A Ryan Weller Box Set Books 1 - 3

by Evan Graver

  Mango said, “I get a little disability money from the VA and we have some savings. We were just going to be frugal, eat from the sea.”

  “I did that, too. Lots of fish and lobster, crabs, and shrimp. I’d shoot fish with a spear gun and trade it for vegetables and rice if I could. What are you doing now to make ends meet?”

  “Jennifer is a nurse, so she’s going back to work,” Mango said. He squeezed Jennifer’s shoulders and she gave a tight smile. “I haven’t done much. Like I said, not much call for a one-legged guy with a special forces’ skill set in the real world. Thanks to you, I’m getting paid to move a sailboat around and get justice on some pirates.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” Ryan shook his head. “We don’t know what kind of trouble we’ll get into. You know the saying about best laid plans.”

  “Yeah, Murphy’s Law—if anything can go wrong, it will.”

  Jennifer groaned, “Don’t jinx the trip.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Before leaving Wilmington, Ryan had arranged for a slip at Sunset Bay Marina in Stuart, Florida. The transient marina, at the mouth of the St. Lucie River, required advanced booking because of the heavy water traffic moving along the Okeechobee and Intracoastal Waterway. The office building was a typical Florida stucco construction, painted yellow, with a second-story balcony, white wrought-iron railings, and a green metal roof.

  In the office, Ryan paid for an overnight slip and bought cold sodas. He and Mango were sipping beverages while standing in the air conditioning and pointing out clever items they could use from the ship’s store when the door opened and an older man in blue jeans, a Hawaiian shirt, Top Sider shoes, and a straw Indiana Jones hat walked in.

  He looked the newcomers up and down and pulled off his sunglasses to let them dangle from a neck loop. “You boys just get in?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mango replied.

  “Skip, everybody calls me Skip. You headed up the Ditch in that Sabre?” he asked, using the local nickname for the Okeechobee Canal.

  “That’s the plan,” Ryan replied.

  “Lake’s pretty low this year. That Sabre draws six feet, doesn’t it?” He had an air of professionalism about him, a confidence born from years on the water.

  “Yes, it does,” Ryan said. He’d been aground twice in the Sabre, even though he knew her technical specifications. The hubris of youth.

  “Had a guy come through yesterday,” Skip said. “He told me the lake was kicking up three footers and his keel hit the bottom of the channel more than a few times.”

  Mango wanted to know if the lake was going to be any better tomorrow.

  Skip rubbed his jaw. “Supposed to be the same tomorrow, but the lake makes her own weather. That’s the second largest body of fresh water inside the lower forty-eight.”

  “What’s your recommendation, Skip?” Mango asked as they followed the old captain out to the porch.

  “My recommendation, son, pray for rain.” He lit a cigarette and offered the pack around.

  Both men declined. Mango could see the desire in his companion’s eyes.

  “If I were you boys …” Skip eased into one of the rocking chairs lining the porch. “I’d slip on down to the Keys and play hooky for a few days. You leave tomorrow morning and sail straight through, weather over in Islamorada or Marathon.”

  “We can get under Seven Mile Bridge,” Ryan muttered, thinking about spending a few days diving in the Keys. They’d brought their dive gear and the Sabre had an onboard compressor to refill the tanks.

  “How long will this detour take?” Mango demanded.

  “Couple of days, give or take time off for good behavior.” Skip chuckled.

  “Thanks for the info, Skip.” Ryan extended his hand and the man shook it.

  Ryan and Mango walked down the sidewalk bordering the marina seawall. Ryan glanced down to see small fish cruising just beneath the water’s surface.

  When they arrived at the restaurant, Sailor’s Return, Ryan asked, “What happened to your wife?”

  Mango shrugged. “She said to get a table and she’d join us later.”

  They did as Jennifer had asked and ordered two beers before being seated at a table.

  “What do you think about going down to the Keys?” Mango asked. “Do you believe Skip?”

  Ryan shrugged and looked around the room. “Go ask those dudes.” He pointed at two white-haired men at the bar.

