"Josh, hi! Thanks for coming over."

"No worries, Jo. You know I'm never gonna turn down the chance for time away from the wrinklies, unlimited Internet access and cable television." He grinned again.

Jo laughed. "Yeah, I figured you'd jump at it." She smiled back at the good-looking 18-year-old. Josh was the son of her nearest neighbors and he had been her regular house and cat-sitter since he'd been old enough to drive. She watched as he made himself at home, making for his regular berth. "How are your folks?"

"They're good, thanks," he replied from the second bedroom where he was stowing his belongings. He re-emerged with Mephisto sitting on his shoulder. "He was lying on the bed waiting for me. G.o.d, cats are scary sometimes." He laughed.

Jo grinned. "You're not wrong. Sometimes I swear he lives about 10 minutes in the future and just comes back to freak me out every now and then. Don't ya, big fella?" She scratched the large cat's chin as he perched on Josh's shoulder, purring like a Mack truck. "Do me a favor, Joshy? Feed him his breakfast for me. I've still got a few things missing that I need to find before we go."

"Sure."

Josh took Mephisto to the kitchen and proceeded to have a long conversation with the feline over a bowl of kibble. Jo smiled and began the search for her sungla.s.ses, sunscreen, cap, and cell phone. Finally she rescued them all from their various hiding places and she was ready.

"Come on, Josh. Come with me down to the dock and then you can drive the Jeep back for me."

"Cool beans."

"No hooning around in it this time, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am. I mean, no ma'am."

Jo chuckled. "Mephisto!" she called. The cat leapt up onto the kitchen counter and sat on his haunches. Jo leaned in and b.u.t.ted heads with him. "Be good, boycat." He purred his reply loudly. "Okay, let's go." She followed Josh out of the house and locked the door behind her, resetting the security system. "You remember the code, Josh?"

"Yep, no worries. 3-2-2-1 right?"

Jo nodded as she climbed into her red Wrangler and fired it up. Josh clambered in beside her and she reversed till she could maneuver around his beat-up jalopy. They bounced down the dirt track that served as Jo's driveway and she took a moment to collect her somewhat scrambled thoughts.

It was a gorgeous day; not a cloud in the sky and, although it wasn't yet 8am, the temperature was already climbing into the high 90s, with the usual high humidity for the time of year. Jo couldn't wait to get out on the water and feel a bit of a breeze. For now she just took a deep breath and appreciated the cool patches generated by the canopy of trees meeting across the track.

Her first appointment was a meeting with her boss, Ron Cheswick, the owner of Cheswick Marine. He would fill her in on the details of the boatload of tourists she would be responsible for over the next- "How long you gonna be gone this time, Jo?" Josh interrupted her thoughts with just the right question.

"To be honest I don't know yet, mate," she replied. "I'll give you a call as soon as I know what's what, okay? You don't have any big plans do you?"

"Nope," he said jovially. "I was just wondering which Sat.u.r.day night to have the party." He grinned from ear to ear.

"You little b.u.g.g.e.r." She laughed, slapping him across the shoulder.

"Just kidding. Just kidding," the teenager said.

They slid off the last of the dirt at the bottom of Jo's hill and onto the paved surface of Shute Harbor Road, winding around the coastline till they rounded one last corner and came upon the port. Although it was early, the dock was already a hive of activity. Jo dodged other cars vying for a spot in the parking lot and headed straight for the secondary pier which housed the Cheswick Marine office and those of its compet.i.tors.

Shute Harbor was the major access port for the Whitsunday Islands and as such was a big focus for tourists. The main pier was a square concrete building with a large kiosk, the Coast Guard office above it on the land side, and a series of moorings around the outside ring. All the large catamarans and motor cruisers from the major resorts on the islands called in twice daily, picking up and depositing pa.s.sengers, mail, and stores. In addition it was the starting point for most of the day-trippers going out on the smaller yachts, cats, and game-fishing boats.

The north end of the parking lot led to the secondary pier, a long, narrow pontoon that snaked out into the bay. It was dotted with offices, dinghy moorings, and piles of provisions. Not many tourists came out here, just the boaties and office staff. Most of the time the tourists who wanted to do a bareboat charter were picked up from their island resort, as was the case with Jo's group today.

Jo pulled up just shy of the pontoon and hopped out of the Jeep, grabbing her bag from the back seat. She flipped the keys to Josh.

"Take it easy Joshy," she said. "And listen," she pointed a finger at him with mock severity, "any party is okay, you know that, right? Just don't traumatize the cat, do clean up afterwards-and you know my rules about booze and drugs." She walked around the back of the car and headed for the pontoon.

