Course of the Heart (4 page)

“Surprise me.” He stretched his tall slender frame and stifled a yawn. He surveyed her closely as she passed him on the way below. “We should take another look at your face before dinner. I’ll set the autopilot and alarm and be down soon. Oh, and just a reminder. We have to conserve fresh water. It’s going to be close in making our provisions last until we can replenish in the Keys. Quick showers, if you will.”

“Aye, aye,” she said, and continued below.

Her mind fought to wrap itself around the last days. So much had happened since Brad last beat her. The memories paraded through her mind and she was on the verge of a pity-party. God knew, if anyone deserved one, she did. But she simply wouldn’t allow it. She was free from that coward now, and soon she would be free of the man who had the audacity to think that she was coming on to him.

She thanked God for gaining freedom from the former, and attempted to label the feelings attached to saying goodbye to the latter.

Chapter 3

As captain of the vessel, Drew continued to be pleased with his crew of one. Although he was careful not to praise her too much–for fear she might misinterpret–she had been quite helpful. She had accomplished every task he had given her and then some and all without complaint. Her only problem had been finding something to wear. Whatever her original destination had been that night, it could not have been a warm climate. She apparently had little in that bag of hers that would qualify as useful attire on a boat or in warm weather.

The clothes onboard
Sail Out
were a testimonial of a less than scrupulous recent past that had finally begun to catch up with him. He could think of several excuses for this behavior–the tough life at school, being jilted by a few women he cared about, dealing with the pressure his father had applied in pushing him into the family business–never asking if that was what Drew wanted–but the cold hard facts were that he had compromised his values. Being out on the water with a woman of more honorable attributes was making that painfully clear. At any rate, the presence of the clothes was a constant reminder of his iniquity. The fact that they were never removed from the boat, as it were, turned out to be a good thing for Sam, even though none of the girls who left them behind were as petite as Samantha. Drew had to admit that her body was killer, just a scaled down version when compared to most of the girls who had been on the boat.

Her chosen main attire had been a two-piece swimsuit that had a tendency to swallow her whole, although held together loosely and in the right places by safety pins she had managed to find in a drawer in the main cabin. Because the pins left the suit a little baggy, she sometimes wore one of Drew’s T-shirts over it.

Sail Out
continued to ride the wind, fifteen miles out from the channel to the marina at Islamorada. At current speed they should reach the dock around eleven p.m. According to the charts, the waters were quite navigable, with only a few shallows that might cause problems after sunset.

All went well and at a few minutes before eleven, Samantha sighted the first marker to the channel. He came about and into the wind, and started the engine. Soon the main and the jib were down and secured. Samantha put the sail covers on while he navigated the markers toward the marina lights. Via the radio, the dock master assigned a numbered slip near the end of one of the many rows of piers. The marina basin was quiet as he backed the sloop into the assigned slip and helped her tie off the lines.

“I found a motel within a couple of blocks of here,” she said, as he began the procedure of hooking up to the marina water and electricity. “They’re holding a room for me.”

He frowned. “You could stay on the boat tonight and I could walk you to the bus stop in the morning. Save you a few bucks.”

“I would have thought you’d be ready to get rid of me by now.”

“You have been a bit of a pill.” He smiled.

“I imagine I have. Actually, I’m looking forward to a long, hot shower.” The smile she returned gave him a funny feeling in his stomach. “I’m all packed. I’ll go below and get my backpack.”

He nodded, not at all sure he could speak. Why was he feeling so bummed?

While she was below he busied himself around the boat, checking fittings, curling sheets, testing stanchions—anything to keep from thinking about her leaving. When there was nothing left to do, he sat in the cockpit waiting for her to emerge. When he heard her in the galley he stepped to the hatch and took her bag and helped her up the ladder to the deck. She took the bag as she stepped up onto the deck.

She looked stunning. She had fixed her hair differently. It shined in the dim light of night. She wore light make-up, which easily covered the remaining bruises. The cuts were all but gone. He was struck once again at what a beautiful woman she was.

Drew swallowed hard. “You . . . look . . . very nice.”

“Thank you.”

He stepped from the boat onto the pier, and offered his hand. Her delicate hand took his and he forced a smile, feeling more awkward than he had since meeting her.

