Bloody Point by Linda J. White Page A

matter of life
and death, the Bureau would come and get you and take you to him? You don’t
think they care that much about one of their own?”
    “Not with that idiot Foster in charge. Besides, what did they
do for Mike?”
    But her father wouldn’t quit. He was like that–a quiet but
tenacious debater. She, on the other hand, was like her mother, people said, fiery
and quick-witted.
    “Cass,” he said, “let’s just say you do your usual excellent
job researching and found all the head-injury rehab hospitals. And let’s just
say you manage to sweet-talk the truth out of some unsuspecting registration
clerk and you find out where your friend is. What then?”
    “I go there. I go see Jake.”
    “You go see Jake. You breach security. Potentially you lead
whoever’s trying to kill Jake right to him. The FBI is annoyed. More than
annoyed. And then they move Jake again. Do you want his life to be disrupted
that way? Is that what you want for him? Now he has to go to yet another
hospital, another set of doctors, different nurses, a whole different program.
That’s what you want?”
    Why did he have to be so sensible? Cassie suddenly felt
deflated and she sagged down onto the bed. She stared at her hands, as if they
held some secret, some rejoinder she could make. But her hands were empty.
    “Let him go, Cass.”
    “How can I stand by and do nothing for him?”
    Her father sat beside her on the bed. He put his arm around
her and kissed the side of her head. “You can always pray for him, honey. God
knows where he is.”
    “No, no, no,” she said, and Cassie got up and walked out of
the house.

 
    †
    Bloody Point
    Chapter 8
    S HE stayed outside until
after dark, walking along the sandy strip of beach along the Bay. The air,
though cooler, was still thick with humidity. She walked all the way around the
cove and then back again, and finally sat on a rock, staring into the distance,
fingering the necklace Mike had given her. Her dad was right, she knew that,
but she hated it. How could she let him go? Jake needed her, and probably she
needed him. He had occupied so much of her thinking lately.
    The lights from the bungalow glowed softly. She could hear
Mozart being played on the stereo. A fish jumped in the water. Mr. Henry came
up and rubbed against her leg.
    Finally Cassie went inside. When her dad saw her, he came to
her and wrapped his arms around her.
    “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
    “It’s okay, Cass. I love you.”
    They had a simple dinner of grilled salmon and salad and they
talked about his projects: the underwater grasses nursery program, the
educational tours, the oyster garden. Her father was very actively working to
save the Chesapeake Bay. It was, he said, his second greatest passion.
    “Cass, why don’t you spend the day with me tomorrow? A group
of us are going out to Bloody Point to band pelicans. Why don’t you come? It
would be good for you to get out on the Bay for a day.” Bloody Point was a
place just off the south end of Kent Island. An old caisson lighthouse stood
guard there over the six-foot shallows. Ironically, the deepest part of the Bay
was nearby, a 174-foot pit everyone called Bloody Point Hole. Local tradition
said that ships used to dump dead and sick slaves there, throwing them
overboard before they got to the market at Annapolis. That was one of the
stories, anyway.
    Cassie wiped her mouth with her napkin. “No, Dad. I don’t
think so. There’s too much to do.”
    He opened his mouth as if to say, “Like what?” but must have
thought better of it. Instead, he kissed her goodnight.
    • • •
    After showering early the next morning, Cassie drove to Goose
Creek, parked her car, and sat on a hill overlooking the marina. She watched
Scrub move a sloop over next to the lift, his jon boat nudging and shoving the
larger sailboat into place. She saw Pete, the mechanic, arrive in his ancient
pickup truck and two fishermen she didn’t know load their boat with gear and
take off