Cassidy Kincaid Mysteries Box Set

it hard to hear.
“Hell, yeah. I needed him.” By now, Bruce was almost shouting over the engine noise. “No sign of him.”
As they raced along steep gray-brown cliffs, the last vacation home disappeared, and soon there was only empty, barren wilderness. The boat zipped straight across the expansive, sapphire-blue sea, its surface peaky with a light chop.
Cassidy turned her face to the wind and closed her eyes, her mind spinning. She tried not to jump to conclusions. Reeve could have gone fishing that morning and drowned. Or had some kind of medical emergency that prevented him from getting back to the boat. But more likely, Reeve had gone ashore, blown his wad on drugs, and forgotten all about returning for work. He had left Bruce high and dry and looking foolish in front of clients. Bruce must have been furious. She knew how that felt. Reeve had ruined so many plans.
“Did he have a girlfriend?” she asked.
Bruce gave her a sideways glance. “I don’t know if she was his girlfriend, but there was someone, yeah.”
Cassidy’s skin prickled with what felt like a discovery. It was a feeling she usually associated with her work—sometimes the data would reveal something surprising, or a creative door would open unexpectedly when she was writing. “Do you know her name? Or where she might be?” Cassidy asked, reading Bruce’s face.
Bruce shook his head.
Cassidy took a deep breath and drank in the cool, fresh wind. So her hunch was correct: it was about a girl.

Four
Cassidy noticed the square block of pale chalk that seemed to glow in the distance—Witch’s Rock, or Roca Bruja. The giant rock looked almost lit from within, like something from outer space. Closer and closer it came until they entered the wide bay. Bruce slowed the boat, and everyone on board stood at attention to watch the waves, which broke over sand bars created by the river tumbling out of the jungle.
Bruce pulled the boat closer, and all eyes remained glued to the beach as deep-water swells lifted the boat then surged on, breaking in a loud boom. The surfers in the bow started whistling, and hurried to get ready by donning rash guards and rubbing bars of wax across the decks of their boards. Cassidy exhaled a deep breath, feeling the acute ache of Pete’s absence. Her first warm-water surf without him.
The offshore winds were light, and the wave looked clean. She slipped on her rash guard, picked up the loaner surfboard, and queued up to hop overboard.
It must have been the chilled river emptying into the ocean at Witch’s Rock, or maybe it was just her nerves, but the water gave her goose bumps. She rubbed them away while the trio of guys paddled swiftly to the peak.
Cassidy joined them, trying to read the wave, get her bearings. The couple, looking ready for war with their stern expressions and rigid posture, joined the lineup as well. When a wave came her way, Cassidy spun for it. She paddled two strokes and the wave was upon her, the light offshore wind brushing her face. She punched to her feet and soared down the wave face. The wave was lightning fast, arching up a few feet over her head. Her wave thinned and teetered—readying to close out—so she flew over the edge, and it punched shut behind her in a roar. Why was no one else here to surf this? she wondered as a giant smile lit up her face. Eagerly, she returned to the lineup, waited through a lull, then took another wave, and another.
“Not bad, huh?” said a voice from nearby when she rejoined the lineup after a string of waves. It was Bruce, floating without a board.
Cassidy grinned. “Nope, not bad at all.” She watched the man paddle into a wave and disappear, followed by the woman.
“You’re making good use of that board, I see,” he said, giving her a nod.
Cassidy would have preferred something a little shorter, but she appreciated his generosity. Even with the rub about being a sleepyhead, she was grateful that he had let her tag along. “Yes, thanks again.”
“Reeve is a bodysurfer too,” Bruce said. “One of the things that impressed me.”
“We surfed a lot as kids,” Cassidy said. “He tried board surfing, but always preferred just himself and the water.” At the time, she had called him weird; it was just one more thing that Reeve did differently.
“Did he bodysurf on the Nicaragua trip?” she asked.
Bruce squinted one eye, as if thinking. “Maybe? He was busy with filming. I remember him spending more time on the boat that trip. Editing, I guess.”
“How were the waves?”
“We scored epic Yankee on that trip. A couple other decent days too.” A set wave swung wide, and seeing that no one else was in position to take it, Bruce started swimming furiously, his arms like windmills. Cassidy had to paddle outside to avoid getting trapped, but watched Bruce drop in as she crested the lip. He extended his right arm and his body became a long plank, skimming the surface of the wave like some kind of sea animal.
“Where did you and Reeve grow up?” Bruce asked once he was back in the lineup.
She avoided the long answer to this question. “Ventura.”
“Nice,” Bruce said. “I surfed Santa Cruz island once,” he said.
Cassidy blinked in surprise. “Wow, how was it?”
“I was with a buddy who was a park ranger out there for a while. The wave was fun. Lots of wildlife out there.”
“Huh,” Cassidy said. She had never been out to the island. There were always so many other places to surf on the mainland.
To her surprise, Bruce uttered, “Uh oh,” and quickly disappeared.
Cassidy looked around, confused. Was something wrong? She zeroed in on the area inside of the wave. Maybe someone was hurt, or had broken a board. Just then, Cassidy saw the woman’s head pop up, her hair draped down her face. She thrashed, coughed.
Bruce was kicking towards the woman. Meanwhile, a giant set was