Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

Bruce Whit-taker went off his nut and murdered some poor stranger on the beach. Bad things could happen, even on an island. But at least Nick couldn’t get lost, couldn’t run away, could never go more than three miles from home.
     
    Unless he took a boat.
     
    Some of his older friends, ten-and twelve-year-olds, already had their own outboard skiffs; ran their own lobster lines.
     
    And swiped their mothers’ cigarettes and their fathers’ beer, Regina thought grimly, but she didn’t think her son was vulnerable to those temptations yet. He wanted a boat, though. He wasn’t supposed to go out on the water without telling her. But then, he wasn’t supposed to leave the house without telling her either. The ball of worry in her gut formed a hard lump.
     
    48
    “I’m calling Cal,” she said.
     
    Her mother looked up from shucking clams for the night’s dinner service. The restaurant served shellfish only two ways, steamed or fried.
    At the moment, Regina couldn’t bring herself to care.
     
    “Why?” Antonia asked.
     
    “To keep an eye out for Nick.”
     
    “Nick’s fine. Leave the boy alone. Leave them both alone.” She shot a glance at Margred, refilling salt and pepper shakers on the other side of the pass-through, and lowered her voice. “Caleb’s married now.”
     
    Regina flushed. She hadn’t thought her crush was that obvious. Bad enough that on the island everybody knew everybody’s business. She’d prefer to keep her feelings private. Who else had observed or guessed she was carrying a torch for the chief? Cal himself?
     
    She winced. Margred?
     
    She opened her mouth to say something, anything, when the bell over the door jangled and they walked in.
     
    Nick. Relief rushed to her head, making her dizzy.
     
    And Dylan.
     
    Another wave of emotion hit her, just as hard and not nearly as clear as the first.
     
    She wasn’t going to see him again. Everything she’d done that night, everything they’d done, was based on that certainty. He was leaving, he’d said. He hadn’t even asked for her phone number. The bastard.
     
    Setting her jaw, she pushed through the swinging door. “Where have you been?” she demanded.
     
    “The beach. I met this guy.” Nick flashed her a hopeful smile, as if he’d brought home a handful of shells for her instead of a potential disaster. “He says he knows you.”
     
    49
    Dylan smiled, showing the edge of his teeth. He looked different by daylight, harder, more threatening. “Hello, Regina.”
     
    At least he remembered her name.
     
    She glared at him, betrayed by circumstances and the leap of her own pulse. “I thought you left.”
     
    “And now I am back.”
     
    She crossed her arms, aware of her mother’s sharp look from the other side of the pass-through, of Margred’s frank interest. “What do you want?”
     
    “I haven’t decided,” Dylan said silkily. “What are you offering?”
     
    Her breath hissed through her teeth. If he stuck around, she was going to have to kill him. And then possibly herself.
     
    But she had Nick to deal with first.
     
    “You’re too late for lunch. Dinner specials are on the chalkboard.
    You.” She jabbed her finger at Nick. “Upstairs. We have to talk.”
     
    “It’s always trouble when they say that,” Dylan murmured.
     
    Nick grinned.
     
    “You shut up,” Regina said. The last thing she needed was her one-time beach hookup coaching her son in irresponsible behavior. She jerked her head toward the kitchen door. “Upstairs,” she repeated.
     
    “Aren’t you glad to see me?” Dylan inquired.
     
    Regina’s stomach lurched. She scowled. “Not particularly.”
     
    “You’re Bart’s boy,” Antonia announced suddenly. “The older one.
    What are you doing here?”
     
    “Yes, Dylan, what are you doing here?” Margred asked.
     
    Regina’s headache had grown until her neck wobbled with the weight of it. For eight long years, she’d lived like a damn nun. Eight
    50
    years of silencing the gossips, of living down her past mistakes. One lousy screwup in eight years, and it followed her home like a puppy.
     
    He followed her home.
     
    Life was so unfair.
     
    Dylan smiled into Regina’s eyes, arrogant and confident and cool.
    “Exploring the local . . . attractions.”
     
    “Go explore someplace else,” she said. “I’m working.”
     
    “There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he said softly.
     
    Antonia’s eyes narrowed. “Why should she be