Passing close to Baja Naval she felt a breath of longing for that first day when she actually had a chance to leave before she so willingly went to the police station and the noose was tightened. But broken promises and slashed cushions seemed to be the path she was on and now there was no turning back. Aiming for the end dock, she cut her engine and glided up to where Raul Vignaroli waited dressed in a collared dress shirt over a pair of faded and paint spattered khakis, a pair of dock-siders and a captain's cap over his dark curls. She threw him a line. "What's with the scrambled eggs on your cap?" "Baseball player?" He let a small but playful smile tell her he was joking. "No. You look like a policeman on your day off. Why the briefcase?" "I have everything I need in here," he said, patting the hard-sided case. "I think it would be best if we leave the dock. Fewer people out on the water to overhear our conversation." He slid over into the cockpit, and with a roll of his hand, indicated that she turn around.
