Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3)

by John H. Cunningham

  “Buck, what are you—Buck! That boat!”

  My grip was so tight on the wheel my fingers ached.

  The police cruiser wasn’t budging!

  “Buck!”

  I glanced at the speed indicator. We were still shy of takeoff speed.

  “Dammit, girl, go-go-go!”

  At seventy miles per hour we closed the gap quickly. I couldn’t risk changing course at this speed. With only about forty feet to spare, the police finally hit the gas and tried to get out of our way.

  The Beast broke free from the water—

  And the police cruiser cleared the float under our port wing by a hair. Well, maybe a foot, but it was way too close for comfort.

  Crystal had both hands over her eyes as I banked to port and saw two policemen in the cabin cruiser shaking their fists at me.

  Adios, boys!

  WE WERE HALFWAY TO St. John before Crystal spoke.

  “I got a package delivered to me at Foxy’s—it must have come off a boat, so I have no idea who delivered it.” She reached into the pocket of her shorts and pulled out a Rolex watch. “It’s John’s. I gave it to him for our fifth anniversary, just last year.”

  My stomach dropped. “Was there a note?”

  She unfolded a piece of crumpled paper as if doing it pained her fingers, then passed it to me.

  YOU CANCLE THE SHOW OR THE

  NEXT BUNDEL WILL HAVE HIS HEAD

  Black magic marker. Blocky capital letters. Cancel and bundle both misspelled.

  “Maybe you should cancel, Crystal. Not the most convincing threat, but that could be because they want to throw us off, in which case they’re serious and it’s not worth risking John’s life. I have to say, I’m not at all sure his fate depends on this concert, but…”

  “I agree—to both sides of your argument.” Her voice was a whisper. “Guess I’ll cancel—how can I continue if there’s a chance they might kill him?” A bitter laugh. “Here we are trying to support women, help adoptees, expand choice, and what? Extremists would kill us for trying?” Her voice rose to a near scream.

  “Crystal—”

  “Is our world that fucking twisted?”

  I was pretty sure she’d once faced an unplanned pregnancy herself, but her emotion was so real I just couldn’t buy her involvement in John’s disappearance, kidnapping, murder, whatever the hell it was. Stud Mahoney bugged the hell out of me, but my mind was compartmentalizing the two events. At least I knew this wasn’t rational.

  “So what did Special Agent Booth want with you?” I said.

  She turned to look out the side window.

  “To ask about the threats we’d received.”

  Screw it.

  “And what about Stud?”

  She turned to face me, her eyes scanning mine.

  “You know, don’t you?”

  I held her gaze.

  “I told him all about my past with Mike—that’s how I knew Stud.” She pressed her fist against her lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just that I didn’t…I couldn’t…hell, I should have.” A tear dropped down her cheek. “We were together just as his star was rising, and when it rose big-time, he changed. I moved out when he was in Spain filming a movie. He was crushed—he tried everything to get me back. That’s when I went to D.C. and met John.”

  “Rebound?”

  She bit her fist. “I don’t like to be alone… but I don’t… I mean I love John.”

  “Did he know?” I said.

  “Not until after we were married. And when we came up with the idea for Adoption AID, John contacted Mike and asked him to participate. I was so angry at him. And now they’re both missing and I can’t help but think it’s my fault.” The tears started up. “But I don’t understand why!”

  My throat had gone dry.

  “Are you going to leave me too, Buck?”

  Determination pulsed through my veins. Whether the Adoption AID concert went ahead or not wasn’t my concern, but I decided once again that I’d do everything possible to help Crystal find her husband.

  And her ex-boyfriend.

  “Let’s wait until we land, see what we can find out before you make your decision, okay? Maybe we can use the concert to draw out the kidnappers—we have no assurance they’ll cooperate if you do cancel.”

  Jaw tight, eyes blazing, she said, “Let’s find these bastards.”

  I felt a jolt of electricity pass between us that sat me up straight.

  Damn. Suspicion had been an ally when it came to corralling my thoughts about Crystal Thedford. Now I’d need to rely on self-discipline.

  Double damn.

