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I can see Danny’s subtly taking me in as Brad talks to him, pointing at his slightly swollen nose. When I’m close enough, Danny clasps the top of my arm, just above the bandage under my sweater, and leads me out to the car. “I can tell this is going to be a romantic date,” I quip, falling to the back seat once he’s opened the door for me.
He ignores me, gets in, going straight to his phone, and that’s where he stays, engrossed in the screen the entire way.
* * *
The sea smells good. The breeze feels good. Loose strands of my hair whipping my face feels good. I stand by the car, looking back at the dirt road that led us down to this little haven. A station wagon pulls up behind us, a trailer hooked to the back. And on it, a jet ski. A surfer type jumps out and starts toward one of the huge containers set to the left. I frown, continuing to take in the boatyard. The name suggests a few rickety sheds, maybe a jetty and a few old boats thrown into the mix. But there’s none of that. A huge log cabin is by the shore with a raised decking area that juts out over the water, supported by stilts. There are endless huge metal containers, and a sandy shore leading to the water. We’re in a cute cove. It’s all really very pretty and idyllic . . . if it wasn’t for the noise.
I cast my eyes across the water and see jet skis. Lots of them, zooming across the sea, circling, spraying water when they sharply turn. Endless jet skis bob on the water on the shore, and endless people in wetsuits are milling around.
“Coming through,” a man shouts, hanging out his truck window as he reverses his trailer down to the water. I move aside and get an endearing wink. “Come for lessons?” he asks as he rolls past.
“She’s with me.” Danny moves in and takes my hand, pulling me toward the cabin.
“Hey, Danny.” The guy smacks the side of his truck, a cheerful smile on his face. “It’s busy out there today.”
“European competition season is on the way,” Danny says, only further deepening my frown.
The guy’s trailer hits the water and a few more men in wetsuits start unstrapping the jet ski from the back. “I’m confused,” I admit as we approach the wooden steps of the cabin.
“What are you confused about, Rose?”
“This place. It’s yours?”
“Everything except the land it’s on.”
We enter the cabin, and I come to a stop in the doorway, unable to grasp what’s going on. There’s a massive café to the right, a shop stocking all things water sports to the left, changing rooms up ahead. And virtually everyone is wearing wetsuits. “Jet skis,” I say to myself as Danny passes me, heading for the serving counter of the café.
“Yes, jet skis.” He looks back as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Drink?”
I join him and scan the refrigerator. “A coconut water, please.”
Danny orders, while I spend more time absorbing the space. My presence hasn’t gone unnoticed, many people—men and women—looking this way. He hands me a carton and I’m left to follow him out onto the decked terrace looking over the water. It’s stunning. But . . . “Jet skis?”
Pulling out a chair for each of us at a table at the far side, right by the railings, we sit, and Danny spends a while gazing out across the water. The noise is loud but bearable. “I deal in them,” he tells me without looking at me, unscrewing the cap off his water.
He deals in jet skis? I’m at a loss. The consignment, the deal, the handover. It’s for jet skis?
“This part of the bay is a prime location. Still waters, good depth, plenty of space.” He takes a swig and leans back in his chair, pulling off his baseball cap. “The top competitors train and practice here.”
“Oh.” It’s all I have.
“We offer lessons, sell the equipment, and import the top performing machines for sale.”
I laugh under my breath. The cold-blooded killer deals in jet skis. With my coconut water at my lips, I look across the water, squinting from the sharp sparkles reflecting back at me from the low sun. “Is that another boatyard?” I ask, pointing to the other side of the bay. I can just make out a ramshackle of a marina in the distance.
“That’s Byron’s Reach.” Danny sounds thoughtful as he tells me. “I’m in the process of buying it.”
Ah. So that’s the marina he wants. “Why?”
“They’re developing this land soon. We have to be out in a few weeks.”
“Well, what about this building? And the beach and this deck?”
“I’ll rebuild it all across there.” He cocks his head, indicating over there. “It’s a much better location. Bigger. More potential. More secluded.”
