by Evan Graver
The man wore green pants and a green shirt with the sleeves rolled up. An embroidered name tag read Henry. Ryan let him in and shook hands with the smaller, balding man. Henry sat at the table and read through the entire folder Ryan and his team had put together on Quintero. When he finished, Henry said, “This is excellent work. May I ask how you found him?”
“It was a long and complicated process,” Ryan said.
Henry nodded. “I didn’t believe Colonel Estevez when he called me, but he assured me you’d have proof.” He tapped the closed folder.
“What will you do now?” Scott asked.
“What difference does it make?” Henry said. “You called me for help, and I will do what is necessary.”
“Do you need anything else?” Ryan asked.
“No. You have been more than helpful.”
Ryan recounted that conversation often in his mind and wondered when Estevez’s men would act, assuming they would move immediately on Quintero.
He took another drink and went back to looking at catamarans online. Picking out a new boat was harder than he’d thought. His tastes had to match Emily’s, even though she had told him that whatever he picked out would be fine. He had learned otherwise. Whatever boat he found had to receive her stamp of approval.
“Hey, Ryan. The paper came in,” Cheri, the bartender, said. “Do you want to see it?”
“Yeah.” He held out his hand, and she put the Tampa Bay Times in it.
He flipped through the pages quickly and spotted a story from Miami. The headline grabbed his attention:
FORMER VENEZUELAN DEFENSE UNDERSECRETARY SLAIN IN EARLY MORNING HOURS.
According to eyewitness reports, men on motorcycles had pulled alongside the Chevy Tahoe Quintero was riding in and fired point-blank into it, killing both Quintero and the driver. The police said they were pursuing several leads and believed the killing was retribution for Quintero’s defection.
Ryan folded the paper and laid it on the bar beside the computer. Cheri brought him a fresh margarita and took the paper. After she walked away, he sent a text to Barry Thatcher and told him to move the money. While they’d decided not to drain all of Quintero’s accounts, they would take enough to pay the team and for Ryan to buy a new boat and recoup the cost of giving Oscar López a proper burial on St. Thomas.
Barry immediately returned his text, telling him he had moved the money as soon as he had heard the news of Quintero’s murder. The text also contained the account number and SWIFT codes for Colonel Estevez’s new bank account, funded by Victor Quintero. Ryan forwarded the text to Estevez, then took apart the cell phone, removing the battery and the SIM card.
After finishing his drink, Ryan paid his tab and left the restaurant, depositing the phone in the trash on his way out. At another trash can along the causeway, he tossed the SIM card and kept walking to Emily’s apartment.
Surprisingly, she was home. She had been working almost non-stop since their arrival in Tampa two days after meeting with Henry.
“Hi,” he said, taking in the wine glass in her hand and the two cardboard boxes on the kitchen table.
“I have something to tell you,” she said.
Ryan fetched a beer from the fridge and leaned against the counter. After a long swig, he looked at her expectantly.
She smiled. “I quit.”
“Quit what?” he asked.
“My job. Well, I didn’t fully quit. I just changed jobs. I’m now an independent contractor, like you. The Ward and Young Board of Directors didn’t want to lose me completely and asked me to take the contracting job.”
It wasn’t a complete surprise to him. She didn’t need to work now and neither did he, but Greg was already ringing his bell about jobs around the Caribbean, everything from working with Trident to inspecting oil rigs. Even Travis Wisnewski had called and asked him to come back and dive with the crew on the salvage vessel Peggy Lynn.
“That’s awesome, babe,” he said. “Now we can go look at that catamaran I found today.”
“Here in Tampa?”
“No, it’s in Annapolis, Maryland.”
She smiled coyly. “You couldn’t find one closer?”
He sat beside her on the sofa and opened his laptop. The boat he showed her was a Fountaine Pajot Saba 50, a beautiful catamaran with an interior that rivaled some luxury hotels, and there was more closet space in the master stateroom of the Saba than in all of his old boat combined. The boat had four staterooms—one of which Ryan planned to turn into a workshop—a compressor for filling diving tanks, and plenty of space to entertain, along with a spacious galley.
“I like it,” Emily said after scrolling through the pictures. “When do we leave?”
“Whenever you want, now that we have no obligations other than to each other.”
She grinned mischievously. “I’m an obligation now?”
Ryan rolled his eyes and heaved himself off the couch. He glanced around at the apartment’s interior. It had come furnished, and what Emily owned would fit into a small storage unit. Most of it was clothes and knick-knacks. Pausing by the table, he saw a framed photograph in one of the boxes. Jennifer Hulsey had snapped it right before Emily and Ryan had taken off for the Florida Keys on his old Sabre 36 Sweet T. They had spent several wonderful days sailing and diving together on that trip.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“Jennifer gave it to me on the way to Puerto Rico. She wanted us to have something because all of our other things burned up on Windseeker.”
“That was an enjoyable time.”
“Other than those hitmen trying to kill us.”
He flipped out the frame’s stand and set the photo on the counter. “So, not everything was perfect.”
“Have you called about the boat?”
“Yeah. I talked to the broker. They’re doing a survey for us.”
She came over to where he was looking out the window at the water. Slipping her arms around his waist, she asked, “Are you getting antsy, being cooped up in here?”
“A little,” he said.
“Greg called. He said you weren’t answering his calls.”
“I threw my phone away after sending a message to Colonel Estevez,” Ryan said. “His men took out Quintero yesterday morning.”
“I saw the news article this morning.”
“Our hands are clean, but did we do the right thing?”
