Chase Fulton Box Set

by Cap Daniels

  “Everything. I found out she’d lied about everything, even her name.”

  “Oh, man. That sucks. I’m sorry, Chase. How did you find out she was lying?”

  Oh boy. How am I going to answer that one?

  Opting for something close to the truth, I said, “She got hurt in an accident and ended up in the hospital in Miami. After that, I learned a lot of things about her. A lot of people who knew her came out of the woodwork and told me the truth.”

  “That’s a nasty way to find out, but I guess there’s really no good way to learn something like that. So, I guess you broke up with her after that.”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “What do you mean? Didn’t you talk with her and try to get the truth out of her?”

  “No, I didn’t have a chance to talk to her. By the time I found out, it was too late.”

  “What do you mean it was too late?”

  “She didn’t survive,” I said.

  She gasped and reached out to hug me. “Oh my God, Chase. I’m so sorry.”

  I hadn’t expected the hug, but I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around her. Her kindness—and her body—felt nice in my arms. I didn’t want the hug to end.

  “Now I understand why it was so devastating for you. Finding out she was lying was bad enough, but then dealing with her dying . . . that’s terrible. I’m really sorry.”

  “Thank you. It was tough, but I can’t stop living just because she deceived me. And I can’t stop living just because she’s gone.”

  “Yes, you have to live. Not all women are like her.”

  How right she was. I doubted there was another woman on Earth like Anya, or more correctly, Captain Norikova, but regardless of the brutal truth, she’d always be Anya to me.

  4

  Seeing Ghosts

  Kirsten yelled from the starboard hull. “Hey, Chase! There’s a phone ringing down here.”

  “Answer it,” I yelled back.

  I still hadn’t grown accustomed to having a cell phone. I rarely kept it with me and missed far more calls than I answered.

  Kirsten came through the door from the main salon with the phone pressed to her face. “I’m Kirsten and he told me to answer it. Who are you?” She held the phone out toward me. “It’s some girl. She says her name’s Elizabeth.”

  I took the phone. She glared at me as if she were my wife and had just answered a call from my mistress . . . or vice versa.

  “Hey, Skipper,” I said into the phone. “She’s a lady I met at lunch today, and she’s very nice.”

  Kirsten quickly left the cockpit and headed back for the trampoline.

  I finished my conversation and tossed the phone onto the settee. After scanning the area and checking the radar for other traffic, I reset the autopilot and walked back toward the bow.

  Before I made it past the mast, Kirsten stopped me. “Hey, I’m sorry. Clark told me who Elizabeth is, and I shouldn’t have been pissy about it. Like you, I’m kinda used to guys being jerks, but I should’ve known you aren’t one. Can you forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” I said. “It was a misunderstanding, and besides, Skipper was probably pissy with you. She does that sometimes.”

  “How about this?” she said. “Next time your phone rings, I’ll toss it to you and you can answer it.”

  “Deal,” I said.

  She stood on her tiptoes, offering another kiss, and I gladly accepted. When our kiss ended, I caught my breath, surprised by how much I enjoyed Kirsten.

  “Let’s go up front and talk about the rest of the day,” I said.

  She took my hand and we strolled to the trampoline.

  “I just talked with Skipper,” I said to the group. “She and Tony are hanging out in Old Town and want us to have dinner with them. Are you guys interested?”

  After we’d rescued Skipper and returned her to her parents in Georgia, they were thrilled to have their daughter home safely, but they smothered her with affection. She wasn’t ready for that, so I agreed to let her stay on the boat with me for a while until things settled down and she was ready to go home. That had been two months before, and she showed no signs of wanting to go home.

  Clark and Chloe grinned at each other.

  “Why don’t you and Kirsten go join them?” Clark said. “I think Chloe and I will hang out on the boat and get to know each other a little better.”

  “What do you think, Kirsten?” I asked.

  “Sure. Sounds good to me.”

