"Yeah," I said. "Are you still here?"
"In my office," she said.
"You alright?" I asked.
"Yeah, just a long day. Why don't you bring a bottle of wine down? I need a drink."
Missy preferred Pinot Noir, and I grabbed an Erath Pinot Noir, two glasses, and a wine tool. The hotel was quiet now. A couple of guests passed through the lobby. I saw Natalie, the overnight clerk behind the counter. She appeared to be intensely working on her computer. Plugging in the day's numbers, I guessed.
The hallway leading to Missy's office was a dead zone. The only other office personnel she had on staff were nine-to-fivers. I opened her door to see her seated behind her desk. She was wearing the same black suit with a white button-down blouse that I saw her in at lunch. She'd removed the jacket, and the top button of her blouse was loose. She was staring at her computer, and her mouth widened into a grin when I came through the door.
"Working late," I commented.
"Eh" was all she said.
Twisting the corkscrew, I pulled the cork free with an almost silent pop.
"What's wrong?" I asked when I handed her a glass. I sank into the couch on her back wall with my drink.
"I'm married to an ass, that's all."
"No argument from me," I added. "You don't want to go home, huh?"
"Paige is at a friend's, so it would be just the two of us at the house. That might be unbearable."
I drank the wine and held my tongue. She stood up and walked around the desk. Her skirt slid up her thigh as she sat beside me.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.
"No," she said.
I leaned in to kiss her. Her hand pressed against my shirt, and for a split second, it occurred to me that I was coming off a 14-hour shift and might not smell as fresh as I could. When her lips moved to my neck, I forgot about that.
My fingers unbuttoned her blouse, and my hand slipped into her shirt and caressed her skin. In seconds, we were both mostly naked, and the wine completely ignored.
When we finally collapsed, she was draped across me on the floor, both of us catching our breath. Her face nestled against my chest, and her fingers traced patterns down my body.
"I want another," she whispered.
"I need at least ten minutes," I told her.
She pulled her leg over me, staring down at me. Her hips started moving rhythmically until a smile appeared on her face.
"There it is!" she exclaimed excitedly.
When she finished, she rolled off me onto the floor, panting. I turned my head to look at her. "Want to talk about it now?" I asked.
She smacked me playfully. "I do not," she stated, and she climbed to her feet. I watched her every move, studying the lithe form and toned muscles from two hours in the hotel's fitness center every day.
"You know," I suggested, "you could hire someone to run the Tilly, and we could sail off to the islands together."
"There's Paige."
"I have an extra cabin."
She laughed. "Yes, that's what I need. My 17-year-old daughter vying for the attention of my boyfriend twenty-four hours a day."
"She'd never get it," I told her.
"Doesn't matter," she said as she slid the straps of her bra onto her shoulder. "We'd never work out."
I shrugged. "It would be fun, though."
She gave me a wry grin. "It's fun now," she said. "You know I don't need saving, don't you?"
I lifted my hands. "I know that for sure."
"Good, where did that come from then?"
"Maybe I just like your companionship," I offered.
"Bullshit," she said. Her eyes moved to the security monitor on her desk.
"What is it?" I asked.
"This man's been sitting in the east portico for hours. I saw him before you came down here."
Pushing up to my feet, I moved around her desk to look at the screen.
"I thought he was just grabbing a cigarette earlier," she said.
I groaned. "That's the bodybuilder from Tristan's boat."
Missy twisted her head to stare at me. "The one that tried to kill you?"
"He didn't try hard," I said. "They paid a visit to Kayla last night. I sent her to stay with her mother; I guess they might know she is gone."
"There were two of them, right?" Missy asked as she buttoned her blouse.
I grabbed my pants and started dressing. "Yeah."
"Maybe the other one is still following her."
"Damn," I muttered. The time on Missy's computer read 1:30 a.m. I didn't want to call Kayla and scare her if it was nothing.
I made a quick decision. "I'm going to take him away from the inn."
"Chase, that's dangerous."
"The last thing either of us wants is a scene to happen here. You don't want the publicity, and I'd just as soon not lead them to Carina. I can handle him."
"What if the other guy is out there too?"
"This time, I won't be boxed into the cabin of a boat," I assured her. "I'll be a little more ready for them."
She stared at me glumly.
"I don't plan to start a fight. I just want to redirect him elsewhere."
I leaned down and kissed her. "You know, you are going to regret not running off to the islands with me."
She put the palm of her hand on my cheek. "I don't have the luxury of regret."
Slipping out of her office, I tried to be discreet and avoid any of the inn's staff. There were already plenty of rumors, and while I don't care, it matters to Missy. The thought of the two of us running off together was pleasant, but I knew she was right. We were never a forever together type of people. Marriage and love were not part of her plan, and I knew that. Understand it, no. But I knew it was what she thought. Somehow her success with the Tilly was marginalized in her head if she didn't have a successful family.
On the other hand, I wasn't ready to be tied down. Not to a person or a place. It's not like I play the field with women everywhere. Missy has been my only relationship over the last couple of years. I just had plenty of years where I was told where to go and when to go. Now, I like to go when I damned well pleased.
