Dark Tide by Elizabeth Haynes

Author:Elizabeth Haynes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-12-28T05:00:00+00:00

I made a start on tidying, beginning at the front of the boat and working my way back. I put all the spatulas, spoons, and various gadgets back in the KITCHEN STUFF box and set it back in its place at the very point of the bow.

Some of the other boxes of tools I refilled and positioned around the box, a rather halfhearted attempt to disguise its significance. Where was the best place to hide a box but in among other boxes, after all?

This wasn’t the ideal place for it, I knew that. In a few weeks’ time it would have to be moved, in any case, as Kev and I would be taking the roof off this section of the boat and my cavernous storage compartment would become a deck garden, plus another room at the end, which I could use as a junk room until I’d moved on to the final part of the project. Even so, it would be more exposed.

What I should do, of course, was get the damn thing off my boat.

What I didn’t understand in all of this was why the hell Fitz wanted Dylan’s package—unless Dylan had stolen it from Fitz in the first place. It seemed so unlikely. Dylan wasn’t a thief. He was a bruiser, an enforcer, but not a thief.

So if Dylan had decided to branch out in business for himself, how had Fitz found out? And why would he believe he was entitled to come here and take something Dylan had left in my care?

Unless it wasn’t about the package after all.

What if they thought Dylan and I had some other scheme going? What if someone else had stolen something from Fitz, and they’d assumed, because we’d become friends, because he’d protected me, that I was in on it?

All that time, five months, that I had no contact from Dylan and I’d so desperately wanted to talk to him, to see him again . . . He should have worked things out with Fitz—that was the plan, after all.

Maybe Fitz assumed we were working together. If it wasn’t the package, what on earth were they looking for?

My brain wasn’t functioning properly—I had a lump on the side of my head and a headache the likes of which I’d never experienced. I left the bow storage area. The paint that had been thrown over the wall could stay there. I was going to clad over it with wood paneling anyway, one of these days.

The state of the kitchen and the cabin brought on a fresh round of tears. That, and my aching head. I picked up all the papers, rearranged them into some semblance of order. I replaced everything in the storage area under the dinette, then put the cushions back. Already it looked a lot better, more like my usual mess than an actual burglary.

The only things that were broken in the kitchen were a mug from Dover Castle and the cabinet doors. I didn’t tend to buy many

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