7
Three hours later, the plane was floating alongside a small resort’s dock on Cat Island because Richie had said he couldn’t resist. And Melissa hadn’t been about to argue. She was certainly as pleased as a cat.
They were sitting down to split a sausage-and-pepper omelet and an order of Bahamian cinnamon French toast. It wasn’t all that different from the breakfast she’d had yesterday afternoon next to the Clearwater hotel pool, but it tasted about a thousand times better.
The setting was part of it. To the north lay the pale blue of submerged reef and the long reach of palm-covered Cat Island. On the other side of the pencil-thin island was the great drop-off to the distant limits of the true ocean floor—six thousand feet of water that didn’t get shallow again until it hit Africa.
Ou
