Rising Storm: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 11)

by Wayne Stinnett

  “So, what brings you to Miami, Stretch? I’m guessing business. You already have the tan.”

  “It’s all pleasure,” I heard Charity say behind me. Turning, I saw that she’d changed into tight black jeans and a red tank top, scooped very low in front. And she was wearing shoes, which as far as I could remember was the first time since her arrival. Heeled sandals, but shoes, nonetheless.

  “You ready to go, baby?” Chyrel asked from my other side. She’d changed also. Tight white pants and a blue and yellow silky-looking blouse.

  “What’re y’all doing?” I asked, as Mike retreated to the other end of the bar, grinning.

  “Look,” Charity whispered, her breath warm against my ear. “We’re sorry for teasing you.”

  “And want to make it up to you,” Chyrel added, whispering in my other ear.

  Charity pulled on my arm. “While we show you at the same time, that men and women can have fun, even flirt, and just be friends. There doesn’t always have to be benefits.”

  “Come on, Jesse,” Chyrel said. “Let’s blow this place and go have some fun. Andrew and Tony have things covered until morning, and there’s nothing for us to do until then anyway.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked, tossing down the rum, leaving a ten on the barm, then standing and allowing myself to be led along.

  “South Beach,” they both replied in unison.

  Waking the next morning, my head hurt. Not a full-blown, brain-crushing hangover. More of a low throb, requiring copious amounts of coffee. I could see through the sliding glass door that it was beginning to get light outside. The drapes were wide open.

  Turning my head, I saw Chyrel and Charity lying in the other bed. Chyrel was on her back, legs tangled in the sheets. She was wearing only her bra and panties. Charity lay on her belly next to her, clothed only in black panties.

  I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs brought on by too much alcohol and not enough sleep. That turned the pain up a notch.

  We’d hit a number of night clubs, drinking and dancing. I’d eventually relaxed and had fun. Real fun, like I’d never experienced before. But I knew nothing had happened between any of us, aside from a lot of toying remarks and touches.

  I heard a chirping noise from beside the bed, and recognized it as a message alert. Throwing off the covers, I realized I was wearing only my skivvies. That had been Chyrel’s idea. To sit across from one another and talk, wearing only our underwear. Charity wasn’t wearing a bra under her tank, and had no problem stripping down to her underwear and acting as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

  I grabbed my cargo shorts from the floor and pulled them on, taking my phone from the pocket.

  It was a message from Andrew, time stamped just two minutes before. They were on their way over from the marina, after walking Finn and locking him up in the salon.

  “Get up!” I said, urgently.

  The two women started to stir, and Charity rolled over. Absolutely no tan line, whatsoever.

  “Charity!” I said louder. “Chyrel, get up and get dressed. Andrew and Tony will be here any minute.”

  Charity was on her feet instantly, crouched between the beds, fists up and clenched, and fully alert.

  I turned my back. “Will you two hurry up and get dressed? The others are on their way up here right now.”

  Finding my shirt from the night before, where I’d tossed it toward a chair but missed, I snatched it up and pulled it over my head. I tore into the coffee cart, looking for just a plain old brew, as the two women scurried to cover themselves.

  While I was setting up the coffee maker, a knock came at the door. Chyrel and Charity scrambled to get their belongings together before disappearing into the head. The door opened before I got to it, and Tony came in.

  He looked up, as he entered the room. “Morning, Jesse,” he said, as he handed me a thermos.

  I opened it and smelled. “Thanks, Tony. This hotel doesn’t have much in the way of coffee.”

  “Have a good night?” Andrew asked following him in.

  “What makes you ask?” I said defensively, as I ripped open the plastic on two paper cups. I filled them, plus the cup on the thermos and two porcelain mugs.

  Tony stopped in the middle of the room, surveying the scene. Aside from both beds looking like a wrestling match had occurred, nothing was out of place. I usually sleep very light, with only the spot I lay on becoming disturbed, but last night I hadn’t slept all that well. We’d returned to the room after three, just a little buzzed on liquor. During our nearly naked group chat, I’d brought up the subject of Charity’s boat. Chyrel offered to help, and we’d talked about the subject while Chyrel snooped.

