Reviewing restaurants is normally a safe pursuit, but Lorne and Catherine face torture and death when they try to unravel organised crime's infiltration of the fine dining scene.
Their longstanding friendship deepens when they meet again seven mont...
Lorne and Catherine slept in until shortly past nine, having been active well into the wee hours before they fell asleep. They woke to loud foul language out in the anchorage. "Sounds like mister macho is blaming his stupid, incompetent mate for his own foul-ups." He turned his head to kiss her. "Good morning, Gorgeous."
They lay in a tight cuddle, touching, teasing and kissing. "We must be. I had no desperate craving for you to come last night."
"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I've stopped monitoring my balls."
"Ooh! Listen to that. Now, she's an idiot."
"Why do some men choose stupid, incompetent idiots to sail with?" He chuckled.
"They're the men who end up single-handing after they've run out of willing crew. Dad used to point them out. Derelict men in derelict boats in backwater bays."
"But I single-hand."
"Different. Very different. This isn't a derelict, and you certainly aren't. I can't think of a woman who wouldn't give her soul to sail with you." She rolled on top of him. "Pee first?"
"Yeah. What's second?"
"I can do some more talking."
"Fuck!"
"Yeah, but pee first."
After a casual brunch, Catherine sailed off the anchor and pointed Tastevin out of Plumper Cove toward Shoal Channel. "That's amazingly easy. Why doesn't everyone do it that way?"
"Sometimes it's a bit more difficult. The wind isn't always favourable."
She laughed. "The wind must have been very unfavourable in here earlier this morning when the other boat weighed."
Five minutes later, once they had cleared the point, they set-up the vane and pointed to the deepest part of the shoal. "The tide's risen enough now to make it easily across. If you tweak the sails, I'll bring up our computers."
She looked up at the main, then headed to its sheet winch. "Yeah, I'm dying to start my blog entry."
"I've mine half-written in my head."
They sat on the settee and wrote, Lorne monitoring the plotter and instruments every few minutes while Catherine made the horizon sweeps.
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Half an hour later, they fell off around Paisley Island to a new course to clear Cape Roger Curtis. Lorne looked up from the winch. "I've thought of what to do with the GPS transmitter. Let's head into Coal Harbour, to the Royal Van. Pause there long enough to leave it taped under the edge of a guest float."
"That'll be fun. I wonder why he wants to track us. How's your blog coming?"
"Finished the draft, and I've just started the editing."