  “What makes you so sure they know about the lake?”

  “Look at them, scuffed and worn boat shoes, shaggy hair, leather skin, and clothes that scream, ‘I live on a boat.’ Trust me, those guys know all the gossip.”

  “That’s what you look like, bro. Just add a few years.” Mango left the table, ambled across the room, and took a seat beside the guy on the left. He ordered a round for the three of them.

  Ryan laughed to himself. Mango was right, all he needed was the wispy white mustache or beard. He pulled out his phone and dialed Greg’s number. Greg didn’t answer his work or cell phone, so Ryan called Shelly. She answered on the third ring of her office phone.

  “Where’s Greg?”

  “He’s in a meeting. The same one I was in. He told me to talk to you. What’s going on?”

  “We’re going the long way around Florida. The Ditch is too shallow for my boat.”

  “Okay, this is already taking longer than you thought.”

  “Take it out of my vacation time.”

  Shelly sighed. “Do what you need to do. Stay safe.”

  Ryan hung up as Mango slid back into his seat.

  “The lake is exceptionally low this year,” he reported.

  Ryan grinned. “Nothing we can do about it but go enjoy the Keys.”

  “You’re happy about this?”

  “I’m not unhappy about it,” Ryan replied. “Besides, are you really eager to face down those pirates again?”

  “Now that you mention it. No.”

  “Then we’ll make the most of this delay. I called Greg already.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Told me to do what we needed to do.”

  Mango looked over at the restaurant entrance and smiled. Ryan turned to see what held his partner’s attention. His eyes widened, and a smile spread across his face as Jennifer walked into the room, escorting Emily Hunt. Ryan stood as they approached. Emily gave him a hug and a kiss before they settled into their chairs.

  “Is this the conspiracy you two were cooking before you left?” Ryan asked Emily.

  “Yes.” She smiled at him.

  “The boat’s going to be crowded,” Ryan said.

  Jennifer shook her head. “We’re taking Emily’s car back to Tampa. We’ll stay at her apartment while you guys make the crossing.”

  “We had to change plans,” Ryan said. “Lake Okeechobee is too low to cross. We have to take the boat down through the Keys.”

  “Good thing I have an understanding boss,” Emily said. She fiddled with her napkin, straightening it across her lap and smoothing out the wrinkles.

  “What does that mean?” Ryan asked, narrowing his brows.

  “It means,” Emily said as she looked up to meet his eyes, “I have to take a few more days off work than planned. Kyle wasn’t too happy about this trip.”

  “Oh, it’s Kyle now?” Ryan said.

  Emily rolled her eyes, shook her head, and let out a sigh that puffed up her cheeks. “He’s my boss, Ryan. He employs me. I have several cases he wants me to finish. I gave two to one of the other investigators, so they could wrap them up while I’m gone. There’s nothing personal between us.”

  “Okay,” Ryan said dismissively.

  “Can we get a drink at this table?” Emily twisted her body to search for the waitress.

  Dinner was a quiet affair after Ryan and Emily’s tiff. When it was over, they walked out to the parking lot and stood in the cool evening air. Laughter, snatches of conversation, and the clink of glasses came from Sailor’s Return’s outdoor pat
io. Water lapped against the concrete quay, and boats creaked against fenders. Cars roared on the road as they crossed Roosevelt Bridge on U.S. 1.

  “Emily, are you staying?” Jennifer asked.

  Emily looked at Ryan, her eyes questioning.

  He stared into those bright blue eyes and smiled. “She’s staying with the idiot.”

  Laughter broke the tension.

  “That’s a good thing.” Mango put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We’re looking forward to some alone time.”

  Ryan narrowed his eyes and screwed up his face. “Gross.” To Emily he said, “Make sure you wash the sheets when you get home.”

  Emily giggled and slapped Ryan on the arm. Jennifer blushed. Mango grinned.

  They walked down the transient dock to the Sabre. Emily turned to Ryan. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” Ryan gave the boat a loving pat. “I think so, too.”

