Nah.He was an asshole all the time.
Bobbie set her autopilot, and with one quick glance to her starboard side to see if Buck was peeking at her again—he wasn’t—she hustled below to make some food with one thought in mind.
It shouldn’t be long before she was in Buck’s arms again.
Once her food was prepared, for which she took her sweet time, Bobbie thought about possible weapons, and remembered the wrench she’d stored in an overhead compartment in the forward berth. She swiftly retrieved it, tucked it into her waistband, and pulling her t-shirt over it, she headed back up the companionway. As nonchalantly as possible, she settled again behind the helm to watch the horizon while she ate, enjoying her food immensely.
Ten minutes later, with her sandwich gone—becauseshecould down food as fast as she wanted without fear of it coming back up—the sun glinted on something up ahead. She knew immediately that it was the authorities, hanging out in international waters, waiting for her to arrive.
Dammit.The sandwich suddenly felt like lead in her stomach.
This was it. And she had no idea how things would play out from here.
Bobbie was certain that Buck—and whoever was in the sub with him—had probably already been in touch with the US Coast Guard and Canadian authorities, so they’d know boarding was imminent and they’d be readying to surface.
She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and tried to affect a neutral attitude so as not to give things away. At least not before Drew and Jeff noticed for themselves that they weren’t alone on their little slice of the ocean any more.
Five minutes passed, then eight, and finally the hum of the engines and the churn of the propellers on the larger vessels couldn’t be ignored any longer as they approached off her bow.
“What the…?” Drew turned his head toward the sound and his mouth fell open. “Who the hell are they?”
Bobbie tried to play it cool. “Oh, no worries. It’s just the Canadian Border Patrol and the US Coast Guard.” She lifted a hand and waved as gaily as possible at the oncoming ships. “One out of every six or seven trips they come aboard for a quick inspection. It’s no big deal.” She hoped her words came out sounding natural. In reality, she’dneverbeen boarded. She’d rendezvoused with the authorities every now and then, sharing a quick meal or a simple friendly visit, and she’d met some wonderful people that way. But by her registering with Nexus, along with her preemptory calls to the CBSA, that had always taken care of legalities.
This welcome party today, however, was just for her brothers.
The call came over her marine radio, on VHF Channel 16. “Small Dream, welcome back to Canadian waters. This is First Officer Randolph. We’d like to board for a routine inspection.”
“Shit,” Drew swore, throwing the remains of his sandwich over the rail. “Turn around,” he demanded of Bobbie. “Outrun them,” he spluttered.
“Outrun them?” Bobbie laughed, pretending not to see his panic. “Are you kidding me? Those cutters can do twenty-eight knots. I’m lucky if I can pull eight under full sail.”
“Well…well…” He regrouped to find his words. “Wave them off. Call them on your…thingy and tell them you’re all set,” he stammered.
“Drew. Chill. This is really not a huge problem. They have a quick look around, we shoot the shit, then they leave,” she assured him, tongue-in-cheek. “Now, I have to answer them, or they’ll think something’s wrong.”
She picked up her mic. “Ahoy, Steve.” She knew this particular Coastie, and immediately felt more comfortable that she wasn’t dealing with strangers. “You know I always love it when you throw me a good welcoming party. I’ll be heaving to for your inspection.”
She hung up her mic.
Drew growled at her ineffectually, then abruptly stood and snapped at her brother. “Jeff. Get off your ass. Those crates need to go overboard. Now.”
“What?” Bobbie attempted to look shocked as she turned theSmall Dreamabout and luffed her sails. “What crates? Why?”
“None of your fucking business,” Drew snarled. He was already in motion.
He and Jeff charged below, then wrestled the first crate up the companionway. Hefting it high over the starboard rail, they aggressively shoved it into the drink.
Bobbie watched the damned thing sink.
Shit.Now what? How many boxes had her brothers brought this time? And would they have the opportunity to ditch them all?
She looked over and saw the cutter, closing in, but feared they weren’t going to be on her fast enough.
The pair worked surprisingly quickly, and before the cutter powered down and lowered its first RHIB, or rigid hull inflatable boat into the drink, five cases had gone over the side.
Her brothers looked, if not pleased, at least relieved.
Fuck.
