She of the Sea

30 of 53 - A Cold Girl

Three things weighed Bruce Webb down with worry. His biggest fear was for Cassandra. He must've been out of his mind allowing her to jump into the Gulf of Mexico so far from shore. She was a teen, for heaven's sake, and he was the adult. He shouldn't have allowed her to act so impulsively.

Together they could've figured a way to ensure her safety, maybe an air tank or even a long length of rope he could use to pull her up if she got into trouble. His most egregious error was to leave her there. Why hadn't he waited on the surface with the waverunner? Why had she asked him to wait for her on the island? Most importantly, why had he listened to her?

If anything happened to the girl, he'd never forgive himself. Neither would the law. The harbormaster knew they had been together. If she suddenly vanished, he would be pegged as the last person to have seen her. The old harbormaster would be keen to testify he had spirited her away under dubious circumstances.

That led to his second worry. The Tipstaff crew would figure Cassandra might go to the marina to escape on a watercraft. The harbormaster would give them up in an instant. Worse, he would tell them they were headed for Anclote Key. It had been a fatal lapse in judgment revealing their actual destination. He hoped they wouldn't come for at least a few hours for Cassandra to do what she needed. Then he'd get her the hell away.

Webb decided to race around the island and park the waverunner among all the other watercraft at the tour pier. Hiding the craft among the others was better than beaching it along the lonely stretch of sand where Cassandra indicated. From there it would stick out and be easily spotted by pursuers. Webb wanted them to believe he and Cassandra were mixing in with the other visitors. It might buy them an hour or two.

From the pier, Webb hoofed it. He hoped to make it back to the designated spot before Cassandra, not wanting to panic her if he wasn't there to meet her.

He wasn't dressed for the beach and felt self-conscious in his street shorts and walking shoes. Also, he was sopping wet and carrying Cassandra's wet things. Webb avoided people, because they would notice and remember how odd he looked.

As he crashed through the scrub brush and swamp grass, Webb was thankful the constant breeze on the small island was too strong for mosquitos to find the habitat favorable. He tried not to think about the other creepy crawly creatures he trampled underfoot. He figured there could be snakes, and he hoped the island was too far from the mainland to be home to alligators.

While running, he contemplated his third worry, namely his home life. Anclote Key had no cell tower, and he had no way to call Bonnie with an update. She suspected the worst and had threatened him. When he finally got out of the mess he found himself in, it might be too late. Going home he might find the locks changed. Worse, she might take Brandon and leave.

He reached the other side of the long, narrow island and worked his way up the beach to where tourists rarely traveled. He found the bent tree and thicket of shrubs.

"Cassandra," he called. It was possible she could have swum here and arrived before him. He called her name again and walked around looking for signs.

Nothing.

He looked west into the Gulf. Overcast skies blocked the sun. He saw nothing save for a few boats near the horizon.

Webb sat in the shade of the bent tree and waited. Anclote Key was a pack in - pack out tourist destination with no available provisions, not even a water fountain. He was getting thirsty and knew Cassandra would be too when she came ashore. The more he thought about it, the more Webb realized how poorly they had planned the trip.

Fatigue caught up to him. Having slept only a few hours overnight and with adrenaline pumping all morning, he was spent. When Cassandra came, she would wake him. He laid back and closed his eyes.