Back in the Manta, I could see Muscles sitting on the portico overlooking the marina and the Manta Club's marina exit. When I left, he'd take an extra minute to get there from the upper level.
Walking away from the window, I went behind the bar. I picked up the bar knife that we use to cut up fruit. It was a five-inch long butcher knife. In a cocktail glass next to the register was a small collection of rubber bands. I found three of the wider ones. Rolling my sleeves up, I bound the knife to my forearm with the rubber bands. The handle rested just below the palm of my left hand so that I could pull it easily. My sleeves covered the blade, and I left the left cuff unbuttoned.
Venturing into the night, I felt the breeze coming over the marina. There is a sidewalk path that leads north parallel to the marina. I started down the footpath slow enough that Muscles had time to catch up, but not so slow that he suspected anything.
North of the marina was a private dock that was part of the condominiums. The walkway leads down to the condominiums, an idea that Missy promoted to drive business from the condos to the Manta Club. The compex added a stretch of concrete that forked off toward the dock. That path went along the parking garage and the bluff overlooking the bay.
My tail was behind me when I went toward the docks. Squeezing into an alcove, I waited in the dark. Somewhere around 90 seconds later, 87 to be exact, Muscles passed my hiding space. He was oblivious to my presence. When he had passed, I took a second to check that Spikey Hair was not around.
I thought about stepping out behind him and saying something glib like, "Are you looking for me?" But I was reminded of a commander I once had that drove home the idea that if someone might want to kill you, then don't give them a chance. Instead of being snarky, I whipped the knife free of my arm and hit him from behind. The man was all muscle, and it felt a little like hitting a wall. Unfortun
ately, years of weight training and bodybuilding don't make up for combat training. Muscles was off-balance, and my tackle buckled his knees, sending him face-first into the concrete. I was back on my feet, holding the knife ready to strike.
Muscles was still fast for his size. He was rebounding to his feet. The silhouette of a gun came up, and I slashed down on his forearm. The goon let out a quick grunt, and his gun clattered across the sidewalk.
He was more of a fighter than I gave him credit for. He lunged at me, letting me drive the knife into his bicep before he knocked me to the ground. Rolling to my feet, I watched as the man ran back toward the street.
I picked up the 9 mm Glock that he dropped. Considering the number of kids that traipse along these paths, I didn't want to leave it. I slipped it into my belt above my butt. Muscles was gone now. I started back along the path. Just because I never saw Spikey around didn't mean that he or someone else wasn't waiting on me. My guess was that he was alone, or someone would have popped up during the scuffle.
Quiet was all around. I walked along the dark path keeping my ears and eyes tuned for any movement. On the walkway to the marina, I froze. Light poured out of the porthole in my boat. My pace slowed as I peeked into the window.
I sighed with relief when I saw Missy moving around the galley. The boat rocked as I stepped aboard.
"You're here," I said as I stepped through the companionway.
She smiled. "Hope that's okay," she said. "What happened?"
"I lost the bar knife, but otherwise, I'm fine."
She handed me a slip of paper.
"What's this?"
"I searched the surveillance video after you left. Your man arrived in an old Honda Del Sol. Tricked out. This is his license plate."
My eyes lit up, and I leaned in and kissed her. "That's perfect," I told her.
"You mind if I stay the night?" she asked.
"Are you reconsidering running off with me?"
"Not tonight," she said as she crawled up into the v-berth. "I just want to fall asleep with you."
11
The inside of Carina stays dark with the blinds over the portholes closed. The effect left me confused as to how long I had been asleep. Years of sleeping in many uncomfortable positions gave me the ability to "sleep fast" as a sergeant once ordered me. Even now, I sometimes had to train myself to sleep more than two or three hours. Some days I'd force myself back to sleep just to make sure I was actually rested and not just fooled by the Marine endurance.
Today was a little different. Even in the darkened cabin, I was alert. I didn't care about going back to sleep. Missy's naked body was pressed against me, and I didn't want to move just yet. The v-berth was filled with a floral aroma that came off her. Her silky skin was cool against my chest, and I let my eyes close as I enjoyed the peace.
By the time I dealt with Muscles last night and made it back to the boat, it was well after three in the morning. Now, the interior was only illuminated enough to indicate it was morning, and my internal clock said it was well past mid-morning.
Missy stirred in her sleep and rolled over. It was evident that she wasn't used to the cramped quarters in the v-berth. While it is roughly a queen-sized bed, the walls on the side can create a claustrophobic feeling if one isn't used to it. Personally, I love my bed, and the gentle swaying of the waves helps me sleep all the better.
She rarely stayed the night with me. Even on nights when Michael was traveling, she would go back to her home. I didn't mind. Something was freeing about a relationship with very few expectations. On the other hand, mornings like this were very nice. I enjoyed having someone to fall asleep with on occasion.
Eventually, my bladder got the best of me. Without stirring Missy, I shimmied out from under her and pulled myself out of the berth. My bare feet touched the sole of the cabin, and Carina shifted gently in the slip. The head was in the aft of the boat, which was nice since I slept in the forward berth. I shuffled to relieve myself before I started looking for coffee.