  Mango and Jennifer lugged their bags off the boat and said goodbye after Emily handed over her car keys. Ryan then stowed Emily’s gear in the forward V-berth. Tonight, he was thankful for the shore power to run the air conditioner. With the cabin closed against one of nature’s deadliest creatures, the mosquito, the tiny enclosure would otherwise be a sauna. Ryan had managed for many years with screens over the companionway door and portholes, but as he aged, he’d become more accustomed to the finer things in life. Air conditioning at a marina was one.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ryan awoke to the beeping of an alarm and the glare of a sun sinking low on the western horizon. A glance at his watch told him he’d slept for four hours. Emily stood behind the wheel and had the boat neatly trimmed. He enjoyed the view of the stunning blonde standing at the helm of his boat. The wind blew wisps of hair across her face, and the sun had kissed her glowing skin around the blue bikini. He could never tire of the view. She noticed him staring and smiled self-consciously, then looked away over the light blue water. He sat up and checked the GPS plotter in the cabin. They were nearing their destination.

  He returned to the cockpit, two water bottles in hand. He gave her one in exchange for a kiss. An hour later, with Ryan at the helm, they watched the green mangroves of Boot Key slide by. They rounded the island’s west end and entered the channel between Boot Key and Key Vaca.

  “Welcome to Boot Key Harbor,” he said. “I’m going up front to catch the mooring ball.”

  Emily stood and stretched before she took the helm. Ryan went forward with the boat hook. Five minutes later, they were on the ball and Emily shut off the motor. In the silence, they could hear gulls screeching as they wheeled in the sky, the wind rustled the lines, and water lapped the hull. In the distance, a powerboat screamed at full speed, and cars tooled along A1A.

  Ryan walked back to the cockpit and stepped down beside Emily. He put an arm around her waist, and they stood looking at the glistening white hulls of the many boats moored in the harbor. Then he tugged her to him and kissed her. It started gently, then as she wrapped her arms around him, it turned greedy and hard.

  “What was that for?” she asked when they parted.

  “Lust. A man can only spend so much time around a woman clad in as little clothing as you are before it gets his blood up.”

  She laughed.

  “You’re a tease,” Ryan said and pulled the sail cover from a locker. She helped fit the tight canvas over the sail. While they worked, he asked, “How about a hot shower?”

  “Now who’s the tease?”

  “We’ll take the dinghy up to the marina shower and then grab dinner.”

  “Ryan Weller, you are a charmer.”

  He shrugged, fastened the final snap into place and followed her into the cabin. They stuffed clothes and shower items in bags and then took the dinghy to the office. Ryan paid for the mooring ball. The hot shower felt exquisite as it cleansed the salt from his skin and hair. They met back at the dinghy and stored their bags.

  “Where to now, Captain?”

  “Across the street is Florida Keys Steak and Lobster House.”

  “Going all out?”

  “I have to impress you somehow.” He took her hand and guided her up Thirty-Sixth Street to A1A. Crossing the infamous Overseas Highway was harder than most of the things they’d had to do in the last few days. With a steady stream of traffic moving both directions, it took a few minutes for an opening to appear that allowed them to run across all four lanes of traffic without having to stop on the double yellow line.

  Emily laughed. “I’m not sure I can do that with a full stomach.”

  “Don’t eat too much.”

  She nudged him in the side with her elbow.

  Inside, a hostess seated them, and Ryan ordered a margarita and a piece of key lime pie. Emily followed suit with a tiramisu and a Long Key iced tea. They discussed what would happen after he dropped her off in Tampa and tossed around various theories about the actions of the sailboat thieves.

  While they lingered happily over drinks, Ryan watched two men in suits at a table close to theirs. Alarm bells clashed in his head as he reached for a nonexistent pistol on his hip. Through a fog he heard Emily speak to him, but his focus was on the two men. They were a threat. He worked hard to keep his stress levels in check, but these two had triggered something in his brain, and he didn’t know exactly what it was. Emily spoke to him again, this time touching his arm before he answered her. He quickly scanned the room again, feeling sheepish for allowing his combat fatigue to crowd his brain at such a valuable time.

