The Water Keeper(88)

When I turned around, Ellie and Summer stood just a few feet behind me. Summer’s hands were clutched to her mouth. Ellie stood with one arm locked inside Summer’s.

The pain in my chest was piercing. It was the most pain I’d ever felt. My breath was shallow and the crack in my soul had widened, fractured. Splitting me. Sending the two halves of me spinning off in opposite directions. I’d spent my life searching for and finding the lost. Returning the one to the ninety-nine.

But who would rescue me? Who would return the pieces of me to me?





Chapter 41


We climbed into Gone Fiction and motored slowly back to the hotel. Ellie kept looking over her shoulder at the rock. Summer kept looking at me. After we tied up, Summer sat staring west, rubbing one thumb with the other. Nervous energy working its way out. She wanted to say something, but time had gotten away from us. And Angel was still out there somewhere. I needed to bring her back to her reality. I tapped my Rolex. “I know you have questions, but you need to call your date.”

She gathered herself and placed a call to the mystery man, who was glad to hear from her and told her where to meet him. She changed into her bikini and complemented the costume with a chiffon wrap around her waist. She was putting herself into danger. I said, “You don’t have to do this.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I’ve been doing it a long time.”

“I have to do something.”

“There is risk here.”

“You’ll be close, won’t you?”

I hung a necklace around her neck. A silver shark’s tooth on a chain. I tapped the tooth. “It allows me to track you.”

She asked again, revealing her fear. “You’ll be close?”

“As close as I can get without spooking him.”

She blinked and pushed out a tear. “Murph—”

I smiled. “My mother called me Bishop.”

A weak smile. “Is Angel . . . ?”

I held her hands in mine. “I don’t think so, but”—I tried to find the words—“time is not on our side. And . . .”

“What?”

“Time is winding down.”

She swallowed and nodded while the sun bathed her face. Summer was innately beautiful. She slid her phone into the side of her bikini and kissed me on the corner of the mouth, then kissed me again. Then she gently placed her hand on my face, turned me, and held her trembling and salty lips to mine. Without another word, she kicked off her flip-flops and carried them in her hand. Adding the final brushstrokes to the forlorn look. Before she turned the corner, she stopped, looked at me, closed her eyes, twirled once, then again, and disappeared.

I walked the dock to the slip where I’d moored Gone Fiction and found Ellie sitting on the bow, Fingers’ box open and empty in her lap. She hadn’t said much since we left the southernmost point. I cranked the engine and began pulling in the lines when I turned and found her staring up at me, Marie’s ring sitting in the palm of her hand. An offering. I shook my head. “You were meant to have that.” I glanced at my watch. “I told you I’d fly you anywhere.” I offered my cell phone.

She looked from me down to Gunner. Then toward the sunset. “Could I . . . would you . . . ever take me to see Colorado?”

“Just say the word.”

Finally, she touched my arm. An olive branch. “I’d like that.”

I looked out to see Summer lean against the railing of the boardwalk, spending nervous energy. “Won’t be long. Day or two.”

When Ellie spoke, there was a kindness in her voice I’d never heard. “I can wait.”

Summer’s date had promised to call once he got the boat loaded and ready. Said he’d pick her up at the marina a few blocks away. This right here, this was the hard part. The waiting. Where each second was a minute. And each minute a day. I did a lot better at full throttle with my hair on fire, but this was not that. This was agonizing.

Once she stepped on the boat, or as soon as she was able to without raising suspicion, Summer was to text me the name he gave her and the number of people on the boat. I also asked her to send me the name and description of the boat. A picture if she was able.

Summer’s shark’s tooth wasn’t much good beyond line of sight. On the ocean that means six or seven miles. Less if conditions break down. I could track her phone as long as she remained within cell coverage. The key there was coverage. No service, no tracking. My ace in the hole was Bones. If the name turned up nothing, he should be able to grab a heat signature from the boat and link it to my satellite phone. That meant I could track him anywhere and he’d never see me—provided he kept the engines running.

I’d told Summer not to ingest anything under any circumstance. Even if he gave her an unopened water bottle, fake it. Let it touch her lips. Don’t swallow. Pour it out when he’s not looking. If he had anything to do with the guys who’d taken Angel, he’d drug her. Knock her out. She’d wake up in a shipping container in Australia. We’d also changed my name in her contacts to “Amber.” Creative, I know.

Our story and code were simple. Summer was a designer from Los Angeles. On a long-needed break. A workaholic with a painful breakup. Amber was her assistant, holding down the fort while they readied some line of clothing for next month’s release. So she would text me instructions about pretty much nothing, but she would use color words to let me know she was okay. Any color was a good sign. But the moment she used either black or white, then things had gone badly and she needed immediate evac. Bring the cavalry. If at any time she sensed Angel’s presence or had any information about Angel, she would tell me the stars were beautiful last night. If he brought her somewhere and there were other armed men, she would tell me not to worry, that she’d be home in that many days, and we’d talk about it then. So three men meant she’d be home in three days. Four men, four days, and so on. Lastly, if he brought her to a place where there were other women, and Summer believed those girls or women to be there against their will, then she would tell me their number in relation to the number of days before the clothing release.