The two of them cracked up laughing, but Taylor always felt a little uneasy when Finley talked about Cam. Taylor understood that her brother was attractive, but the door to Campbell was revolving. Finley deserved someone who loved her more than anyone else in the world.

A tear beads in the corner of her eye, and Taylor puts down the book. Finley is woven so tightly into the fabric of her life, and now it feels as if she’s coming unraveled. “I can drive for a while.”

“Are you sure?” Willa asks. “It’s still my turn for another hour.”

“I’m sure.”

From her seat beside the tiller, Taylor watches through the companionway as Willa stretches out on her bunk for a nap. She doesn’t seem very emotional about Finley’s death. Taylor has never seen her cry—not even at the funeral—but Willa has rarely ever given her feelings away. Maybe she mourns when no one is watching.

Sailing is infinitely easier without the rain. Willa gave her a compass heading, and Taylor does her best to keep the needle pointing in that direction. She tenses a little when she sees a freighter in the distance, but relaxes when she realizes it’s heading away from them. She adjusts the beach umbrella for a bit more shade, and it doesn’t take long before her eyes grow heavy—and then slide shut.

Taylor startles awake when she hears a hollow knocking sound on the hull of the boat and a male voice saying, “Hello! Is everyone aboard safe and well?”

Her eyes open on a small Coast Guard boat bobbing beside Whiskey Tango Foxtrot and two guardsmen wearing navy-blue uniforms with orange life vests and military boots. The older man has graying temples and a spot of pink sunburn on the top of his pale nose, while the dark-skinned younger man wears a navy ball cap and aviator-style sunglasses.

Her first panicked thought is that they’re about to be arrested for possession of marijuana, but above her head, the mainsail flaps softly in the breeze and the boat is going slowly nowhere.

Taylor’s next thought is that Willa is going to kill her.

Willa shoots a murderous glare at Taylor as she scrambles through the companionway, but her face transforms as she smiles at the coastguardsmen. Willa’s floral bikini catches the attention of the younger guardsman, who removes his sunglasses for a better look. His dark eyes are fixed on her as she says, “We’re okay. Everything’s fine. Taylor must have fallen asleep while I was off watch.”

“So, uh—where ya headed?” The threat of imminent danger past, his tone becomes less official, more flirty.

“We’re on our way to Key West,” Willa says. “But just as far as Ashtabula tonight.”