“All done,” she said, after what seemed like an eternity to Letty.

Joe worked quickly, freeing her from the chains. She sat up and moved from the bow to the bench seat Vikki had vacated. He handed her a clean wet towel with the Murmuring Surf’s logo stamped in green on the hem. She wiped her face, neck and hands.

“Here,” he said, holding up another towel. “I can get the back of your hair.”

“Yes, please,” she said, desperate to remove the smell from her body. He blotted the blood from her hair, then took the used towels and mopped the blood from the boat’s bow. He raised the bucket and tossed the remains of the bloody fish into the water, then leaned over the gunwale, filled the bucket with water, and splashed it around the bow three more times before he was satisfied that the last traces of the gore were gone. Then he put the used towels in the bucket, replaced the lid, and stowed the extra anchor and chain in one of the front lockers.

“All done,” he announced.

“Oh my God,” Vikki cried, pointing to the water’s surface a few yards from the Pathfinder. The water boiled and a trio of dorsal fins circled the floating fish remains.

“Quick. Take a picture,” Joe said. “It’s the pièce de résistance.”

The agent clicked the shutter six more times. “Got it. Wingfield will really get off on a shark feeding frenzy.”

Letty choked back the bile rising in her throat. “Now can we please go home?”

As soon as the sun set they heard the rumble of thunder. The temperature plummeted by what felt like ten degrees, the wind picked up even more, and the rain began, huge, cold droplets.

“Let’s run for shore,” Joe announced, as he scrambled to raise the anchors.

“Yes, let’s,” Vikki Hill agreed.

The rain slashed at their faces as the Pathfinder plowed through the rising waves. Vikki huddled, wet, shivering, and thoroughly miserable, in the stern of the boat. “Come on up here and get behind the windshield,” Joe beckoned.

Letty edged closer beside him in the pilot’s seat, and the three of them crowded in behind the console’s windshield as the boat rose and buckled back down. “Oh God,” Vikki moaned. “Just get me back on dry land and I’ll never leave again.”

“Are you gonna puke again?” Joe asked, peering through the rain-splattered windshield. “Don’t puke on my GPS, okay?”

She nodded wordlessly and squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t watch.”

Ten minutes passed and then the Pathfinder’s running lights illuminated the looming boat launch. Joe nosed the boat forward until it was parallel with the dock. He jumped onto the dock and tied the boat to cleats at the bow and the stern.