The Girl on the Yacht Read Online Free PDF Page B

baffled when it only scanned 180-degrees, instead of the expected 360. He watched it again while it went from sidewalks to clubhouse to restrooms and back in the reverse direction. It never cast its searching lens at the boats or the docks.
    He shook his head in frustration. The camera positions didn’t make sense until he peered out at the expensive yachts and their well-off owners––they pay for their privacy from spying eyes.
    Michael studied the docks while he continued his stroll along the iron fence that separated the rest of the world from the boaters. He passed the clearly marked entrances with their security keycard locks––past B-dock, past C-dock, past-D, past E, F, and G. At one point, he took special notice of the camera placement above the E-dock gate. He timed its movement and its span. Like a sentry with his back to the boats, the eye searched––first left then right and back again––its assignment of nine dock gates from A to H with each getting their three minutes of allotted time over the course of twenty. This is security? He shook his head while he contemplated. Someone could slip down the ramp into one of the boats and remove thousands of dollars worth of electronics in minutes, or perhaps even kill someone.
    He continued walking the entire length of the facility––still no sight of her. There were dozens of women with blonde hair, but not his woman. Upon returning to F-dock, Michael leaned against the rail and peered out toward the gathered boaters on each leg of docks. The clusters of people appeared to be clones of each other –– lawn chairs, barbecues, food, and alcohol. A few groups even had flat screen TVs set up on the back of their boats to watch sports or a movie while they lounged on the dock with friends.
    A woman appeared near the far end of E-dock, well out into the bay. She stepped from the cabin of the fifteenth boat on the right. Elevated on deck at that distance, she appeared to levitate above the crowd, with a brilliant yellow halo created by the low-angled sunlight against her hair. He needed to get closer.
    His eagle eyes cooly searched along the entire upper walkway and then down the extended concrete docks that ran into the bay for a solution to his problem–– how can I get closer? At the base of H-dock, he spotted his answer hanging off the side of the tall rack filled with inflatable dinghies––a dark green kayak. Perfect.
    He continued toward the locked gate leading down to the boats. At six-foot-four, it was not always easy to remain inconspicuous and non-confrontational, but he had perfected his technique over the years. Even though his physical size and demeanor were enough to intimidate anyone with thoughts of interfering, he slumped his shoulders and cocked his head a little to the side, accurately creating the illusion of another easy-going boater. His tight, faded jeans and black T-shirt highlighted his muscular build, while the Dodgers cap hid much of his angular face. He fumbled in his pockets for a nonexistent keycard. A yacht owner walked up the ramp, pushed open the gate from inside, and held it open for his fellow boater.
    “Thanks.” Michael’s voice exuded friendship.
    “No problem,” the friendly boater replied.
    Michael nodded and continued down the incline. At the bottom, with the man out of sight, he wound behind the steep angled ramp to the tall rack stacked with six dinghies and a single kayak. He gave a cursory glance left, then right, reached up and pulled the light boat from its snare. He looked inside the cockpit where the rower sits. Excellent. The paddle, along with a small fishing rod, were neatly tucked into the compartment. I couldn’t have planned it better.
    Minutes later, he stretched out his arms and pulled the paddle slowly through the calm water. The sliver of a boat slipped across the surface effortlessly, leaving the tiniest of ripples trailing behind. Nobody seemed to take any interest in a man kayaking in the