Free Hatteras Blue by David Poyer Page A

a genuine effort to turn away from that life. Her degree was in psychology and she tried now to think of Tiller Galloway subjectively, as if she were writing a case study.
    She knew he felt guilty about his father's death. And there were other skeletons there, things he'd done when he worked for the shadowy Colombian he called only the Baptist. He'd refused to discuss them with the prosecuting attorney at his trial or with anyone since. So he hadn't turned his back completely on his former life. But he seemed genuinely to be struggling, fighting with his personal devils for some kind of redemption. Beneath the boozing and the cynicism she had an idea he was still plain and strong and at bottom even honorable as his Hatteras ancestors.
    And that, unfortunately, was his problem. Because along with that, bound with it like one weak strand in a strong rope, he still had the streak of greed that had made him a cocaine runner.
    Besides, she liked him. Not romantically; that would be disastrous, both for her career and her own peace of mind. But she admitted to some attraction. He was older than she was. But she liked older men. They knew what they wanted and they weren't so—childish.
    Her thoughts moved from there to Keyes. Another older man. The odd feeling she got when he was around. He was attractive, but there was something else there too. She wasn't sure yet what. It might be dislike. It might even be fear. Whatever it was, it made life more interesting.
    She reminded herself that she had to find out just what he wanted from Tiller.
    She glanced lazily around the inlet. All was quiet in the ruddy morning light. On one of the fishing boats men were repairing a net, but for most of the locals a weekend was a time of rest. Even the pile-driving barge at the new pier-and-condo complex going in on the south side of the basin was silent this morning. Still thinking of Keyes, and how fine the decision might be between dislike and attraction, she looked ashore.
    A man was watching her. An old man, short, stocky, with a nondescript face and intent hazel eyes and a tan deep even for the island. His Lacoste shirt, chinos, and tan bucks would have blended at a yacht club, or at the new golf courses in Duck Woods or Kitty Hawk. But here he stood out. When he caught her glance he came slowly down the pier, stopping opposite the boat.
    "Good morning."
    "Hi."
    "May I come aboard?"
    "I can't give you permission to. It's not my ship. Did you want something?"
    His eyes slid forward, examining the boat, then came back to her. Close up, she saw he was older than she'd thought at first. He looked as if he'd been strong once, strong and ruthless. Now he was fragile. The strength had gone, leached by time like carbon from rusting
    steel, leaving only its form. Judging by those eyes, it had left the ruthlessness as well. His lips twitched into a not very convincing smile. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. About six-three, maybe forty-five, generally wears a gray suit. Have you seen him?"
    'You mean Mr. Keyes?"
    "Keyes. Yes. Is he aboard?"
    "No. He went ashore with Tiller—he's the captain—I suppose for the morning. They'll likely be back this afternoon, if you want to stop again."
    "Perhaps this is better after all. Would you give him a message?"
    "Sure. What is it?"
    "Tell him that Tarnhelm is ours."
    "I don't understand."
    "Just tell him those three words. He'll understand."
    "T-A-R—" He spelled it out.
    "And what does that mean?"
    "It's a personal message."
    They stared at each other for a while across the lifelines. At last she said, 'You'd better write it down," and took out her case notebook. He nodded, looking at her closely, and slowly extracted an old-fashioned fountain pen from his slacks. After a moment he blew on the pad and then handed it back. 'Tou're a very suspicious young woman."
    "Sorry, but it helps, dealing with the people I deal with."
    "What kind of people do you deal with?"
    "Former criminals."
    "How unfortunate," said