  Chyrel had been the one to bring up the incident where Stockwell had given Deuce the electronic equipment. After searching through a number of government computers and not finding anything on Charity’s boat, she’d searched the database on registered vessels.

  That was where she’d found Wind Dancer, by the registration number. She matched it to the hull number from when the boat was built over seventy-five years ago. Both showed the current owner to be Charity Styles.

  “It’s your boat,” Chyrel had told her, excitedly. “In every single way. It’s yours.”

  Charity had asked her if she was sure, and Chyrel smiled. During the whole conversation, they’d been dressed just as they’d been when they woke up. It was then that Chyrel told her that the same applied to a helicopter in Puerto Rico.

  She’d gone on to explain that according to every document and registration she could find on any database, Charity owned both the sailboat and helicopter, and had for several years.

  Chyrel finally stepped out of the bathroom. She was dressed in her usual attire: baggy jeans and a loose-fitting, long-sleeved blue blouse.

  “I’ll make our bed,” Chyrel said to Charity dropping her bag on the floor at the foot of it. “You can make Jesse’s, while the guys fill us in. Hey, Tony. Hey, Andrew.”

  Charity exited the bathroom, also dressed comfortably. In her case, bare feet, and boat clothes.

  “Hi, girls,” Tony said. Andrew only nodded, while he too looked around the room.

  “Yeah,” I replied to Andrew, handing him a mug of coffee. “I slept okay. Did Carmichael and Cruz say anything after we switched the comm over?”

  “A lot of yes, yes, yes,” Andrew said. “But nothing noteworthy.”

  “There were a couple of oh my gods thrown in toward the end,” Tony added.

  “Uncomfortable to listen to, yeah,” Chyrel said, completely back to her usual persona, a far cry from the woman who was grinding against both me and Charity last night on the dance floor. “But it’s necessary. Did they say anything at all useful?”

  “No,” Tony said, clearing his throat. “Basically, they just rolled over and passed out about three hours ago.”

  “Good,” I said. “That means they won’t be awake for several more hours.”

  Chyrel finished the bed and sat at her computer, giving me a sly wink, before striking a few keys on the keyboard. A distorted sound came from the speakers.

  “Snoring,” Charity said. “Not sure if it’s him or one of the hers.”

  “Anyone else hungry?” Tony asked.

  “I could eat,” Chyrel said, turning in her chair. “Just in case, we shouldn’t go down together. I hacked into the hotel security system and have the video feed of the hall camera, and the feed from the bug, both forwarded to my phone. I can listen inside and watch their door from anywhere.”

  “I’m starved,” I said. “You guys go down to the restaurant and get a table with an adjoining empty table and the three of us will be right behind you.”

  Tony and Andrew left, carrying hotel coffee mugs with them.

  “About last night,” I said, closing the door and turning toward the two women.

  “Nothing happened,” Charity said. “We had some fun, let our hair down, and raised the roof in a few places.”

 
“Raised the roof would be an understatement.”

  “It was all in fun, Jesse,” Chyrel said. “You needed it, Charity needed it, and I damned sure needed it.”

  “It was fun,” I said. “And completely innocent. Y’all made some of those bar patrons think I was some sort of famous movie star or something.” I sat on the corner of my bed, getting a disapproving look from Chyrel. I stood back up and grinned. “And you probably made a bunch of men hornier than hell. Maybe even a few women.”

  “Including you?” Charity asked, putting a hand on my forearm. Her touch was like fire.

  “Sorry, one last jab,” Charity said. “Let’s go eat breakfast, then figure out what our next step should be.”

  When we arrived in the restaurant there was a buffet, and Tony and Andrew were already digging in. They sat at a corner table with an empty table next to them. Both men were seated with their backs to the walls.

  We sat down and a waiter arrived, asking if we wanted coffee. I told him to bring a pot and we’d hit the buffet. Once we were again seated, I said, “I want to go to the boatyard and see if I can get aboard. Tell the owner that I forgot something.”

