Furious by Jeffrey Higgins (top 10 novels to read TXT) 📕

him for a month. What was I thinking? At least he was an expert sailor, capable of keeping us safe. He seemed more confident at sea, as if the boat brought out the best in him.

I followed him to the bow. He unlatched the hatch leading to the foresail locker and descended the ladder. I peered after him and watched him dig into a canvas bag on the bunk bed. A minute later, he climbed up carrying a harness.

“This is a mast climber. If the electronics pods need fixing, we can use it to get up there.”

“Get up where?”

Brad pointed at the ninety-foot mast and grinned. “Up there.”

I had to bend backward and stretch my neck to see the top of the mast and the attached satellite and communications pods. “You’re using that flimsy piece of material to climb up there?”

“One of us may have to, if something breaks.”

My stomach fluttered. “Let me make something clear, Dr. Coolidge. The only thing close to my aquaphobia is my fear of heights. You will never see my feet leave this deck.”

“I’m teasing. You don’t have to go up there, but if something goes wrong, I may. They designed the mast ascender for solo sailors. I’ll show you.”

“Don’t do it. Just imagining it scares me.”

“Heights don’t bother me,” Brad said.

He did not have to climb the mast, but he would do it to prove he was not afraid. For a moment, I saw him as a teenager, trying to impress a girl. His one-way competition with me never seemed to end.

Brad untied a line, which ran the length of the mast, and secured it to a cleat. He clipped a small climbing mechanism to it—a one-way jammer like rock climbers used—and fastened it with a metal pin. He hung a harness off the mechanism and a swing dangled below it.

“You sit in that swing?”

“It’s a bosun's chair, and yes, it’s perfectly safe.”

Brad stepped into it, resting his butt against the chair and dangling his legs through the straps. He tightened a seatbelt around his lap until he was secure in the seat.

“How do you raise the seat?” I asked.

“Like this.”

He attached a second climbing mechanism below the first, with two stirrups hanging off it. He stuck his feet into the stirrups and raised the mechanism until his feet were as high as his seat. Brad stood in the stirrups, taking his weight off the seat, and raised the seat’s jammer up the line. He sat back into it and raised the lower mechanism. He shifted his weight back onto the stirrups and elevated the seat again. A simple, ingenious design.

He climbed for several minutes, his body getting smaller as he ascended. Ninety feet was high—close to nine stories. My head spun and my legs weakened, and I had to look away.

“I can see for at least ten miles,” Brad yelled, his voice almost inaudible over the wind. “The curvature of the earth is so pronounced up here.”

“Be careful. I can’t sail this thing alone.”

What if something happened to Brad? I appreciated his skill, but I did not like having to depend on him. I looked up, and he waved. He seemed comfortable in his element, enjoying the experience, proud to protect me.

I stared out at the blue water and inhaled the salty air. The sea was gorgeous, vast, powerful. Beautiful but deadly. A shiver of fear passed through me, and I clutched my elbows against my body.

I wanted Brad to come down.

CHAPTER NINE

The other boats dropped from sight after a couple hours, leaving only the distant Island of Penida visible on the horizon. The wind strengthened as the sun rose higher and the yacht bounced with a gentle rhythm. The motion made me sleepy, and I laid down on a bench in the cockpit and fell asleep.

I awoke with the sun further to the west, over our port side. My skin felt dry and warm and my throat had parched. I looked behind me at the unmanned helm and bolted upright.

“Brad? Where are you?”

I looked around the deck, frantic, on the verge of panic. Had he fallen overboard? What should I do?

“Hey Dags,” he said, sticking his head out of the companionway. “I went below to use the head. I’m not feeling very well.”

“You can leave the helm unattended?”

“I have her on autopilot. Taking quick breaks is fine, but not too long. Ships travel fast out here, and we have to remain vigilant.”

“You scared me.”

“I didn’t want to wake you. I haven’t seen you sleep that soundly since . . . since before.”

“How long was I out?”

“Two hours.”

That surprised me. I could not remember the last time I had napped or had slept without having nightmares.

“It must be the salt air and the motion of the boat,” I said.

“It does that. We will both sleep better here. Everything will be better.”

“You said you’re sick. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I still have a nasty headache, and it’s making me nauseous. I may vomit.”

“Sea sickness?”

Brad scowled at me. “I don’t get seasick.”

“I’m concerned about you. Don’t bite my head off.”

“I don’t need mothering. I’m fine. It’s jet lag.”

“What can I do to help you?”

“Let me explain our route again,” Brad said, avoiding my question. “Follow me.”

He was always too proud to accept my help. I descended the stairs behind him. He opened a cabinet under the chart table, retrieved a pile of maps, and spread them on the table.

“I’m not great with maps . . . or directions,” I said.

“It’s easy. We’re heading north, off the east coast of Bali. We’ll pass through the Bali Sea and head northwest through the Java Sea, between Jakarta and Borneo.”

I followed his finger on the chart. We headed toward Thailand on the mainland of Southeast Asia.

“I see.”

“We’ll continue northwest along the coast of Sumatra, pass Singapore, and enter the Strait of Malacca. We’ll sail into the wind as we pass Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia.”

“Will we stop anywhere?” I asked.

“We could, if we had a problem,