"You got it, Skipper," he called after her.

"I'll call and give you some warning when I'm coming back in-just so you can get it habitable in time," she shouted back with a wave.

He grinned and revved the engine, peeling out as he accelerated out of the lot.

"You b.u.g.g.e.r," she muttered. "There goes another set of tires." She found it pretty hard to get mad with Josh, though. He was a good kid and despite all his big talk of parties she'd always come home to an immaculate house, a happy cat, and no signs whatever of anything untoward.

Jo strode along the pontoon, happy at last to feel the sea breeze taking the edge off the humidity. She noted that it was the prevailing southeast breeze, normal for this part of the world most of the time. It would make the trip to Hamilton Island, which lay away to the southeast of Shute, a little longer and busier, but she could handle that.

She brushed her long black hair out of her eyes as she looked away to the right and spotted her yacht in the distance. Well, technically it wasn't "her" yacht, but for the time she was skippering it, it might as well be. She could see her two crewmembers, Paul and Jenny, already on board, readying the long boat for its three-week a.s.signment. She waved and gestured towards the office when she got a response from Jenny.

"Hiya, Jo!" Doris, Cheswick's indispensable and long-suffering receptionist, greeted her warmly as she stepped through the door of the small floating office.

"Hey, Doris, how are you?" Jo returned with a smile. "Is the boss in yet?"

"Surely is. Go on in."

"Thanks." Jo left her gear stowed behind Doris' desk and walked through into Ron Cheswick's tiny office, knocking softly on the door as she did so.

"Hi, Jo, come on in. Take a seat." Ron waved her over and Jo slid into the seat on the other side of his desk. He looks particularly harried this morning, she thought. Running this kind of business had its fair of share of stress, she knew. And at 50-some-thing and not exactly at his fighting weight, Ron looked like it was all catching up with him. She watched as he rooted around in a drawer for the file on the tourists she would be guiding around.

"How's business, Ronny? We making money for ya?"

"Oh that's funny, Jo. No, really," he snorted. "That group of Germans Frank took out last week? They ploughed into the jetty at South Molle yesterday. Can you believe it? The boat's going to be in dry dock at least a week."

Jo winced. Most of the business the company did was true bareboat charters in which the clients sailed the boat themselves after as little as a few hours' tuition from the company's skipper. Just how much tuition they received depended on how much sailing experience the client had. Of course, there was no way to make the client tell the absolute truth about how much experience they'd had. And there was no accounting for stupidity and the influence of alcohol. The company's insurance premiums were astronomical as a result.

Not to mention the clients who would arrive expecting to spend their dream holiday on their dream yacht, only to find their dream yacht in dry dock being repaired, and a smaller, less luxurious yacht waiting for them. The holidays were expensive and clients rightly expected the best for their money.

Nope, Jo wouldn't have Ron's job for quids. At least, Jo smiled, at least not the way this one was set up. If it were her business she'd make it all crewed charters, very exclusive, very small. And she'd specialize in the gay and lesbian market. There was a huge niche there that was going largely untapped.

Ron interrupted her daydream by slapping a file down on the desk in front of her.

"There you go. Thank G.o.d, this mob you're picking up today is the exception to the rule; rich as stink, and not in the least bit interested in sailing their own boat. At least I know the Seawolf's in good hands this trip." He sat down heavily and folded his hands across his belly, watching as the blue-eyed woman across from him thumbed through the file.

d.a.m.n she's gorgeous, he thought for about the zillionth time since he'd first met her.

"How many?" she asked without looking up.

"Four couples, so it's gonna be a bit crowded. Make Paul sleep on deck." He grinned.

"Three weeks? d.a.m.n, they're keen," Jo said.

"And rich, don't forget that," Ron reminded her happily. "They won't spend all that time on the yacht. But Jo," he leaned forward to make his point, "they're paying premium dollar for full-time service. You and the crew are on call for the full three weeks. If they want to sail, sail. If they want to dive, organize the dive-master. If they want to party, show them the hot spots. If they want to stay at a resort, make the booking and stay close at hand."

Jo nodded. And then her eyes fell on the pa.s.senger list. "A US senator? Jesus, Ron, that's some circle we're sailing around in, huh?"

"Oh yeah. And what's more it's not just any senator. It's the first openly lesbian senator, her partner, and six of their rich gay friends. That boutique market you're so keen on cornering just landed in your lap, mate." He leaned forward again. "Do me a favor?"

