Chapters (47)
- Cover
- ALSO BY MARJORIE B. KELLOGG AVAILABLE FROM DAW BOOKS
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- About the Author
In my bunk, I sweated and tossed about, flames flickering behind my eyelids. I couldn’t stop listening. Was that the slosh of a returning Zodiac? The distant hum of Julian’s speedboat? Then I was sure I smelled smoke, though no alarm was raised in the den and the depleted tiers around me rumbled with snores. I sat up to peer through my shard of window at the Book Boat, steady at its mooring across the Lagoon, cabin windows dark. Turning over, then back again, like the princess and the pea, I kept feeling the hard knot of Daniel’s key ring in my gut wallet.
I’d used up my last candle, so couldn’t even turn to the old book to read myself to sleep. Hours later, I gave up, dug out the darkest clothing I owned, got dressed, and slipped downstairs.
I had to talk my way through two security checkpoints just to get within range of the boat dock. Raised voices in the mudroom proved to be Maxine and Rousseau, arguing about how much biodiesel could be spared for Ladysmith’s raid-scorched pontoon boat, and who would go with it to check on Irv and Rubio. A patched-up Jake was trying to mediate.
“You are NOT getting on that boat!” Rousseau leveled a finger. “Your people can’t afford to lose you!”
“It’s MY boat,” Maxine yelled. “And who’s saying I’ll get lost?”
“Max . . .” pleaded Jake.
I ducked over beside the young Smith on sentry at the dock ladder, and we both stared. Two den bosses squabbling in the middle of the night like an old married couple. Hard to watch. Things were falling apart.
I murmured my mission to the sentry. Rousseau, even Jake, would’ve stopped me had they noticed, but the Smith girl didn’t know any better. She nodded me past and down the ladder, where the even less informed dock watch helped me set the battered kayak in the water.
“You sure this is a good idea?” he offered. “Big new storm in the forecast.”
“I heard. Do we know when?”
He half-shrugged. “Well, early next week. Maybe sooner.”
I smiled. “Only going across the Lagoon.”
He stood back, adjusting the pistol on his hip in a kind of shrug, and I pushed off.
With the walkway gone and the watch torches doused, the building at my back loomed dark and blank as a canyon wall. The night was windless and still, the Lagoon a black mirror reflecting only the faint, cloud-shrouded moonlight. Wishing I could silence the splash and drip of my paddle, I made straight for the Book Boat.