He took another sip of rum and opened his book, the latest John Grisham he’d been using as a distraction from thinking too much about his upcoming trip. As soon as he opened the book, though, his self-sabotaging ways prevented the diversion he was hoping to find in the pages. The chapter where he’d left off was kept by an American Airlines reservation he had printed the day before. He was headed back to New York, and the sight of the reservation stirred anxiety in his chest. He took another sip of rum, his self-prescribed antidote to such uneasiness, while cursing the subliminal workings of his brain that had caused him to place the ticket in a spot where he’d never miss it, and admiring the move at the same time. In his previous life he was a surveillance agent with the FBI. He worked on the fringes, never in the spotlight, and his actions had always been hidden and inconspicuous. He was glad to know that this many years removed from the Bureau he hadn’t lost his touch, even if tonight he was his own target.
He moved the reservation to the back of the book and began reading. The words, though, were lost on him. While his eyes blindly skimmed the pages, his mind was already running through the details of his upcoming trip, what he would say, and how he would handle seeing her again after so long.
Love or the law, man’s only two problems in this world.
CHAPTER 7
Los Angeles, CA Wednesday, June 16, 2021
THE RED RANGE ROVER WAS THE PERFECT CRUISING VEHICLE FOR Avery’s cross-country journey. With the cruise control pegged at eighty mph and nothing in front of her but open road and an entire country to conquer, the Range Rover nearly drove itself. She’d purchased it a year ago after signing on as temporary host of American Events. It was the first time in her adult life that Avery Mason had made any real money of her own. She’d spent an obnoxious amount of money for four wheels and a souped-up engine, but there was some part of her psyche—perhaps the unbreakable link to her past life—that made it an easy purchase. Maybe she had more of her father’s blood in her than she cared to admit. The difference, Avery never stopped reminding herself, was that her status in the world had been earned honestly, and legally. The same certainly could not be said of her father.
She was headed to New York by way of Wisconsin, a journey that would cover more than three thousand miles. The airlines were faster and easier but were out of the question. As was rail travel or the thought of renting a car to avoid putting thousands of miles on her Range Rover. Airline reservations, train tickets, and rental car receipts left paper and digital trails. Avery wanted to make as few footprints as possible while she tiptoed across the country. She had business in New York and would do her best to conduct it under the radar. No one was watching her, she had convinced herself, and hitting the road rather than taking to the air was pure paranoia. Still, the fewer tracks she left, the better.
On Wednesday morning, she drove out of Los Angeles via the 605 and hooked up with Interstate 15 where she stayed for ten straight hours, less two bathroom breaks. She jumped onto I-70 and arrived in Grand Junction, Colorado, just as the last tussles of sunlight burned on the horizon. She found a Hyatt and paid cash for a single night. When she laid her head on the pillow she could still feel the smooth vibration from her hours on the road. She closed her eyes and hoped for sleep, always an elusive item during her summer treks. Like clockwork, memories of her family pushed themselves to the forefront of her mind during her cross-country trips. How could they not? Her family was what she had run from. Her family was what she was hiding.
During the rest of the year, Avery was a sound sleeper who never remembered her dreams. But each summer when she headed back to her past, her dreams were vivid and wild. They mostly alternated between her mother and father—a dead mother and a convict for a father. She loved her mother with all her heart, and had once loved her father the same way. But that love had been tainted by her father’s betrayal, and in its wake was a combination of hatred and scorn for the man Avery had once considered her hero. Tonight, though, holed up in a hotel somewhere near the Rockies, her parents were absent from her dreams. When sleep came to her, so too did memories of her brother.
The Oyster 625 weighed in at seventy thousand pounds and measured sixty-four feet in length. A blue water cruiser capable of handling the rough seas off the coast of New York, the sailboat was big, sturdy, and expensive. With a price tag north of $3 million, it was an obnoxious gift from her father for her twenty-first birthday. Designed to accommodate a racing crew of eight, the boat was also crafted for leisurely outings that could be handled by a pair of accomplished sailors, which Avery and Christopher were. Yet, two hours after Claire-Voyance left the marina, the sea churned with angry waves that crested at four feet and crashed over the sides of the boat. On downswings, the waves seemed to swallow the bow. The rain came in dense sheets that cut visibility to next to nothing.
They’d brought down the sails and the engine was fighting against the waves and the currents. The marina was more than two miles away and only choppy water and black skies were visible. The ocean lifted the magnificent boat into the air and dropped it like a toy into the crashing waves. Avery felt the Oyster pulling to the starboard side and she had trouble reining it in. The wheel wanted to twist clockwise and she fought to keep her westward course. The big boat, however, was pulling too hard. Something was wrong. Then she noticed the heel. No, not a heel but a dip. The bow was inching downward, as if ready to dive into the sea. She thought it was a swell that had dipped the front of the boat, but when it didn’t recover she knew it was sinking.
She lifted the cover of the DSC—digital selective calling—button and pressed it, sending a distress signal to the Coast Guard telling them the name of the vessel and her exact location in longitude and latitude. For good measure, and because she was scared to death, she picked up the transmitter and placed it to her lips.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Claire-Voyance. Mayday, mayday, mayday.”
The squawk of the voice was loud and static filled, yet barely audible over the rain and wind.
“Go ahead, Claire-Voyance, this is the Coast Guard. We have your location and are dispatching a crew. What’s your situation?”
“We’re an Oyster 625 in heavy rain and high winds. Four-to six-foot white caps and taking on water.”
“Roger that, Claire-Voyance. How many onboard?”
“Two,” she yelled over the roar of the waves. “We’re in a squall and taking on water. We’re heavily pitched to the starboard side.”
“What’s your timeframe, Claire-Voyance?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, as a wave crashed down over the bow of the boat. “My brother went below deck to find the source of the breach. To see if he could contain it.”
“Tell your brother to come above board. We’ll stay with you until our crew arrives.”
“We won’t have time,” Avery said as another wave engulfed the bow. “We’re capsizing.”
Avery bolted up in bed before she knew she was awake. It was her normal reaction to the recurrent dream, and she had determined it was a defense mechanism. Jolt herself awake so she didn’t have to relive the image of the Oyster’s bow dipping below the surface and then twisting vertically before spearing to the bottom of the ocean. Wake herself before her mind replayed her battle with the sea as she fought against the six-foot waves that did their best to drown her.