  I BEGAN A LONG slow circle around western St. John, looking for a good place to land. Great Cruz Bay was filled with boats. We flew over Rendezvous Bay to Fish Bay, where I spotted the compound that belonged to Diego Francis. We continued to bank over the green wilderness of the Virgin Islands National Park, over Cinnamon Bay to Trunk Bay, and continued west.

  I followed the shipping lane that led straight into Cruz Bay, added flaps after a few miles, turned onto a base leg and minutes later a final approach. Had Booth contacted the FAA yet?

  When we touched down I realized that my headset had been quiet. No air traffic controllers freaking out, no demands that I divert to St. Thomas or Beef Island.

  As we taxied on the step toward the beach at Cruz Bay, a small black helicopter rounded the western point from the direction of Caneel Bay. It was headed straight toward us and buzzed past at high-speed, right over the Beast. I could clearly see two men: one was the pilot, the other held binoculars aimed right at us. They didn’t circle around but continued past. I remembered Brass Knuckles’s report of Diego’s compound getting machine-gunned from a helicopter.

  I had a feeling I’d seen that chopper or maybe one of the men before but I couldn’t remember where. I’d call Booth and mention it, but the phone was probably disconnected by now, and he didn’t want my help anyway.

  The Beach Bar was up ahead on the right corner of the thin sandy strip that separated Cruz Bay from the Caribbean Sea—

  What the hell?

  The beach was packed with people all the way around the bar, several hundred of them at least.

  “What’s going on here?” Crystal said.

  I killed the engines and was out of my seat before the props quit turning.

  “Let’s find out,” I said.

  WITH THE BEAST’S AFT and stern anchors set in the soft sand in front of American Watersports, Crystal and I waded to shore. Billy Hartman, at his usual corner of the patio restaurant, agreed to keep an eye on the plane and said he’d advise security to watch it overnight. He was half in the bag, but he’d been right about the red Cigarette so I figured I could trust him to follow through.

  The sound of live music increased in volume as we walked down the beach. Everybody in the crowd seemed to be having a good time

  “Who’s playing?” I asked a cute blond in a bikini perched on some lucky guy’s shoulders.

  A big smile. “Scott Kirby, Thom Shepherd, and Matt Hoggatt!”

  “Shoot, I knew that,” Crystal said. “They told me they were doing a show here on St. John.”

  “Are they part of Adoption AID?”

  “Matt has a few step-kids and has friends performing, and the others wanted to support the effort.”

  We meandered through the crowd and caught a glimpse of Scott, Thom, and Matt set up at the far end of the bar. At the moment they were singing Thom’s song “Texas Girls.” As much as I’d have loved to kick back, have a cold Carib, and enjoy the show, the clock was ticking.

  I scanned the crowd. There had to be nearly a thousand people on the beach, packed into the bar and out on the road behind the stage.

  Crystal grabbed my arm and pulled me deeper into the crowd, toward the bar—I spotted Ray, wearing a big loopy grin, Lenny next to him chatting it up with three smiling lovelies. Figures. Conch Man was comfortable on either side of the bar.

  It
took a few moments and a dozen screamed “excuse me’s” to reach them, but when we did, Lenny interrupted whatever spiel he’d been spinning to give us a big smile and a high-five.

  “About time you guys showed up!” Ray yelled.

  “Brother Buck!” Lenny’s bright white teeth gleamed. “And sister Crystal. Welcome to the party, y’all! If these dudes are rocking the ladies this good, I can’t wait to see what happens at the show. Ha!”

  Crystal’s smile was on the tepid side, but her eyes were still sharp.

  I leaned in to shout in Ray’s ear. “Did you get a hold of—”

  “Right over there.” He pointed across the bar.

  It took a moment, but déjà vu struck me when I spotted Brass Knuckles in the same spot I’d seen him a few days ago. He’d cut his dreadlocks off. His eyes were locked on mine and he seemed oblivious to the music and scene playing out around him. There was no sign of Diego Francis.

  The song finished and Scott Kirby announced they were taking a break. In the vacuum that followed, I leaned in close to my two friends from Key West. I felt Crystal push up against me.

