The waves came into this beach at an angle; Max said that meant it was easier to get out beyond the surf. Easier might not be the correct term, because Max and Rae struggled mightily, using oars and the motor. Then they were out into the ocean and sailing out of sight…

That out of sight thing worried Kellen, so next time, she decided to go along. Max removed the motor to save the weight. They all hopped in and sailed away…

Max and Rae had a fabulous time, and returned drenched. Kellen simply returned drenched.

She was, she realized, the official Isla Paraíso party pooper.

On the other hand, she knew how to do enough stuff: rappel out of a helicopter, aim and shoot a weapon and, now, speak Italian well enough to find a bathroom and order a meal. She had even learned to crochet an afghan, which Verona triumphantly pointed out was great physical therapy for her hands.

Kellen would rather play piano.

She determined that her other accomplishments voided the need to join Max and Rae on the briny deep out of some misguided sense of adventure.

Turning away, she followed the ocean cliffs around toward the mansion. As her feet pounded out the miles, she breathed hard, exalting in the isolation, the wildness, the waves. As birds soared above her, her soul rose to meet them…

The mansion came into view and she dropped into a walk. She should go into the kitchen, converse with Olympia about lunch and dinner, but during the weeks they had lived here, that woman hadn’t warmed to the island or their family.

Kellen did the cowardly thing; she dodged a meeting with Olympia, went around to the front door, and ran up to the shower. When she was clean and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, she stopped by the library, picked up Ruby Morgade’s diary and headed for the garage.

The carriage house doors and the door against the back wall stood wide to let the breeze sweep through. She paused outside in the shadows to watch Max and Rae together, and she smiled.

Her husband and daughter were working on the truck, deep under the hood, fiercely discussing whether electrical tape would repair the worn radiator hose, and having a marvelous time. Something must have alerted them to her presence, because Rae looked up and said, “Mommy, you know. Can we use electrical tape to repair the radiator hose?”

“If you use enough of it.” Kellen strolled in.

“That’s the problem.” Max held up a partial roll. “This is all we’ve got.”

It wasn’t.

Kellen had been slowly cataloging all the equipment in the metal drawers under the tool bench. That first caretaker had kept tools and spare parts to fix the wells, generators, vehicles, toilets—you name it, it was there, including black electrical tape.