Read Online Deadly Pursuit by Michael Prescott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Prescott
Tags: Suspense, Thrillers, Crime, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Teen & Young Adult, Serial Killers, Thrillers & Suspense
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point of clinical depression. And he refused to open up about it. Refused to let her share his pain.
She had hoped that visiting the island would revive his spirits. Apparently not.
“You didn’t find it, did you?” she asked quietly. “What you came here looking for?”
“I’ve had a great time.”
“But you didn’t find it.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Maybe because I don’t know what I’m trying to find.”
“I don’t, either.” The words came out harsher than she’d intended.
Steve looked away. “Well,” he said with forced levity, “we’ve got one more full day on Pelican Key before old Peg-leg Pice picks us up. Maybe I’ll find it tomorrow. If I do, I’ll let you know.”
Kirstie refused to match his bantering tone. “Be sure you do.”
After that, no more words for a while. They listened to the night beyond the patio. A vireo trilled a courtship melody—a whisper song, it was called, in recognition of its delicate airiness. The female of the species must love being seduced so gracefully. Kirstie smiled at the thought.
She had learned the names and habits of many tropical birds in the thirteen days since Pice had left them on the island, after unloading their luggage and supplies and showing them around. The house, he’d explained, was equipped with dual generators that supplied electricity for appliances and hot water; a two-way radio would keep them in contact with the outside world. The UHF emergency frequency was 243.0; VHF, 121.5.
“If there’s any problem and for some reason you can’t use the motorboat, just get on the air and let ’em know about it in Islamorada. A boat can be here faster than a frog can jump.” He’d smiled, showing a cracked tooth like a paint chip. “Don’t worry, though. Nothing will happen—except you’ll have a great time. And in two weeks I’ll be back to collect you, and you’ll hate me for it.”
His prediction had proved accurate, for the most part. Despite Steve’s continuing remoteness, Kirstie had enjoyed their stay on Pelican Key, and she believed her husband had also. She was almost sorry to see the vacation end.
They had left the island only twice, taking the motorboat over to Upper Matecumbe Key to replenish their supply of food and other necessities. Not all their meals had come from the grocery store, though. The garden supplied fruit and vegetables: oranges, limes, grapefruit, breadfruit, sapodilla plums; tomatoes, asparagus, eggplant. Once, they’d dined on fresh snapper, caught by Steve as he lounged on the dock with a fishing pole. Baked, lightly seasoned, and brushed with lemon juice, it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.
Pelican Key offered many diversions. They had motored out to the reef and snorkeled among the coral gardens, spying on schools of parrotbills and beau gregories in their wonderland of spiral towers, rococo ridges, and white sand holes. They had played Frisbee with Anastasia on the beach, explored the dense hardwood forest, waded in the tree-shadowed cove, made love in a madly swaying hammock on the porch.
Some of their leisure had been enjoyed indoors. The bedroom featured a well-stocked bookcase. Kirstie had read I, Claudius and was halfway through the sequel, Claudius the God . There was a TV also, but at Steve’s insistence they hadn’t turned it on even once. Hadn’t listened to the radio either, except for daily monitoring of the NOAA weather frequency, a necessary precaution in hurricane season.
So far the weather had been clear, with occasional thundershowers to relieve the heat. Still, even the possibility of a hurricane had made real to Kirstie the isolation of this place, so unnatural to her after the hectic suburban life she was accustomed to, the balancing of careers and quality time, the whole dizzy yuppie scramble. It was good to get away from all that for a while—and good to know that it would be there when they returned.
Kirstie wondered if Steve would agree with the second
She had hoped that visiting the island would revive his spirits. Apparently not.
“You didn’t find it, did you?” she asked quietly. “What you came here looking for?”
“I’ve had a great time.”
“But you didn’t find it.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Maybe because I don’t know what I’m trying to find.”
“I don’t, either.” The words came out harsher than she’d intended.
Steve looked away. “Well,” he said with forced levity, “we’ve got one more full day on Pelican Key before old Peg-leg Pice picks us up. Maybe I’ll find it tomorrow. If I do, I’ll let you know.”
Kirstie refused to match his bantering tone. “Be sure you do.”
After that, no more words for a while. They listened to the night beyond the patio. A vireo trilled a courtship melody—a whisper song, it was called, in recognition of its delicate airiness. The female of the species must love being seduced so gracefully. Kirstie smiled at the thought.
She had learned the names and habits of many tropical birds in the thirteen days since Pice had left them on the island, after unloading their luggage and supplies and showing them around. The house, he’d explained, was equipped with dual generators that supplied electricity for appliances and hot water; a two-way radio would keep them in contact with the outside world. The UHF emergency frequency was 243.0; VHF, 121.5.
“If there’s any problem and for some reason you can’t use the motorboat, just get on the air and let ’em know about it in Islamorada. A boat can be here faster than a frog can jump.” He’d smiled, showing a cracked tooth like a paint chip. “Don’t worry, though. Nothing will happen—except you’ll have a great time. And in two weeks I’ll be back to collect you, and you’ll hate me for it.”
His prediction had proved accurate, for the most part. Despite Steve’s continuing remoteness, Kirstie had enjoyed their stay on Pelican Key, and she believed her husband had also. She was almost sorry to see the vacation end.
They had left the island only twice, taking the motorboat over to Upper Matecumbe Key to replenish their supply of food and other necessities. Not all their meals had come from the grocery store, though. The garden supplied fruit and vegetables: oranges, limes, grapefruit, breadfruit, sapodilla plums; tomatoes, asparagus, eggplant. Once, they’d dined on fresh snapper, caught by Steve as he lounged on the dock with a fishing pole. Baked, lightly seasoned, and brushed with lemon juice, it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.
Pelican Key offered many diversions. They had motored out to the reef and snorkeled among the coral gardens, spying on schools of parrotbills and beau gregories in their wonderland of spiral towers, rococo ridges, and white sand holes. They had played Frisbee with Anastasia on the beach, explored the dense hardwood forest, waded in the tree-shadowed cove, made love in a madly swaying hammock on the porch.
Some of their leisure had been enjoyed indoors. The bedroom featured a well-stocked bookcase. Kirstie had read I, Claudius and was halfway through the sequel, Claudius the God . There was a TV also, but at Steve’s insistence they hadn’t turned it on even once. Hadn’t listened to the radio either, except for daily monitoring of the NOAA weather frequency, a necessary precaution in hurricane season.
So far the weather had been clear, with occasional thundershowers to relieve the heat. Still, even the possibility of a hurricane had made real to Kirstie the isolation of this place, so unnatural to her after the hectic suburban life she was accustomed to, the balancing of careers and quality time, the whole dizzy yuppie scramble. It was good to get away from all that for a while—and good to know that it would be there when they returned.
Kirstie wondered if Steve would agree with the second
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