  I retrimmed the sails for a broad reach with the wind on our port stern quarter. Aegis II liked the wind on her hip. She made twelve knots running before nineteen knots of wind, surfing down the leeward faces of the rolling waves. Everything my boat did made me love her more, especially when she made me look like a good sailor.

  We sailed straight into St. Augustine Inlet on a rising tide and made the turn south into the Matanzas River. There was quite a bit of afternoon traffic in the inlet, but we had no problem getting in. I turned the keys and felt the diesels purr beneath my feet before furling the headsail. Aegis II had become a semi-permanent resident of the St. Augustine City Marina. They even held our slip for us while we “borrowed” a submarine from Cuba. We’d been given use of slip number seven for the paltry sum of six hundred dollars per month, plus utilities, of course.

  Never having been particularly superstitious, I didn’t give much thought to the lucky reputation of our slip number, but the way things had been falling into place lately made me think there might be something to the love for old number seven.

  Approaching the Bridge of Lions, I called the tender on the VHF radio. “Bridge of Lions, Bridge of Lions, this is the sailing vessel Aegis II requesting you open the bridge for southbound traffic.”

  He replied, “I saw you coming, Chase. I’ll have her open for you in a minute. Some jackass has stopped at the top of the bridge and he’s taking pictures. As soon as he moves on, I’ll get you through.”

  I’d made it a point to befriend Charlie, the bridgetender. I learned what he liked to drink, and I made weekly deliveries of Jack Daniel’s Single Barrel. Nobody knows more about local boat traffic than the bridgetender, so I’d recruited Charlie to be my local insider.

  “Thanks, Charlie.” I waved at him as we passed beneath the beautiful ornate bridge.

  “Did you say Bridge of Lions?” Kirsten asked.

  “I did. That’s the name of this bridge.”

  “Roar Lions!” she cheered.

  “Roar Lions!” I echoed.

  After I’d eased into slip number seven, Clark peeled himself away from Chloe long enough to help me tie up. Earl from the End—the sassy, sixty-something resident lady mechanic—came strolling down the dock with a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon under each arm and eyeing Kirsten.

  “Who’s that?” Kirsten asked.

  “That’s Earl from the End,” I told her. “She’s the local diesel mechanic and my undercover lover, but don’t worry, she doesn’t mind sharing.”

  Earl yelled, “Don’t you let that young girl hurt your back, stud muffin. I can’t have me no broke-down man. You hear me?”

  “I hear you, Earl,” I yelled back.

  Kirsten jumped into the fray. “Don’t worry, Earl. He’s not my type, but you’re looking pretty good. What are you doing later, momma?”

  “Ha! I like her,” Earl yelled as she walked away.

  “You’re quite the ladies’ man, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, I get around. I’m big with the over-sixty, greasy mechanic girls.”

  I connected the shore power cable to the boat and topped off the freshwater tanks while Clark fired up the blender for another round of daiquiris. The boat was secure in her slip, so I was free to imbibe . . . and imbibe I did. We sat on the upper deck watching tourists stroll up and down Avenida Menendez, the riverfront avenue in Old St. Augustine. The city claims to be the oldest continually occupied city in the United States, and the Old City stands as a living testame
nt to that claim. The architecture is unapologetically old-world, and some of the streets are still made of cobblestones that once served as ships’ ballast stones. It’s a fascinating city full of history and interesting characters . . . like Earl from the End.

  We finished our drinks, and I said, “I need to grab a shower and change before we head to dinner. Kirsten, I probably have some clothes that will fit you if you’d like to get a shower and change, too.”

  “I’m not much for wearing other women’s clothes, but thanks for the offer. Actually, we’re staying at the bed and breakfast a couple blocks down. I can run back to the room and change.”

  I hadn’t meant for my offer of clothes to sound as distasteful as it had, but I thought apologizing would only make it worse.

  “I almost forgot we left your car at Cap’s after lunch. I’ll get you a taxi to pick it up if you’d like,” I offered.

  “No, we didn’t drive up there. We took a cab, so no worries.”

  “Okay. In that case, may I walk you to your B and B?”

  She tilted her head. “I’d like that very much.”