Emily kissed his shoulder. “Quintero would have gotten his comeuppance one way or another. Estevez and his men just hastened it along.”
He turned and kissed her. “You’re right, baby. Anyway, I’m excited about getting another boat, and I’m excited to see where it takes us.”
“Let’s go tomorrow,” she said.
“What about the apartment?” he asked.
“Okay, the day after. We can clean it out tomorrow, and I’ll sort through what I want to take and what I want to keep in storage.”
Ryan picked her up, carried her to the bedroom, and closed the door with his foot. Tomorrow, they had work to do, but tonight he wanted to nestle in her arms and make love. The world was starting to make a little more sense, and it thrilled him to have her by his side for the next stage of their lives.
Epilogue
Wrightsville Beach Marina
Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina
The Fountaine Pajot Saba 50 was too wide to fit into a slip, and she extended into the Intracoastal Waterway behind a one-hundred-and-fifty-foot mega yacht and a seventy-five-foot sportfisher, all tied to a finger pier. The catamaran had a new name, Huntress, christened in honor of Emily.
Ryan had sailed it down from Annapolis with the help of an employee of the yacht broker from whom they had purchased her. Ryan had gotten a first-hand lesson in sailing a catamaran, his only other experience being aboard the Hulsey’s Lagoon 52.
The couple had driven from Tampa to Annapolis, then Emily had driven the Jeep to Wrightsville Beach by herself and made arrangements with Ryan
’s old friend and mentor, Henry O’Shannassy, owner and manager of Wrightsville Beach Marina, to dock Huntress there while they spent time with Ryan’s family. Henry had welcomed her with open arms and told her many stories of when a young Ryan Weller had worked for him during his high school years.
When Ryan had arrived on the boat, Emily and Henry had both been there to help dock the big cat, and when they’d finished tying her off, Henry came aboard and gave Ryan a bear hug. “Welcome home, me lad,” he’d said in his heavy Irish brogue.
After spending their first night together on Huntress, Ryan and Emily had walked to his parents’ home, just up the street. It had been a warm Sunday morning, and Ryan’s parents usually spent the early hours on their back deck, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper.
Ryan had knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer, his hand sweaty in Emily’s palm and his heart thundering in his chest. He hadn’t been home in over two years, and he had never brought home a woman for his parents to meet.
Kathleen and David had made more fuss over Emily than they did their prodigal son, but as Kathleen had promised Ryan during one of their last talks, she had fixed a giant pot roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions. She’d also invited Ryan’s siblings and their children to dinner.
That had been a week ago, and Ryan and Emily had been busy prepping Huntress for the sail south and customizing her to their specifications. Having lost everything in the fire aboard Windseeker, they spent a lot of time shopping for replacement parts, gear, clothes, and equipment. Ryan built himself a go-bag, found novel places to stash his new firearms, and assembled a full complement of scuba gear.
He had one more stop to make before he returned to the boat for the night and the party he and Emily were throwing aboard for his family and friends. As he walked into the jewelry store, the owner greeted him like an old friend and pulled the engagement ring from the glass case.
“It is sized just as you asked, Mister Weller.”
Ryan held the sparkling band of white gold and diamonds up to the light. Emily had pointed out a similar one at a store on Antigua, and Ryan had searched the shops in Wilmington until he’d found the perfect match. Now, it was sized just for her finger. He handed it back to the jeweler, who slipped it into a blue velvet box and carried it to the register. Ryan swiped his debit card through the machine and put the box in his pocket.
Their guests were just starting to arrive as he parked the Jeep and walked with his parents to the boat. Emily gave him a questioning look about why he was late getting back, but he just grinned, and she couldn’t help but smile back. The rest of the guests arrived within the hour, and Ryan and Emily served them wine, beer, and sodas for the kids before the caterers from the nearby restaurant arrived with the fish and steak tacos.
After dinner, Ryan stood and clinked his glass to get everyone’s attention. As the crowd quieted down, he had Emily stand beside him. “I wanted to say thanks to everyone for coming out today. I’ll make this quick, but I have something I wanted to share with you all.” He glanced at Emily for a second, trying to steel his nerves. “They say the two happiest days in a boat owner’s life are the day he buys her and the day he sells her. I have to say, I’ve never experienced that. I’ve been lucky enough to have had three exceptional boats in my life, and I’ve been lucky to have shared them all with the same woman.
“Emily, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. You know my strengths and my weaknesses. You know how to calm my fears and smooth troubled waters. We’ve been through a lot together, and I thought I had lost you until fate brought you back into my life. I am so lucky to have you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He dropped to one knee and removed the blue box from his pocket. “Emily Hunt,” he said, opening the box and showing her the ring. “Will you marry me?”
Tears ran down Emily’s cheeks, and she nodded her head while covering her mouth with her hands. Then she threw her arms around his neck and cried, “Yes. Yes! I’ll marry you!”
Ryan took the ring from the box and slipped it onto her finger, then stood and kissed her. The family clapped their hands and shouted encouragement. Ryan’s brother, Mark, shouted, “Don’t do it!” Ryan gave him the finger, and their mother admonished them both.
The newly engaged couple sat at the table on the aft deck, holding hands and sipping beers. All was right with the world, and for the first time in a long time, Ryan Weller believed he had found true happiness.
About the Author
Evan Graver is an American novelist and the author of the Ryan Weller Thriller Series.
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Also by Evan Graver
Dark Water
Dark Ship
Dark Horse
Dark Shadows
Dark Paradise
Dark Fury
Dark Hunt