by Matthew Rief
“I’ll think about it, Ange. It’s not something to be decided lightly.”
“I agree,” she said, shifting down and resting her head on my chest. “We’ll think it over. But I hope it works out. I really do think we can help her, Logan.”
I switched off the light, then slid down to get more comfortable. I agreed with her, thought we could help her. But the fact remained that we’d just met her. We barely knew her, and we’d need to spend time rectifying that before I’d agree to something so major as adopting her.
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Ange asked after a few seconds of silence.
“I forgot to tell you. I’m meeting with Scott. He messaged me earlier and said they’ve got a possible lead.”
“The sex traffickers?”
“Yeah. He wants to meet up with a guy in Tampa. Apparently, he was on the ship last night. Said he saw Jack and me, and more importantly he says he saw what happened to the boat we were chasing.”
“You want me to come with?”
“There shouldn’t be any trouble.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
I thought for a moment. “What about Scarlett?”
She nodded. “Fine. I’ll stay. But I better not find out that you got into another fight without me. Who’s going to save you if I’m not there?”
Ange has saved my butt more times than I can remember. And she rarely passes up an opportunity to remind me.
It took me a while to fall asleep. There was a lot on my mind. When I finally did sleep, it felt like my eyes closed for mere seconds before I woke up just after 0700. Ange and Scarlett were still asleep. I kissed Ange on the forehead, got ready, then drove over to the airport to meet Scott.
FOURTEEN
Angelina woke up to the sound of the Tacoma’s engine and the sun bleeding in through the cracks between the curtains. Scarlett woke up minutes later to the smell of coffee, and the two had strawberry-banana-mango smoothies for breakfast. After playing with Atticus in the yard, Ange ran her through a quick yoga routine.
As they finished up, she got a message from Jack.
“Still up for bug roundup?” it said.
Ange looked over at Scarlett. She was drenched in sweat and collapsed onto the hammock.
“Hey, Scar, you feel like catching lobster this morning? I figured since it’s your last day and—”
“Yes!” she exclaimed. She swung around and jumped to her feet. “I’d love to.”
Her fatigue went away in an instant, and if her excitement was swayed in any way by the dark clouds on the eastern horizon, she didn’t let it show.
They were soon ready and headed outside when they heard Jack pull his blue Wrangler into the driveway. Once at the marina, they loaded up on the Calypso and Jack motored them out of the harbor. Just as they reached one of Jack’s secret honey holes, it began to rain. Thunder grumbled. Strikes of lightning pierced the cloud-covered sky.
“Don’t worry,” Lauren said. “If you don’t like the weather in the Keys, just wait a few minutes.”
Jack didn’t complain. In fact, he relished whatever mood his island paradise was in. Rains and thunder meant poorer visibility and therefore less competition out on the water. And the lobsters knew it too. They were more daring when the weather was bad. More willing to venture out from the safety of their hiding places.
Taking cover in the saloon, they gave Scarlett a quick demonstration after dropping and setting the anchor.
“Finding the good ones is the tricky part,” Jack explained. “Catching them is simple—if you know the technique.” He grabbed a metal rod. “This is a tickle stick. Now all you gotta do is fin up close to the antennas. Then, while holding the net out behind them, you tickle their front. Their instincts kick in, they book it backward, and they swoosh right into your net. Dinner’s served.”
Scarlett’s enthusiasm grew with Jack’s animated presentation.
“Are we scuba diving like yesterday?” she asked.
“Freediving,” Jack said with a grin. “It’s more challenging, but also more rewarding.”
“We’re only over about thirty feet of water,” Ange said. “Plus we’ll show you the proper techniques.”
They did. Within half an hour Scarlett was able to reach the bottom with one breath. Being properly weighted and using long freediving fins, she was amazed at how fast and effortlessly she could move through the water.
Once ready to go hunting, Jack pointed toward a limestone outcropping with a row of antennas sticking out.
“It’s all yours,” he said.
They were treading water on the surface. He handed her a tickle stick and Ange handed her a net. She’d already donned the gloves.
She was ready to go.
A deep breath, a smooth kick to raise her up in the water, then a duck dive down into the clear tropical ocean. She reached the bottom in just a few seconds, equalizing the pressure on the way down. When she reached the outcropping, she stabilized herself, then moved in.
With the net in position, she reached with the stick and tapped one of the lobsters. Just as Jack had said, the bug kicked backward in a flash. The unsuspecting creature swam ferociously straight into her net. She smiled big, then looked up. Ange and Jack were peering down from the surface. They both gave her a thumbs-up and she ascended toward them.
She cheered as she broke the surface and raised her no-longer-empty net up out of the water.
“No need to measure that one,” Jack said with a grin as he climbed up onto the swim platform and grabbed hold of the net.
He dropped the bug into the live well, then handed the net back to Scarlett.
“After catching your breath, you want another go?” Ange said.
It was as rhetorical as a question could get.
“I want a hundred more goes.”
