Jeff Abbott - Black Joint Point

But her luck didn’t hold. Her next cast caught a fight-filled bonito that tired after ten minutes. As Claudia reeled the bonito toward the boat a dark shape flashed beneath the faded slick of chum and her line went slack.

Ben pointed into the murk. ‘Shark. Grabbed your fish for lunch.’

Claudia watched a ten-foot silky rocket underneath the boat. Sharks. An odd tickle touched the base of her spine. ‘I hope he enjoys the lunch I caught him.’

‘Let’s find less crowded waters.’ Ben went up to the flying bridge and steered Jupiter away from the shrimpers’ wakes, moving far out past a weather buoy marking seventy-five miles from the Texas coast. They spent the next hour or so hooking king mackerel and ling.

Ben pulled up a big ling, inspected it, let it go. The fish hit the water and dove down into the hard blue dark. ‘Best catches I’ve had lately. That kiss worked.’

‘All mine do,’ she said. ‘So I got a question. Why’d you call me, Ben, after all these years?’

He cast his line again, let it settle. ‘You aren’t with David anymore.’

‘It’s funny. Now I actually never feel I was with him.’

‘You didn’t love him?’

‘I did. But not the way you’re supposed to.’

‘There’s a recipe?’

‘There’s a minimum requirement. He and I were comfortable together. But comfort wasn’t quite enough.’

‘Did you ever think of me when you were married?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A few times. But if you had shown up on my doorstep all you would have gotten was a friendly hug and a cup of coffee. I took my marriage seriously, Ben.’

‘I’m sure you did.’ Ben took her hand. ‘I never told you this, but you were my first, Claudia.’ He grinned. ‘I had to get you out in the middle of the Gulf to confess that. No danger of anyone overhearing.’

‘I suspected as much, if I remember.’

‘Couldn’t admit it to you. The guy can never be the virgin.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘Well, I forgive you, Ben.’

He leaned over, kissed her, soft and gentle but not tentative. Not the lips of the boy she had kissed at seventeen, not the boy she had given her own virginity to, but a man surer and wiser with his touch. He broke the kiss first, kissed her closed eyelids.

‘Now I’m really glad Stoney didn’t come. Plus his girlfriends are all idiots.’

She wondered what it would be like to make love on the deck of the boat, out here in the middle of nowhere, the sun their only blanket.

‘I’ll fix us sandwiches, open a nice wine,’ he said.

‘You made lunch yesterday. I’ll do it.’

‘Naw. You’re my guest. Just relax. I’ll be back in a sec.’

Claudia nestled deeper in the lounge chair, letting the breeze of the Gulf hum over her. Really happy to be with Ben. And, she thought with a degree of rationality about love she rarely allowed, Ben Vaughn was a known quantity. The kind of guy her family would embrace even though they had adored David. Her mother, who considered being over twenty-five and single a sign of social leprosy, would surgically attach Claudia to Ben to bolster the chances of marriage.

But do you like Ben or just the idea of Ben? Are you just lonely and he’s familiar, someone you know won’t hurt you?

Ben brought homemade chicken salad sandwiches on thick sourdough bread, potato chips, and sliced fruit.

‘You slaved over this,’ she said.

‘Yeah, opening containers. Stoney’s housekeeper stocks the boat when we take it out. I was thinking maybe we could cruise over into Port Aransas later, eat at the Tarpon Inn if you like.’ But Ben didn’t give her a chance to answer the invitation, his gaze going past her, his eyes crinkling.

‘That boat’s in trouble,’ he said.

Along the wave-broken cobalt of the waters Claudia spotted a Bertram sportfisher in the distance, a single man at the bow, waving a red blanket like a flag.

‘Dumb ass,’ Ben said. ‘seventy-five miles out and he doesn’t bother with enough fuel.’

‘Maybe that’s not the problem.’ Claudia waved back at the man. He was now hoisting a baseball cap, bright red.

‘We’ll see.’ Ben hurried up to the flying bridge, tried to call the boat on standard Channel 16. No response. Ben whipped the wheel about hard and closed the distance between Jupiter and the drifting boat. Claudia stood on the deck in front of the bridge as Ben steered toward the Bertram.

Within minutes they pulled close to the sportfisher; its name, Miss Catherine, was written in faded blue script on its stern, with New Orleans LA beneath in smaller letters. Claudia moved up to the bow, smoothing her wind-whipped hair.

The man standing at the bow of Miss Catherine was in his forties, a little heavy and rosy-cheeked, his skin tanned. He wore dark sunglasses and a baggy white T-shirt with a Tampa Bay Buccaneers logo on the front and faded orange shorts. He gave Claudia a sun-squinted smile full of straight teeth.

‘Hello the boat,’ Claudia called. ‘You in trouble?’

‘My alternator’s busted. Lost power for the engines and the radio.’

‘You’re a ways from New Orleans,’ Ben called.

‘Oh, that’s old. I live in Copano now,’ the man said. ‘This is what I get for hauling around my mother. She’s down in the galley bitching a blue streak at me.’ He shrugged, tossed the red blanket down. ‘I’m Danny.’

‘I suppose you need a tow?’ Ben sounded polite but unenthusiastic. Copano was ten miles up coast from Port Leo and Claudia knew giving a tow would mean no candlelit dinner in Port Aransas.

‘We’d be happy to take you in,’ Claudia said.

‘If I could just borrow your radio, I can summon my tow service.’ Danny gave Claudia another apologetic smile. ‘And maybe my mom can borrow your head.’

Ben came down from the flying bridge, squeezed along the narrowness between the rail and the cabin on the deck. ‘Sure, not a problem.’ He tossed one end of a docking rope to Danny. ‘I’m Ben. This is Claudia.’

‘Thank you so much. Y’all are lifesavers. You’ve got a beautiful boat.’

‘Thanks,’ Ben said. ‘You fish today?’

‘Some ling.’ Danny shrugged toward the empty reel mount on his boat. ‘Sharks nabbed the tuna I got.’

‘Yeah, they’ll rob you,’ Claudia said.

Danny gave her an agreeing grin. He slid bumpers over the edge of his boat, finished fastening the rope tethering Jupiter to Miss Catherine, vaulted lightly over both railings, and pulled a Sig Sauer pistol from under his T-shirt, from the band of his baggy shorts.

The smile stayed in place, the gun aimed at Ben. ‘Sharks sure do rob, don’t they? Just be calm, and no one gets hurt.’

Ben paled under his sunburn and took two steps back. ‘For God’s sake, man, you want cash? I’ve got maybe a hundred in my wallet…’

‘What I want,’ Danny said, ‘is for you to be cool and hush.’ He blasted a sharp, two-fingered whistle and two men bolted out onto the deck of Miss Catherine, guns in hand, beading them on Claudia and Ben. Nylon stockings stretched over their faces, contorting their features into doughy lumps.

‘Jesus,’ Ben said.

‘Let’s just put those guns down,’ Claudia said, stern.

Danny stared at her. ‘Don’t we have big balls for a-’ he began and Ben charged. Ben barreled into Danny and the Sig barked, splinters erupting from Jupiter’s deck as the two men slammed into the railing.

The two other men from Miss Catherine jumped aboard Jupiter. Claudia swung at the first one, a thin rail of a guy, surprising him, her fist connecting with his cheek, knocking him down. But the other attacker, built big and brawny, hammered her on the jaw. She hit the deck, landing on her side, and the barrel of an automatic pistol gouged into her temple.