She threw the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I cleaned up the stateroom and head and changed the sheets on the berth.”

He was impressed. She’d come a long way in the few days on the boat and was now quite adept at boat vernacular.

“You didn’t have to do that.” He looked down and fiddled with a wood splinter on the pier with his shoe.

“I want to thank you again for everything you did for me. You don’t know what he would have done if you hadn’t shown up at your boat when you did.”

He shrugged, unable to think of a response. As he continued to absently move his foot along the surface of the pier, she stepped toward him, tiptoed, and kissed his cheek. Her hair smelled of flowers and her breath of mint, and for a moment he stood silently, breathing in the scent of her.

“Are you sure you won’t stay the night on the boat?”

“Thank you, but no . . . Oh, I should pay you.” She reached into her bag.

“Absolutely not.” He made a stop sign gesture with his hand. “If anything, I should pay you. You more than earned your keep. I think I put on a few pounds in the last couple of days.”

“They certainly don’t show.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He looked around at the boat. Anything not to make eye contact. “I won’t be able to shove off until ten or so in the morning, after I’ve had a chance to go to the bank.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” She turned and looked behind her. “The motel’s only a couple of blocks–I can see the sign from here. The way is well-lit, so no need to walk me. The bus for Miami leaves early, so I’ll be long gone before you make it to the bank.”

“Well, I guess this is it,” he said, nodding.

“I guess so.”

He stood awkwardly as she walked away. Although she wore the same black jumpsuit as when he first saw her, she looked much different. For a moment he had an impulse to call to her, but instead he stood and watched her for a long while as her image faded in and out under the spaced lamps along the wooden pier.

He wished her nothing but the best, but found himself wondering what would become of her. Fortunately, she had traveled a long way from Fairhope, and the man responsible for those cuts and bruises. During her days on the boat and under his care, most of the outward evidence of her wounds had vanished. He imagined the inward scars would live on indefinitely.

He had known dozens of women in his twenty-six years, but none like her. He fought a strange feeling that maybe he would someday think of her as the one who got away. She was definitely the first girl he had ever met who could see right through him from the moment they first met.

As he stepped back onto the boat, he had a funny feeling he couldn’t quite label—an ominous feeling. While preparing for bed, the feeling hung on. Fighting the urge to the very end, he relented and picked up his cell phone and dialed his friend Mike, the owner of the Fairhope Marina. Mike answered as he realized he had given no regard to the late hour.

“Hey, buddy.” Drew got straight to the point. “Anybody miss me around there?”

“Hey, jerk-wad, do you have any clue what time it is?” Mike’s voice was husky with sleep. “It’s after eleven. You know we go to bed and get up with the chickens around these parts. And you want to know if anybody’s missing you?”

Mike covered the phone and spoke softly to his wife, Penny. They talked back and forth for a minute and then Mike came back on the phone.

“Penny says screw you very much for calling so late, and yeah, a few people stopped by to check on you, including a nasty fellow, who claimed to be from the bank. But we played dumb and told him you skipped out with the boat before we could deliver it to your folks, and that we thought you might have headed over toward Galveston or someplace like that.”

“Thanks, man. So you didn’t tell anybody about the urn?”

“Of course not,” Mike said, yawning. He stopped mid-yawn. “Well, except for a guy named Brunson, who said he had important news from Auburn. Didn’t tell him where you were headed, just gave him your cell number. Said he would call—”

“Dark hair, skinny, maybe five-ten, five-eleven, boots?” Drew felt the dread. Wasn’t there an app where you could locate a cell phone?

“Yeah, said you two were roommates at school. Nice guy. Didn’t seem to know about the Will, though. Hell, I thought everybody knew about the Will. Hey, where are you anyway, buddy?”

He hung up before answering. In seconds flat, he was up the ladder, onto the pier and on a dead run toward the distant lights of the motel.

Samantha checked into the motel and was exhausted. All she wanted was that long shower and then to fall into bed. The bus stop was only a short walk, but she planned to be there well before the scheduled Miami departure. Funny, she hadn’t even decided where she would go next once she reached the airport. Pick a city, pick a low fare, pick a future. Spin the wheel and pick a winner.