They spent another hour in the water, watching each other dive and taking turns going down to fill up their coolers. They scouted out a few more sites and managed to get some of the biggest lobster Ange had seen in the Keys. Even after they’d bagged their limits for the day and their hands looked like prunes, Scarlett kept wanting to go down.
Jack convinced her to climb out when he fired up the grill.
“You think they’re fun to catch,” he said, “well, they’re just as fun to eat.”
Just as the grill was warming up and they were preparing a handful of bugs to be cooked, the cockpit radio crackled to life.
“This is Aquaholic hailing Sea Ray,” a man’s voice said.
Jack paused a moment. He didn’t recognize the name. He glanced at Ange and Scarlett, then shuffled up to the pilothouse and grabbed the radio.
“You can start up on those,” he leaned down and said to Ange.
She nodded and continued seasoning the tails.
“This is Calypso, go ahead.”
“I’m dead in the water about a mile southwest of you,” the guy said. He had a thick Australian accent. “Something wrong with the engine. Can’t say more as this is my first time taking her out on the water. Do you happen to know anything about boat engines, mate? I can pay for the help. I’d just as soon not get the Coast Guard involved.”
Jack understood. He’d never had to call in the Guard for boat trouble in all his years on the water. Better to handle it on your own if you can.
Or phone in a friend, I guess.
“Is your anchor dropped?” Jack said.
There was a short pause.
“Should it be?”
Jack rolled his eyes.
Some people just shouldn’t be out on the water alone.
“You’re floating in the Florida Current, man. Roughly three knots right now. That means you’ll be far out into the Straits in a few hours. Not bad fishing out there, but given your situation, yeah, I suggest you drop and set your anchor.”
“Right,” the voice replied. “I’ll drop it right away.”
“Good.”
Jack brought up the radar. He saw a few echoes, but
only one was within a mile of them. Grabbing a pair of binoculars, he focused out over to the port bow, facing southwest. The boat was small in the distance, but he guessed that it was a thirty-foot Regal.
“Alright,” Jack said into the radio. “I’m heading over. ETA five minutes.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Jack set the radio on the dash and turned around.
“Hate to cut our lunch short,” Jack said, looking down to where the girls were dropping the first lobsters on the grill. “We’ve got King Landlubber supposedly dead in the water.”
“That’s okay,” Scarlett replied. “We can just cook in the galley.”
“First do you mind doing me a solid and heading up to the bow and—”
“Releasing the safety lanyard?” she said, springing around the pilothouse and onto the bow. “I got you covered.”
Jack grinned, then glanced over at Ange.
“I thought you said yesterday was her first day on a boat?”
Ange shrugged. “It was. Maybe she has conch in her blood or something.”
Jack brought up the anchor, and the girls migrated into the galley as he fired up the engines.
FIFTEEN
The weather turned foul again as they motored toward the Aquaholic. Rain fell in thick sheets. Thunder roared like Thor was having a temper tantrum, and lightning flashed across the sky.
On the ride over, Jack tried to imagine what the guy he had spoken to looked like based on his voice and predicament. Tall. Too much cologne. Designer sunglasses.
And he’s Australian, so probably a blue flag with a Union Jack in the canton blowing in the wind.
He chuckled as the image appeared in his mind.
It wasn’t that he had a problem with people wanting to get into the boating lifestyle. Far from it. He encouraged it and made his living off those kinds of people. But it was the ones who set off without so much as reading a boaters’ manual or making basic attempts to understand how their boats worked that ground his gears.
Boating is great, when done correctly, he thought.
As he motored closer, he caught his first clear glimpse of the boat through the rain-splattered windscreen. He’d been right. It was a Regal. Twenty-nine feet long. And it looked like a new model, its hull painted a shiny blue with a white stripe parallel to the waterline.
It was a nice boat. Probably put the owner back well over a hundred grand. Not the kind of boat you want to take out if you don’t know what you’re doing.
As Jack motored closer, he spotted a big guy standing at the stern beside a pair of Yamaha 200-hp outboards. He had a toolbox open on the seat beside him and a dark blue Bimini top open to keep him relatively dry, though the rain had already abated significantly.
“Ahoy, mate,” the guy said in a strong Australian accent.
He waved to Jack, who was piloting from up in the flybridge. Jack’s mental image of what the guy would look like and the real thing were eerily similar. He was tall, with blond hair, wide shoulders, and a silver cross earring in his left ear. He wore pristine designer clothes, and though Jack was too far away to tell, he was certain he’d have on too much cologne.
Jack waved back as cordially as he could fake it. He eased down to just a few knots while Scarlett and Ange tossed a pair of fenders over the side. Once the Regal was tied off, Jack idled, then killed the Calypso’s engines.
The guy’s demeanor shifted when he laid eyes on the girls.
“You ladies having a nice time out on the water?” he asked.
Scarlett did her best to suppress chuckling at the guy’s goofy suave behavior.
“We were,” Ange fired back. “What’s wrong with your boat?”
The guy smiled.
“Well, I was hoping you could help me with that. I’m more used to a boardroom than a boat.” He stepped over and held out a hand. “I’m Flynn.”
