Death Echo

down a head,” he said.
    â€œExpensive.”
    â€œIf you can afford Blackbird, the cost of the fuel it takes to run her is small change.”
    As Mac spoke, he reached across Emma for the binoculars that were held snugly in a grip near the pilot station.
    â€œLooking for logs?” she asked.
    â€œIf I have to use glasses to find them, the logs are too far away to worry about.”
    â€œGood to know. I’ve been wondering.”
    He grunted.
    After a moment Emma straightened in the seat and leaned over the wheel, staring into the water ahead.
    â€œIs that a boat out there?” she asked. “Just to the left of the bow.”
    Mac was already watching the shape through the binoculars.
    â€œTwenty-eight-foot motorboat. Red gunwale stripe. Fisherman’s special. You want to see something suck fuel? Try opening the throttles on those two big Yamahas strapped to the stern of that boat. Probably go twenty-two knots, maybe twenty-four. Hell of a butt-breaking ride, though. Especially in this chop.”
    â€œIs that why the boat is going so slow? It’s barely moving.”
    â€œI noticed.”
    Mac refocused the glasses.
    Redhead II all but disappeared as a wave broke against its side. Someone with wild, wet red hair was hunched over the steering arm of the kicker, getting whitewashed as often as not.
    The boat wallowed like a half-beached log.
    â€œThey’re on the kicker but no fishing gear is out,” Mac said. “Steer an intercept course.”
    Emma started to ask about kickers and fishing gear, but Mac leaned across her and lifted the radio microphone out of its cradle. Before he could use it, the radio crackled to life.
    â€œâ€¦calling the black-hulled yacht off Nanoose,” said a man’s voice. “I have a visual of you.”
    â€œBlackbird here. I didn’t catch your name. Switch to six-eight.”
    A few seconds later, on the new channel, a man’s voice said, “ Blackbird , we’re having trouble with a fuel filter or the electrical system. Hard to be certain in this water. Can you assist us?”
    It wasn’t a request Mac could or would refuse. He was the only boat within sight, he had the skill and the means to aid the smaller boat, and the weather was going downhill. Marine law—and simple decency—insisted he do what he could to help.
    He focused the glasses on the stern of the pitching boat, where her name was written in bold script.
    â€œRedhead II ,” he said, “stand by for assistance. Can you turn her into the wind?”
    â€œI think—yes, the captain says we can.”
    â€œThat will make it easier. Stand by on six-eight, please.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Staring at the boat ahead, Mac held the microphone, then said, “I’ll take it from here.”
    â€œGood.”
    Emma shot out of the pilot position. The thought of steering Blackbird close to another boat in this water was enough to lift the hair on the back of her neck. Mac, on the other hand, seemed to take it for granted.
    â€œCall Faroe,” Mac said as he took the wheel. “Have him check the registration on a Canadian pleasure boat, about twenty-eight feet, called Redhead II .”
    Maybe it’s not the idea of getting close to the boat that’s making my neck tingle , she thought.
    â€œAre you suspicious?” she asked.
    â€œAren’t you?”
    â€œNow that I’m not busy running the boat, yes.”
    â€œIf you can, get a photo of both people on Redhead II ,” he said, easing back on the throttles.
    â€œDumb arm-candy taking shots for the folks back home?”
    â€œBetter that no one catches you and wonders why you’re taking pictures.”
    â€œMy camera’s zoom will be a snotty bitch to use out here.”
    â€œI have faith in you.”
    Emma wanted to roll her eyes. Instead, she punched Faroe’s number on her phone.
    A voice answered immediately.
    â€œHi, Emma. This is Lane. Dad and Mom are on other lines. Since you didn’t roll over to Steele, he’s busy, too.”
    Emma looked at her phone. “You sound just like Faroe. Can you take a message?”
    She heard a swivel-type office chair squeak and rattle across a tiled floor.
    â€œSure,” Lane said. “Ready.”
    â€œAre you up north pretending to be on vacation?”
    â€œNope. San Diego. I’ve got university classes, but not today.” His voice said just how much