“Won’t take long.” Ethan nodded toward the cargo doors of the building. “Here’s Cam now.”

“She’s too good for this yahoo,” Cam called out as he came down the narrow dock with a battery-operated drill. “I’m telling you we should get the wives and kids and sail her off to Bimini ourselves.”

“She’s good enough for the final draw he’s going to give us today. Once he gives me that certified check, he’s the captain.” Phillip waited until Cam stepped nimbly aboard. “When I get to Bimini I don’t want to see either of you.”

“He’s just jealous because we’ve got women,” Cam told Ethan. “Here.” He shoved the drill into Phillip’s hand.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“Finish her.” Grinning, Cam pulled a brass cleat out of his back pocket. “We saved the last piece for you.”

“Yeah?” Absurdly touched, Phillip took the cleat, watched it wink in the sun.

“We started her together,” Ethan pointed out. “Seemed only right. It goes on the starboard.”

Phillip took the screws Cam handed him and bent over the markings on the rail. “I figured we should celebrate after.” The drill whirled in his hands. “I thought about a bottle of Dom,” he said, raising his voice over the noise, “but figured it’d be wasted on the two of you. So I’ve got three Harps chilling down in the cooler.”

They would go well, he thought, with the little surprise he was having delivered later that afternoon.

IT WAS NEARLY noon before the client had finished fussing over every inch of his new boat. Ethan had been elected to take the man out for a shakedown sail before they loaded the sloop onto its new trailer. From the dock, Phillip watched the butter-yellow sails—the client’s choice—fill with the wind.

Ethan was right, he thought. She moved.

The sloop skimmed toward the waterfront, heeled in like a dream. He imagined the late-summer tourists would stop to watch, point out the pretty boat to each other. There was, he thought, no better advertising than a quality product.

“He’ll run her aground the first time he sails her on his own,” Cam said from behind him.

“Sure. But he’ll have fun.” He gave Cam a slap on the shoulder. “I’ll just go write up that bill of sale.”

The old brick building they rented and had modified for the boatyard didn’t boast many amenities. The lion’s share was a vast open space with fluorescent lights hanging from the rafters. The windows were small and always seemed to be coated with dust.

Power tools, lumber, equipment, gallons of epoxy and varnish and bottom paint were set up where they could be easily reached. The lofting platform was currently occupied by the bare skeleton of the hull for the custom-designed sport’s fisher that was their second job.

The walls were pitted brick and unfinished Sheetrock. Up a steep flight of iron stairs was a cramped, windowless room that served as the office.