Second Honeymoon

Chapter 120

“OKAY, FOR THE last time,” said Sarah, smiling at me from the bow. “How is it that we’re on this boat?”

“It’s like I told you. I met a guy on a Jet Ski down here and he owed me a favor.”

Sarah folded her arms, waiting me out. It didn’t take long. You can only be coy with a pretty girl in a black bikini for so long.

I told Sarah about my first trip to Turks and Caicos, when this whole crazy ride began. And in the case of the Speedo-wearing con man, Pierre Simone, I meant “crazy ride” literally.

With perhaps a little encouragement from police commissioner Joseph Eldridge, however, Pierre managed to provide a humdinger of a make-good. “I won it in a poker game,” he told me on the phone in his French accent, his exact whereabouts undisclosed. “Zee guy had a flush, and I had zee full boat.”

I didn’t know if Pierre was simply making a joke. I didn’t care. For one glorious week, I had a forty-foot-long tall-rig Catalina and the chance to dust off my skippering skills, which I learned as a teenager during three summers at my local YMCA sailing camp.

I also had one hell of a first mate joining me for the ride. Even the scars from her bullet wounds were damn sexy, at least to me.

“I’m grabbing a beer,” said Sarah, heading down to the galley. “You want one?”

“Absolutely,” I said from the helm.

Back in Riverside, everyone had been home for a couple of weeks. Max and John Jr. raved about their time at Camp Wilderlocke, and Judy and Marshall raved about their Mediterranean cruise. Still, with all their great stories to tell, it was my story of bringing down two serial killers that they couldn’t get enough of.

“A doubleheader!” Max called it from underneath his Yankees cap. As for my being Ned Sinclair’s ultimate target, he proceeded to offer up the ultimate solution. “You should’ve just changed your name, Dad!”

That gave everyone around the dinner table that night a good laugh. It also gave me further proof that if family is the true currency of happiness, I was a very wealthy man.

Of course, having Warner Breslow’s check in my bank account wasn’t too shabby, either. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for services rendered.

And in my safe at home was the signed agreement for my bonus.

Breslow had asked me if Max and John Jr. were good students. “Do they do their homework?” he inquired. They had always gotten good grades, but now they had even more incentive to study. Breslow would be paying for both their college educations.

“Ethan and Abigail loved kids,” he told me. “For as long as I live, I’ll be reminded of that when I think of your two boys.”

The tabloids would still write nasty things about Warner Breslow, and some of it might even be true. But I’d like to think I caught a glimpse of the man few other people had ever seen. What I saw was just a father who loved his son deeply.

“Here you go,” said Sarah, back on deck.

She handed me an ice-cold Turk’s Head beer and we clicked cans, toasting our beautiful sunny afternoon in paradise.

Neither of us owned a crystal ball, and there were still things to learn about each other in the weeks, months, and, I hoped, years that lay ahead. But this much I knew for sure: there was no one else I’d rather be with on that boat. And I had a pretty good notion that Sarah felt the same way.

“So where should we head?” she asked.

I smiled. “Good question.”

We both looked around. There was nothing but blue sky, blue water, and endless possibilities for the two of us.

Sarah stepped behind me at the helm, wrapping her arms around my waist. Then she whispered in my ear.

“Let’s just see where the wind takes us, John O’Hara.”