Jack reached the main deck and strode between the girls and their new landlubber acquaintance.
“Jack,” he said, shaking the guy’s oversized hand. “Permission to come aboard, Flynn?”
The big guy’s smile broadened. “Please, be my guest, Jack.”
Jack sprang over.
Three for three, he thought, catching a whiff of the guy’s musky cologne. Well, no Australian flag. Three for four isn’t bad.
The rain had died down to just a drizzle, but the deck and engines were damp. Jack knelt beside the two outboards. They looked pristine. Practically brand-new. No rust, discoloration, or visible defects.
“You said this was your first time piloting her?” Jack said while kneeling into a crevice for a better look.
“Yeah. It was my great-uncle’s boat. He left it to me in his will. I live in Orlando. Just down for a few days. Figured I’d take her for a cruise out to Dry Tortugas. I’ve never been and heard it’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Jack said. “And you’re alone?”
“Yeah, mate.”
Jack went through his usual hierarchy of boat engine troubleshooting. Starting with the most common problems, he worked his way down.
Was there gas? Was there oil? Were the engines being properly cooled? Yes on all three counts.
“Go ahead and try starting them up,” Jack said.
Flynn nodded, moved into the cockpit, and tried the key. Nothing. Not even an abnormal noise. That cleared it in Jack’s mind.
“It’s gotta be electrical, man,” he said. “When was the last time it was taken out?”
He stared back at Jack blankly.
“I’m not sure. As I said, my uncle—”
“Did you have it checked before you came out today?” Jack already knew the answer to his question.
“No, mate.”
“You got the paperwork on her? The last inspection date should be there.”
Flynn stared back at him confused for a few seconds, then said, “Alright, I’ll check in the cabin.”
He stepped out of view. Jack shook his head.
This guy’s either high as a kite or he doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together.
He checked the electrical connection to the engines. No problems there. The battery and spark plugs checked out as well.
He grabbed a wrench from the toolbox and stepped to the cockpit. He’d have to take apart the paneling and work his way through the components one at a time.
“You find the problem, mate?” Flynn said from down in the cabin.
“Soon as I do, you’ll be the first to know, man.”
Flynn stepped up into view. Jack kept his head down, working a bolt loose with the wrench.
“Hey, Flynn, you mind—”
Jack froze when he heard footsteps, then saw two more guys appear from the cabin.
What the hell? He said that he was al—
Flynn reached for a handgun barely visible under the right side of his shirt.
A blood-chilling realization came over him. These weren’t down-on-their-luck tourists. There was nothing wrong with the engine. And they didn’t need help. Jack had been hailed over with the radio for a different reason. A far less law-abiding one.
“Jack?” Ange said from over on the Calypso. “Everything alright?”
No time to answer. Jack was quick, but the three guys had the upper hand. And the numbers.
In a rapid movement, Jack swung the wrench toward Flynn’s left knee. But before he could strike it, the closest new guy tackled him hard to the deck. He was much shorter than Flynn, but strong. He and Jack tumbled into the bottom of the dashboard. Somehow Jack still managed to maintain his grip on the wrench.
Just as he was about to slam it into the guy’s face, he heard an unmistakable click.
“Move and I’ll blow your head off,” Flynn said, his tone migrating from helpless landlubber to ruthless criminal in an instant.
SIXTEEN
Ange didn’t hesitate. She pushed Scarlett out of harm’s way and lunged for her backpack. It was resting against the starboard gunwale and had he
r Glock inside it.
“Hold it right there, miss!” the third thug yelled as he aimed his Makarov handgun straight at her. He was just as big as Flynn but had dark skin and wore a black tank top.
Ange froze in her tracks. She was standing right over her backpack, debating what to do, and Tank Top could see the conflict in her eyes.
The short guy who’d tackled Jack from behind jerked the wrench from his hands, then grabbed him by his tee shirt and jerked him to his feet. He grabbed a handgun and pressed it against the side of Jack’s head.
As Ange was about to drop for her Glock, Tank Top intervened. Aiming his Makarov straight at her in his right hand, he moved up against the port gunwale. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal orb. It took less than a second for Ange and Jack to realize what it was.
A grenade.
He quickly pulled the pin and held it out over the Calypso’s deck.
“One more move and I’ll drop it,” he said, staring straight at Ange.
Ange swallowed hard.
“Best not test him,” Flynn said confidently. “He has a short fuse.”
For a few seconds, the group remained frozen. Ange’s eyes scanned from Tank Top to Flynn to Jack.
“I’m a reasonable man,” Flynn continued. “I follow a strict philosophy of minimal collateral damage. It’s what’s best for business. All I want is the girl. You give her back to us, and none of you will be hurt.”
“The hell with that,” Ange fired back. “You try and take her and it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do.”
Flynn smiled, then chuckled emphatically.
“You’re either the bravest or the stupidest Sheila I’ve ever met,” he said. “Let me spell this out for you. There are three of us and we’re all armed. You try and make a move and we’ll riddle you all with bullets. You try and kill us, and he’ll drop the grenade and it’ll blow up right in your lap.”