The dogs hear us first. They start barking and yelping while we're still wending our way through the channel-the boat under just enough power to maintain forward momentum-my bride on the bow, peering into the water, shouting, "Watch out!", guiding me away from any threatening rocks.

By the time we reach Caya DelaSangre's small harbor, Elizabeth's shouted warnings of underwater dangers, the mutter of our motors and the howls of the dog pack have brought Arturo Gomez-bearded, barefoot, long haired, shirtless and tanner than ever-to the deck of his sleek, thirty-five-foot SeaRay cabin cruiser, a black automatic pistol in his right hand.

He uncocks the gun and shoves it into his cutoff shorts' right front pocket when he sees me. The weight of the pistol pulls the cutoffs down a little, accentuating the swell of his protruding stomach. I shake my head and smile when he takes notice of Elizabeth's red halter top and tight khaki shorts and sucks in his gut as he grins and nods toward her. It's hard for me to think that the scruffy vagabond in front of me is the same man as the dapper, always meticulously dressed president of LaMar Associates.

As I'd suspected, Arturo's anchored in the middle of the harbor to keep his distance from the dogs. There's barely enough room alongside his boat for the Grand Banks to pass. To reach the dock, I have to steer uncomfortably close to the SeaRay.

"Nice girl," Arturo calls out as he walks along the side of his boat, watching our movement, obviously prepared to jump forward and fend us off if it appears we're going to run into him.

"Nice beard," I say as we glide past.

He rubs the thick growth on his face and flashes one of his wide smiles. "You damn well gave me enough time to grow it."

"Didn't you say you could use a vacation?"

"A vacation, yes." Arturo laughs. "But I've been gone from the office so long I'm afraid they're going to think I either died or retired. Do you realize it's August already?"

I shake my head, and marvel how time has become so unimportant to me. "What day is it?" I ask.

"Tuesday, the second."

"Peter! Elizabeth warns from the bow. I look forward, see we're moving too quickly, back off the throttles and turn my attention to bringing us close to the dock without striking it. She maintains her position, a coiled line in her hands, waiting patiently for the opportunity to jump off the boat and secure its lines. As we close, Slash and Scar and a half dozen other growling dogs watch us from the dock, legs splayed, teeth bared, hackles raised.

"Are you sure she's going to be okay?" Arturo asks from the safety of his boat.

Elizabeth turns and stares at him as if he were a dead, rotting fish, spoiling the air with its odor. She purses her lips and whistles one sharp loud blast and laughs as the dogs scurry off the dock and rush out of sight. I laugh with her, amused to see the red flush rise on Arturo's face.

After Elizabeth cleats our lines, I cut the motors and sit back to stare at the dock, the nearby trees, the coral walls of my home. The sea breeze quickly washes away the last remnants of the Grand Banks's diesel fumes and I breathe in the familiar aromas of salt air and fresh green vegetation that welcome me home. I half expect to hear Father mindspeak to me, feel the loss of him once again, and wish he were here to meet my bride.

Arturo rows his dinghy over and joins us on the dock. "Good to see you," he says, shaking my hand and slapping my back. Turning his attention to Elizabeth, he asks, "Is this the bride?" He holds out his hand to shake hers, grins and says, "She's beautiful. Congratulations!"

Elizabeth looks past him, ignoring his gesture. "Can we go inside now?" she mindspeaks. "I want to see the house."

Arturo waits, sweating, squinting from the hot sun's glare, his smile now strained, his hand still extended.

"Please, Elizabeth, take his hand. The man is useful to me. He'll be gone soon enough."

Elizabeth sighs, offers forward a limp hand, gives a thin smile as Arturo grasps it lightly and quickly disengages. "Now Peter?" she asks.

I force a smile. "Why don't you go below and put your things together? We need to unload the boat. I'll come down in a few minutes to help you."

She glares at me, mindspeaks, "He's just a human. Why not have him do it?" Then she clambers onto the boat.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Arturo says.

"Not at all," I say. I fight the impulse to apologize for my spoiled bride. "Thanks, by the way, for your help with that Caribbean Charm thing."

The Latin grins. "No problem. My guys tell me the fire was one of the biggest the county's ever seen. It started during the day, killed everyone in the executive offices. Caribbean Charm's been shipping merchandise like crazy ever since."

"Good." I nod, thank him for watching the house and ask him to call Jeremy Tindall, tell him that I'll be returning his boat later in the day.

"Not that Jeremy has any desire to hear from me these days," he says, stares at the Grand Banks and grins. "I'd wash the decks if I were you. Jeremy will have a fit if you return it in this condition. He'll be complaining for weeks."

"Doesn't he usually?"

Arturo laughs and nods. "God, it'll be good to get back to work," he says. "I even miss Jeremy. Though I doubt he wants to see either of us very much." Then he looks at me. "What did you think of our boy?"

I knit my eyebrows at his question.

"Santos. What did you think of the report? Tindall faxed a copy to me."

"I haven't read it yet," I say, remembering the manila envelope I stowed in the drawer next to the lower wheel. "I haven't had time."

"No time?" Arturo says. "How busy could you have been? What were you doing, rowing back?"

Banter may be one thing, but too much familiarity is another. I give him a blank stare.

Arturo's grin disappears. He knows better than to continue in the same vein. "Well," he says, "I wish you would read it soon. The guy's a pain. He even hired some ultralight pilot to fly over the island. Damned plane buzzed me four days in a row. He's still driving Emily crazy too. He calls and asks for you every day."

I nod, frown that I have to pay attention to this annoyance so close to my homecoming.

"There's no reason you have to meet with this guy, you know," Arturo says.

I wave my hand, as if to push away his suggestion and the violence it implies. I've already promised myself to try to avoid bringing any more death to Maria's family. Besides, I wonder at the man's persistence. "I want to see what this man is like," I say. "Just tell Emily to arrange a meeting this Friday morning at ten."

Below deck, Elizabeth sits in the salon, greets me with silence, her arms folded across her chest. Through the passageway I can see our belongings piled haphazardly on top of the bed.

"He's gone," I say.

She shrugs, says nothing.

"Nice job of packing," I say, going to the drawer next to the lower helm, taking the manila envelope out of it.

"At home we have servants do such things."

"Here we don't." I go into the bedroom, start separating the pile, folding and organizing the clothes.

"We should."

"Father gave up slaves before the Civil War."

"Who does all your cleaning? Who maintains the house?"

"I do."

"I don't see why you would want to," Elizabeth says. She joins me next to the bed, stares at the clothes, picks up a pair of shorts, folds it slowly. "I'm not used to having to do these things. I don't think I'll be very good at it."

"It's okay," I say. "I am."

After Elizabeth asks three more times, I finally agree to leave our belongings on the ship and take her to the house. "We can bring everything in later," she says.

She grins as we walk down the dock, her smile widening when I unlock the iron gate and throw the switch to turn on the generators. "We have power?" she asks.