PARADISE COVE (PARADISE SERIES Book 1) by Patrice Wilton Read Free Book Online Page B

the woman as comfortable as possible. The boy shivered so hard his teeth chattered behind blue lips, while the father smoothed damp hair back from his wife’s forehead. Her breaths were shallow, but she was breathing.  He’d saved them, yes, but to what fate?
    Although he reassured the family, deep down he knew his words were empty promises. They all had plenty to worry about.
     

CHAPTER SIX
    At five a.m. Kayla slipped out of bed, donned her jogging shorts, sports bra and sneakers and quietly left the cottage, where everyone else was still fast asleep. A sliver of moon illuminated her path.
    She loved the quiet early mornings, and running the beach was certainly more pleasurable than pounding the Philadelphia pavement. When she reached the thick mangroves which separated her cottages from the beach, she stopped and did her stretches, looking around to see if she were alone.
    It was against the law to trim mangroves, as they were protected, but someone had done it before her and she merely maintained the pathway. There would be no other access to the beach if she didn’t, and what would her guests think about that? The trail was only a little more than a foot wide and she picked her way through, weeding a little as she went. If someone spotted her and reported it she could face a heavy fine, but this time in the morning was relatively safe. The sun hadn’t yet made an appearance.
    Reaching the sand she took up a slow jog, heading past the marina on her left, and picking up speed about ten minutes in. This was the part she enjoyed most—pushing past the pain, finding her rhythm, her breathing coming easier. She ran a couple of miles to the end of the beach where a small causeway linked Paradise Cove to Islamorada. She stood for a moment breathing deeply, then turned around and ran back home.
    As she neared the marina she saw the helm of a glistening white sailboat slipping into its berth. Her heart skipped a beat, and she wondered if Sean had just returned. She slowed her gait, and watched in the pre-dawn darkness.
    When she got close enough she was able to discern the name on the back of the boat. Sara. A woman's name—not unusual, but it piqued her curiosity. Who was Sara? He must have loved her very much. His wife, perhaps? But if he was divorced, wouldn't he have the name painted over? Ah, but if she’d died tragically that would explain his grief and his love for the boat.
    It was a small marina, with only about a dozen boats moored at any one time. There was a tiny shop which sold tackle, bait, snacks, and snorkeling gear, plus motorboats could fill up on gas. But it was still early and no one was about.
    She decided to greet him as he arrived and invite him back to the cottage for coffee. It was the neighborly thing to do, rather than hiding in the dark and spying on the mysterious stranger. She made a damn good cup of coffee; besides it was a better way to learn his secrets than by snooping.
    Once the boat was moored she saw him jump off, and tie up. She was about to call out to him, when suddenly she realized he wasn't alone. A man came from below to the deck, then reached behind him to assist a child of perhaps seven or eight. The boy was thin and ragged, the same as the man. They looked wet and bedraggled, and Kayla had a horrible feeling that her earlier remarks about Sean being a smuggler might be correct after all.
    Had he met a boat out in the open water between here and Cuba, and transported the illegal immigrants into the country? Was that how he made his money? How he was able to afford three month’s rent up front? Her mother said he’d paid in cash. What would he do if she confronted him? Would he deny it, threaten her, or simply turn around and disappear? She had no credit information. 
    Who did that nowadays? That should have been the first clue that he was up to no good. Yet, wait a sec. He'd paid for the rental car with his credit card. Did she still have a copy of that transaction? She