Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) James Best (best e book reader .TXT) 📖

After a hesitation, Evarts said, “I’m not even going to ask about that.”

“Better you don’t. By the way, Tom sees no unusual seismic activity. It appears that you flushed the water out to sea without dropping a third of the state into the Pacific.”

“You know that’s just a bad plot for a disaster movie, don’t you? Tectonic plates shift; they don’t sever.”

“How do you know, wise guy? I’m the one with the seismic expert sitting beside her.”

“And what does he say?”

“He says we’re lucky as hell.”

Epilogue

Evarts turned toward the sun to let it bake his face. He wore a black wet suit against the cold water, but his head remained bare. The sun felt good. He had been surfing for over two hours, pretty much his limit, but the waves were perfect and conditions exceptional. Not a whisper of wind. The surface of the ocean was so smooth, it looked like a sheet of glass. Swells came from the north to form waves of between six and eight feet. Perfectly shaped, paper-thin waves. So thin, the waves were as transparent as windows, and he could watch fellow surfers perform from the back side of the wave.

He was content. More than content, he was happy.

In a few moments, he saw an opportunity to catch a wave all to himself, a rarity for this crowded day at Rincon. He paddled into the peak, caught it easily, and slid down the face heading left. At the bottom, he sped in front of the wave and then cranked a solid bottom turn that lined him up perfectly with the right-breaking wave. As he climbed the face, he took two steps forward to trim the board and crouched holding the rail. He got tubed. Forever. Or at least it seemed forever in his mind. Completely buried in seawater that cascaded over his head, missing him completely. Then he broke free, shooting ahead of the break. To yelps and huzzahs from surfers paddling out, he climbed and dropped until he had ridden all the way in to the inner bay.

That felt good. Really good. He decided to get out and take the feeling home with him. He had learned that it was usually best to call it a day after a terrific ride. Too many times, he had felt so jazzed after a good wave that he had hurriedly paddled back out to catch another. Except it had rarely happened. Instead, he would wait for perfection, settle for mediocrity, and the mood would dissipate.

When he reached shore, he was surprised to discover Baldwin in a sand chair, waiting for him.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Did you think you were the only one who enjoyed sun at the beach? Especially after the last three weeks.”

“I see you brought two chairs.”

“I did.” She smiled. “And coffee and sandwiches.”

What a great day. Evarts set down his board and stripped his wet suit to his waist. He sat down and used his toes to play with the sand. He glanced at the sun. He had missed it. What could be better than a sunny, windless day with great surf? He glanced at his wife. Trish threw her arms wide in an exhibit of exaltation and knocked Evarts on his back in the precarious sand chair.

They both laughed.

“You did that on purpose,” Evarts said.

“I wish I had. It was too good to be on purpose.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” Evarts said. “I missed you.”

“Is that why you went surfing? To be close to me?”

“I left at the break of dawn. I assumed I’d be back before you brushed your teeth.”

“Normally, but I needed sunshine.” She handed him a thermos.

Evarts poured them both coffee, and they luxuriated in comfortable silence. There was plenty to watch. Surfers bobbed, paddled, and rode waves throughout the line-up, and the narrow beach could barely accommodate all the idlers grabbing a few rays of sunshine. Everyone had been cooped up for weeks and just wanted to be outdoors.

After a while, she asked, “You knew they were going to fry Gleason, didn’t you?”

Evarts shrugged. “Gleason has no friends … in Washington or Sacramento. He constantly maneuvered to make someone else the scapegoat if anything went wrong. Including the governor, which became clear when his emails got hacked and leaked. Setting up your boss as the fall guy doesn’t bode well for your career. Friendless, but with loads of enemies, Gleason ended up being the scapegoat.” He sipped coffee. “I’m told the recall petition will go through.”

“Who told you?”

“Walsh.”

“She’s tuned in to state politics?”

“You didn’t think being mayor was her endgame, did you?”

Baldwin whistled. After a moment, she said, “Thanks to your handling of county disasters, her reputation climbed several notches.”

“True, but she covered for me when it took three days to clear evacuees from the 101. We protected each other’s reputations.”

“You were a hero. You should have gotten a medal for that gunfight in Solvang.”

“I came out okay. Besides, you were the one who fought man-eating politicians. I, at least, got some kudos, but no one even knows that you and your friends saved the state from ruin.”

“A few people I care about know,” Baldwin said. “That’s all that matters. Besides, the state may fall to ruin anyway. The news sounds dismal.”

“California will be fine. People step up in a disaster, and the worst was avoided. Washington will do everything in its power to recover the tax base.”

“So the alarmists don’t bother you?”

“Oh, we’re in for a tough couple of years, but things will get back to normal before you know it. Besides, you don’t hear about the positive aspects of the flood. The Central Valley is projected to be far more fertile with the new topsoil brought down by floodwaters.”

“The silver lining?”

“Nature’s way of renewal.”

“You’re right. Good may come from this. New infrastructure and rebuilding homes and businesses may spark economic growth.” She laughed. “And a lot of gang members are in jail.” She smiled at him. “You and