LITMIR.BIZ

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first and the women after her.”

      Claire wished that didn’t remind her of that old cry of “women and children first” when a ship was sinking. But surely that boat could hold them all, get them off the water, and then they could find a way not to go home but to hide out. But how to contact the FBI in Castro-controlled Cuba? Fidel was supposedly retired, but his brother Raul was in charge now. There were rumors that the US and Cuba might make peace someday soon, but it hadn’t happened yet. President Obama had even shaken hands with Raul at a foreign conference, but Cuba was still a hostile Communist nation.

      Heck and Nando talked more in Spanish. “He say, maybe Jesu Christo and the Virgin Mary, they give to him your lives in place of his lost son, his only son, Alfredito. He will take us to his house, give us food, place to sleep. Then we go to Havana, pay someone to take us home, not get seen or caught, he says.”

      “Not be seen? Fat chance of that,” Nick muttered. “We’ll have to do everything undercover—somehow.” He said louder, “Tell him we are grateful to him and to the Lord for bringing us together on this great sea. Everyone, tell him gracias.”

      A little chorus followed with Lexi chiming in. “Nita,” the child called out to her nanny, “I remembered what you taught me, but I can’t tell his other words. Nada.”

      “You will, my Lex—my Meggie,” Nita called to her. “You will.”

      The boat gently bumped against the nearest life raft, the one holding Heck, Bronco and Nita. But Jace was determined to be the first aboard, in case there was a problem climbing up the side where Nando was now dangling a rope he’d tied to one of the posts of the canopy.

      Jace put one leg over, then rolled into the other raft and secured both of them to the side of the boat near the stern. Oh, Claire thought, so that was what the single rope was for. She had been scared they must climb that to get on board the fishing boat.

      Nando secured the heavy, hand-knotted rope net on the side of the boat. Jace, of course, went up it easily, shook Nando’s hand, then leaned over the side. Nick was on the move, coaxing Lexi from Claire’s arms and handing her into the other raft to Bronco. Both rafts tilted and rocked.

      “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” Nick whispered to Lexi and shot a quick “trust me” look back at Claire. Her arms felt not only stiff and sore but so empty now. “Claire,” Nick said, when she made a move toward the other raft too, “stay put. As they say, don’t rock the boat. I’ll be back for you.”

      Lexi wrapped her arms so tightly around Nick’s neck that his face went red, but he didn’t tell her to let go. Claire gripped her hands together, praying, trusting. When Nick passed Lexi to Bronco, who stood with Heck’s help and passed her up to Jace, Claire slid across the slippery inside of the raft to be closer.

      “Let go of me, honey,” Bronco told Lexi as he lifted her up. “Your daddy—Uncle Seth, I mean—he got you.”

      And he did. Claire burst into silent tears of relief as the men handed Nita up to Jace and then, thank God, it was her turn. Not only did she want to be with Lexi, but it had suddenly seemed she was so terrifyingly small in the raft by herself, as if it was just her and the vast sea and sky.

      Dragging her big purse with her essential narcolepsy meds, she rolled into the other raft. Nick helped her to her knees over to the rope ladder. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she stood, rocking a bit on legs that were cramping, and he gave her a boost up. When Jace grabbed her wrists, Nick let go. It was, she thought, just the opposite of what had happened in her life with these men. Jace had left her; Nick had grabbed for her.

      Her stomach scraped hard against the side and top of the boat as Jace hauled her in. If she was newly pregnant, she thought, that could do her in. She wasn’t sure but had missed her period. Still, with all the upheaval in her life, that didn’t mean a baby, and she hadn’t mentioned anything to Nick yet.

      “Got you,” Jace said as Lexi left Nita’s embrace to hurl herself against Claire. Lexi hugged her hard before Nando urged them away to sit on the deck, leaning against what must be a bait box because it smelled bad.

      Quickly, the three men followed up over the side, Nick last.

      Nick told Heck, “Ask him if he’s going to cut the rafts loose or drag them. They might give our presence away when he puts in.”

      “Forgot to tell you, boss,” Heck said. “He asked if he can have the rafts. If we don’t need them again, he can sell them on the black market for Cubans who want to escape. He say with rumors of a deal between US and Cuba, more people are leaving since they think the dry-foot-on-land-you-can-stay in US policy might end. You know, if a Cuban refugee makes it to dry land in the US, he gets to stay, but not if he’s caught at sea. He says—”

      Nick cut in, “Tell him he can have the rafts but never to say where he got them. Why isn’t he heading toward shore?”

      “He want to curse the sharks one more time. Even if El Senor—the Lord God—made them killers, he curses them for killing his son. He has a daughter but he has to fish alone now since his father died last month.”

      “Tell him I am sorry his father died and his son too. I understand.”

      Heck spoke at length to Nando, who nodded as he opened the box next to the seated women and took out a plastic pail of bait that now smelled even more horrible. Nita, looking green in the gills again, almost gagged, and Lexi buried her nose against Claire’s shoulder.

      Nick asked Heck, “He’s not going to fish for these sharks, is he?”

      “No, boss. He says he’s going to poison them.”

      * * *

      On the way toward the northern coastline of Cuba, Nando shared the bread and black beans with anyone who wanted some, which, Nick saw, only Heck and Bronco did. His own stomach was twisted so tight he would have heaved them up, and they were rocking again on the way in. Bronco was still tending to the seasick Nita. The big bruiser had fallen hard for her, and—when she wasn’t hacking over the side—she seemed to return the feeling. Heck had been upset at first, wanting to protect the young widow who was his cousin. But since he’d lost his laptop and cell phone in the plane crash, he seemed to be mourning the loss of all that. They all had bigger things to protect now, Nick thought, namely their lives.

      With Heck translating, Nick had convinced Nando to let them off the boat at a more private location than his village fishing dock. They had directions of where to find the Hermez home, which sounded like it was a little ways out of the village. Unlike in Havana and other Cuban cities, Nando claimed, government men and informants were scarce in the area of fishing villages and farms with vast tobacco and sugarcane fields that used to be owned by rich Cubans before la revolucion.

      Heck had whispered to Nick, “Everything was different before the revolution. Maybe if we go to Havana I can see my grandfather’s hotel and hacienda. I always dreamed I could see it someday, even if I never get any of it back.”

      Nick had only nodded. Jace had overheard that and told Nick, “We’d better make it clear this is not some damned sightseeing vacation. One wrong move, and we’re staring at bare walls and bars. Same for you with your vendetta against Ames. If he’s here, no way you—or we—can go after him or let him know we’re here. Most we could do is tip off our contact where their number one most wanted is—when and if we get back to the US.”

      “I know. First things first. We’re off the plane, off the rafts. Now, all we’ve got to do is get all of us out of Cuba and to an island in Northern Michigan, damn it.”

      “Look—shoreline. I’ve flown over this big island more than once but never wanted to put down like some of my pilot buddies have. I know a guy claimed engine trouble so he could make an emergency landing in Havana just to say he’d seen the place.”

      “Yeah, well, you had real engine trouble, and we still need to find out why.”

      “It could have been mechanical. Then too, I’ve known pilots who have

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