There wasn’t even a run-down village or an abandoned shack anywhere near their beach, much less a Holiday Inn. Fortunately, before the darkness closed around them, Maggie had a decent fire going, keeping the night at bay. Solemnly they divided and shared the soggy candy bars and the remnants of the bourbon, making the meager feast last. Maggie sat cross-legged on the sand, listening to the steady rush of the outgoing tide, trying vainly to dry out their dwindling supply of cash. She should have felt grateful. If the tide hadn’t been coming in that afternoon, they would have been pulled out to sea, ending up as shark bait or something equally unpleasant. But even so, given the solid ground beneath her, the warmth of the night, and the salt-laden candy bar that had at least taken the edge off her hunger, she was feeling disturbed and angry over God only knew what. She was unable to make light conversation, and Mack didn’t push her. He lay back in the sand, apparently at ease, his attention half on the fire in front of them, half on the night around them, and thankfully not at all on her.
