Island Peril. Jill Sorenson

in a geeky way, with smart brown eyes and sleek brown hair. Her figure was slight, curvier below the waist than above.

      Brooke came out of the stall, adjusting her long ponytail. She was blonde, blue-eyed and gorgeous, like Abby.

      Ella and Brooke didn’t bother to wait for Abby, who was far more meticulous about her appearance. She always took pains with her hair and clothes. Even while camping, she wore bras and underwear that matched. It was a sickness.

      “Did she bring makeup?” Ella asked.

      “Of course,” Brooke said, shaking her head. “She wanted to pack a blow dryer, too.”

      “You’re kidding.”

      “No.”

      They shared a grin at Abby’s expense. Ella was only seven years older than Brooke, so she felt more like a big sister to her than an aunt. Brooke was a star athlete and honor student, poised to start her first semester at Berkeley.

      At the campsite, Brooke fired up the little propane stove, and they heated water for coffee and oatmeal. By the time Abby came out of the restroom, hair braided and skin glowing, they were ready to eat. The carrot-walnut-raisin mix was Abby’s concoction, delicious as usual. After breakfast, Abby scrubbed the dishes with industrious vigor.

      “OCD,” Brooke mouthed to Ella, who smothered a laugh.

      Abby noticed the exchange but didn’t comment. When she finished rinsing, she walked behind Brooke with a cup of water, pouring a splash down her back.

      Brooke leapt to her feet, squealing. “Hey!”

      Abby almost dropped the cup in her haste to get away. Brooke started to chase her around the tent, stopping short when Paul appeared at the edge of the campsite. He smiled at their antics. Ella rose from the rock she’d been sitting on.

      “I know it’s a little early,” he said, clearing his throat, “but the weather conditions are perfect for kayaking right now.”

      Brooke did a cheerleading jump kick. “Let’s go.”

      “Fifteen minutes?”

      They agreed to that time frame and collected their supplies. Each kayaker needed drinking water, snacks and extra clothing. They changed into bikinis and shorts with rash guard surf shirts. Neoprene booties and fleece jackets went into the packs.

      When Paul came back to check their gear, he nodded his approval. “You ladies have done this before.”

      Ella put on her backpack. “The trip isn’t for beginners, right?”

      “Right, but some people lie about their experience. They think it’s easy.”

      “How hard is it?” Abby asked, winking at Ella.

      “Harder on some days than others,” he said, taking a small spiral notebook from his pocket and flipping it open. “That’s why I have to factor the SCRS before every trip.”

      “What’s that?” Ella asked.

      “Sea Conditions Rating System.”

      They gathered around while he pointed out numbers for wave height, wind speed and water temperature.

      “Where do you get the data?”

      “Ocean buoys and weather reports. I have an app on my cell phone. I can also do a rough estimate on my own.”

      Ella was standing close enough to smell him. She detected an intoxicating hint of sunscreen and sports deodorant on warm male skin. He was tall, almost a foot taller than her. She studied his grip on the notepaper. He had big hands.

      “Looks like we’re at Class II/III today. Should be a breeze.”

      “Do you have helmets?” Abby asked.

      “Absolutely. I wouldn’t go into a sea cave without them.”

      Abby seemed relieved by his commitment to safety. They’d kayaked in calm waters like La Jolla cove, but never across the open ocean. Even Ella was a bit intimidated, though her excitement about metamorphic rock formations outweighed any fears. Brooke lived for adventure and had no reservations whatsoever.

      They hiked down the sandy path to the loading dock, where the kayak equipment was stored. Paul gave them a quick refresher course on the beach before they prepared to launch. He was a good teacher, giving clear instructions. She admired the flex of his biceps as he demonstrated the strokes, his back to them. He had to be at least twenty-five, maybe thirty. Those shoulders belonged to a man, not a boy.

      At the end of the session, he lowered his paddle and turned around to face them. “Any questions?”

      “Are there speleothems inside the caves?” Ella asked.

      His gaze sharpened in appraisal. She knew how nerdy she sounded; Abby was practically groaning beside her. Ella usually tried to dial it down on the science terms, but they popped out whenever she was nervous.

      “Stalagmites, stalactites, that sort of thing,” she said, blushing.

      “Those are more common in limestone caves,” he said. “The ones we’re visiting are mostly volcanic.”

      Ella was thrilled by his informed response. She wanted to ask him about fault-line activity, but the topic might disturb Abby. The same earthquake that had traumatized her sister had inspired Ella to change her course of study in college. She’d chosen a career that would enable her to use geophysical research to save lives.

      He moved on, taking the dry sacks from the storage compartment. “These are for anything you don’t want to get wet. They aren’t completely waterproof, so leave your electronics here in the lockbox.”

      Abby frowned. “I can’t bring my cell phone?”

      “They don’t work on San Miguel anyway.”

      “What if we have an emergency?”

      “I’ll use my radio.” He showed her his first aid kit and rescue supplies. “I stay in contact with the other guide at the campsite. I can also call headquarters.” Picking up the radio, he pressed the talk button. “We’re about to head out, Ramona. Over.”

      Ramona responded a second later. “Thanks for checking in, Paul! Have a great trip. Over.”

      Somewhat mollified, Abby left her cell phone in the lockbox. He secured it with a key he wore on an elastic band around his wrist.

      “Are you two sisters?” he asked, glancing from Abby to Brooke.

      Abby’s face, which had grown tense, relaxed at the compliment. She was young for a divorcee with a teenager, and she took excellent care of herself. It wasn’t the first time a charming man had asked her this question.

      “She’s my mom,” Brooke said in an annoyed voice.

      Abby hooked her arm around Ella’s neck. “This is my sister.”

      “My mistake,” he said with a smile. “Good looks clearly run in the family.”

      As he lifted his kayak and carried it to the water’s edge, Abby arched a brow at Ella. He was smooth—Ella would give him that. He’d already won Abby over. Her sister grabbed her kayak and followed him to the shore.

      “Where are you from, Paul?”

      “San Diego.”

      “Really? So are we.”

      “I live in Oxnard now,” he said, naming a suburb of LA.

      Abby elbowed her. “Ella just moved to Northridge.”

      “Oh yeah? We’re practically neighbors.”

      She set her kayak on the wet sand, feeling self-conscious.

      “What brought you to this area?” Abby asked.

      “I came with a girlfriend.”

      “How