Mike joined them behind the captain’s wheel. “Now this is a freaking sailboat.”

No hangover today, Fodor looked as clean-cut as Bahamian John. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Got a granola bar?”

Fodor laughed. “For what you’re paying? John, make us both a breakfast burrito.”

“Sure thing, Captain.” John went below.

“Sorry about the fishing thing,” Fodor said. “When the other reservations cancelled, it didn’t make much sense to spend the afternoon casting lines, especially since you cared more about getting laid than life at sea. You know you could have gotten a ferry for half the price, right?”

Mike figured this would come up. “Yeah, I did a web search yesterday. No worries, look at all this.” He gestured out to the water. “Plus, I get a breakfast burrito.”

Fodor nodded. “Stretch out on the recliner. I’ll send John by with your breakfast.”

Mike found a chair, took off his shirt, and kicked off his shoes. Before he could ask for sunscreen, Bahamian John appeared with a bottle of SPF 30, a glass of water, and his burrito.

Mike ate the whole thing, closed his eyes, and let the warm Caribbean sun and wind argue over which would put him to sleep first.

*   *   *

The waves woke him. Higher than before, choppy even.

“Hey, douchebag.”

The words weren’t as loud as the waves. He opened his eyes, saw the bright blue sky, afternoon sunshine, a bit of cloud. The world shifted with a swell.

He sat up, bobbing in the unstable body of an inflatable Zodiac.

“Fuck me,” he said, realizing he was no longer on the yacht.

“That’s right, fuck you.”

Twenty feet away, Adam Fodor leaned over the railing of the Queen of the Waves, a rope line in hand. Bahamian John stood next to him, holding a rifle. Fodor’s rope kept Mike tethered to the catamaran.

“I looked you up online, Ed,” Fodor said. “I wanted to see this woman who betrayed you. Didn’t find much. Know what I found? Try to guess.”

A simple web search under Mike’s name would bring up his infamous past, but Fodor wouldn’t have found Mike’s name on anything in his bags. He’d mailed his passport and credit cards to a mailbox store in Miami.

Fodor held his phone up. “Small world, am I right?”

“I can’t see—”

“I know, dude. Can’t see from that far. John, what’s on my phone?”

John smiled. “A very beautiful woman.”

“John’s being polite. Here’s a tip. You want to lie about who you’re banging in Miami, don’t pick the adult video performer of the year.”

Not as bad as Mike thought. “Okay, I lied about the girl. I just didn’t want to stay in the Bahamas.”