They had chosen the northerly route, winding between islands, planning to hug the east coast of Spider Island. There were a couple of designated campsites there. He’d argued they circle to the west side of the biggest island in this immediate area because he feared Spider Channel would be too open, exposing them to watching eyes.
Claire had nixed that, pointing out that in the channel, they would be sheltered. On the west coast they’d be exposed to open ocean with powerful tidal currents and swells that could reach ten feet high even if the weather remained fair.
“You’re a raw beginner,” she reminded him, as if he’d forgotten, “and injured besides. I hate the idea of us losing sight of each other even briefly as we dip between swells and climb over them.”
“You’re the expert,” he had said simply.
Now as they glided past yet another island, Claire suddenly back paddled and said sharply, “Look!”
The pain already crippling Adam more than he’d anticipated; he was grateful to let his paddle rest across the cockpit while he squinted to see what she had.
That didn’t take much effort, since the bright red kayak stood out in this blue-and-green-and-pale-gray landscape. Hope of finding a fellow traveler who had a radio or SPOT didn’t even have a chance to catch hold, because it was immediately obvious that there was no paddler.
“Somebody may be in the water!” she cried and shot forward at a speed he couldn’t equal.
“Claire!”
But if she heard him, she didn’t stop.
He dug in to catch her, but his kayak immediately felt unstable, the rocking making him afraid he might capsize. And he was no longer going straight after her, either; clearly, he was favoring his right arm. Adam made himself slow down and regain the steady pace he’d so far maintained.
For the, what, fifteen minutes they’d been on the water?
He didn’t hear the sound of any engine. Trouble was only this single kayak, bobbing on the lift of the waves.
Claire reached it well before he did, and immediately began to cast in increasing circles around it. He glided up to the empty kayak and back paddled until he could lay a hand on it.
Half expecting to see streaks of blood or bullet holes in the hull, he found nothing alarming—except for the missing kayaker.
Claire came back to join him. “It might have floated out of reach when someone was launching, or if they didn’t tie it up last night.” The anxiety in her eyes told him she didn’t believe her own explanation.
“From where?” he asked.
She looked around. “There’s a picnic spot, maybe good for emergency camping, not far from here. Let’s check there.”
She gave him a comprehensive look that probably saw through his stoic veneer.
He said, “Why don’t we look in the day hatch first?”
“You’re right.” She snapped it open, and he saw a water bottle, snacks, lip ointment, suntan lotion, a flare and some other miscellaneous items. Claire lifted a broad-brimmed foldable hat. “A cell phone.”
They hovered over it from opposite sides of the empty kayak. Unsurprisingly, its charge was either gone or it could only be activated by a fingerprint.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t anyone kayaking out here have at least a VHF radio?”
“Yes, but he might have it in the vest pocket.” She patted hers. “I carried the SPOT in there.”
Frustrated, Adam watched as Claire snapped a towline on a loop at the bow and started paddling. She’d only left a short line, and Adam followed like a duckling.
He didn’t like this. The empty kayak wasn’t quite the same color as the one he was paddling, nor the same shape—it was shorter by a couple of feet, too—but it was red. Would Dwayne and the others have noticed the orange shading into red on this one? It wouldn’t have been until later that they started worrying about the combined absence of his body and the kayak.
No, he seriously doubted they’d have paid attention to any subtleties.
Claire had them circling an island with the ocean-hewn rock walls washed pale and oddly smooth in a way that was typical. She was moving faster than she had earlier, driven to find the missing person. Adam labored to keep up.
An inlet opened, and he groaned in relief, knowing she wouldn’t hear him.
He heard her half-whimpered “Oh, God,” followed by a tremulous, “Mike?”
Within moments, he came abreast of her and saw the body bumping against the rocks.
He had no idea what her friend had worn when he was shot, but knew he’d shed his yellow flotation vest. This body still wore his.
“It can’t be Mike,” he said flatly. “Let me closer.”
Sunburned or no, her face had blanched. She did something complicated with her paddle that enabled her to edge out of the way. The empty kayak bumped against Adam’s and almost forced him into the wall, but he pushed away with his paddle. When he reached the body, he snagged it by the vest.
“Watch out!”
Hell. He’d almost gone over. “Help me get him across my deck.”
She scooted over so that she could stabilize his kayak with their paddles lying across both decks as he bent over again. A man’s weight coupled with the soaking-wet garments was almost too much for his one-handed grip, but he forced himself to use his right hand, too, and heaved upward.
He didn’t see the face, but with the body draped right in front of him he couldn’t miss the several holes left by bullets punching through the puffy yellow PFD.
Claire’s shocked stare told him she understood what had happened to this poor bastard—and why it had happened.
* * *
THEY DIDN’T HAVE a lot of choice but to land on the small, gravel beach.
Claire released herself from her cockpit and then her spray skirt before pulling her own kayak a few feet higher on the beach and reeling in the towline so she could capture the empty kayak.
