Ill Be Waiting

"Need anything?"

"Not that I can think of."

"All right. I'll call you back tonight," Spencer said, and then he was gone.

Christopher replaced the hand-held and moved to pluck a bottle of beer from the cooler under the table. Spencer had checked in three times a day over the past forty-eight hours. He was so accurate, in fact, that Christopher could set a clock by his calls. He took the beer out onto the bow and sat down, then leaned against the metal railing that circled the front end of the boat.

Looking back toward the beach, he tried to picture Spencer. The man would either be incognito and sitting out in the open or he would be hidden just out of view, where he could see all activity around him. So, what would Spencer do if he actually spotted Matthew Fox in the crowd of people who swarmed the beach and marina area? Christopher could not help but wonder if the man had some sort of personal vendetta to settle with his boss. There had to be a reason for him to come all this way and just wait for the mysterious millionaire to show up. He was also strangely opposed to the idea of contacting the police.

Christopher pushed aside his concern over something he could not control and started on his beer. Amazingly, it was still cold, despite the fact that the ice in the cooler was slowly dwindling.