“We’re going out in the sailboat,” she called to her daughter. “We’ll be back in about an hour.”
The door opened. “I thought Britt got a bunch of tickets for driving that boat without lights,” said Bonnie.
“Then I guess we won’t go far,” said Dena. She took Britt by the hand and led him outside, down to the dock, and onto the sloop. She fired the single engine and steered the boat around to the cove beside their neighbor’s house.
The sound of the sloop leaving the dock was drowned out by the big-cat roar of a supercharged V8 Jaguar engine at the gate. The man behind the wheel of the black Jag lowered his window halfway down. “Like my new ride?” he asked the guard.
The guard looked at him and began pecking the keyboard of a laptop.
“What’s the problem?” Britt’s distinct, husky growl was unmistakable.
“Well, sir, there’s no record of you leaving the property.” The guard reached for his cell. “I need to check . . .”
The window was lowered fully. “Look at me,” the man commanded. “There’s nothing to check.” When the guard hesitated, he added, “I can fire you tonight or I can fire the other guy tomorrow. Your choice.”
“I apologize, sir.”
The gate was opened, and the black Jaguar drove through and parked behind the garage, out of sight of the house. The big engine went silent.
On the lake, Dena cut the sloop’s motor. The sound seemed to echo around the cove with more reverberation than it should. “What was that?” asked Britt. Several seconds passed with no sounds other than the lap of their wake against the shore on either side of them.
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