“Do we dare stay here even for a little while?” she asked. They hadn’t made half a mile yet.
But then she saw Adam’s face as he stumbled climbing out of his own kayak. His face looked almost as bad as it had when she saw him surface after he’d been shot. White lines of pain bracketed his mouth.
“You hurt yourself pulling the body on board.”
He glanced up. “No. Already hurt. Damn. Help me get this guy up to dry ground.”
“Yes. Okay.” She had to swallow some bile as she looked at the body sprawled over Adam’s kayak. This wasn’t Mike; she knew it wasn’t, but...his body would look as bad.
Worse, she thought, after being in the water for two extra days.
Adam mumbled something profane as he looked around them. Then he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Can you tell if he camped here last night?”
“Let me look.”
It didn’t take her long to find a rectangle of flattened vegetation where a tent must have been pitched—although it wouldn’t have been comfortable to sleep in, given the ridge of a tree root that ran the length of it—and some scuffed moss.
“Somebody did,” she said. A furrow in the gravel added to the tale. “One kayak.”
“Okay. I have to think. While I do that, let’s search the kayak and the body for anything useful.”
“Why don’t we both think?” she suggested a little tartly, despite the horror she had trouble moving past.
He grimaced. “Right. I didn’t mean to imply—Sorry. I’m just used to being on my own. What we need to decide is what to do with the body and the kayak, and whether we’d be safer hunkering down here for the night or going on.”
She came close to shouldering him out of the way so she could take most of the weight, but needed Adam’s strength. Now she knew where the term deadweight came from. The body flopped onto the beach, the head coming to rest so that the man stared up at the blue sky.
> Having gotten to know a lot of people in the Seattle area who were into sea kayaking, she’d been afraid she might recognize the victim, but he was a stranger. His brown hair was mostly contained in a short ponytail. Otherwise, he had brown eyes and a stubbled jaw and was a big guy.
She and Adam wrestled the PFD off the body, but found the pocket empty. A pat down came up empty.
The two of them divided up the hatches on the kayak for a thorough hunt for identification, a SPOT or VHF radio and food, water and clothes that might fit Adam. She hated the idea of stripping the wet suit from the victim, but knew she’d have to. Adam might need it. He hadn’t been able to squeeze into Mike’s. If they hit rough or substantially colder weather, it would be critical.
“This’ll solve one of our problems,” Adam said after a minute.
She took a step to peek into the hatch right behind the cockpit, seeing three bags of drinking water. One ten-liter, two six.
“Yes.” She gestured at the open deck hatch. “I took another look in here, but unless you like his brand of suntan lotion better than what Mike and I were carrying, there’s nothing useful.”
Adam’s mouth tightened. “I’d hoped those SOBs might have been careless.”
Claire didn’t say anything.
She found two bags filled with clothing and set them aside. From the clanking sound behind her, she could tell Adam was digging through a bag with dishes and pans.
“Keep an eye out for any extra fuel canisters for the stove,” she said over her shoulder.
“What about the food?”
“I don’t know. Let me look at it while you go through these clothes.”
Adam’s expression was almost as grim as she felt when they changed places.
She saw right away that he’d set aside a knife with a six-inch blade. She had one, too, but the more the merrier, right? She guessed that depended on perspective. Adam’s main goal in this search had probably been weapons. He’d found a flare gun, too, although she wasn’t sure that qualified as a weapon, despite appearances.
Most of the contents of the bag holding kitchen gear were duplicates of things she and Mike had carried. She repacked it with unnecessary care, then evaluated the foodstuffs, deciding on some that would supplement what they already had.
Adam straightened, although he was still kneeling. “Here’s a small bag that has...a wallet.” One by one, he set items aside. “Canadian passport, wristwatch, sunglasses.”
A lump formed in her throat. “What’s his name?” Her gaze was drawn to the body.
“Kyle Sheppard.” Adam sounded completely unemotional. “Twenty-eight years old. He’s from Winnipeg.”
Only twenty-eight. Claire shivered, unable to take her eyes off the young man’s face. “Lots of lakes there. That’s probably where he started kayaking.”
When she finally glanced at Adam, she saw him rifling through the contents of the wallet.
“Credit cards, Canadian money, phone card, what looks like a car key,” he said after a minute. “And a photo.”
She didn’t ask; she couldn’t.
Adam rolled his shoulders and closed the wallet, dropped it on the small pile, then went back to his task of digging through the bag.
Claire returned each dry bag to one hatch after another once she’d looked through it. They almost had to put the kayak back into the water, and wouldn’t want a cursory inspection to reveal that the contents had been searched.
Adam salvaged a fair pile of clothes. Without consulting her, he pulled bags from his kayak and pulled out Mike’s clothes that didn’t fit him, filling the bags with this new stuff that did. He even sat down and tried on a pair of sturdy sandals before adding them to the “keep” pile.
Claire spoke up. “When you’re done, I’ll tow the kayak out a little ways and turn it loose again.”
