Page 47 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
“I’m guessing we’re about twenty-five minutes from the docks. We’re near that big cypress bend.”
“All right. Sit tight. I’ll come get you.” She grabbed the airboat keys from the hook, slipped her cell into its waterproof case, and slung it over her shoulder.
She stepped outside, locking the door to the marina, and turning the sign that read: At the docks. Be right back. She strolled down toward Keaton’s shiny new center console fishing boat. “Hey, Bingo,” she called.
“Yeah?” He popped up from the stern, all sweaty and soapy.
“I have to go rescue the rental.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “The door to the marina is locked. The sign’s on the door. I don’t expect anyone but Silas, Hayes, and Fletcher. They will need to gas up the Everglades Overwatch boats.”
“The ones at the dock, I’ve already done. Bill is waiting for them when they return from giving tours.”
“I’m gonna be lost without you when you go to college.”
“I doubt that,” Bingo said. “I just have to hose down these engines and dry off the covers. Once I’m done, I’ll head into the marina.”
“You’ve got your keys?”
“Sure do.”
“See you in about an hour.” She turned and headed toward the last dock. The one that was falling apart. The one that she wouldn’t let a customer walk down if it were the only dock on the premises.
The airboat was old—a rust bucket—but she kept the maintenance up on it, just like the rest of the boats she owned.
She fired up the engine and eased out from the dock, heading out of the canal and into the Everglades. God, she loved being on the water. Sadly, she didn’t get out on it enough. Too many things needed to be done around the marina, and there weren’t enough employees to do it.
Lifting her chin, she enjoyed the warm air smacking against her skin. The sun lowered in the sky, but it would be hours before day gave way to night.
She gave the airboat a little more gas.
It barely crawled forward.
She tried again. It gave barely a sluggish glide. Then came the faint gurgling. Shifting her weight, she glanced down—water sloshed at her boots. “Shit.” She released the lever brought the boat to idle, and before lifting the hatch to check the bilge.
Full of water.
She flipped the switch. Nothing. She tried again, but the pump wasn’t running.
She lowered her body, lying in the water seeping in through the hull, which also didn’t make sense. The boat was taking on too much water…too fast. Quickly, she stuck her hand inside the hatch, found the hose, and tugged. Holding it in her hand, she blinked. “What the hell?” The hose wasn’t just severed. It was cut. Not frayed. Not worn.
Someone had taken something sharp to it and sliced through the rubber. She didn’t need to be a detective to figure that out.
Her stomach dropped.
She turned and sat her ass back in the captain’s chair. She didn’t have much time. She hit the lever, but the engine sputtered then died. She twisted the key, but it didn’t turn over.
Nothing.
The gas gauge taunted her. “No. No. No.” She fisted her pants. She kept this boat gassed up at all times in case of emergencies. It was the only boat she didn’t rent. The only one that was always at the docks.
She reached for the radio. But it didn’t hiss or crackle, which was odd. She pressed the mic.
Nothing.
That’s when she noticed the wiring—sliced, frayed at the base. This wasn’t wear and tear. It was deliberate.
Pulling her cell from its protective wrap, she checked the service bars. Barely one. She tried Bingo’s number. It failed. She tried again. Same thing. She was in that weird dead zone spot right in the mouth of the Everglades.
Panic prickled across her skin.
