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through the yard. It was a point of no return. He’d keep walking to the boat.
    And maybe they weren’t there for him.
    He thought about the green tree frog drive hanging from his neck, suddenly pressing hard and sharp against his chest. Thought about the man in the floral shirt glaring at Roo as he pulled away from the dock.
    There was a woman waiting by the Spitfire ’s stern. Pale-skinned, slightly freckled, blond hair ponytailed back, and wearing a gray pantsuit. She looked a bit flushed in the boatyard’s heat. The air hung still over the mangroves and bay here, and it cooked everything. Worse: it was midday.
    Two bodyguards flanked her.
    They were heavy and serious-looking, but more bouncers than killers. Because killers was the vibe Roo got from the two angular men out in the shade of the ancient Pearson 42 a couple hundred feet away.
    “Hello!” she said, as he approached the boat.
    Roo put the batteries down. “Hello,” he said, warily, looking up at the largest of the two bodyguards. The man could have been in one of those Strongest Man competitions, representing Iceland and picking up massive logs to throw across a field in feats of strength. A real-life Viking.
    The man could break Roo in half with his bare hands.
    “You’re Prudence Jones,” the woman said.
    Roo looked back from the Viking to her. She had, he thought, very sad green eyes.
    “You’re Prudence Jones,” the woman said. She knew it. It wasn’t a question. She’d found what she wanted.
    And nothing had happened. The Viking hadn’t attacked, or done anything. Just stood there, scanning the yard.
    “I’m Zachariah’s sister,” the woman said. “I know you’re the last person he called.”
    Zachariah … Something in Roo wanted to correct her. No one ever called Zee Zachariah. Not that Roo had known of. But that was his first name.
    “There was a lot of encryption on my phone,” Roo said at last, and carefully. “How’d you find out about that call?”
    “I paid a lot of money to Heimdall Incorporated here to crack the last call he made. And find out where. I flew down here the moment they tracked you down, along with two of their bodyguards.”
    Two.
    Roo glanced briefly at the shadows under the chocked hull of the other boat down the yard. The other two men were leaning against the keel, faces in the shadows.
    Well, he thought. She was either lying or hadn’t realized she’d picked up a few extra guests for this meeting.
    “My brother’s dead, Mr. Jones,” she said, her voice quavering slightly, getting his attention back. “My brother’s dead, and of all the people in the world, he called a stranger right before he died. You .”
    “Come on board,” Roo said, picking the batteries up and moving for the stepladder on the back scoop of the port hull.
    The other bodyguard, who had a more Hell’s Angels sort of look going, but cleaned up with a suit and mirrored sunglasses, moved to block him.
    Roo looked incredulous and the woman shook her head. He stepped back while Roo moved up the ladder onto his boat. “Leave the muscle to guard the boat,” Roo told her as he turned and held out a hand.
    She looked dubious, for a second. Then nodded.
    He glanced back and around, then waved her in past the cockpit into the Spitfire .
    “Your brother called to ask me for a favor,” Roo said, closing the door behind her. “He left a message. He was a good friend, not a stranger. I’m sorry to hear he passed, Miss…?”
    “Kit,” she said.
    “Kit Barlow?” Roo asked, making sure of the last name.
    She nodded. “Mr. Jones, I recently got a phone call saying Zachariah died of a hemorrhagic fever. From the CDC. They didn’t let me bury him. He was already cremated, and handed over. I never even got to…” She took a deep breath. “I never even got to see him one last time.”
    Roo pulled a seat cushion off the bench near the table and pushed it up against the side window. All the curtains were already drawn against the