling over her skin, trying to escape the instrument and to find a light, her parents, a phone, an escape. The front door opened, but she didn't hear it close.

What she did hear were footsteps running from the back of the house. Her father's deep voice never sounded so frightened or so beautiful. "Zoe? Where are you?"

"I'm in here," she croaked, rubbing the sides of her neck as she rolled free of the broken instrument.

The lights flew on and her father stood checking her from head to toe. Her mother followed closely behind. He seemed to be analyzing if she was really hurt or whether he could chew on her for breaking Willow's old cello.

Not ready to try her legs, Zoe whispered, "A man. There was a man. A man was in here. He tried to choke me. I screamed, and he ran." Saying it out loud made it all the more real and tears started streaming down her cheeks. The smell of overbearing musk cologne stuck in her nostrils.

"What? Oh my gosh, Zoe." Her mother sat on the floor next to her as her father picked up her tossed phone. He headed for the front of the house, turning on lights as he went. The light was a welcome wave of warmth and helped her breathe steady enough to tell her mother the whole story.

In repeating what happened, and again to the police, she realized the man was smaller than she imagined in her petrified state. Not short, but a small build. Could have been a teenager. Probably was, the idiot. He broke into a house full of people. A house with nothing anyone would find of value. Her parents weren't into electronics or expensive jewelry. Unless the thief planned to find a seller for a steel guitar, a ukulele, or some seashell necklaces. What a hell of a weekend.

* * *

"Watch your step and your head. Welcome aboard the newest Sun Trips Touring vessel. We'll depart shortly." It wasn't a lie. This was Dane's newest pontoon. Zoe sat contentedly in the captain's chair checking the instruments. He had it painted in his signature turquoise blue with emerald green waves on the sides of the boat and a bright yellow sun along the canopy. The business had taken off since the merger—or since she turned her shop over to him. It was difficult to think of it that way, but it had all been necessary.

Chairs lined the sides under the canopy with a few more in the bow. She had two coolers, one in the front and one in back, stocked with bottles of water and sports drinks. The extra waste can for recycling was a personal addition of hers.

The business was part of what killed her brother. She had been so wrapped up in Sun Trips she forgot about her family, left behind anything resembling a love life, and left her inexperienced brother without a diving partner. He died alone. Never again would she captain a scuba dive.

A recent habit she picked up, Zoe rubbed the sides of her neck as if they still hurt from the attack. Could one of these customers be the one who broke into her parents' home? It was a question she silently asked herself during each tour she captained.

"My name is Zoe Clearwater, and I'll be leading your tour today. Please feel free to sit anywhere. There's room up front if you'd like some sun." Ten passengers on both her morning and afternoon tours. Capacity. She scanned the faces of each man, memorizing them. Judging their size, their build.

"Please take notice of the life jackets, ring, and fire extinguisher. You don't need to know how to use them, just where they're located. Thank you. We're going to stroll out, first to a favorite spot the dolphins like to play at this time of day. Please ask any questions you think of. I'm here to help."

The lull of the engine was therapy. It soothed her as much as she was convinced it did for the tourists as well. Although brilliantly sunny, the wind was breezy, the water choppy. The clean air refreshed her face. She dipped her beloved straw cowboy hat over her brows and tightened the chinstrap as she pumped Banana Pancakes through the speakers and picked up speed.

Some undressed to their swimsuits. Some held their arms out in front of them and took selfies with their phones along the railing. They seemed like a good enough crowd. A pair of semi-elderly folks and possibly their grown children and spouses? The woman from a random couple wore a suit right out of a porn film, but that was okay. This was Ibis Island, a place to come and let loose.

Zoe spotted them long before the tour group. A mother and her calf. And three adults further north. Today would be a good day.

Family. The pod was most likely family. Zoe imagined the mother dolphin as her sister Willow with her six-year-old Chloe and the three others as Seth, Raine, and herself. They'd been that way once, hadn't they? Carefree, playing in and around the island they called home.

She didn't announce the sight of them, and instead let the group discover their presence as she slowed the boat and flanked the female and infant. A few 'Ooos' and 'Awws' alerted the rest of the group to which side of the boat they should watch. "This is a mother and her calf. The infant looks to be about a year old and will stay with the mother for approximately five years." They took pictures and video clips with their phones, watching the water in all the wrong places for an arching body or a fin.

"If you look, you can see spots where the water looks like a large glass plate. The area will be smooth, unlike the choppy water around it. Those are the spots to watch." She would keep them here for about fifteen minutes or until some of the guests lost interest and sat back in their chairs. So, she killed the engine.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. Anyone that knew her knew she was out on a tour. She didn't answer.