Jack Beale 00 - Dangerous Shoals

he had placed in Jack’s place.
    Nights were different. Nighttime was his time. He didn’t need to hide behind disguises to watch them. Sitting in the shadows, he was free from having to deal with the unexpected intrusion of some innocent person, curious about whatever he was doing.
    Most nights it was late by the time they would arrive home. The lights would go on and because the shades were hardly ever drawn and the windows open, he was able to peer in, watch, and listen as they began the nightly rituals: a drink, perhaps a snack and small talk about the day, then sometimes a touch or a kiss, followed by giggles and sighs. He was privy to it all. It was as if he were an unseen spirit floating through their lives. He often imagined what it will be like to touch her. Her soft, smooth skin, the smell of her hair, her scent as she succumbed to his touch, that exquisite moment as all her fears were reflected in her eyes, the moment before she would see only black as she joined Daniel.

CHAPTER 54
    FOR THE SECOND time in as many weeks, Jack had returned from York, Maine. The first time, after Daniel’s death, he had allowed himself to feel some relief as he tried to convince himself that it was over. Now, with the ransacking of Irrepressible , he knew that this had been nothing more than wishful thinking and foolish at best. Now, Jack was truly fearful. The fact that one man was dead and his boat had been torn up was proof enough for him. There was no guarantee that whoever had killed Daniel had found what he wanted―no guarantee that he wouldn’t come back for it again.
    It was just after noon. The sail back had been quick and efficient, and Jack was just about finished putting everything in order when Max arrived on the dock. “Mmmm. I’m so glad you’re home,” she cooed as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. “How was the sail down? Where’s Tom?”
    “He had to get going. We hadn’t planned to say overnight, and he had things to do today.”
    She kissed him again and murmured, “Good.”
    His response to her kiss wasn’t what she had expected. There was something else there. She leaned back, still with her arms around him. For a split second she saw it. She couldn’t be sure what it was, but she saw it. Concern? Anxiety? Fear? She couldn’t be sure.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing.”
    “No, something is bothering you, I can tell.”
    “Max, I’m just tired.”
    “Jack, sit down,” she said. She sat and coaxed him down beside her. She looked into his eyes again and softly said, “Tell me about it. What happened?”
    He surrendered and told her the whole story, first about finding the boat trashed, and then what Tom told him about Miami and how he had moved to Rye Harbor.
    “Max, Tom’s worried, and so am I. We don’t know what Daniel wanted to give us. We don’t know who killed him, maybe Kurt, maybe not, and we don’t know if his killer got what he was after. If he didn’t, we might be next on his list.”
    Max’s face had not betrayed her feelings until this last statement. Now she sucked in her breath, and Jack was sure that he saw the color drain out of her face despite her summer tan.
    “What are we going to do?”
    “I don’t know. But, I’ve told you before and I’m telling you again, I won’t let anything happen to you.
    Across the harbor, there was a witness to their embrace: a gaunt, bookish-looking birdwatcher, his face hidden by the large floppy hat and the large powerful binoculars through which he stared intently.

CHAPTER 55
    KURT LOWERED HIS binoculars and smiled to himself. He was standing on the small beach across the harbor from Ben’s. It gave him a clear view of Jack’s boat and, conveniently, the breakwater that extended out from where he stood was covered with birds for him to “watch.” At that moment a voice close behind startled him. “Hi there. Did you see anything interesting today?” It was woman’s voice and there was something about it that just sounded nosy. Physically, he hardly moved at the sound of the voice, but his heart felt like it skipped a beat. He turned. Facing him was a short, thin, older woman. She was wearing a baggy, white shirt with khaki slacks, and well-worn, mud-stained hiking boots. A long, silver braid dropped down her back from underneath a wide-brimmed straw hat, and a brightly colored scarf around her neck completed her outfit. Binoculars, almost as large as his, hung from her neck and she carried a