A Dangerous Harbor Read Online Free

she wasn't murdered."
    The black mustache quivered uncomfortably as he answered in Spanish. "That place is known for its wild parties where men buy whatever they desire. It is not on the list for tourists and certainly not for young ladies of good family. No, you would not want to go there for any reason… not if you want to go home."
    "Where is this place you're talking about?"
    "I have said too much already, señorita . The jefe would not want me to speak so much about his investigation."
      Then why did he send me off with this chatterbox who obviously can't keep a secret under his big hat? Something's afoot here, I just don't see it yet.
    She reached out and lightly patted his arm. "I wouldn't want you to get in trouble. I guess I'm just at a loss as to why he would keep me at the police station for so long."
    He flapped his hands around. " Sí , sí , but he didn't want the conejo to run." Then he rolled his eyes. " Entiende ?"
    He didn't want the rabbit to run? There it was again—bunny feet. The expression and its meaning were the same in either language.She went through the events of the long day and then she did a mental head smack. Putting herself in the inspector's shoes, she ticked off the list of suspicious behavior: Young woman sailor reports finding a floater, then encounters Gabe, shackled and stumbling into the police station between two officers. And because she was quite frankly sleep deprived, she'd blurted out the one thing that gave the chief inspector reason to suspect Gabe. " Is he being arrested for the murder? "
    Never in her ten-year career as a police officer had Katy Hunter been so careless, and certainly not when someone's life depended on it. Gabe might have been brought in on some misunderstanding about some pilfered oysters, but now he was a murder suspect, and to make sure they both stayed put, the inspector kept her passport. Now she would have to talk to Gabe again, clear up this misunderstanding, get her passport back, get the boat hauled and onto a truck, and get the hell out of Mexico.
    Katy made a show of cheerfully thanking the sergeant for the ride and then waving as he left. She brightly smiled at a clutch of gawkers and then headed for the upstairs offices of Marina Baja Naval to start the process of checking in and, even if it was wishful thinking, a quick haul-out and trailer home to northern California.
    With the paperwork and bathroom visit done, and marina keys in her pocket, she walked through the boatyard for the gate and her boat. She gave the guard her name, boat name and the slip of paper from the marina office and tramped down the ramp to where a cluster of American boaters parted to let her through to her boat.
    Her boat was chained to the dock.
    She felt the heat rush up her face. He's impounded my boat? The bastard!
    Ignoring the puzzled questions and offers of assistance, she turned on her heel and stomped back up the ramp and back into the office, where she asked a secretary to make the call. The secretary, a round-faced young woman who looked to be more Indian than Mexican, gave her a sympathetic smile, calmly punched in the number and listened to someone making excuses. A few expletives went with her demand that the inspector call. She hung up, giving Katy a rueful grin. They both knew that it could be any time between now and next Christmas. After all, this was mañana land.
    Katy spent the next two hours taking out her frustrations on her boat, washing the salt water off the brightwork and stainless stanchions, vigorously scrubbing the topsides with a stiff brush and, in honor of Chief Inspector Vignaroli , practicing her hangman's knots while she secured her boom to its cradle. She also gave the curious boaters on the dock a truthful, if condensed, version of her encounter with the floater.
      "I expect to have this chain off tomorrow, latest."
    Clucking sympathetically, the crowd finally thinned out, probably because the story was now being transferred via