Breacher (Tom Keeler Book 2) by Jack Lively (reading well TXT) 📕

I said, “We need a long screwdriver, or something like that.”

She said, “I’ve got one.”

The light slashed again through the shed. I caught a glimpse of her. She was holding the screwdriver. It was precisely what I had been looking for. Maybe she had planned to stab me with it. Her hair was wet, but she had clothes on, which was plus for her because it wasn’t a warm night. On the other hand, the clothes were not very substantial. She was going to be cold.

The light came again from outside. This time it was closer, more focused. The police were nearby. I crouched next to her and we shuffled together, back against the wall. She was shivering.

I took the screwdriver from her hands. “What were you planning on doing, stabbing someone with this?”

She said, “Yes. I was frightened.”

The police radio squawked again. The light swerved once more and the radio sound dropped off. I felt her moving next to me. I said, “We need to go. Ready?”

“Yes.”

We scuttled to the shed door on the other side. The door let out to the dock.

I said, “Wait here until I whistle. Then you go, and you lay down in the boat.” I didn’t wait for a response.

I slipped into the cold dark water between the boat and the dock. Ten seconds later I had the rope cut. I gave a low whistle. I couldn’t see the blonde girl from where I was in the water. But I heard bare feet padding to the dock, then I felt the vibrations in the rigid hull when she climbed in. Then it was still again and I started to inch the zodiac out into the channel. I swam the boat away from the dock, hugging the darkness of the coast and the overhanging trees and rocks. My boots were heavy in the water. The lodge was long out of sight before I climbed onboard.

The blonde girl was there, lying down against the side of the boat, like I had told her to. The zodiac had two seats in the back and the pilot cabin right in the middle. I said, “You can get up now. Sit in one of those seats if you like.”

She came up, gripping onto the side of the zodiac, and made her way to the seat. It began to rain a little. Nothing heavy, just an unpleasant drizzle. The motor was behind the seat, so I was squeezed between the girl’s back and the stern. The outboard was a very clean-looking Yamaha 250. I got the housing off and found the starter. Crossed the long screwdriver shaft against both contacts and the engine started right up.

It was time to get out of there. I went back to the pilot podium and hit the throttle. The boat surged into the darkness. The light drizzle was suddenly transformed into a painful storm of needles against skin. I took a look at the girl. She was rigid and squinting, her mouth and eyes tightly closed against the wind. We hugged the coast until Mountain Point. Then I brought the boat out mid-channel and idled.

I turned around and examined her. She was shivering and hugging herself.

I leaned my back against the podium.

She said, “How do you know I didn’t do it?”

“You were in the sauna when it happened.” She nodded. I said, “Are you alright? We need to keep going awhile. Then we can talk.”

She said, “I’m okay.”

I said, “You look cold.”

She smiled weakly. “I’m cold. But I’m okay.” She was hugging herself tightly, and released her arms. Maybe to show me that she wasn’t that cold. She was wearing an oversized Harvard sweatshirt, like the one that Jane Abram’s son, George, had been wearing in the photograph she had flashed me. I went back and checked the fuel. Full, with a couple of spare cans locked down against the hull.

Good to go.

I didn’t want to pass through the channel by town. The other option was around Carolina Island, which was not a short trip, but worthwhile, if I didn’t want anyone to see us.

I hit the throttle and motored the zodiac southwest out of the channel in the direction of the Three Bears Entrance. Twenty minutes later I turned the boat north around the island. I gunned the engine and the 250 roared. It was impossible to speak. The wind was cruel, whipping around us, but the rain had ceased. The girl was hunched over, clutching herself. I couldn’t help the fact that she was cold.

It took another hour to get up around Clover pass, about a quarter mile from the coast on the other side. One of the good things about Alaska is that it is very easy to get secluded, quick.

I gunned it to Carolina island and found a cove that could protect us from both the wind and line of sight from the mainland. I brought the boat around and cut the motor. Then I threw down the anchor. We would be good there for a while. The blonde girl looked at me with wide eyes.

I said, “Let’s start with who the hell are you?”

Twelve

The blonde girl said, “I’m Amber Chapman, and you’re Tom Keeler. The high plains drifter.”

I came around and leaned against the pilot cabin. “Okay, Amber Chapman, what did you see, back at the house?”

Chapman said, “I was in the sauna. I didn’t see anything. I heard Jane shout.”

I said, “Through the door from the sauna to the vestibule, and then the other door to the hall. She must have shouted loudly.”

She nodded. “Maybe to warn us.”

I said, “And then?”

“Then I stayed in the sauna. I didn’t know what else to do.” Chapman said, “Her shout was bad, like there was real trouble. You know what I mean? I was scared. She shouted once. Then I heard other stuff but it was unclear, coming from the house while I was in that sauna room, I couldn’t