  I glanced at Clark.

  He quickly said, “Don’t worry about us. We’re going to have another daiquiri and hang out.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t worried. I knew you had a plan.”

  Kirsten and I walked up the dock and onto Menendez. The sun was still high in the afternoon sky, and it was hot. The street was crowded with tourists, pets on leashes, and horse-drawn carriages galore.

  She pointed to one of the carriages. “I’ve been wanting to take a ride in one of those, but Chloe gets freaked out by any animal bigger than a Chihuahua.”

  “I don’t love horses,” I admitted, “but they don’t freak me out. I had a bad experience with a horse once that left a bad taste in my mouth.”

  “Hmm, interesting,” she said. “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”

  She put her hand in mine, and we crossed the street. It felt odd to be holding a hand that wasn’t Anya’s. As we made it to the opposite sidewalk, I encouraged her to move to the inside, and I walked nearer to the street.

  “What’s that about?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s something my father taught me. A gentleman is supposed to walk on the street side of the sidewalk to keep the lady away from the danger of traffic. It’s a habit, I guess.”

  “I like that. The world needs more gentlemen.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. “Here’s my B and B. Give me an hour, okay?”

  “An hour it is,” I said. “I’ll pick you up right here.”

  “See you then, stud muffin.”

  I walked back to the marina thinking how much I enjoyed spending the afternoon with Kirsten. I didn’t want to admit I enjoyed it. I wanted to avoid those feelings. I wanted to go on with my life without risking being crushed again like Anya had done to me. I thought being alone was the only way to avoid that pain, but Kirsten certainly made me feel good.

  Back on the boat, I showered and changed in less than twenty minutes. I had another cocktail and talked with Chloe and Clark for a while, but it was obvious they were anxious to be alone, so I headed out to pick up Kirsten.

  When I climbed up to Menendez from the marina, I saw one of the horse-drawn carriages parked at the curb.

  “How much for a ride to pick up a lady at the B and B two blocks down, and to take us for a little tour?”

  “Sixty bucks,” said the carriage driver.

  “Okay, sixty and no tip, or fifty bucks plus a fifty-dollar tip if my lady friend has a great time. What do you say?”

  “Fifty it is. And if your lady friend doesn’t have wonderful time, I give you back fifty. I’m Enzo. Hop in.”

  I shook the man’s hand. “I’m Chase.”

  Enzo was of some Mediterranean heritage, maybe Greek or Italian, but his accent was muddled. Perhaps it was part of the act. I climbed aboard the carriage and settled into the plush seat. The sound of the horse’s hooves on the street was a peaceful, rhythmic clip-clop that I found soothing. I needed soothing things in my life. Too much of my life was made up of conflict and death.

  We pulled up in front of the B and B.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any champagne, would you?”

  “I would,” he said, and poured two flutes of champagne. He handed the flutes to me, and I placed them in the cup holders as Kirsten came out the front door of the inn.

  “Oh my God, Chase. You didn’t!”

  “I did.” I stepped from the carriage and took her hand. Her hour of preparation was obviously an hour well spent. She wore a short red dress with her hair in a ponytail. She was stunning, and she caught me staring.

  “I know. I know,” she said. “My hair’s in a ponytail. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t get it to do anything in this humidity.”

  “You look astonishing,” I said, helping her into the carriage.

  We settled into our seats, and I handed her a champagne flute.

  I raised my glass. “Here’s to new friends who aren’t freaked out by animals bigger than a Chihuahua.”

  She touched the rim of my glass and raised the flute to her lips. I watched her drink half of the contents of the glass.

  Somewhat self-consciously, she said, “I’m sorry, but I love champagne. It’s like my drug of choice. How did you know?”

  “I didn’t,” I admitted. “But I do now.”

  The driver handed me the bottle and began telling us the remarkable history of St. Augustine. Sometimes we listened, but occasionally, we’d sneak a kiss when he wasn’t watching. The ride was magnificent, and the driver was fascinating. He delivered a well-practiced, amusing history lesson, and even handed us a second bottle of champagne after Kirsten had polished off the first one.