He frowned at her. “You won’t go far?”
“I won’t need to. With the tide going out, it’ll carry the kayak away.”
He nodded. “Next question is, should we stay here under the assumption they’ve already been and have no reason to come back?”
“We haven’t come very far this morning—” To put it mildly. “I’m thinking we’re a couple of hours paddling away from the campsite I had in mind.”
Adam didn’t noticeably react. Finally, he said, “I can make it if I have to.”
All she had to do was remember the expression on his face when they first landed to know how much he’d suffer if they went on. They’d been too optimistic—or was desperate a better word?—in thinking Adam would be ready to paddle a kayak so soon, after such a serious injury. Would another night’s rest give him enough chance to heal to make a difference?
Tomorrow would have to be better than today. Only...
She had to say this. “The body will attract any wildlife on the island.”
“Oh, hell.”
The idea of putting the body—no, a dead young man named Kyle Sheppard—back into the water at the mercy of the tides and sea life horrified her. How would they be able to tell Kyle’s family what they’d done? She hadn’t been able to recover Mike’s body, and that would haunt her. But this...
With short, angry movements, Adam restuffed the bags he’d had open and carried them to the kayak. “Let’s start by getting rid of this,” he said.
Feeling sick at their choices, Claire nodded.
Chapter Nine
Having Claire even momentarily out of his sight didn’t sit well with Adam. He should have used the time to strip the body of the wet suit he knew he needed, but that would have taken concentration he couldn’t summon. Instead, despite the pain ripping through his shoulder, chest and arm and the weakness that had taken him so aback once they launched this morning, he paced the width of the beach repeatedly, tripping twice because his eyes were trained on the water rather than the ground in front of him.
He hated knowing he was the one holding them up, endangering her because he was incapable of completing a distance on the water that a kid probably could.
When she reappeared, gliding toward shore, he wanted to yell at her for taking too long—but when he glanced at the wristwatch he’d appropriated it was to see that only fifteen minutes had passed.
Claire climbed out of her kayak and began pulling it ashore. Her eyes met his then shied away. Yeah, he hadn’t hidden his emotions as well as he’d have liked.
“I had an idea,” she said hesitantly. “If you think staying here is a good idea.”
“What’s that?”
“We could weigh his body down in the water someplace accessible, then recover it in the morning and, I don’t know, hang it over a tree limb or something like that. I can mark this beach on my chart so rescuers will know where to come for him.”
Adam’s relief surprised him. He didn’t need to point out that they had no way of guaranteeing that something wouldn’t get to the body in the water, weighed down or no, but it was a more palatable solution than just dumping it. He’d been bothered by the photo in the wallet of a nice older couple with warm smiles. A young guy like Kyle Sheppard probably kept most photographs on his phone, but he’d carried a printed one, too. His parents meant a whole lot to him. Adam knew he’d gotten hardened, to an extent, and since he lacked family, a wife, even a girlfriend, he could have lived knowing the guy’s body would never be found to hand over to family. But that would be harder for Claire, and even he... Hell. Maybe it was knowing her that made him squeamish.
“Let’s do that,” he agreed. “Although I’d like to get our camp and kayaks out of sight from the water if we possibly can. What if we don’t set up a tent?”
“That’d be fine unless the weather turns this afternoon. Or if we get swarmed by mosquitoes or flies. Let’s hold off and see.”
They hauled the kayaks up and unloaded what they expected to need, Claire doing more of th
e work than Adam liked, then got them out of sight behind dense evergreen branches. Neither said a word as they took the wet suit, gloves and neoprene booties off the body before looking around for suitable rocks to weigh down the cadaver.
The tide had withdrawn to reveal a pool that was deep enough for their purposes. Recovering the body in the morning, with the higher tide, would be more of a challenge.
Back to where the wet suit lay on the gravel, Claire said, “Let’s rinse this out,” and began methodically to turn it inside out and dip it in the water. Adam hadn’t loved the idea of donning garments taken right off a dead guy, especially ones that couldn’t be aired out like those made of breathable fabric.
Lucky the sun still shone today, giving the suit time to dry out.
He’d gotten his boots and the calves of his cargo pants wet, so he blanked out the source of his new wardrobe and changed into a pair of similar chinos that were only a little tight in the waist—Kyle had been thinner than Adam—and into dry socks and the sandals.
Claire pushed aside branches and found a wide enough spot beneath the dense canopy to lay out their sleeping bags, the tent pieces beside them, the camp stove just a few feet away.
“I’m going to heat some of this extra water and give myself a sponge bath,” she announced.
Adam was startled by the sound of her voice, only then realizing how little she’d spoken after they made the important decisions. Of course, he immediately got to thinking about her peeling off clothes and washing. Probably she just wanted to be clean, but she’d also been handling a corpse. Yeah, she might be hoping soap and water could scrub away that experience.
Dead in the Water Page 9
