The wind kept her from hearing Tanner reenter the kitchen. She sensed his presence, looked up, and saw him standing there with his eyes on her like probes. He'd put on all of John's clothing and found a pair of Reeboks for his feet. In his left hand he held the waterproof belt that had been strapped around his waist.
"Shirt's a little snug," he said, "but a pretty good fit otherwise. Your husband's got nice taste."
Shea didn't answer.
"In clothing, in houses, and in women."
She sipped her coffee, not looking at him.
Tanner limped around the table and sat down across from her. When he laid the belt next to the bottle of rum, the pouch that bulged made a thunking sound. "Boats too," he said. "I'll bet he keeps his best designs for himself; he's the kind that would. Am I right, Shea?"
"Yes."
"How many boats does he own?"
"Two."
"One's bound to be big. Oceangoing yacht?"
"Seventy-foot custom schooner."
"What's her name?"
"Moneybags."
Tanner laughed. "Some sense of humor."
"If you say so."
"Where does he keep her? Here or Miami?"
"Miami."
"She there now?"
"Yes."
"And the other boat? That one berthed here?"
"The harbor at Merrywing."
"What kind is she?"
"A sloop," Shea said. "Carib Princess."
"How big?"
"Thirty-two feet."
"She been back and forth across the Stream?"
"Several times, in good weather."
"With you at the helm?"
"No."
"You ever take her out by yourself?"
"No. He wouldn't allow it."
"But you can handle her, right? You said you know boats. You can pilot that little sloop without any trouble?"
"Why do you want to know that? Why are you asking so many questions about John's boats?"
"John's boats, John's houses, John's third wife." Tanner laughed again, just a bark this time. The wolfish smile pulled his mouth out of shape. "Are you afraid of me, Shea?"
"No."
"Not even a little?"
"Why? Should I be?"
"What do you think?"
"I'm not afraid of you," she said.
"Then how come you lied to me?"
"Lied? About what?"
"Your husband. Old John Clifford."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You said he'd be home soon. But he won't be. He's not in town with friends, he's not even on the island."
She stared silently at the steam rising from her cup. Her fingers felt cramped, as if she might be losing circulation in them.
"Well, Shea? That's the truth, isn't it."
"Yes. That's the truth."
"Where is he? Miami?"
She nodded.
"Went there on business and left you all by your lonesome."
"It isn't the first time."
"Might be the last, though." Tanner reached for the rum bottle, poured some of the dark liquid into his mug, drank, and then smacked his lips. "You want a shot of this?"
"No."
"Loosen you up a little."
"I don't need loosening up."
"You might after I tell you the truth about Harry Tanner."
"Does that mean you lied to me too?"
"I'm afraid so. But you fessed up and now it's my turn."
In the blackness outside the wind gusted sharply, banging a loose shutter somewhere at the front of the house. Rain began to pelt down with open-faucet suddenness.
"Listen to that," Tanner said. "Sounds like we're in for a big blow, this time."
"What did you lie about?"
"Well, let's see. For starters, about how I came to be in the water tonight. My bugeye ketch didn't sink in the squall. No, Wanderer's tied up at a dock in Charlotte Amalie."
She sat stiffly, waiting.
"Boat I was on didn't sink either," Tanner said. "At least as far as I know it didn't. I jumped overboard. Not long after the squall hit us."
There was still nothing for her to say.
"If I hadn't gone overboard, the two guys I was with would've shot me dead. They tried to shoot me in the water but the ketch was pitching like crazy and they couldn't see me in the dark and the rain. I guess they figured I'd drown even with a life jacket on. Or the sharks or barracuda would get me."
Still nothing.
"We had a disagreement over money. That's what most things come down to these days—money. They thought I cheated them out of twenty thousand dollars down in Jamaica, and they were right, I did. They both put guns on me before I could do anything and I thought I was a dead man. The squall saved my bacon. Big swell almost broached us, knocked us all off our feet. I managed to scramble up the companionway and go over the side before they recovered."
The hard beat of the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Momentary lulclass="underline" the full brunt of the storm was minutes away yet.
"I'm not a single-hander," he said, "not a sea tramp. That's another thing I lied about. Ask me what it is I really am, Shea. Ask me how I make my living."
"I don't have to ask."
"No? Think you know?"
"Smuggling. You're a smuggler."
"That's right. Smart lady."
"Drugs, I suppose."
"Drugs, weapons, liquor, the wretched poor yearning to breathe free without benefit of a green card. You name it, I've handled it. Hell, smuggling's a tradition in these waters. Men have been doing it for three hundred years, since the days of the Spanish Main." He laughed. "A modern freebooter, that's what I am. Tanner the Pirate. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum."
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"Why not? Don't you find it interesting?"
"No."
"Okay, I'll give it to you straight. I've got a problem—a big problem. I jumped off that ketch tonight with one thing besides the clothes on my back, and it wasn't money." He pulled the waterproof belt to him, unsnapped the pouch that bulged, and showed her what was inside. "Just this."
Her gaze registered the weapon—automatic, large caliber, lightweight frame—and slid away. She was not surprised; she had known there was a gun in the pouch when it made the thunking sound.
Tanner set it on the table within easy reach. "My two partners got my share of a hundred thousand from the Jamaica run. I might be able to get it back from them and I might not; they're a couple of hard cases and I'm not sure it's worth the risk. But I can't do anything until I quit this island. And I can't leave the usual ways because my money and my passport are both on that damn ketch. You see my dilemma, Shea?"
"I see it."
"Sure you do. You're a smart lady, like I said. What else do you see? The solution?"
She shook her head.
"Well, I've got a dandy." The predatory grin again. "You know, this really is turning into my lucky night. I couldn't have washed up in a better spot if I'd planned it. John Clifford's house, John Clifford's smart and pretty wife. And not far away, John Clifford's little sloop, the Carib Princess."
The rain came again, wind-driven with enough force to rattle the windows. Spray blew in through the screens behind the open jalousies. Shea made no move to get up and close the glass. Tanner didn't even seem to notice the moisture.
"Here's what we're going to do," he said. "At dawn we'll drive in to the harbor. You do have a car here? Sure you do; he wouldn't leave you isolated without wheels. Once we get there we go on-board the sloop and you take her out. If anybody you know sees us and says anything, you tell them I'm a friend or relative and John said it was okay for us to go for a sail without him."