body was still in the water. She was floating facedown with her long black hair spread around her head like inky tentacles weighing her down.
How could that be? She looked down at her legs, encased in wet Levi’s. Her numb fingers plucked at her clammy T-shirt and twined in the red scarf that encircled her neck like seaweed.
Her hand rose in front of her eyes and she pointed toward the center of the swimming pool. She was there.
Was she dead?
Her mind went blank. Darkness overwhelmed her.
Chapter One
The June sunlight sparkled on the waters of the marina near Boothbay Harbor. The weather was idyllic, as temperate as it gets on the coast of Maine, and Jason Wakefield Walker turned his face upward to catch the warmth. The sun hovered directly overhead, above the masthead of his twenty-five-foot yacht, Elena. The masthead weather vane indicated a light wind from the north. It was noon. He had been waiting since seven o’clock this morning.
His source had left no communications since yesterday. Therefore he assumed there had been no change in plan. His assignment was to wait, however impatiently, for the arrival of Maria Ramos Hernandez.
He sat in the cockpit of the Elena and stretched his long legs in front of him. The sun’s heat penetrated his khaki slacks and eased the constant ache in his injured left leg. It felt good, but Jason was not yet ready to gracefully accept small pleasures. He’d lost too much. Silently he cursed the fate that had broken his body and reduced him to this position.
He was nothing more than a messenger boy. Waiting and sitting when there was so much more to be done.
“Jason!” His older sister, Alice, called to him as she marched surefooted along the marina walkway and stopped at the Elena‘s slip. Hands on hips, she glared at him. “What are you doing? Just sitting here?”
“Thinking.”
“Wasting your time away,” she accused.
“Not at all,” he said, glancing at his cane. “Moments of quiet contemplation befit a man in my position.”
“Well, excuse me, Mr. Socrates, but there are some of us who still try to get things done.”
Alice was a human whirlwind who was always busy—giving orders, organizing, cleaning and planning. Long ago, Jason had learned that the best method for dealing with this human cyclone was to take cover and wait until she passed.
Rapid-fire, she rattled off a list of very important tasks. “Have you done all that?”
He nodded.
“Oh? Then, I guess the rest is up to me.” Her forehead puckered in a frown. “She’s not here yet, is she?”
“No,” he said simply.
“Where is she?”
“Maria will be here.”
“I simply cannot believe that you gave her such ridiculous directions.” Teasing, she impersonated his low baritone, “`Meet me at the Boothbay Marina, slip eighty-six.’”
He shrugged.
“Why didn’t you meet her at the plane? Or her bus? It’s the least you could do, Jason. After all, she’s coming here all the way from Central America.”
“She didn’t want it that way,” he lied. He had never spoken to Maria. Only to his source.
“I wonder why. Proving her independence?” Alice theorized. “Maybe she needs to show you that she’s capable of getting around by herself. That’s good. That’s the sort of woman you need.”
“Maybe.”
A windy sigh gusted through her lips. “Oh, Jason. I’m still not comfortable with this. I wish you at least loved this woman.”
“We’ll learn to care about each other and take care of each other,” he said. “Isn’t that what marriage is about?”
“But this? A mail-order bride?”
Jason repeated the cover story that he’d told so many times. “I need a woman on Passaquoit Island. Especially now. With my injuries, I need someone around. I don’t have the time or inclination to shop for a wife. That was why I placed all those advertisements in Spanish newspapers. I’m delighted that a suitable woman has responded.”
“You could hire a nurse—”
“I don’t need a nurse.”
“A housekeeper, then. Why marry the woman?” She frowned. “You’re so eligible, Jason. Thirty-five, single, and fairly well-off. You could still be a doctor, you know, if you went back to medical school and finished your internship. It wouldn’t take—”
“Alice, stop.”
“It’s just that I know so many nice ladies that would make marvelous wives.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“A mail-order bride,” she muttered. “I’ve never heard of such a ridiculous, antiquated concept. And where is she? It would serve you right if she didn’t show up. Tomorrow is the wedding, you know.”
“She’ll be here,” he said.
Of that, he was confident. Maria’s life depended upon fulfilling this complex plan.
Alice checked her wristwatch. “I’ll be with the caterers. I hope you’re doing the right thing, Jason.”
“So do I.”
The afternoon dragged. Slowly, the sun rode the clear blue skies. Wavelets monotonously lapped against the hull, washing away the minutes. He’d already done the chores and cleaning that maintained the Elena in shipshape condition. And, contrary to what he’d told his sister, there was only so much quiet contemplation he could stand.
Using high-powered binoculars, Jason spied on the woodpeckers in the pines and the gulls overhead. He watched the fishing boats retrieve the day’s catch from lobster traps. And he surveyed the shoreline, again and again, looking for Maria.
If something had gone wrong, how would the source contact him? Jason had never met this person. His only source was a voice on the phone and an occasional letter. They had not discussed the possibility of Maria not showing up.
Late in the afternoon, a Friday afternoon, activity picked up at the marina. The graceful sailboats, the sleek motorcraft, the festive party barges received their inhabitants.
Jason far preferred the solitude. The fewer witnesses, the better. From his pocket he took out a one-page letter, the only message he’d received directly from Maria. Though she was an accomplished journalist, English was her second language and the sentences, written in neat script, seemed halting.
Dear Mr. Walker,
My intense gratitude belongs to you. For your proposal and protection, I thank you so much. We shall succeed in our journey. We must.
Between the lines he saw bravery and strength of character. Maria was willing to sacrifice everything for patriotism, for the love of her small Central American country and hatred of injustice. He hoped the privacy and protection he could offer would be sufficient.
At dusk he scanned with his binoculars and saw a woman standing immobile on the shore, staring through the forest of sailboat masts. A family, toting picnic baskets, separated to walk around her. She took no notice.
Maria? She wore Levi’s and a T-shirt. Her long black hair was yanked back in a ponytail. Though she carried no luggage, she wore a red scarf around her throat.
Jason’s heart took a leap. The red scarf was the first signal of recognition.
She stumbled as she walked along the planks of the pier. Even at this distance, he