Priorities are important.
Missy was still curled up in the sheets. A soft heaving of breath came from the front. Her bare leg protruded from under the covers displaying the taut muscles in her calf and thigh. I admired the curve from her ankle to her knee as I stood over the stove in my boxers, waiting on the water to boil for the coffee.
She was a beautiful woman with a complicated soul. I wish I understood the attraction I felt for her. There was more to her than simply her looks. We differed in so many areas that I knew we would never last a month in a committed relationship. It was the subject of many conversations. She liked certain amenities, like room service and high-end clothes. She abhorred sweating for any reason that wasn't gym related. I could live off-grid forever if I had the chance.
Still, there was this undeniable connection. I might classify my feelings for Missy in the love category, but I certainly did not put them in the "in love" category. But I remembered the day I met her clearly. There was a crazy spark of attraction. She was interviewing me for the bartender position about three years ago. As soon as I knew that she was married, I decided to steer away from her. But I couldn't shake the magnetism I felt toward her. We laughed together at work, and soon I was anticipating her coming by the bar to check on things. In fact, I started to think that she was coming by the Manta Club more often when I was there.
She finally made the first move. One night after the club had closed, she waited until the rest of the staff left for the night. She orchestrated a reason for talking to me. Something mundane about adding new keg taps. Missy was behind the bar, bending over and looking at the lines running from the kegs to the tap. The next thing I remember was her leaning in and hitting me with a swift playful kiss that devolved into a passionate few minutes on the top of the kegerator. Any resolve I had to keep our relationship platonic buckled.
That kiss was one of the few in my life I remember wanting as badly as I did.
The longest conversation we ever had about our relationship was the one last night about sailing to the islands together. It wasn't some dream I had. I never expected or wanted much more than the relationship we currently had. She was right last night. We wouldn't work together in the long term. She needed status, and I could never offer her that. Instead, I was little more than a guilty respite from the drudgery of her life.
"Missy!" a voice shouted from the dock. "Missy, do you hear me? I know you're there!"
I opened the companionway and popped my head up. A red-faced Michael stood at the bow of Carina. He looked out of place in his Italian suit. His forehead peppered with beads of sweat.
"What the hell?" I asked.
"Where is she?" Michael demanded.
"Who?" I feigned ignorance.
"You damned well know who."
Rising out of the companionway, I stood up in the cockpit. "Missy? She's not here. Why don't you get out of here before you cause a scene?"
He charged down the dock toward me. "I want to see her right now."
His foot touched the side of the cockpit as he attempted to board my boat. My right hand caught his arm and shoved him back onto the dock.
"Do not set foot on my boat," I told him sternly.
He straightened up. "Or what?" he asked. "What do you think you are going to do?"
He made a move as if he was going to try again. I came out of the cockpit and stood in front of him. "I will knock you on your ass."
"Where is that whore?" he shouted.
I hit him in the nose. I felt the crunch, and Michael fell down. He almost rolled into the water, except I caught his arm and pulled him back firmly on the dock.
"How dare you?" he muttered. "I'm going to make you pay for that."
My hand wrapped around his upper arm, and I lifted him up. Blood trickled from his misshapen nose.
"No, you won't," I said firmly. "You are going to go home now and clean up. You will adjust your attitude and never come back down here again. Do you understand me?"
He glared at me. "You don't get to talk to me like that!" he howled.
"My suggestion is that you get something on that nose before you bleed all over that $500 shirt."
He looked down suddenly, sending droplets of blood onto his shirt and tie. Biting my lip, I resisted the smile trying to force its way onto my face.
I stared at him, letting my body remain tense. "Now get the hell out of here."
"I own this marina; I'll have you thrown out."
My grip on his arm tightened. "No, your wife owns this marina. Why don't you tell her that I broke your nose when you called her a 'whore?' She can decide if I need to be kicked out. You leave now, or I will make sure you can't use this arm for another six weeks."
His eyes widened. He stepped back slowly. His narrowed eyes maintained a lock on mine as he attempted to keep some sense of self-assurance.
"You better apologize to your wife when you see her. You never talk about any woman like that in front of me again. Do you understand?"
He pulled against my grip. I released his arm and motioned for him to leave. His hand wiped the blood from his nose, leaving a trail across his cheek. He stumbled away from me. I watched as he walked away.
One of the guys from the boat two slips over walked past. He gave me a look, probably because I was standing on the dock in my underwear.
"Hope that didn't disturb you," I said, pointing at the retreating Michael.
"No, but I thought you handled the whole thing gracefully, considering."
I shrugged as the man continued past. A figure was ambling toward me. Wilson Peterson passed the other sailor and stared at me.
"Chase?"
"Wilson," I said. "It's a long story. Is everything alright?"
"You were right," he said, "they want another $20,000."
I sighed. "Wilson, can we go to the police now?"
He shook his head. "I told them this was the last I was willing to pay."
"They won't believe you," I remarked.
"I'll give you another two grand to make the delivery."
Breathing out with some exasperation, I said, "Wilson, I will, but you have to think about putting a stop to this."
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