bumped against his leg, and he bent to give the aged tabby a scratch. “Hey, Charley. Didn’t go fishing today, so I don’t have a treat for you. Weather’s not good, buddy.”
Charley pushed against Reuben’s hand, poking at him with a sandpapery nose. The cat ought to understand about bad weather. His mother found the half-drowned kitten shivering under an overturned boat in the wake of Hurricane Charley that blasted down on the island. Reuben cast an uneasy glance at the sky.
“Going to blow into a hurricane,” a gravelly voice said.
Reuben wasn’t surprised he hadn’t heard Silvio approach. The grizzled old man seemed sometimes to be part of the sand and surf and wind—always there, always had been. Behind him trailed a black man with an affable grin.
“Is that your vote or from the National Hurricane Center?” Reuben said.
“Don’t need anyone to tell me. Know it.”
Reuben nodded to the younger man. “You think so, too, Gav?”
Gavin scooped up the cat, which purred in delight. “Dunno. I’m from San Diego, remember? This hurricane stuff is your department. I’m just here to collect the meager pittance you provide me. Once I earn my master’s, I’m settling permanently in the Golden State. It’s safe there.”
“Yeah, those earthquakes are a piece of cake,” Reuben said.
Gavin waved a hand. “They’ll clean up from that last one eventually. It’ll cost a chunk of change, though, and speaking of change...”
Reuben laughed. “Yeah, I remember.” He fished a crumpled check from his pocket. “It’s payday.”
“Muchas gracias, Señor Sandoval,” Gavin said.
“De nada, Señor Campbell, and your Spanish is horrendous, by the way.”
With a smile, Gavin turned to go. Reuben wanted to let him. There was so much to do on the island, and there would be significant damage to repair after the storm receded, his mind added grimly, but he could not risk any lives. “Gav, take the extra boat and get back to the mainland. I’ll contact you after the storm passes.”
Gavin squinted. “I’m okay. I can hunker down in a bungalow until it’s over.”
Reuben shook his head. “This isn’t a run-of-the-mill storm. I’ll send Silvio and Paula with you.”
“Ain’t going,” Silvio said. “Haven’t secured all the windows. We’ve got a day or two yet anyway.”
Reuben doubted Paula, Silvio’s wife, would be interested in leaving any more than her husband.
Gavin crossed his arms. “What if I say I ain’t going either?”
“I’d say I’m your boss and you’re fired.”
Gavin broke into a wide smile. “When you put it that way... I’ll go get my pack. Call you after the storm passes.”
Reuben cast an eye along the surf again, surprised to see someone on a Jet Ski plowing through the choppy water.
“I’ll take care of the windows,” Silvio said.
“There’s no way I can crowbar you off this island, is there, old man?” he said, a mixture of love and exasperation blowing through him.
Silvio scratched his chin. “’Course not. You should go. I’m tougher than you, boy.”
Reuben laughed. After losing two fingers and sight in his left eye in Korea, Silvio just might be right. “But your wife is tougher than both of us put together, and if she’s staying, I guess we all are.”
Silvio sighed, the clouds painting odd shadows on his wrinkled face.
They both turned to follow the progress of the Jet Ski, which seemed to be puttering in aimless loops.
“Always one with no sense,” Silvio said. “Some tourist gonna get himself drowned for sure and wash up here for me to deal with.”
Reuben had to agree. If it was idiotic to stay on the island with an approaching tropical storm that was likely to morph into a hurricane, it was lunacy to be out prancing around on a Jet Ski at such a time.
The guy continued to travel in circles, stopping every so often to peer down into the water.
“Engine trouble maybe?” Reuben hazarded.
Silvio answered with a snort. “More likely doesn’t know how to run the thing. Rented it thinking he was going to be some sort of expert.” He plucked at a hair in his sparse beard.
Reuben was already moving toward his boat. The little nineteen-foot Bowrider was not much to look at and certainly not enough to enchant resort guests, but it was plenty able to get this nut back to land before he drowned himself.
“Leave him be,” Silvio muttered.
Reuben eyed the sun, which was beginning to sink into a clouded horizon. “Only another half hour before sunset.”
“Too bad. He can learn to respect the ocean the hard way.”
Gruff words from the guy who was following Reuben on board and helping him cast off. As they motored out, Reuben fought the wheel to keep the boat steady against waves determined to drive them off course.
The man seemed oblivious to their approach. He wore no life jacket over his massive, bare shoulders, water lashing his face, which was still too far away to see clearly. Stupid, but sturdy.
Reuben was amazed at how quickly the storm had worsened even in the past half hour. The Jet Ski driver had no doubt been taken by surprise as well, though he continued to meander rather than making for shore. “Hey,” Reuben called over the sound of the engine.
The man didn’t hear him.
Reuben edged the boat closer, ten feet away, until the guy looked up, face slack with surprise. “We can take you back,” Reuben shouted. “Climb aboard and we’ll tow the ski.”
The man didn’t react. Reuben assumed he hadn’t heard and was about to repeat the message when the craft abruptly turned around and sped off toward the Florida coast, heaving on the angry waves.
Reuben shot a look at Silvio, who was shaking his head. “Told you. Thickheaded. He’s got to learn the hard way.”
Reuben’s stomach tightened for some reason he could not fathom. He did not think the man had been circling in the midst of a storm for pleasure. There was something intense about the hostile stare, the tight mouth—something cold and hard. Contrary to Reuben’s assessment, the guy was obviously quite competent on his Jet Ski.
Silvio patted his shoulder. “Come on, boy. Enough good deeds. Back now. Got to batten down.”
Reuben snapped out of his reverie after one more look at the departing jet skier, who was nearly out of sight. He was ready to push back toward Isla when something caught his eye, a glimmer of color that did not match the angry gray of the sea. He looked again and saw only the roiling surf.
“Let’s go,” Silvio repeated.
“Hang on,” Reuben said, wiping the spray from his face. “I saw something.” Seconds ticked into a full minute. Another glimmer—yellow. Something yellow. His heart contracted. A swimmer?
“Hold her steady,” he shouted to Silvio as he climbed to the edge of the boat and over the metal railing, which was heaving so violently he could not hope to fish the woman, or whatever it was, out of the water.
“Ya crazy, boy?”
Reuben ignored him as he pinpointed the location of the yellow flash and dove in. The violence of the water disoriented him, and he closed his mouth to keep from swallowing. Now he could see nothing but a wall of ocean, pitching and heaving around him. He did a slow circle, salt stinging his eyes.
Silvio’s right. You are crazy. It