Blue eyes held his own as an eyebrow rose in inquiry.

"Don't blow it. Make nice, give 'em everything they want and hopefully they'll go running home to tell their little queer buddies all about faaaaaaaabulous Australia."

Jo closed the file and looked at him sardonically. "Y'know Ron, for a straight bloke, you sure talk a good game."

"Yeah, yeah. Flattery'll get you nowhere, Jo-Jo. You know that deep down you're just pining for a good-looking guy like me." He grinned. It was an old and familiar routine with them.

Jo stood, leaned across the desk, and chucked him under the chin. "In your dreams, Ronny boy. In your dreams." And with that she strode out of the room.

"You have no idea, gorgeous," her boss muttered under his breath.

Jo picked up her gear, said goodbye to Doris, and walked back out onto the pontoon. She flicked her cell phone on and speed-dialed Paul onboard the Seawolf.

"That you, Skipper?" his gruff baritone answered.

"Sure is. Did you guys take the dinghy out?"

"Nope, we left it for you. Ron dropped us off."

"We fully loaded?"

"Yes, boss. Except for one case of champagne which we left for you. Wouldn't want you to think we'd robbed you of the warm and fuzzy feeling of doing some manual labor." She could hear his grin through the phone.

"Smarta.r.s.e. Anything else we need before we disappear for three weeks?"

A female voice yelled in the background. "Tell her to bring chocolate!"

Jo laughed. "Tell her it's all taken care of, Paul. I'll see you shortly."

"Aye aye, Captain," he said flippantly.

"Oh shut up." She hung up and went in search of the Sea-wolf's dinghy, finding it not far from the end of the pontoon, hitched to a spare mooring. The case of champagne was already in the bottom of the small tinny, so she tossed her bag in. She took a moment to fish in her pocket for a hair-band and pulled her long locks into a loose ponytail before she donned her cap and stepped into the boat.

Jo reached back and yanked the string on the small outboard motor, casting off before putting the motor in gear and swinging the dinghy in the direction of the Seawolf, some 100 yards away in deep water.

G.o.d, it's a glorious day. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun for a brief moment, reveling in the feeling of the heat and wind and small splashes of salt spray on her face. A whole other planet from King's Cross, she thought. As she opened her eyes again she tucked away that dark part of herself once more. Every now and then she had to pull it out, just as a reminder of how good life was now.

"Hey Jo!" Jenny's happy voice floated across the water to her as she pulled alongside the stern of the boat.

"G'day Jen. Here, catch hold." Jo flicked the dinghy's tethering rope up to the deckhand. She tossed her gear bag up onto the deck and carefully walked to the bow of the dinghy. She gingerly held her balance as she lifted up the case of champagne.

"Hang on, Jo, let me give you a hand," Jenny said hastily, tying off the rope and starting to climb over onto the yacht's flat transom.

"No, she's right, I've got it," Jo said casually, as with one fluid motion she stepped from the bobbing dinghy onto the transom without so much as looking like she was going to tip over.

"Geez, Jo. I'm beginning to believe the rumors. You really can walk on water," Jenny joked as she leaned over and took the case from her skipper.

Jo laughed as she climbed up over the rail. "I wish," she said. "How are you, Jen?" The athletic brunette grinned back at her.

"Couldn't be better, Skip. And we're just about ready to go. Provisions are stowed, except for this one case. I'm gonna break that open now and put a few bottles on ice, so we've got something to appease the ma.s.ses with when they arrive. Other than that we're all set. Paul's down in the sail hold, sorting that out."

"He's not anymore." Jo's tall, blond deckhand appeared on deck and made his way aft towards the two women. "We're ready to go, boss."

Jo smiled at her two crewmembers. Paul was the stereotypical bronzed Aussie-tall, buff, brown, blond-haired, and laidback. He was also a d.a.m.n good deckhand, fast and sure on his feet, and strong with it. Jenny was younger and less experienced. She'd come to the Whitsundays a couple of Christmases ago for a working summer holiday, and liked the life so much she had decided to stay. Apart from working on deck when required, she was also the best cook in the company and would be responsible for keeping their guests fed and watered. She and Paul worked with Jo as often as they could and the threesome formed a formidable team and usually picked up the best a.s.signments.

"Okay then. Let's get the paperwork done and we can get moving here." Jo dropped down into the c.o.c.kpit and slid down the companionway to the main cabin. She pulled the charts out from their drawer and flicked to the relevant page. "Any chance of some coffee, Jen?"

