To the crew of the Sea Fox/La Tache armada:

       Jay, Elizabeth, Jamie, Tucker, Ben and Kristin.

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      Special thanks to Tom McEvoy and his Jet Ski—the Neptune of mobile marine mechanics. Also to Alistair Cross for advice on the proper way to sabotage a schooner.

      Heartfelt thanks to landlubbers: Joyce Bell, Christina Dodd, Betty Gyenes, Debbie Macomber and Barbara Dawson Smith.

      Thanks to Laura Shin, whose superb editorial skills brought out the very best in the manuscript.

      And finally a big thank-you to Carol and Don Audleman for the most convivial tavolo comune.

      “Wherever you are

       it is your own friends who make your world.”

      —William James, American psychologist

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      One

      Whidbey Island, Washington

       1894

      “Don’t scream, or I’ll shoot,” warned a low-pitched voice.

      Leah Mundy jerked awake and found herself looking down the barrel of a gun.

      Sheer panic jolted her to full alert.

      “I’m not going to scream,” she said, dry-mouthed. In her line of work she had learned to control fear. Lightning flickered, glancing off the dull blue finish of a Colt barrel. “Please don’t hurt me.” Her voice broke but didn’t waver.

      “Lady, that’s up to you. Just do as you’re told, and nobody’ll get hurt.”

      Do as you’re told. Leah Mundy certainly had practice at that. “Who are you,” she asked, “and what do you want?”

      “Who I am is the man holding this gun. What I want is Dr. Mundy. Sign outside says he lives here.”

      Thunder pulsed in the distance, echoing the thud of her heart. She forced herself to keep the waves of terror at bay as she blurted, “Dr. Mundy does live here.”

      “Well, go get him.”

      “I can’t do that.”

      “Why not?”

      She swallowed, trying to collect her wits, failing miserably. “He’s dead. He died three months ago.”

      “Sign says Dr. Mundy lives here.” Fury roughened the insistent voice.

      “The sign’s right.” Rain lashed the windowpanes. She squinted into the gloom. Beyond the gun, she couldn’t make out anything but the intruder’s dark shape. A loud snore drifted down the hall, and she glanced toward the noise. Think, think, think. Maybe she could alert one of the boarders.

      The gun barrel jabbed at her shoulder. “For chrissakes, woman, I don’t have time for guessing games—”

      “I’m Dr. Mundy.”

      “What?”

      “Dr. Leah Mundy. My father was also a doctor. We were in practice together. But now there’s just me.”

      “Just you.”

      “Yes.”

      “And you’re a doctor.”

      “I am.”

      The large shape shifted impatiently. She caught the scents of rain and brine on him. Rain and brine from the sea and something else…desperation.

      “You’ll have to do, then. Get your things, woman. You’re coming with me.”

      She jerked the covers up under her chin. “I beg your pardon.”

      “You’ll be begging for your sorry life if you don’t get a move on.”

      The threat in his voice struck like a whip. She didn’t argue. Spending three years with her father back in Deadwood, South Dakota, had taught her to respect a threat issued by a man holding a gun.

      But she’d never learned to respect the man himself.

      “Turn your back while I get dressed,” she said.

      “That’s pretty lame, even for a lady doctor,” he muttered. “I’m not fool enough to turn my back.”

      “Any man who bullies unarmed people is a fool,” she snapped.

      “Funny thing about bullies,” he said calmly, using the nose of the Colt to ease the quilt down her body. “They pretty much always manage to get what they want. Now, move.”

      She yanked off the covers and shoved her feet into the sturdy boots she wore when making her calls. Island weather was wet in the springtime, and she’d never been one to stand on high fashion. She wrapped herself in a robe, tugging the tie snugly around her waist.

      She