Blue Smoke and Murder Read Free Page A

another whitewashing.
    Faroe kicked off his sandals, ready to go over the side of the raft after his son.
    “No.” Jill’s command was sharp. “He’s doing fine. I don’t want two of you in there.”
    Lane bobbed back to the surface on an upwelling wave. He was moving swiftly with the current, bobbing merrily past them. Jill knew without looking that the other rafts would be standing by at the end of the rapids to pick him up.
    Suddenly Lane stopped like a bronc snubbed off on a corral post. The current kept going, which dragged him down below the water. He struggled back to the surface for a breath before water dragged him under again.
    And kept him there.
    That damn loose strap!
    But all Jill said aloud was “Take the oars.”
    She was in the river before Faroe could object.
    Even as she hit the water, she knew she had to get rid of her life vest. It would push her quickly down the rapids and past Lane before she could help him. As the current caught her, she unsnapped catches and let the river whip the vest away. Treading water, she gauged the wild current, the jutting boulders, the holes that could suck people down and drown them. She slanted her body and swam hard at an angle so that the rapids would carry her to the place downstream where Lane had disappeared.
    Lane flailed to the surface again, grabbing at air, getting water along with it, choking, disappearing again.
    Jill rolled onto her back and slipped the cord holding the knife over her head, gripping the knife tightly in her right hand. She’d get only one chance to grab Lane. If she missed, the river would push her past him like a rocket.
    She would probably survive.
    Lane wouldn’t.
    With the current boiling wildly around her, she hooked the teenager underneath one arm as she was swept by. She dragged him up and yelled, “Breathe, then dead man’s float!”
    He took a gasping breath, hesitated, then went limp, facedown in the river. The current stretched his body out in the water, showing Jill where he was anchored against the torrent. She clung to Lane with her legs like a lover, inching down his torso until her right arm found the strap. She thumbed the blade open, felt it lock in place, and slashed across the strap.
    They shot to the surface together. Lane flipped over onto his back, gasping and coughing. Jill kept her grip on him, letting his life vest keep both of them afloat. Suddenly she scissor-kicked hard, again and then again. Soon they were sliding into the back eddy where Joe was working the oars to keep the raft in place. Slick river rocks came up to meet their dangling feet.
    Jill released Lane, watched him gain his feet, and felt a relief that made her lightheaded.
    He looked down at the severed end of the strap dangling from his vest. Then he looked at the four-inch cut in his swim trunks. The nylon mesh of the built-in athletic supporter showed through the gash.
    “Your—knife?” he asked, still panting and coughing.
    Breathing hard, Jill nodded. She’d let go of the knife the instant Lane was free. Bouncing around in the rapids with a lethal blade wasn’t smart.
    “Sharp—sucker,” Lane said. “Glad it—wasn’t any—longer.”
    Jill threw back her head and laughed. Then she hugged him hard. He hugged her the same way.
    Faroe watched and wished Lane was old enough for Jill. She was one of the good ones. Smart, quick, cool under pressure, strong in the best sense of the word. She reminded him in some ways of Mary, St. Kilda Consulting’s long-gun expert.
    He steadied the raft while Lane and Jill levered themselves aboard. Lane sprawled in the bow, coughing occasionally, but breathing just fine.
    Before Jill took up the oars again, Faroe said simply, “Thank you.”
    She flashed him a smile. “Just trying to cut down on the paperwork. We hate losing clients.”
    Faroe smiled back. “My boss is the same way. Where’s your waterproof ditty bag?”
    Jill blinked at the change of subject. “Um, under my seat.”
    He