Page 95 of Midnight Mooring

As a seasoned boatsman who’d lived on Kiln his whole life, I trusted Donal’s judgment.

Forty-five minutes later, I wished like hell I hadn’t trusted Donal’s judgment.

“What do you mean the engine just died?” I yelled over the loud sway of the water hitting the sides of the boat.

A minute or so ago, I’d heard the engine sputter and then seconds later, it stopped.

And so did we.

I sat out in the open part of the cabin cruiser, my life jacket on, my backpack and cart of goodies stacked at my feet. Sea spray hit my face as Donal stood hunched in the doorway of the cabin, his expression grim.

Worse.

Worried.

“The engine is dead. I’ll need to radio the LSLS for a rescue.”

My concern intensified as I glanced up at the darkening sky. “Is the weather going to get worse?”

“I don’t think so, but the wind is strong enough to keep blowing us wherever it wants, so I need to get on the radio now.”

I flinched at his harsh tone but didn’t hold it against him.

“What the bloody hell?” I heard his muffled yell from inside the cabin.

Using the handrails for support, I crossed the small boat to peer inside. “What’s wrong?”

He glanced over his shoulder at me, a deep frown marring his forehead. “Someone cut my radio.”

Fear shivered through me, colder than the wind blowing through my fleece-lined rain jacket. “Deliberately?”

Donal nodded grimly. “Aye. It’s a clean cut.”

“Was it like that before or after we left Leth Sholas?”

“I have no idea.”

Last night came back to me in an instant.

Standing at the bar, telling Forde I was going to Kiln and Caoimhe interrupting us. Caoimhe … a mechanic who knew what it would take to mess up an engine.

Oh my god.

I pushed past my panic and charged across the boat to my backpack. “I have a radio.”

“You do?”

“Quinn and Forde always drilled into me the importance of a portable radio whenever I’m traveling across the islands.” I yanked the brick of a thing out and tuned it to the LSLS frequency, my fingers trembling with urgency.

40. Forde

Iwas working late at the garage, something I hadn’t had to do in months and now resented. My mind kept straying to Cameron because she said she’d call as soon as she returned from Kiln. She hadn’t.

Last night she’d gotten weird after I mentioned kids.

At first, I thought we were having a good conversation.

Then she clammed up tighter than a crab’s arse.