GHOST_4_Kindle_V2 Read Free

started walking.
    I was maybe twenty yards up the trail when a young man I hadn’t noticed earlier stood up from the end of the rocks and walked toward me. No, not a young man. A woman. Long dark hair tied back nearly out of sight, slight build and willowy, but definitely a woman. Late thirties, early forties, she moved slowly, her movements very natural and kind of dreamy. As she drew close, I saw her eyes better. Gray-green like the Gulf under storm clouds. They were sad, but there were no tears. She passed me without a word, but a few seconds later she called to me.
    “Fair skin like that, you’ll burn you stay out here too long.”
    I turned and smiled. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”
    “No, really,” she said, glancing at my suitcase, “it’s different down here. You ought to put on some protection.”
    “Again, thanks. But I won’t need it.”
    She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She turned. I turned. We both walked away, but I heard her mutter under her breath, “You’re gonna burn.”
    The woman didn’t understand. In my family, only about a third of us burn, and I’m not one of them.  
    No, the heat of the sun wouldn’t hurt me. Not to say it wouldn’t affect me at all, however. I stood on the end of the rocky finger, sweat trickling down my temples, down the crease in my back. Even with the luau shirt over it, the black tank top was maybe not my best choice.
    Out in the gulf, I saw a couple of dorsal fins appear and disappear. I watched them for a while…the way they surfaced, an arch of darkness following a perfect curve before submerging. It was like the fins were on some kind of wheel under the water. Dolphins are amazing creatures. Controlled, powerful, swift—much smarter than most marine life and, if threatened, even able to take on a shark. We were kindred in that way. Taking on sharks, that is. As I said, I’m not such a fan of swimming.  
    Beyond the dolphins, a few colorful triangles meandered lazily. Sailors are an enthusiastic lot, out playing even this early. A Sun Odyssey 42DS was heading south. It bore a sail splashed in purple, blue, and teal.   On the hull, near the transom was a code of numbers and letters: FL 6606 KR. Some kind of marine registration number, that much was obvious, but I didn’t know much more than that. Still, I notice numbers…and I remember them.
    Behind the first ship and closing rapidly was a longer Hunter 50 with light blue sails, each emblazoned with a cream colored conch shell. Just before it caught the Sun Odyssey, the Hunter turned and went out to sea. I noticed its code too: FL 6589 BD.  
    A third yacht was much farther out. I thought it might be an Oyster. Maybe a 625, but I couldn’t be certain. And I couldn’t read its registration number. I stopped and blinked at the sun-dappled Gulf and laughed to myself. “Well, I guess I know yachts pretty well,” I muttered. I’d had missions in coastal regions before, of course, but I couldn’t remember why I would have become so experienced with marine vessels. Another Memory Wash casualty.
    “What’s this going to be about?” I whispered. Nothing came to mind. Whatever I was waiting for, it hadn’t shown up yet.  
    I stood there for a long time, a little too close to a lot of water for my comfort. But I’d learned a long time ago that sometimes, the most intelligent thing a person can do is wait. Rash decisions ruin a lot of lives.  
    Other beachcombers came up behind me, stood and looked, and then left. Mostly I was alone there. I got tired of standing, and the climbing sun was beginning to remind me of other, hotter situations.  
    I wasn’t getting sunburned, but it felt like my mind might boil. I sat down on the edge there and watched the sun flashing on ten thousand ripples. It made me think of the waterbed. I felt nauseous.  
    One of the flashes not too far away was different. There was a bit of color in it. Red.  
    A strange color for the Gulf.  
    It got closer to my rocky perch.