Harper slung the rope handle on the bright-colored tote over her shoulder and grabbed her hat; Chase grabbed his duffel and his laptop, and they headed out the door.
The boat was idling at the dock in front of the marina office when they arrived. Dutch stood on the deck next to a tall, bone-thin man with dark skin, fierce cheekbones and a shaved head.
Chase helped Harper climb onto the deck of the older-model thirty-five-foot Riviera sport fisher. The boat,Island Runner, had an enclosed cabin, two steering stations and looked to be in very good condition. Chase’s respect for Dutch went up a notch.
“This is Captain Lupete,” Dutch said in his faintly accented English. “He is from Cuba. He and the boat are yours for as long as you need them.”
“Good to meet you, Captain.”
“You and the lady, as well.”
Dutch said his farewells, and Captain Lupete gave him and Harper a quick tour, showing them the main salon, where they left their gear, the galley and the compartment where the life jackets were stored. The captain gave Chase a rundown on how the boat was powered, showed him the radio, GPS and the rest of the equipment.
Chase owned a twin-engine Baron that he and his brothers flew down to the ranch, so he was familiar with how communication systems worked.
From the deck, they climbed the ladder to the bright blue canvas-covered flybridge. Harper sat down on a white vinyl bench while Chase sat in the chair next to Captain Lupete. As the captain shoved the throttle forward, twin Cummins diesels pushed them at a fast crawl out of the marina into the open sea.
At eighteen knots, roughly twenty miles an hour, the sail that would have taken Michael as much as ten hours would takeIsland Runnerless than four.
Chase hoped they would find some sign of Michael Winston when they got there.
As the hours slipped past, Harper made her way down the ladder to the deck below, leaving Chase on the flybridge with the captain. Settling herself in one of the deck chairs, she leaned back and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the sun and wind in her face.
Though the boat was far nicer than the dirty trawler she’d half expected, she prayed they wouldn’t need it after today, prayed they would find Michael and Pia holed up in the cabin of Michael’s yacht, enjoying each other so much time had simply slipped away.
She knew it wasn’t true. Michael would know how worried she was. He would have called or somehow gotten word to her.
Her chest clamped down. She felt like crying, but she wouldn’t let it happen. She didn’t have time for emotion—she could break down after she knew Michael was safe.
She took a fortifying breath. Michael was alive, and they were going to find him. Maybe he was injured and at the hospital in a port he had visited. Maybe—God forbid—he’d been arrested for breaking some little-known local law.
She didn’t want to think Pia Santana had anything to do with Michael’s disappearance, and after meeting Pia’s friend Christy, she didn’t really believe she had.
Earlier this morning, Chase had been on his computer, looking into Pia’s background, but so far they hadn’t had a chance to talk about what he had found.
The hours slipped past. She heard a sound, glanced up as Chase stepped down off the ladder. For an instant she forgot to breathe. He had taken off his shirt to catch some sun, exposing his wide shoulders, the ladder of muscle running down his stomach and a set of biceps that made her mouth water.
A dusting of dark golden hair spread over his hard-muscled chest, and arrowed out of sight below the light blue jeans that rode low on his narrow hips and outlined the long bones and sinews in his thighs. He looked amazing, his once-lanky young man’s body matured into that of a powerful, virile male.
“We’re about halfway there,” he said. “You doing okay?”
She tried not to stare at all those tempting muscles and concentrate on what he was saying.Was she okay?She hadn’t been okay since Michael disappeared.
“I’m all right. I was wondering, though, what you found out about Pia Santana.”
Chase sat down in the deck chair next to hers. Just having him so close made her pulse hammer. She wished he was wearing his shirt.
“I didn’t find anything that would make me think Pia was somehow involved in Michael’s disappearance,” he said. “Pia’s twenty-seven, very pretty if her Facebook photos are to be believed, with big brown eyes and wavy long brown hair. Looks like your brother’s taste in women is as good as it always was.”
Harper almost smiled. “Does she live in Florida like Christy?”
“Born and raised in Miami. Her dad’s Hispanic. Parents still married. Pia’s a CPA. Works for Thompson, Peters and Handel, a well-respected Miami accounting firm. No connections to this part of the world, at least that I found so far.” He cast Harper a sympathetic glance. “Feel better?”
Relief trickled through her. “A lot better.”
“My guess...whatever is going on with Michael, Pia was swept up in it, too.”
“What do you think it could be?”