  “Did you talk to that guy?” I nodded toward the other side of the bar, but Brass Knuckles was now pressing through the crowd, glancing at me.

  “Yeah, he didn’t say much, only that he wanted to talk to you,” Ray said.

  “Bad-looking mother,” Lenny said. “The hell you want with him?”

  “More like what he wants from me,” I said.

  “You’re late,” Brass Knuckles said. “Diego’s been waiting for you. He don’t like to wait, especially under the circumstances.”

  “As you recall, I was held up in Tortola.”

  “Diego’s down the beach,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “I’ll be right there, just give me a second with these guys.”

  Guys like Brass Knuckles don’t respond well to people countering their orders, because they’re under orders themselves. His eyes narrowed to the point I wondered how he could see out of them.

  “I said—”

  “Look, friend. I’m the one who suggested we meet, got it? So give me a couple minutes and I’ll be right there.” I stood square to him, loose, ready to deflect whatever he threw at me. But after a brief stare-down, he turned away.

  “The hell’s that all about, man?” Lenny said. “What kind of shit you into now?”

  “You don’t even want to know, Lenny.”

  Ray was no longer smiling. “What’s the plan, Buck?”

  I let out a long breath. “We need to flush this situation out. As of now, there’s a whole bunch of theories as to who might be opposed to Adoption AID, but little more than that.” I swallowed. “I need to meet with these guys to see what they’ve found out, but they’re up to their eyeballs in… a competitive beat-down—”

  “The gang war we been hearing about?” Lenny said. “That dude ain’t exactly a Good Samaritan type, man.”

  “You three discuss the final logistics for tomorrow afternoon, while I—”

  “I’m going with you—”

  “No, Crystal—you need to help these guys hold things together and let me see what I can learn, okay?”

  It was the first time since I’d known her that she gave me a fuck-you look. And for that, I liked her even more.

  DOWN THE BEACH I found Diego smoldering in an open-air restaurant, flanked by Brass Knuckles and two empty chairs.

  “Nobody keeps me waiting, Reilly. I’ll stuff your ass back in that trunk and take you on a one-way trip to Fish Bay.”

  “Nice to see you too, Diego. How’s business?” I glanced at Brass Knuckles, who gave me his best scowl.

  “I need you to get me out of here.” Diego delivered this statement in a quiet yet chillingly clear voice.

  “I can do it but not quite yet, Diego. I’m sorry—”

  “Sorry?” His mouth twisted into a sneer. “I’ll pay you, big-time. I’ve got crates of cash and—”

  “Not until the day after tomorrow.” I nodded toward Brass Knuckles. “And not unless the information he gave me amounts to something.”

  Diego sat back and looked me up and down.

  “You haven’t been over to Guana Island yet?”

  “Haven’t had the chance—”

  “That’s your own fool fault. I delivered. In my business I produce the goods, and my clients pay. What about Baldy Baldwin?”

  “I’ll help you the day after tomorrow, Diego. All the shit will hit the fan when this concert goes forward, and the only way I can find that woman’s husband is to be there and hope to see something.” My voice was nearly a whisper.

  Diego rubbed his cheeks and closed his eyes.

  Brass Knuckles leaned forward, ready to clobber me if his master gave him so much as a wink. At this point, I really didn’t care. I’d been cold-cocked, hijacked, arrested, imprisoned, threatened at gunpoint and knifepoint—

  Knifepoint—that’s it!

  The face I saw holding the binoculars when the helicopter flew over us—it was Slicked-back! The guy who’d tried to grab Crystal in Key West in front of the Casa Marina Hotel.

  “Want to hear something funny?” Diego said. “I like your conviction. Most guys’d jump at the money and ditch the honey. But I still need—”

  I stood up and the chair’s legs screeched on the concrete floor. “Like I said, Diego, I’ll keep my word if your information’s helpful. Otherwise, good luck with your new rival.”

  Diego’s stare was a slow burn.

