"Not far at all."

"Where are they?" I cut back on the gas, slow the boat, and search the waters in front of me.

"To your right… about fifty yards. Look toward the corner of our island, just offshore."

I turn the boat in the direction Elizabeth says, stare at the waves, catch a glimpse of a black wetsuit, a flash of yellow hair. "I see them!" I say, keeping my eyes on them, speeding up, going past them, then returning, so the current will bring them to me, looking for a way to rescue Santos and his woman without the boat crashing over them.

Santos backstrokes with one arm while he holds the girl with the other. He doesn't look up until I reach beside him and put the boat in neutral. "Take Casey first!" he says, making the girl raise her left arm. I reach for her just as a swell lifts us, and carries her out of reach. We come together after it passes, the boat almost drifting over the floating couple. Before another swell overtakes us, I bend over the side of the boat, grab her by her wrist and yank her out of the water.

She yowls at the sudden shock of having her entire body weight suspended by one arm. I pull her in, ignoring her groan when her body accidentally strikes the side of the boat, dropping her on the cockpit floor where she collapses, gasping, coughing, retching. Another swell lifts the boat and I rush to the side looking for Santos. Seeing nothing, I race back to the wheel, reach for the throttle.

"NO!" Elizabeth mindspeaks. "He's at your stern."

I find Santos clinging to the bottom of one of the outboard motors, seemingly oblivious to the idling engine's grumble, vibration and exhaust-trying to gain enough purchase to climb into the boat. Unaware of my surveillance, he struggles on, maintaining his grip around the motor shaft with one arm while he tries to grab the cowling with the other, the boat smashing up and down, his body colliding again and again with the still propeller.

"Not a very smart place to put yourself," I say.

Santos looks up. "I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to put the motors in gear."

"It wouldn't have been a very pretty sight if you were wrong." I extend my arm, help him clamber over the stern. He drops to the floor next to Morton, holds her in his arms.

"She'll be fine," Santos says. As much for her benefit as mine, I think.

I throw the motors in gear and concentrate on turning the Grady White, working my way back to the safety of my harbor.

Santos feels us turning, and says, "Wait! What about my Hobie?"

"It's already out there." I tilt my head toward the ocean. "It will probably drift to shore, somewhere up the coast, in a few days."

"No." Santos stands, steadies himself against the back of my chair and looks out to sea. "Look, I appreciate your help. God knows I didn't expect it. But we don't need you to bring us all the way back to shore. If you can take us to my boat and help me right it, I'm sure I can get us home safely."

I shake my head. "It's just a boat," I say. "Anyway, don't worry-I'm not taking you to shore, I'm bringing you to my island."

Elizabeth meets us at the dock, three, large white-cotton bath towels in her arms. She waits while Santos and I help Casey Morton out of the boat, then hands towels to both of us. She unfolds the third one and stares at the woman-Morton shivering, barely able to stand. "You poor dear," Elizabeth says, shaking her head at Morton's blue lips, the purple bruise on the woman's forehead and the numerous cuts and tears to her wetsuit. "We'll get you inside and warm right away."

I raise my eyebrows at my bride's newfound solicitude, watch as she tenderly wraps the towel around the woman. "Elizabeth," I mindspeak. "You wanted me to save them. I did. Now what!"

She glares at me, puts one arm around Morton's waist and guides her toward the house. "Come," she says over her shoulder. "Let's get all of you by the fire."

After the wind and cold and spray on the water, the warmth in the great room borders on oppressive. Still, I sink to a seat not far from the fire and sigh, delighted to let the heat overwhelm me. Elizabeth guides Santos and the woman even closer, clucking over their wounds. Casey Morton ignores her, stands by the fire, shivering, her eyes glazed, her arms folded around herself. Santos wraps his towel around her, holds her and repeats, "Don't worry, baby. You're okay now."

"You'll both feel better once we get you some dry clothes," Elizabeth says. "And some warm food inside you. Peter, would you go downstairs to the freezer and bring up some steaks?"

"Aren't we being a little too solicitous?" I mindspeak.

Elizabeth flashes me a false smile. "Humor me,"

I nod, head for the door. As I leave the room, my bride turns her attention back to our guests. "Oh, where's my hospitality? After all that time in the water… you must be dying to get the taste of saltwater out of your mouths."

When I return a few minutes later, four frozen steaks in my hands, I find all three of them sitting at the oak dining table, a blue ceramic pitcher before them, Santos and Morton sipping from almost empty, large crystal mugs. I eye the pitcher. "Elizabeth, the Dragon's Tear wine?" I mindspeak. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's done," she says, then turns to them. "Finish the rest. You'll feel better."

Casey Morton upends her mug and drains it. Santos sniffs at his, stares at the clear liquid. "It tastes a little greasy," he says.

Elizabeth shrugs. "I'm sure it's not what you're used to. We live on an island. Our water comes from a cistern."

He nods and drinks the remainder of the liquid in his mug.

Elizabeth smiles, motions for me to sit down next to her.

Santos looks around the room. "I have to tell you, I don't understand why you objected to my coming out here. There wasn't anything in the harbor. I haven't seen anything suspicious in the house-" He smiles. "I mean it's odd in here. I don't think I'd like to live the way you do… but I don't know what you were trying to hide. And I got to give it to you-if you wanted Casey and me out of the way, you certainly could've just sat on your hands and watched us drift out to sea… Maybe the note was wrong."

"Note?" I say.

Santos shrugs, looks at the floor. "I guess I'm trying to apologize to you both…"

Casey Morton's legs give way. She slumps to the floor, in a sitting position, her eyes open. "Casey!" Santos says, kneeling next to her. She nods, staring into space.

He turns, glares at me, says, "What the hell?" then topples to his side.

I stare at him and the woman, wait for them to move, to make a sound, but neither one does. "Now what?" I ask Elizabeth.

She smiles, snuggles close to me. "Now we keep them."

Shaking my head, I move a few inches away from her. I think how much easier it would have been to let them float to their deaths, and wish my bride had consulted me before she acted. "Keep them? For what?"

"For the child," she says. She takes my hand, lays it on her stomach. "After I deliver, your son and I will both need fresh meat. These two were going to die anyway. We can keep them in the cells below. This way we'll have plenty of time to fatten the woman. We can use her and the man as servants until my time comes."

"That's months and months away." I stare at her, realize how much rounder her stomach's become, remember how much her breasts have swelled, her nipples darkened and thickened. "You won't be ready until May," I say, trying to reassure myself with how much more time we have before our responsibilities change.

"Until then I want someone to help me in the garden. …"

"I could do that."

"As if you don't have enough to do," she says. "I don't need you to do any more." Elizabeth stares at Santos and Morton slumped on the floor in front of the fire, like two mannequins abandoned by a careless window dresser. She grins. "We have them now for that."