  “Think he’ll remember you?” Tony asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  “Probably,” I replied. “The chest isn’t large, I’m sure I can fit all the stones in my cargo pockets, or just put the chest in a pillowcase and stuff it with dirty linen. Carmichael won’t be up for hours yet.”

  “And if he doesn’t let you” Andrew asked. “What if he calls Carmichael?”

  “We can burn that bridge when we get to it,” I replied. “I think it’s worth a shot.”

  “Maybe instead of you forgot something,” Charity said, “tell the man that you want to put something on the boat. Sort of a bon voyage gift or something.”

  “Good idea,” Andrew said, trying, and failing at a whisper. “Something he wouldn’t likely call Carmichael about. But what?”

  “Something the boatyard owner would understand,” Charity said. “Maybe a Saint Brendan statue? He’s the patron saint of sailors.”

  “Yeah, where you gonna find that?” Tony asked.

  “You’d be surprised how commercial Catholicism has become, Tony,” Charity said, then turned to me. “There was a store just outside the airport, Botanica Nena. They’ll have them.”

  “Okay,” I said, “I’ll go with Tony and Andrew. If I succeed in getting aboard and finding the emeralds, we’ll head straight to the Revenge. You two stay here and keep an eye on our friends.”

  “And if you can’t get aboard?” Chyrel asked as my phone vibrated in my pocket.

  Taking it out, I saw that I had a text message from Deuce. “That’s Deuce,” I said. “He, Julie, and Paul are in the van, parked across the street again.”

  “Where’s your friend Tom?” Chyrel asked.

  “He doesn’t say,” I replied. “If I can’t get aboard, I’ll come back here and we’ll proceed with the original plan: wait until we’re on the water, then overpower Carmichael.”

  Hitting the call button, I waited for Deuce to answer. When he did, I told him about our plan and asked about Tom.

  “He has a line on a condo,” Deuce said. “It won’t be available for two weeks, but he wanted to see it. It’s on Lower Matecumbe Key about fifteen miles from the office. He sounded pretty excited about it. Look, if the boatyard owner resists even a little bit, I want you to just leave the gift with him and ask him to put it aboard before launching.”

  “Will do,” I said, ending the call.

  We ate quickly, then the women went back up to the room and I walked out to the parking lot with Tony and Andrew.

  “So,” Tony said, as we approached my rental car, “Who slept with who last night?”

  I pulled my sunglasses down slightly and glared at him over the roof of the car.

  “Easy, big guy,” Tony said raising both hands, as if in surrender. “A joke. Everyone knows you’re too much of a wet blanket. Say, where’d that saying come from anyway?”

  Grinning, I pushed my shades back up and opened the door. “A person who puts out fires.”

  We found the store easily enough, and they did indeed have a statue of Saint Brendan, an Irish saint also known as The Navigator or Anchorite. Being Irish, I probably should have known that, but I didn’t.

  Just as we pulled into Mistrall’s parking lot, all three of our phones began chirping. Mine was a text from Julie telling me to turn on my earwig. All three of us started digging into pockets, apparently having received the same message.

  Turning it on, I stuck the comm in my ear. “What’s up, Jules?”

  “Are Tony and Andrew with you?” she said, without greeting.

  “We’re here,” both said at once.

  “Your guy just woke up. He got a phone call; apparently, the boatyard is finished and they’re ready to put the boat in the water. He’s on his way there now.”

  “Go!” Tony said. “Out of the lot and turn left. There’s a strip mall next door with a big parking lot that has a view of the docks.”

  I reversed and followed Tony’s directions. As I pulled into the nearly empty lot, he directed me to the slight shade afforded by a tired-looking willow tree.

  “There he is.” Tony said, just as I buzzed the windows down and shut off the engine.

  A cab was turning into the parking lot we’d just left. When it stopped, the passenger door opened and Carmichael got out. He was alone. He paid the driver, said a few words to him, then disappeared inside the building.

