He’d felt worse and not better. He’d stumbled. The world had gone hazy, spinning. He pitched backward. His skull collided with the doorframe.
Pain burst over him.
He fell forward onto his hands and knees. His breath panted. He wasn’t himself. Something was terribly wrong.
Where was his phone? He needed medical help.
His phone was in his pocket, then his hand. He couldn’t make it work. His fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Groaning, he sat on the floor, leaning against the built-in seats.
The sky was very blue. Clouds.
His whole life played before him. Not fast, like an old-fashioned cartoon made from flipping paper. But in a slow roll.
Was this the end?
No. He couldn’t let that happen. Clenching his jaw with effort, he clawed and pulled until he got himself to his feet. He’d go below. To the radio—
Panic. So much dizziness.
He was losing his balance. His ribs slammed against the side of the boat—dead weight against a solid surface—knocking the air from him. Wheezing, he got himself partially upright. Then everything spun again. His center of gravity lurched forward. His torso continued over the edge of the boat. Water raced up to meet him.
The cold shock of it. Heavy, freezing, thick.
Salt water stung his eyes as he broke the surface and dragged in air.
His boat pulled away.
He swam for it but couldn’t reach it. It was all he could do to keep his head above the waves. He had to keep paddling.Stay alive, he’d ordered himself over and over.Stay alive.
“I noted that the refrigerator on the boat was stocked with several bottles of Native Vitality,” Eleanor said. “There were no fingerprints other than your own on the spilled bottle I brought back to my lab. However, I suspect that the person who wished you harm likely injected poison into the other bottles as well. Please send the remaining bottles to me so that I can test the liquid and also the exterior of the bottle for fingerprints or any other markers of identification.”
He thanked Eleanor, hung up, called Jude, and relayed what Eleanor had told him.
Jude swore softly. “We assumed you were beaten by someone, but you weren’t.”
“Right. There was no one on the boat but me. I hit my head. And my fall broke my ribs.”
“Poison is known as a woman’s weapon,” Jude stated. “This makes me think Gigi.”
Jeremiah prowled to his feet and strode toward the garage. “I’m going to drive to the harbor and collect the remaining bottles of energy drink.”
When he reached his boat, Jeremiah made his way below deck, squatted in front of the refrigerator, and yanked its door open.
The bottles of Native Vitality were gone.
Every one of them.
Taken.
He’d definitely seen them here, as Eleanor had, the day of their visit. It chilled him to look eye to eye at the proof that someone had been here and tampered with this boat. Clearly, the same person who’d poisoned him had confiscated the other bottles. Which almost certainly meant the other bottles also contained poison.
He stood, closing the refrigerator door with his foot. He’d brought those bottles to the boat the evening before his trip. In between then and when he’d set off the next morning, someone had poisoned them. His enemy had been able to get here and away in a short window of time. His enemy had known when he was leaving. More recently, his enemy had known when his boat returned to port.
Those clues pointed to someone who lived within a few hours of here and someone who was either close enough to him to know the details of his life or was watching him from a distance.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
He left the boat and went to the harbor’s small administrative building.
