Breakers dropped down the ladder with a plastic bowl from the Mess. She knelt by the rowboat to scoop out water.

I laughed. “It’ll take all night with that.”

“All the kitchen’d give me, stingy bastards! But if I don’t, she’ll swamp by morning.”

The low rumble of the Book Boat’s engine rolled across the open water as Daniel eased it into the current and back toward Unca Joe. It was low to the water and chunky, with a long, raised cabin taking up most of the hull. He brought it alongside the window arches, tied up, and tossed a rope ladder up to the walkway where the line was forming. Jenn clung to the forward rail, looking helpless. I thought, who is she kidding? I saw her paddling that Zodiac like a pro. Oh well. Why was I letting it bother me, anyway?

Rousseau finished with Tito and came over to congratulate me personally.

“She’s the one who saved our lives.” I nodded toward Breakers, still bailing. She stood to take his offered hand.

“The sharpshooter,” he noted gravely.

Breakers’ chin lifted. “Maybe not your idea of the right solution, Joe boss.”

“Call me Rousseau. Please. And perhaps it was the only solution, at the time.”

“I thought so.”

He sighed, began a reply, reconsidered it. “Well, you have our thanks.”

I’d never seen Rousseau at a loss for words, or even holding back the ones he’d rather say. But Breakers was a Smith and, as he saw it, not his to manage.

“No need to bail,” he added. “The boat crew will haul out the leaky ones for repair before we lose them.”

Breakers flicked a little salute but knelt again to bail anyway. “Just in case.”

Rousseau shrugged, but I could see he approved.

Rube and I followed him back up the ladder like a line of ducks. Jake was loitering at the top, determined to lure Rousseau toward a power nap, if not a full night’s sleep. Breakers had said she’d be turning in when the bailing was done, so it was Rubio and me as the line thinned at the walkway rail, waiting while old Ellie Mae struggled down the ladder to the big boat’s rear cockpit, near glowing with anticipation.

“Books!” she breathed up at me, as I leaned over the side to be sure she made it.

Rubio’s gaze measured the boat’s length and breadth. “Clumsy-looking thing.”

“Oh, come on!” But I had to admit it: Daniel’s boat was built for calm water and slow travel. The cabin walls were slanted and studded with rectangular windows, like a house with skylights. The roof rose in a shallow peak, paved with solar panels. There was just enough deck along the sides to give access from the stubby bow to the broad, open stern. Badly needed a coat of paint.