Dripping and cold, she stayed facedown on the Good Enuf. A wind blew across the deck, and she groaned into the wood. Shivering uncontrollably, she got on her knees and crawled to the patio doors of the houseboat. She reached up with one hand and pulled on the handle. Locked. She used the handle to pull herself to her feet. While she rested her forehead against the glass door, she thought about the walk back across the bridge. Between her sore back and her wet clothes, she’d never make it. She dipped her trembling hand into her soggy coat pocket and felt nothing. Her cell had been lost during her tumble into the water. It wouldn’t have worked anyway.

Another gust whipped across the deck of the boat, and she twined her arms around her shivering body. She wondered if she should peel off some of the wet clothing, then told herself that was a bad idea. She remembered something from a survival class taught at Quantico. Paradoxical undressing. That’s what they called it when hypothermia victims removed clothing even as they were freezing to death. She’d be damned if they were going to find her dead and naked.

Lifting her face off the patio door, she looked to the lighted windows of Matthew’s boat. She couldn’t go there for help. He was most likely the one who’d batted her into the river. What had he used to hit her? It felt like a concrete block.

She scanned the water’s edge for safer options. On the other side of the Good Enuf was a medium-size craft with two levels, both of them lit. Beyond that were two smaller boats that looked dark and vacant.

Hugging herself, she hobbled across the deck of the Good Enuf and stepped onto the dock. With the greatest of effort, she put one foot in front of the other and made it over to the double-decker houseboat, the Three-Hour Tour. Lighted plastic pumpkins stood sentry, one on each side of the entrance, and the door itself was plastered with cardboard cutouts of tarantulas. As she raised her fist to knock, she remembered her nightmare about spiders crawling over her while she beat against the door of a houseboat. Did that mean this was the wrong place to go for sanctuary? Screw the dream, she thought, and brought her fist down on the wood. She knocked again and yelled, “Hello? Is anyone home?” She heard a deadbolt being turned on the other side.

The door opened a crack. Long bangs and a big nose peeked out at her from the other side of a security chain. Gilligan’s double. “Holy crap,” he sputtered, taking in her wet figure.

“I f-fell in,” she chattered.

He took down the security chain and opened the door wide. “Get inside.”

“Thank you.” As she stepped over his threshold, she glanced down at her feet and realized that her shoes were gone.

He closed the door after her and ran over to his couch. He snatched a purple Minnesota Vikings throw off the cushions and draped it over her shoulders. “I’m gonna call an ambulance.”

She shook her head. “No. I just gotta get out of these c-clothes.”

Taking a couple of steps back from her, he ran a hand through his dark mop. “Maybe I should call the cops.”

“No,” she said, and felt herself start to totter.

“What’s your name?” he asked, crossing his arms as if he were the one who was cold. “What’re you doing out here at night?”

“Is it the pizza?” a young woman yelled from another room.

“No!” he yelled back, nervously tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “She fell in. Someone fell in. Get in here, Lor.”

A petite brunette dressed in yellow pajama bottoms and a Sponge-Bob T-shirt thumped into the room. She took one look at the visitor huddled near the door, a throw hanging from her shoulders, and blurted, “Holy crap. Who’re you?”

“I’m … I fell in,” Bernadette said, holding the throw tight around her body.

The woman went over to Bernadette and put an arm around her. “You look ready to pass out.”

The guy seemed relieved to have the woman on the scene. “Get her outta those clothes, Lor.”

Lor started steering Bernadette to a door at the side of the living room. “Bathroom’s this way. You can take this stuff off while I get you some sweats.”

“What happened? How’d you fall in?” the man asked her.

“I … had this really bad blind date.”

“I’ll bet it was Jason down at the end,” the man said as the two women walked side by side.

“I don’t want to get into it,” Bernadette said.

“It was Jason, all right.”

Lor stopped and snapped over her shoulder, “Wally! Give the Jason crap a rest, would you?”

“I left in a hurry,” Bernadette continued. “I got all turned around and thought I was walking to shore. I stepped right off the dock and into the water. I don’t know how it happened. I got so flustered.”

“Jason does that to women,” said Lor, pushing open the door to the bathroom. “He’s such an asshole. I can’t believe someone fixed you up with him.”

Bernadette felt guilty about tarnishing some innocent person’s reputation. “It wasn’t Jason,” she said as she stepped into the bathroom.

“Do you want me to phone someone for you?” Wally asked from the living room.

Bernadette knew who would come get her, but she didn’t want her hosts to make the call or overhear it. “There’s … this other fella,” she said through the door. “It’s kind of awkward.”

Lor got the hint and came back to the bathroom with a cell. She hesitated, studying Bernadette’s face. “Don’t call China or any shit like that, okay?”

“Promise,” said Bernadette, taking the phone and closing the door. Though she was beginning to warm up, she remained wobbly and sore. She dropped the toilet lid and sat down on it. After punching in his number, she held the phone to her ear with one hand and crossed her fingers with the other.

He picked up after five rings. “Garcia.”

She was never so relieved to hear his voice. “Tony. Thank God.”

“What’s going on? Where are you?”

The swampy taste of the river climbed up her throat, and she felt nauseous. Bending over, she whispered into the phone, “I’m at the St. Paul Yacht Club, on Harriet Island.”

“I know where it is, but what—”

“The boat is called the Three-Hour Tour. I’ll have them unlock the gate for you. It’s Gate G. The lower harbor.”

“What are you doing on a boat? What happened to dinner with the brother?”

“I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

“What did you do?”

Bernadette heard a knock at the bathroom door. “One second,” she said into the phone, and set the cell on the bathroom counter. She got up off the toilet lid, wincing from the back pain, and shuffled over to the door while clutching the throw around her. She felt like an old lady. She opened the door and took an armload of clothing from Lor.

“Keep the works,” said the young woman. “It was all headed to Goodwill.”

“Thanks.”

“The ex-boyfriend coming to the rescue?”

Bernadette paused, amused by the role assigned to Garcia. She smiled. “Yeah. He’s on his way. I told him the name of your boat. If you could unlock the gate for him.”

“I’ll send Wally,” said the young woman. “You need anything else?”

Bernadette adjusted the clothes in her arms. “No. This is great. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, wait,” said Lor, bending over to retrieve something from the floor. She passed a plastic garbage bag to Bernadette. “For your wet clothes.”

“Thanks again.”

“I’ll let you get dressed,” she said, and closed the bathroom door.

Bernadette sat back down on the toilet lid with the phone. “Are you there?”

“I’m the ex-boyfriend, am I?”

“This is a really long story,” Bernadette whispered into the cell.

“I’m in my boxers, so it better be a good one.”

“It is,” she said, and hung up.

Bernadette dressed quickly. The gray sweats felt warm, dry, and comfortably baggy. The woman had even included a pair of wool socks, some well-worn running shoes, and an old ski jacket. While Bernadette stuffed her wet clothes into the garbage bag, she eyed the gun and holster she’d set on the bathroom counter. She’d heard the Glock could survive getting run over by a tank. A dip in the river should be nothing.