Jack Beale 00 - Dangerous Shoals

north on the boulevard, turn onto Washington Road, and then take the right that would bring him by Max’s house before looping back along the water.
    As warm as the day was, he hardly noticed. The tension of past few days began to fall away with each footfall, and his breathing was relaxed and even, despite the quick pace. On Max’s road, the trees created a tunnel of shade that was dappled with bright spots where the sun found its way in. Completely in the zone now, he didn’t even notice the few cars that passed.
    As usual, when Jack ran past Max’s house, he relived that winter night when he had seen her sprinting out of her drive onto the road. He’d never forget the total rage and fear that he felt when he saw her pursuer. Then his mind flashed forward until he was sitting with Max, safe again, as Tom walked in the door. Whatever happened in between remained a blank.
    At the end of her road, he looped back onto the boulevard and began the final few miles to home. Out of the shade now, and still maintaining a strong pace, he felt the heat of the afternoon make its presence known. He was completely bathed in sweat. The heat of the pavement could be felt through his shoes, and the steady stream of cars required constant attention. He didn’t begin to ease his pace until he reached the harbor. As he ran by, he looked across the water at Ben’s and then at Irrepressible . She was tied to the floats, waiting patiently to be freed from her restraints, ready at a moment’s notice to once again feel the swell of the ocean and the caress of the wind.

CHAPTER 92
    THE DOOR TO THE ROOM opened, letting in a bright flash of sunlight. Kurt had just come out of the shower and was standing, in a towel, by the small refrigerator. He had a plastic bag over his bandaged hand. The additional pills he had taken before his shower were beginning to work. His hand no longer throbbed quite as much and his nerves were starting to settle. “Shut the fucking door,” he growled as he held his hand over his eyes.
    “Oh, Sugar. There’s no need to get all touchy,” she said as she pulled the door shut behind her. “Here, I bought you a coffee. I didn’t know how you liked it, so cream ’n sugar are in the bag. There’s a donut in there also.”
    He looked over at her, almost sorry that he had not been nicer. Clearly she meant well.
    “Hey, Hon, you mind if I turn the a/c back on? It’s getting hot.”
    “Suit yourself.” He turned away and pulled his clothes on. “I’ve got to go get my car. Don’t want a ticket.”
    The a/c started with a moan and a rattle before settling into its incessant whir. “Don’t you want your coffee?”
    “When I get back,” he said. And he pulled the door closed behind him.
    He squinched his eyes closed until they were slits blocking out the bright sun. Holding a hand up over his eyes, like a visor to a cap, he looked around. The door he had just come out of was the last one in a row of identical doors. Number nine. The building was long and run down. At one time it may have been painted blue, but now it was mostly a dirty gray. The parking lot had once been paved, but now weeds grew between the pieces of broken asphalt. Some puddles still remained from last night’s rain. Down to the right, at the end of the building, he could see the main road. A steady stream of cars was already heading for the beach.
    In front of him was the back of another building. Made of concrete blocks, there were no windows, and the cracks that zigged and zagged like lightning bolts highlighted its equally run-down condition. Two rusted steel doors were set into the otherwise blank wall.
    Last night’s storm was long past, the cloudless sky was a beautiful shade of blue, and the air should have been fresh and clean. Trying to pinpoint the source of the nasty smell that assaulted his nose, Kurt spotted an open dumpster between the two buildings. It was full. He turned and walked toward the road. At the end of the parking lot he stopped and looked at the broken-down sign that announced to the world that this was the BEACH VIEW MOTEL. A vacancy sign dangled below it, and on the wall next to the first door was a sign that said OFFICE. “Beach View? Maybe once, but not today,” he thought to himself.
    Then he looked back and said under his breath, “Perfect.” The BEACH VIEW MOTEL was the ideal place to remain invisible. It was the kind of place that people might notice for a second because of its condition,