"Yep." The cook pa.s.sed Jo and moved around the galley, stowing the last of the provisions and firing up the coffee pot. Paul flopped down onto the small sofa and put his feet up for probably the first and only time this trip.

"Did Ron fill you guys in?" Jo asked as she plotted their basic course to Hamilton Island on the chart in front of her and got it ready to relay to the Coast Guard office back on the pier.

"Oh yeah," Paul replied. "Could be a long three weeks I'm thinking."

Jo grinned. "Well, at least we won't have to worry about going on any d.a.m.n-fool rescue missions. Not like that last mob we had."

The trio laughed as they remembered the group of French businessmen and their wives who had careened around the Whitsunday Pa.s.sage on their own like some kind of demented pinball until, finally, they'd run aground way out on Heart Reef. It had taken a full day to refloat the yacht, not to mention the 10 days' worth of repairs.

About half an hour later, Jo and her crew were ready to sail. She'd filed the course she planned to follow for the day, called the office to double-check for any last-minute changes, and checked all the safety equipment, including the radio and flares.

"All right," she said. "Let's go."

She fired up the engine while Paul and Jenny moved about on deck readying the mainsail and smaller foresail for the moment they hit open water. Paul pulled up the anchor and Jo slowly maneuvered the yacht under power into the channel leading out of Shute Harbor. The wind picked up a little as they rounded the small islet at the mouth of the port.

Ten minutes later Jo killed the engine and held the boat up into the wind as the two deckies manned the winches and hoisted the mainsail. She bore away slightly till the sails filled and they were off on the first of what would be at least three tacks- changes of direction in which the yacht sailed at an angle to the wind in order to progress upwind-before they could reach Hamilton Island. She settled back in the c.o.c.kpit, her right foot steadying the wheel.

Paul's right, she thought, as she watched the crewman cleaning up the deck, stowing the sail covers and making fine adjustments to the sails. This could either be the easiest of a.s.signments or a real pain in the backside.

She was due to meet the pa.s.sengers at 1 pm, more than enough time for them to reach the Hamilton marina and put the finishing touches on the Seawolf. For now she leaned back and just enjoyed the sailing. They were doing seven knots, about average for the boat.

Jo glanced around. It was a pretty smooth sailing, though once they were out of the shadow of Long Island the chop would pick up a bit.

Not a bad way to make a living, she grinned as she took in the idyllic surroundings. Not for the first time, she sent a silent blessing to the young girl in a damp alley who had changed her life. Wherever your soul is now, kid, I hope it's at peace.

"Ready to tack," she called about 20 minutes later. Jenny scurried up from below and joined Paul on the winches. "Tacking," Jo yelled as she swung the prow of the boat first into the breeze and then away again on the starboard side. The huge boom swung across the boat, both deckies ducking under it and working the winches hard to trim the mainsail as it refilled.

"Nice one, Skipper," grinned Paul at the smoothness of the tack. There was nothing more damaging to mast and rigging than a violent tack that slammed the heavy boom hard from side to side. Jo had always had a gentle touch.

She grinned back and settled in for a good morning's sail.

The view from Cadie's hotel room balcony was spectacular. From where she was she looked out over the crowded Hamilton Island marina and away to a perfect cloudless sky and blue-green ocean beyond the mouth of the small harbor. She inhaled deeply and savored the smell of the sea and the close heat of the day, listening to the sounds floating up from the boats and dockside stores.

For the past 24 hours, Cadie had absorbed her new surroundings like a sponge. While Naomi and the others had spent the time sleeping off their jetlag, she had found herself wandering the resort and its surrounds, talking to the hotel staff and finding her feet after the long journey. She felt wired.

Hamilton Island was one of the first major resorts built in the Whitsundays. Its high-rise hotel and sprawling dockside shopping and eating precinct were the exception in the islands. Most of the other resorts were low-rise affairs, blended into their tropical environments. But Hamilton was also the biggest and busiest, thanks to the area's only airport. It also boasted a large marina that hosted one of Australia's most popular yachting regattas each year.

Cadie gazed out over the forest of masts in front of her. One of them, she knew, was the boat on which she and the others would be spending the next three weeks. She tried to guess which one it would be.

One in particular caught her eye. It was just pulling into its berth. Long and sleek, the yacht seemed-to her unpracticed eye at least-to be about the right length. She watched the crew moving around, stowing sails and other equipment. A blond man leapt onto the pontoon and wrapped two mooring ropes around the bollards at each end of the berth.