As she turned the shower on and began to undress, a tiny bell of alarm sounded, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Something about the nervous manner in which the clerk at the motel office had checked her in? He was distracted, as if he was up to something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Feeling uncomfortable, Samantha stepped out of the shower and slipped the jumpsuit back on. She moved to the door, which faced the motel office, shutting off the room lights en route. Her heart skipped a beat when she moved the curtain enough to see out. There in the office with the clerk was Brad, taking a bill from his wallet. The man pointed in the direction of her room.

She was a sitting duck.

Her heart raced and she wanted to scream. She ventured another look. Brad exited the office, was walking across the parking lot and straight toward her room. He flipped a cigarette on the ground, crushed it under his boot, and reached into his pocket. A reflection of light flickered from the blade of the knife he held in his hand.

She quickly placed a chair under the door handle, grabbed her bag, and ran into the bathroom. She slid the shower curtain open and looked at the tiny window above the rear of the shower stall. Could she fit through it?

She pulled violently on the lock, but it wouldn’t budge. As she prepared to look back in the room for something to use to break the glass, she heard a knock at the door. After a short hesitation, she heard a slam against the door. The chair receded slowly with each push until the safety chain broke free and it was open enough for Brad to squeeze through. She screamed and slammed the bathroom door, locking it. Would that buy her any time? How much? She turned her back to the door and slid down into a crouching position, folding her arms around her knees and bracing her legs against the tub. She began to cry.

She heard footsteps approaching the bathroom door and braced for the impact.

“Baby, I’m back.”

Chills of horror racked her body. The locked door handle rattled back and forth and then there was a short silence. She heard scuffling, and movement as the sounds through the bathroom door retreated. Was he getting a running start to slam through the door? Samantha turned her ear to the door and heard a subdued voice. A few seconds later, the doorknob moved back and forth.

“Samantha?” The voice was not Brad’s. “It’s okay, you can come out. He’s gone.”

Her hands were shaking as she released the lock. She opened the door and rushed into Drew’s arms. He had taken his shirt off and it was wrapped around his arm. On the floor in front of him was the knife.

Brad was nowhere to be seen.

“Your arm.” She placed a hand over her mouth. “It’s bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.” He looked toward the door. “Look, we have to get out of here.”

“What about Brad?”

“I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”

“You were watching the whole thing?”

Drew told her about the call to Mike.

“You’re still bleeding.

“Let’s go, grab your stuff. We’ve got to get back to the boat and get out of here. Grab that towel and I’ll wrap it around my arm.”

Samantha ventured a look outside. All appeared clear. She grabbed Drew’s other arm and they began the walk back to the marina. The bleeding continued and he appeared to be getting weaker by the moment. As they walked by the office, the clerk was buried in the newspaper.

After the short walk to the marina, she helped Drew back onto the boat. She wondered how much blood he had lost. Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped. Hopefully the knife had missed a major artery. She struggled to get him to sit at the galley table, but he shook his head. He quickly applied antibiotic cream to the gash, which was on his lower arm, and she wrapped it tightly with gauze and tape.

She helped him free the lines after he started the engine and assisted as he disconnected the dock services. Within a few minutes the big sloop moved out the marina basin and into the channel. While she steered, Drew located a nearby island on the chart, a couple of miles clear of the channel and plotted their course.

Drew knew he was in no shape to deal with anyone at the moment, so they needed to put distance between the boat and the marina, in case Brad came looking for them. From his short encounter with him, Drew surmised that the obsessive man was capable of anything. He was smaller, but he was strong and put up a hefty struggle.

When the boat was securely anchored in a cove, he poured a large glass full of orange juice and downed it quickly. He fell onto the settee in the main cabin. The look on Samantha’s face gave away her uneasiness.

“Don’t worry.” He poured a second glass of juice. “I don’t think he’ll be coming after us for a while.”

“You don’t know him.” Her voice cracked. “He won’t stop until he finds me again.”

“He’s going to be pretty sore for a while.” The room was beginning to spin. “I might have left him with a broken bone or two, getting that knife away from him. Look, I’ve got to get some sleep. We should be on our way at first light.”