  A few minutes passed, then I heard a sound familiar in larger boatyards. “That’s a travel lift starting up,” I said. “They’ll be putting the boat in the water soon.”

  After several more minutes, the boat hoist came into view, a giant gantry frame on wheels. The big trawler was hanging below it on four heavy straps. Slowly, the huge machine inched its way toward two narrow concrete piers, built just far enough apart that the lift could straddle the water between them.

  “Call coming in on the house phone,” Chyrel said. “Gimme a sec—there. Your phone should be ringing, Jesse.”

  The caller ID was blocked. I didn’t know if it was because Chyrel hacked into the hotel’s phone service, or the caller was blocking his identification. I answered it anyway.

  “Stretch, it’s Wilson. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No, we just got back to the room after breakfast.”

  “You, as in you and the missus, or all three of you?”

  “What do you think, Wilson?”

  He chuckled and said, “Hey, look. The boatyard finished the work early. They worked a double crew all night, and it’s awesome.”

  “How soon before they can launch it?” I asked, watching the man at the helm. He was moving the trawler to the dock as the travel lift backed away.

  “She’s in the water now. You guys want to move the departure up? I think we can be ready to leave in time for the high tide.”

  “Is that important?” I asked, playing dumb.

  “Yeah, it’ll shave quite a few hours off the crossing. If we can go down to the southern end of Biscayne Bay, versus going north and through the main shipping channel.”

  This made no sense. The Port of Miami shipping channel was only a few miles to the north, and Cape Florida Channel was just a few miles south. Both had at least twenty feet of water. There was no need to go ten miles down to the narrow cuts through the shoal waters at the Safety Valve.

  “What time do you think we should leave?”

  “It’s about two hours down to Soldier Key,” he replied. “If we get there at slack tide, about two o’clock, we can ride right through.”

  “So you want to shove off at noon?”

  “No later than that,” Carmichael said. “If we get there too late, it could be a bumpy ride, with the outflow from the bay pushing us faster than we need to go in a narrow channel.”

  “Got it,” I said. “The girls are getting ready to head down to the pool, let me
talk to them and call you back. What’s your number?”

  “I’ll call you back in ten minutes,” he replied. “I have some things to attend to down below.”

  Telling him that was okay, I ended the call. “Is everyone on?” I asked.

  “Paul’s on the headset, monitoring the listening device in the room,” Julie said. “When Carmichael left, the two women seemed to go back to sleep.”

  “We’re both here,” Chyrel said. “Twiddling our thumbs.”

  “What do you guys think?” I asked. “We have three hours. Should we go with his moving the schedule up?”

  “We topped the tanks on the Revenge before docking,” Andrew said. “She’s ready to go.”

  “I don’t know,” Deuce said. “Why does he want to go all the way down to Soldier Key?”

  “Yeah, I wondered that, too,” I said, watching as Carmichael paced the deck of the boat. “Bimini’s the natural choice for entry to the Bahamas, and it’s due east of Miami. Going ten miles south only adds ten miles to the total trip.”

  “Maybe he just wants to start further south so he doesn’t have to angle his way across the Stream,” Julie said. “That’s what Dad used to do all the time.”

  “Could be,” Deuce said. “A slow trawler will get pushed a lot further north in the Gulf Stream’s current. We just don’t know everything they have planned.”

  “One thing’s for sure,” Chyrel said. “Jesse being the only other man on the boat, Carmichael’s going to want to kill him soon after leaving Biscayne Bay, probably when we’re in the Gulf Stream.”

  “Yeah,” Andrew grunted. “If anything’s left of the body, it wouldn’t wash ashore until reaching the white cliffs of Dover.”

  “His boat draws more water than the Revenge,” I said. “Probably five or six feet.”

  Tony nodded in the back seat. “The Revenge draws what? Four feet when adrift, and maybe three at speed?”

  “A little less,” I said. “I agree with Chyrel, he won’t do anything while we’re in the bay. Too much chance someone will witness it. And if shore is still in sight, one of the captives might try to swim for it. So we want to make the takedown in the bay, when he’s not prepared or distracted.”