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long, narrow runways of the marina. He easily blended in with the other kayakers.
    The crowd on E-dock became his focus while he maneuvered into a good spot at a distance across the water from the group. While reggae music filled the air, he reached forward, unlashed the fishing pole, and took up a familiar angler pose.
    He spotted her with a tall man in his early-thirties. That guy’s a pretty good size. Michael made the mental note–– could be a problem.
    His eyes fell back on the blonde woman’s graceful movements. She transferred from dock to boat and back with ease and balance. She’s light-footed and agile, probably a runner. At forty-one, he had no illusions of his abilities–-a tough twenty years had left him with reasonable long distance stamina, but burst of speed sprint––not so much.
    Darkness settled in, and he guided the sleek kayak out of the marina into the harbor. Along the shoreline, he carefully observed the egress locations within half a mile––the maximum distance he could hold his breath underwater. Those would be his potential escape and evade routes, if necessary. At one point, he stroked up to a small concrete partition leading to the water’s edge. The three-foot high, old abandoned sea wall was where he could exit the water without being seen. Perfect.
    Michael glided the light craft back into the marina and pulled it up to the foot of A-dock, where it gently nudged up against the floating walkway. After climbing from the shaky hull, he pulled the featherweight kayak from the water and stashed the useful craft out of sight under the long, short hedge that ran the length of the marina’s boundary.
    Within a minute, he was on the move again in the direction of the clubhouse.

Chapter 8
     
     
Blue Water Marina, Newport Beach
     
    After the many introductions at the beginning of the summer dock party, Marin’s mind was awash in names and faces. She glanced over at Laura with what must have been an expression of confusion.
    “Don’t worry, you’ll get it all in no time. You’re going to love it here.” Laura pulled up a chair and glanced at the latest empty tray of margaritas. “John, what’s the deal? We’re out of drinks again.”
    “I just brought out four pitchers.” John’s voice emanated from somewhere deep inside the boat.
    Dan Douglas turned and handed his margarita to his wife. “I’ll get another.”
    John came out of the cabin, stopped, and stared at the table full of empties.
    “I think I’m going to be very busy tonight.”
    “Johnny,” Rob leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the lime elixir, “I was reading a business journal on a flight from Australia and came across an article about this young entrepreneur––some kind of computer genius.” Rob flicked the ashes from his expensive cigar over the water, then made eye contact with John. “He started a small business––right here in Newport Beach. It was a great article about how his company developed the high-tech security system for the White House and the Pentagon.”
    “No comment.” John climbed on board his boat and started for the cabin.
    “Then, he sold it for two billion.” Rob grinned.
    John ducked into the cabin, and somewhere deep inside the shadows of the galley, a muffled word came floating out, “Damn.”
    Marin felt her jaw drop. She looked around. Except for Rob, all the people on the dock were equally stunned. The group of twenty-some boaters were now focused on the empty doorway.
    “There’s Jackie.” The spell was broken when Rob pointed toward his wife coming down the ramp at the far end of E-dock. “Finally.”
    All eyes shifted from John’s boat to the petite, dark-haired prosecutor in high heels, wearing a black business suit, working the concrete runway like a model. Before Jackie reached the midpoint of the dock, a tall man climbed off a fishing boat six slips down. The man, wearing large, dark sunglasses, briefly glanced toward their group, and just as