“Try not to get yourself killed in town,” he called softly.
She rose and headed for the wheelhouse. “Don’t give them a reason to finish what they started.”
A wry smile tugged at his mouth. Same old Viv—steady voice, cold eyes, but he’d seen the tremor in her hands last night. She was rattled. They both were.
Blake grabbed his coat, slung the duffel over his shoulder, and stepped out onto the dock. The boards creaked under his boots, every sound amplified by the morning stillness.
From the wheelhouse window, Vivian watched him go—he could feel her gaze even before he turned. Always alert. Always trying to anticipate the next move before he made it.
He gave a small two-finger salute without looking back and headed up the dock, the air cold enough to sting his lungs. The marina was waking up. The sound of a diesel truck starting somewhere up the road. The tang of oil and wet rope filled his nose as he spotted Dan crouched near the warehouse, untying a crate with his thin hands.
“Morning,” Blake said easily, stepping into view.
Dan looked up, face red from the cold. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d start on that bent shackle. Need a working anchor before we can pull out of here.” Blake dropped his duffel bag, with the shackle and some chain inside, with a loud clank. “Mind if I borrow a hammer?”
Dan grinned, handing one over. “Sure thing. You two settle in all right?”
Blake’s smile was casual, practiced. “Trying to. The wife’s already making lists of repairs and color palettes. You know how it is.”
Dan chuckled, shaking his head. “Ain’t been married in twenty years. Can’t afford the paint or the arguments.”
“Yeah, well, she’s worth it,” Blake said, giving the shackle a slow, rhythmic tap, metal ringing against the damp morning air. “So you work these docks often?”
“Every day. Somebody’s gotta keep this place standing.”
“Must hear a lot of stories.”
Dan shrugged. “People talk. Mostly nonsense.”
Blake smiled faintly, watching the man’s hands. Thin but strong, capable, steady—but his nails were too clean for a dockhand, and his jacket was new, the kind issued for private security or hired contractors. A mismatch for a man claiming to fix boats.
Dan didn’t answer right away. He leaned his hip against a stack of empty crab traps, arms folded, studying Blake like a man weighing his next hand in a poker game. “You wanna ask me something?”
Blake didn’t flinch. “Just curious,” he said, straightening from where he’d been crouched, then letting out a long breath. “The wife—she’s into all that connection stuff. Feng shui, energy flow, getting to know the boat’ssoulbefore she paints it.” He gave an embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t tell her I told you that, or I’ll be sleeping in the bilge.”
Dan snorted. “Never met a man who could explain feng shui with a straight face.”
“Yeah, well, marriage changes you,” Blake said, flashing a grin that was just a little too easy.
But Dan’s eyes sharpened. “Funny thing, that boat’s got a history. You’re not the first one to take interest.”
Blake’s heart kicked once, but his face stayed relaxed. “No kidding. Someone else get photos that made the boat look like a fancy yacht prior to buying her then found out they bought a fixer-upper?”
“No. Some guy came around about two months back. Thought he was the new owner—real sure of it too. Hired me for a few small repairs, said he was getting her ready for open water. But then he stopped hiring me and had someone else work on it after I asked a few too many questions.”
Blake tilted his head, as if only half-listening, but every detail burned into his memory. “That so?”
Dan nodded slowly. “Then he calls a week later, says the sale didn’t go through, and not to touch the boat again. Didn’t even pay what he owed me. Told me someone else would handle it.”
“That’s unlucky,” Blake said.
“Yeah, well, he wasn’t the type to get unlucky,” Dan muttered. “The guy knew boats. The real kind of sailor, not the weekend type. Heard he collects ‘em. Old ones. Says they don’t build ‘em like this anymore.”
Collects boats. That set something crawling under Blake’s skin. TheWindward Ladywasn’t worth collecting unless you were after what might be hidden inside her.
He kept his expression neutral, even gave a short laugh. “Guess I beat him to it then. Hope he’s not the type to hold grudges.”