  “I’ll have people at that concert, Reilly. And I’ll make damn sure you’ll be here when I need you.” His head twitched like a pit bull with somebody’s leg clenched in its jaws. “We have a deal.” He stabbed a finger at me, started to walk off, then turned back. “Remember, I’ll be watching you.”

  I almost laughed. Like he thought I was going to forget that?

  I WENT TO THE beach bar and found my little threesome talking with Scott Kirby and Matt Hoggatt.

  “Buck Reilly, sure,” Matt said. “Jimmy’s mentioned you.”

  Scott gave Crystal a hug, said he’d see her tomorrow on Jost Van Dyke.

  “And I heard you rocked your debate, Lenny,” Kirby said.

  “Should of been there, man,” Lenny said. As they walked away, he turned to me. “What the hell we supposed to do now, man?”

  “Don’t be hung over tomorrow,” I said. “You two have to get all the talent to Foxy’s, per the schedule.”

  I couldn’t think of anything else—fatigue hit me like a sucker punch. Last night in jail, all the running around, the dead ends, everyone wanting a piece of me… I was out of gas. Crystal’s eyes sagged, and the circles under them made her look like a zombie.

  “I’ll try to save some energy for tomorrow,” Lenny said.

  “I’m asleep on my feet, so I won’t be worth a dime if I don’t get some shut-eye,” I said.

  We rode in the back of the open-air truck taxi without saying a word. Once at the Westin, we were told the hotel was full. Crystal asked for a cot to be sent to her husband’s room which she had kept in the hope that he’d show up, then walked out of the lobby without waiting for an answer. I caught up with her.

  “Sorry, Buck. I’ll sleep on the cot.”

  We disagreed about that all the way to the room and I decided I’d go back and sleep in the Beast. When we entered it she became very still and just stood at the opened door, staring in. John’s briefcase was in sight, and I assumed his clothes still hung in the closet.

  Damn. I hadn’t even thought how she might react to seeing all that.

  “You okay?” I said.

  She let out a long breath and continued into the room.

  “It’s just weird seeing John’s things here.”

  She sat on the bed. I felt awkward, uncomfortable. The walls moved in on me and the air seemed thick.

  “I’m going to the bar for a drink,” I said. “Why don’t you relax? I’ll come back later to say goodnight.”

  �
��I could use a shower,” she said. “And I’m starving, but I don’t want to go to the restaurant.” Her eyes turned to John’s briefcase.

  “Order from room service,” I said. “I’ll eat at the bar.”

  Our eyes met and held for a second. I headed out and pulled the door closed, fast.

  I needed rum. Lots of rum.

  Once seated at the Tiki Bar, I drained a Cruzan on the rocks and pointed to my glass. I drained the next one the minute it came, then grabbed the bar menu.

  A vibration on my hip—the cell phone. I glanced at the screen, surprised it still worked: YOUR MASTER.

  “I thought you’d disconnected this phone, Booth.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Back on St. John. And you fired me, so what—”

  “Where’s Crystal Thedford?”

  His tone cut right through my fresh rum buzz.

  “She’s in her room at the Westin. I’m here at the bar. What’s up?”

  “Bad news, I’m afraid. Would she take it better from you, or should I take the ferry over in the morning and tell her myself?”

  Shit.

  “What’s up?” But I knew damned well what it was.

  “They found a body out in the water between St. John and Tortola. Might be John Thedford. I haven’t seen him, but it can’t be a pretty sight. She’ll need to make the ID”

  Double shit.

  “No ID on the body?”

  “Shot in the head and no wallet, so no, nothing.”

  “I’ll tell her. Where is it?”

  “The morgue in Roadtown. I’m headed there first thing. Can you bring her over?”

  I sat up straight, my fists clenched. Dammit!

  “I’ve requested that the body be kept as it is for forensics.” He was quiet for a moment. “Sorry, kid. It’s not certain, but she’ll take it better from you than she would from me. This doesn’t mean you’re back on the case, I just need you to get her to Tortola.”

  I didn’t ask if she was still a suspect, or about Stud Mahoney. If it was John Thedford, he was probably killed the night he was taken from St. John. Crystal was now my main priority. The concert had to be cancelled to ensure her safety.