  After dinner, they collected their take-out boxes into a bag and Ryan paid the bill. He carried the bag in one hand as they made another death-defying sprint across A1A. Hand in hand, the couple walked back to the dinghy.

  “Why did you name your boat Sweet T?” Emily asked as they approached the sailboat.

  “My high school girlfriend named her.”

  Emily raised her eyebrows. “Was her name Teresa?”

  “No.” Ryan laughed. “I had a penchant for sweet tea.”

  “Did you see her when you were home?”

  “I haven’t seen her since the night of high school graduation. I heard she moved to Indiana or someplace in the Midwest.”

  Ryan tied the dinghy to the back of the Sabre and helped Emily up before handing over the take-out containers and climbing aboard. Emily made room in the fridge by pulling out a bottle of wine.

  “Might as well drink this.” She held it up.

  Ryan grabbed glasses and a bottle opener. Outside, he opened the wine and poured it before sitting down on the settee beside Emily. They spent the rest of the evening sipping wine, telling stories from their past, and holding hands in the dark. She nestled close to him with her head on his shoulder. Ryan’s thoughts were turning amorous when he heard a phone ring.

  Down in the cabin, he pulled the phone from the chart desk. “Hey, Greg.”

  “What are you doing, Ryan?” His voice had an edge to it.

  “I’m moving the boat into the Gulf, just like we talked about.”

  “No, with Emily. This ain’t some vacation you’re on.”

  “Listen, Greg.” Ryan’s voice got low and hard. “Last time I called you, you couldn’t be bothered to answer the damn phone, so don’t give me a ration of crap.”

  There was silence on the line for a long time. Long enough for Ryan to ask if Greg was still there.

  Greg sighed. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “We good?” Ryan asked tentatively.

  “We’re good, man.”

  “Okay, I needed a few days to sail around Florida because the Okeechobee Canal is too low. Emily wanted to ride along. A few days, either way, off the schedule, won’t stop us from catching these pirates. I’m going to spend a day or two in the Keys with my girlfriend and then pick up Mango.”

  “Then you’ll hunt the pirates?”

  “Yes, but I need you to stay sharp, man. If something happens to us, you need to mount the rescue.”

  “Stick to th
e plan, Ryan.”

  “I am. Anything else you want to pass along?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll call you when Mango and I are headed for Mexico.” Ryan thumbed the end button and dropped the phone in the desk beside his Walther pistol before closing the lid.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Luis Martinez spoke into the phone. “Yes, I’m sure. We followed them into a restaurant and overheard their conversation. They were discussing gunrunners who are stealing sailboats. The man says he’s sailing into the Gulf looking for what he calls pirates.”

  Professor Rueben Morales mulled this over before he spoke. “I want you to take them out.”

  “Say again?” Martinez requested. He was positive he’d heard Morales ask him to kill the man and woman on the sailboat; however, he wanted to be sure.

  “Luis, you must eliminate them. They cannot continue to pursue the leads they have. Kill them.”

  Martinez had his confirmation. “Sir⸻”

  Morales cut him off. “You have your orders, Luis.”

  “Yes, sir, but⸻”

  Morales hung up the phone before Luis could finish his sentence. When Sweet T had left North Carolina, there had been two men and a woman on it. Now there was only one man and a different woman. The man, Martinez knew, was Ryan Weller, the object of Morales’s manhunt. He was unsure where the other man and woman had gone, or who the new woman was.

  Fortunately, the old man, Skip, in Stuart was as talkative with Martinez as he had been with Ryan and Mango. He told Martinez about Lake Okeechobee and the Okeechobee Waterway. Skip also told Martinez how the last two guys he’d talked to were going to Marathon on their way to Fort Myers. Then he droned on about how the government had once planned to dig a larger canal across the state and connect it to the St. John’s River south of Jacksonville. For five minutes, Martinez tried to excuse himself, but the man would not shut up. Finally, Martinez walked away.