Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

justice in using a mixture of truths and half-truths, omissions and distractions on Honor Donovan. That was what a Donovan had done to him. There was no single thing that he could have pinned on Kyle, yet the proof surely was in the result: J. Jacob Mallory accused of theft and Kyle Donovan making off with the amber.
    Jake went out on the stern and looked around, ignoring the rods waiting to be used. He didn’t feel like setting up the trolling gear again.
    Honor slipped past him and grabbed a rod out of the holder. The rod tip bowed over with the weight of the lure. Once she had discovered that lures came in weights from a quarter of an ounce to sixteen ounces and up, she had gone right to the heavy stuff. Smiling like a kid with a new toy, she started casting.
    “What are you aiming for?” he asked.
    “Straight ahead of me, where that chunk of wood is floating.”
    She gripped the long rod with two hands, lifted the tip up and behind her right shoulder, then snapped the rod forward smartly. At the same time she released all restraint on the fishing line. The lure shot out straight in front of her, peeling off translucent line in a blur of speed.
    As though it had been on rails rather than monofilament line, the lure dropped into the water near the floating wood. The distance was at least fifty feet.
    Jake shook his head at the waste of talent—to cast like that and not care if you ever got a bite. In fact, he had the distinct feeling that Honor would welcome a fish like ants at a picnic.
    “Why are you shaking your head?” she asked. “I came pretty close.”
    “Pretty close? Hell, you’re better at casting right now than ninety percent of the people who ever picked up a fishing rod.”
    She reeled in as though there were a prize for highest speed through the water by a lure. “Really?”
    “Yeah. But your retrieval technique needs work. A lot of it.”
    She ignored him.
    He thought about setting up the trolling gear again and decided again that it wasn’t worth the trouble. They wouldn’t be there long; Kyle had marked only one “hit” on the chart plotter for this area.
    “I’m not going to bother with the trolling gear,” Jake said.
    “Fine with me.”
    “Reel in. I’m going to take a few slow passes over Kyle’s route.”
    “It won’t interfere with my casting.”
    “It would interfere with catching a fish.”
    “Like I said . . .”
    Jake gave up and went back into the cabin. He drove over the marked spot twice at idling speed. He saw nothing on the fish finder. Not fish, not bubbles, not even an interesting lump rising from the flat bottom.
    “Wrap it up,” he called over his shoulder. “We’re heading out.”
    Honor didn’t argue this time. She reeled in, put the rod in the holder by the door, and went into the cabin.
    “Do you think we lost our escort for good?” she asked, looking at the empty little cove.
    “No. Conroy never really lost me. He should be rounding the head any second now.”
    “Then why did we race here?”
    “If we’re predictable, we’re a lot easier prey.”
    “I don’t like the sound of that word.”
    “Little supermarket predator,” he said, smiling despite his edgy mood. “You’re one of a kind.”
    “Wait until you meet Faith.”
    Jake’s smile faded. All things considered, he didn’t think he would be meeting any more Donovans. Certainly not under friendly circumstances.
    He picked up the binoculars and studied the shoreline. It didn’t take long. The islet was not only small and uninhabited, it was pretty much sheer rock except for a ragged crown of fir trees.
    “Anything?” Honor asked.
    “The usual.”
    Switching his attention to the computer, he started punching instructions into the chart plotter. The picture on the screen changed and then changed again.
    Honor knew just enough to tell that Jake was looking at some kind of map— chart , she corrected herself silently. But she couldn’t figure out what kind of chart. It could have been the route back to Anacortes or it could have been the bottom of the South Pacific colored blue with little black dash marks going crazily in every direction.
    When the screen changed she peered over Jake’s shoulder. As usual, nothing made sense. She bent over to see more clearly. Being so close to him reminded her of the time before dawn, when he had looked at the hem of her nightshirt and risen like a phoenix from the ashes of a morning erection.
    Are you finished staring or were you