Page 49 of Deep Waters

“Tom,” he shouted. Louder this time.

Still no reply. He must be below deck.

Harry tutted. He put the bag of food on the ground and carefully descended the slippery ladder one-handed with the coffee tray. Once it was set on the deck, he scooted back up to collect the carrier bag and brought that down, too.

“Hey,” he called, “I thought you were hungry. Come and get it while it’s still hot.”

He flipped the lid off his own coffee cup and stirred in a sachet of brown sugar. It steamed, and he blew on the surface before taking a sip.

“Come on, Tom. Where are you?”

It struck him then that his cousin might be sick again. The bathroom onThe North Starwas on the lower deck, accessed through a hatch in the wheelhouse. Harry put the coffee down and crossed the deck. The light was on and as he stepped inside, time seemed to stop.

Tom was slumped in the corner of the cabin at an awkward angle. His legs were spread and jutted out in front of him. His torso was slumped sideways, supported by his bent right arm, the other arm laying at his side. His eyes were open, but the expression on his face was slack, his mouth gaped. He wore a navy sweater and light blue jeans. At first the blood was not obvious against the darkness of his sweater, but as Harry’s disbelieving gaze wandered all over him, he saw it, staining the front of his jeans, spreading across the deck beneath.

Harry found his breath and screamed. The noise jolted him out of the paralysis.

“Tom.”

He flung himself to the floor.

“Tom,” he yelled again.

He gripped his shoulders, shaking him. His head fell to an even more bizarre angle. There was no response.

The blood. Where is it coming from?

Harry tore at his clothes, pulling up his sweater. His white T-shirt was wet with warm, deep scarlet fluid. Harry peeled the cotton back to reveal the full horror beneath.

The cry that escaped him was a raw sound of grief and despair.

Chapter Seventeen

Christian heard the sirens while he was in the shower. They seemed to pass right below the window.Just an average morning in Nyemouth, he thought with a wry smile as he lathered his torso. For a small seaside town, it appeared that there was rarely a dull moment.

He thrust his head beneath the showerhead. The pressure of the water was wonderful, and he luxuriated in the heat. The chilly, fog-bound walk from Harry’s place to the hotel seemed to have let the cold into his bones, but after a few minutes he felt normal again.

He was physically tired after an energetic night with Harry, but far too excited to sleep. He found himself smiling at nothing, even now, just thinking about Harry. The young man had brought an energy into his life that Christian hadn’t experienced in years—maybe not for a decade. He was caught up in the rush of getting to know someone, of rapidly developing emotions. In ordinary circumstances, he might have put the brakes on about now. He believed in caution and taking his time, behaving sensibly. But right now, he didn’t want to.

Just for once, he wanted to surrender to these sensations and see what came of them.

The mindful part of him was aware that he would be going back to Manchester in a little over a week, that it was foolish to form attachments so far from home. This morning, he didn’t care about any of that. What he felt was wonderful, and he intended to enjoy it to the fullest.

He shut off the water, wiped himself down and stepped out of the shower. As he reached for a towel, he heard another siren blare past. Whatever was going on out there, it sounded like another Nyemouth emergency.

He glanced through the gap in the open window. The fog was clearing. It was more of a light mist now.Oh, well. Harry will be taking his fishing charter out soon.Christian couldn’t grumble. It was Harry’s livelihood. He couldn’t give it up to spend the day with a passing tourist.

He towelled off, put on deodorant and fixed his hair. As he wandered into the bedroom, another siren flew by.

What the hell?

Christian opened the sash window as far as it would go and leaned out.

There was something going on in the harbour. He saw the lights of an ambulance and two police cars. He stretched farther out, aiming for a better view. The emergency vehicles were parked more or less where Harry moored his boat.

The feeling of cold returned, icy tendrils that crept rapidly through his body.

No.

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