“You having separation anxiety from your Jeep yet?” Eddie asked as he clicked his seat belt.

“Are you in my frigging head?” she snapped, keeping her voice low. Her mind was her only sanctuary. Eddie, if he wanted to, could easily invade that private place. She’d warned him early on to steer clear under punishment of a fate worse than death.

He held up his hands. “No. I’m not that stupid. It’s just weird going anywhere with you that doesn’t involve that Jeep and blasting hair metal.”

She grabbed a copy of People from her carry on bag, snapping the pages open. “Sorry. I can never be sure with you.”

He leaned close enough for their shoulder to touch. “Actually, you can. I promised I would never go there, and I never will. Although it was nice to get the old piss-and-vinegar Jessica back, at least for a few seconds. I’ve been worried about how nice you’ve been to me.”

Eddie chuckled, tapping the on-screen menu mounted in the headrest in front of him, searching the available movies to watch on-demand.

“Don’t push your luck,” she said, brushing past a worthless article on Brangelina.

“Must be getting soft in your old age,” he said under his breath. She saw his body tense in anticipation of the elbow jab she’d usually throw in his midsection. It was more fun to watch him flinch than to actually hit him.

“Keep it up,” she said. “Just because I decided to give you amnesty until this thing is over doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

The pilot made the announcement for the cabin crew to take their seats. Jessica tensed as the plane accelerated down the runway, offering up prayers to Jesus, Mary, her father and mother. She hadn’t told Eddie this was her third flight since the one coming back from Alaska without her father when she was six-years old. As a child, flying meant losing someone you love.

She may have been older and wiser, but that didn’t stop the fear and creeping sorrow from plaguing her thoughts as the plane banked over the Atlantic Ocean.

Chapter Ten

“All right, I’ve officially sweat through my underpants,” Eddie announced as they waited on the dock.

After landing, they had checked into a Marriott, dropped off their bags and took a taxi to the docks on the Charleston Harbor. The heat and humidity took their breath away.

“TMI,” Jessica said, crinkling her nose.

The waters of the harbor lapped against the pilings. It took an incredible amount of self-restraint not to jump in and cool off. Jessica had spent some time in Arizona in mid-May, and it was nothing like this. There wasn’t a breeze to be felt for miles. The harbor was filled with small pleasure boats, the white-sailed boats having to resort to using their motors. A few small islands dotted the waters in the distance. A battered fishing boat—it had to be a fishing boat because it sure as hell smelled like one—gently rocked next to them.

They’d been told someone would come by to take them to Ormsby Island at three o’clock. It was now almost four and the sun felt like it was doing its damnedest to fry them like ants. It was not an auspicious start. Jessica was beginning to regret making the trip. Patience was never one of her strong points, especially when she was melting.

“If you want, I can go to the store over there and get us some cold bottles of water. Or better yet, a couple of forties,” Eddie said.

“That would make a great impression,” she laughed. “A couple of EB hunting, malt liquor swilling Yanks come to make the bad spirits go away.”

“Water it is.”

“Wait,” she said. A small speedboat cut through the harbor, throwing up plumes of white as it sliced toward the dock. “Maybe that’s our ride.”

As the boat got closer, the man piloting it saw them and waved. He had long, wiry black hair on top and hanging from his chin. His beard wavered over his shoulder, buffeted by the wind. He was dressed in a black T-shirt and black jeans that had been cut off at the knees. He looked like he’d be more comfortable at a ZZ Top concert than at the helm of a speedboat.

He tossed Eddie a rope as the boat slid up to the dock.

“You must be Jessica and Eddie,” he said with a light southern accent.

“That’s us,” she said.

“Sorry I’m so late. This old thing was giving me a hell of a time getting started. I was about to jump in the rowboat and fetch you.”

A big smile broke through the tangle of beard and heavy mustache.

“My name’s Paul, Paul Dail. I’m Daphne Harper’s brother.”

Paul held out a hand to help Jessica and Eddie into the boat.

“Nice to meet you Paul,” Jessica said, taking the cushioned seat he offered. Eddie shook his hand and nodded, nonchalant cool-guy style. She had to stifle a blossoming burst of laughter.

“Damn it’s hot when you stop,” Paul said, wiping his face with a red bandana. “You want a cold one for the trip to the island?” He opened up a cooler. Several cans of beer sat atop a mound of inviting ice.

Eddie looked to her before making a commitment. It was good to see he remembered her rule about letting her take the lead when they were on an investigation. But if memory served her, he’d break those rules all to hell before the day was done. She reached into the cooler, savoring the kiss of ice against her skin, and pulled out a can of Budweiser. Eddie and Paul did the same.

“I was never big on lemonade or iced tea,” Paul said, popping the top. A trickle of foam ran down his hand. “Hang on to your beers and rears. We’re going to catch more wind than wave.”

The engine thundered as Paul made a tight turn, headed to the center of the harbor.

He was right. He hit the throttle so hard, Jessica nearly flipped off her seat. Beer sloshed out of the can and onto her shirt.

Wonderful. Now I’ll reek like a just rolled out of a bar.

She jammed the can in a cup holder, aggravated that Eddie had managed to keep his seat and his beer in the can or his mouth. Men and their beer.

“How far is it to Ormsby Island?” she asked, her voice raised to just below a shout.

“Oh, not far,” Paul replied. The speedboat skipped over the waves like a flat rock thrown by a major league pitcher. “It’s a lot cooler there too. Lots of trees.”

“What’s it like living on your own private island?” Eddie said. The sun had turned his newly exposed scalp a newborn hamster pink.

“I’m just visiting, helping my sister get the place in order. I’m more like the nanny.”

His comment took Jessica by surprise. Paul did not look the part of the nanny. Although, if his sister was Daphne Harper, the kids had to be his niece and nephew. Daphne had told her over the phone that they were nine and eleven years old, though which was the oldest she never did say. He’s probably a pretty fun uncle.

“Where do you live when you’re not on the island?” she asked.

“I got an apartment in Greensboro. Been there a couple of years. I’m fixing to head down to Savannah next year. Just hoping my little windfall comes through so I can afford to make the move.”

The boat slammed through the wake of a passing pontoon boat. Jessica bit her tongue, hard.

“Sorry about that,” Paul said.

She looked over at Eddie. He had his head tilted back, enjoying the cool breeze and spray from the water. She had to admit, it felt a hundred times more tolerable out here zooming through the harbor.

“There she is,” Paul announced, pointing dead ahead.

Ormsby Island was a floating mass of tall trees, their broad trunks keeping prying eyes from penetrating the close-knit gloom. If there was a house—no, a mansion, she’d been told—the dense foliage kept it well hidden. From this distance, there was little evidence of habitation. Jessica had watched a show that dramatized what the developed world would look like if mankind were wiped off the face of the planet, allowing nature to reclaim her land. The island looked an awful lot like the depictions of suburban towns just a couple of decades after man had bitten the dust.