  “Where is dinner tonight?” the driver asked.

  “I’ve heard good things about the Columbia,” I said.

  “Is a very nice place,” he said. “My wife is begging me for years to go there, but is too much.”

  I cocked my head and grinned at Kirsten.

  “Oh, Chase. I couldn’t ask you to do that. You bought lunch, and now the carriage ride. We can do something simple.”

  “Consider it a graduation gift. You did say you and Chloe just finished up your masters’ at UNA, right?”

  “Well, yes, but you don’t have to do that,” she protested.

  I turned to the driver. “The Columbia it is.”

  “Okay . . . to the Columbia,” he said, and encouraged the horses to pick up the pace.

  He pulled a cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed a number. Speaking in a Spanish dialect I didn’t recognize, he conversed with the person on the other end of the phone then turned to me. “Just the two of you, no?”

  I held up four fingers. “We’re meeting some friends, so there’ll be four.”

  He smiled, nodded, and said into the phone, “Cuatro . . . gracias . . . ciao! It will be small wait, but you have table for four in thirty minutes.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Hang on a minute, and I’ll call our friends and see where they are.”

  I dialed Skipper’s cell phone number and waited for her to pick up. Finally, on the fifth ring, she breathlessly said, “Hey, Chase. Sorry. We were checking out the Castillo de San Marcos.”

  “We’re having dinner at the Columbia in half an hour. We’ll pick you up in front of the Castillo in . . .” I looked at the driver who held up nine and a half fingers. I wanted to hear the story of the missing half finger. “We’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

  “It’s just a few blocks,” Skipper protested. “We can walk.”

  “Let us pick you up. You’ll understand when we get there. See you in ten.” I squinted at the driver’s hand. “Or maybe nine and a half.”

  Kirsten squeezed my arm. “You’re too much, Chase. Thank you.”

  Enzo grinned. “Horse before this one bit it off, and now I have new horse.”

  Kirsten snorted, and I tried to mu
ffle my laughter. Finally, she joined me, giggling, but trying not to. I leaned down and kissed her. It was the first kiss I’d initiated, and it brought flashbacks of my first kiss with Anya in the water off the beach in St. Thomas.

  I’d been fleeing the beach after discovering Dutch, another American operative, had been brutally killed in his bungalow. I was in water barely deep enough to swim in when Anya had slipped a lasso over my head and torso, trapping my arms against my body. She sat on my back and pinned me to the sandy bottom. As a last-ditch effort to survive, I’d found my pistol through the material of my dry bag hanging from my waist, and managed to pull the trigger. The shot caught Anya in the foot, removing her pinky toe. It had given me the leverage I needed to roll over and sit up. When I’d caught my breath, I found Anya sitting in my lap, facing me, and wearing a look of surprise and pain on her beautiful face. We’d shared our first kiss in that precarious position, with me thankful not to have drowned, and her furious that I’d shot her in the foot. That memory felt a thousand years old, yet I could still taste Anya’s salty kiss.

  5

  Mojito Show

  We pulled up in front of the Castillo de San Marcos to find Skipper and Tony sitting on the old stone wall, holding hands and laughing.

  “That’s them,” I said.

  The driver stopped the carriage a few feet in front of them and announced, “Your chariot awaits.”

  Tony didn’t notice me. “No, thanks. Our friends are picking us up.”

  I raised my champagne flute. “Cheers, guys! Get in. You’re gonna love this.”

  “Ha! I didn’t even see you back there, Chase. What’s this all about?”

  Skipper and Tony climbed aboard, still holding hands.

  “Kirsten, meet Tony and Elizabeth. I think you two talked on my phone earlier.”

  Skipper blushed. “Oh my God. I’m sorry for being such a bitch on the phone.”

  “Forget about it. I understand. I wasn’t exactly nice to you either, so . . . poof . . . forgotten.”

  Tony stuck out his hand. “Hey, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both,” Kirsten replied.

  The driver passed back another pair of flutes and a third bottle of champagne.