my Leicas as the sun broke the skyline east of me. Theoretically, this gave me at least fourteen or fifteen miles of perspective—probably farther. If any vessel traveled north or south along the inside, I’d have a good chance of seeing her.
My problem was sleep. Or lack of it. I’d not slept in at least a day, and I couldn’t remember when I slept more than four hours in a stretch. I was exhausted and could barely hold my eyes open. Between my stitches, deep bruises, and the stress and pounding of last night’s bay crossing, my body hurt everywhere. I knew if I sat down, I’d sleep several hours I could not afford.
I lit my Jetboil and made some coffee. It helped. Coffee can be a comfort when comfort is hard to find. As the sun rose higher, I stood and studied the edge of the world. Boats passed, but not the one I was looking for. I must have missed her.
At noon, I climbed down, pulled up the anchor, and set a course for Key Largo. An hour later, I tied up at my slip. Clay, Summer, and Ellie were sitting on the beach. I knew my conversation with Clay would not be easy.
Summer informed me that the girl we rescued from the water last night had been evaluated by the paramedics and—other than the trauma of being kidnapped and the shock of nearly drowning and the horror of learning she’d almost been a cog in the sex-traffic wheel—she’d be fine. Turned out she was the daughter of a wealthy tech manufacturer out of Miami with friends in government. Summer and Clay had spent all morning talking with agents, and up until a few minutes ago, this place had been crawling with men wearing guns—all of whom wanted to talk with me.
That meant the satellite, radio, and telephone chatter had increased a hundredfold and whoever was currently transporting girls knew it. Guys in that business always had an ear to the track, and they could feel when heat was closer. They paid well for that kind of information, which might explain why we didn’t intersect last night or this morning.
Clay listened as I told him the story, his wrinkled face growing more wrinkled as I spoke. When I finished, he nodded and stared north toward the bay. Finally, he sucked through his teeth and put his hand on my shoulder.
I knew we needed to push south, but I was fighting a weariness I’d not known in some time. I told them to grab their bags and we’d shove off. If I quit moving, it’d be some time before I got going again. I was afraid if I closed my eyes I wouldn’t open them again for twenty-four hours. Ten minutes later, we were loaded up and shoving off. Everyone was quiet. The loss of Gunner had hit us hard. I thought through the events of last night for the ten thousandth time, wondering what I could have done differently. The only answer was not to bring him, but then he’d been the one who saw her. Without Gunner, I never would’ve found that girl.
We idled out past the Mexican restaurant, the jet skis, and the sailboats tugging on their mooring lines. I was about to put us up on plane when Summer thought I might be hungry, which I was, so she brought me a sandwich. I paused long enough to open the wrapper and take a bite.
One glorious, magnificent bite. Which gave me just enough time to listen to the world around me.
Clay heard it too. I turned, and there it was again. The sound drew each of us to the gunnel, our eyes searching the waterline. Several hundred yards in the distance, coughing salt water, tired, and barking for all he was worth, paddled Gunner.
Clay stood, slapped his thigh, and swore. “I’ll be a suck-egg mule!”
I cut the wheel, throttled up, and closed the distance. When we reached him, Gunner’s paws were churning the water like pistons. I reached down, lifted him from the water, and set him on the deck where he shook and began licking my face, his tail waving at six hundred rotations a minute.
It was a bright spot in a dark couple of days. We crowded around while Gunner licked the skin off our faces. He climbed up on Clay, spun around, barked, hopped down, ran once around the boat, then again, then tackled me. I had never been happier to see