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

by Wayne Stinnett

  Once we were down, I left the landing lights on and approached the dock at the end of the floating dock. Charity stepped out onto the pontoon, ready to fend us away if need be.

  Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the darkness at the foot of the pier. It was Devon.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, after shutting the engine down and climbing out of the Hopper. Finn raced down the pier and disappeared around the west bunkhouse. I had my backpack, and a small chest under my arm. “I thought you had to work tonight.”

  “We finished early,” she replied, clearly shaken up about something.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Jesse, your boat is gone, too.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, hugging her tightly. “Andrew and Tony have it. They’ll be back tomorrow”

  “That’s a relief. Did you finish what you were doing in Miami?”

  Charity smiled. “I’d say it’s being wrapped up right about now.”

  Devon looked at each of us in turn. “You made the recovery and turned the perps over to law enforcement?”

  “Something like that,” I said. “At any rate, yeah, we got Amy Huggins’s property back, and the people who stole it won’t bother anyone again.”

  “I want to hear all about it,” she said. Then she noticed the bandage around Charity’s arm. “You got hurt?”

  “Flesh wound,” Charity said. “Nothing to bother a doctor about.”

  “You two are probably exhausted,” Devon said. “Let me fix something to eat.”

  “I could eat,” I replied, uncoiling the water hose. “Y’all go ahead, I just need a few minutes to wash down the Hopper, get some of the salt spray off the old girl.”

  “The only difference between men and boys—” Devon began.

  Charity finished the sentence as the two women walked toward the foot of the pier: “—is the price of their toys.”

  Friday morning, Deuce called before we were even out of bed. I groggily pulled on a pair of shorts and got to my feet, then tiptoed into the living room.

  “Have you seen the news this morning?” he asked.

  “I just woke up,” I replied quietly.

  “The Coast Guard, responding to an anonymous tip last night, arrested former Staff Sergeant Wilson Carmichael on suspicion of murder.”

  “I guess they found the flash drive?”

  “All they’re saying on the news is that Carmichael was an escaped federal prisoner and that Army CID was en route to Miami to take him back into custody.”

  I knew that Chyrel had probably found out more. “What are they not saying on the news?”

  “The CID agent that’s coming to take him back to Leavenworth is the same guy who was investigating the murder of Captain Huggins and his men.”

  Looking out the big, south-facing window, I noticed that Charity’s boat was gone. I quickly told Deuce I had to go, then went out onto the deck and around the corner. From the southeast corner of the deck, I could see the length of Harbor Channel. The air was crisp and cool, visibility unlimited.

  And Charity’s boat was nowhere to be seen.

  How did she start the engine and leave without me hearing it? I wondered.

  Then I noticed that the wind had changed. The cooler air was the result of a northerly breeze. She’d simply loosed the lines, raised the foresail, and sailed away from the dock. I went back inside, feeling as if something was now missing.

  On the table was a sheet of paper. I picked it up and read it.

  Jesse,

  Sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I’m not very good with that. When I woke up, the wind was right and every fiber of my being wanted to sail away. The bullet hole notwithstanding, I had a great time with you and Devon last night. It was nice to see everyone else again, as well. Tell them all I said goodbye, will you? And if you ever need me, I still have the phone.

  Charity

  Throughout the day, I picked up bits and pieces on the news about what had happened in Stiltsville. Tony and Andrew did a thorough job of wiping everything down that the women might have touched, so I felt confident nothing would lead back to us.

  When we arrived at the marina, I offered the two younger women a ride to anywhere they wanted to go. They thanked me, and Jenna said that a friend lived just a block away, and called her for a ride.

  Over the weekend, I made a few calls to friends, who called in a few more friends. I also called all the building supply places in the Middle Keys until I found the one that Amy Huggins was buying material from. I told them to deliver everything she had on order first thing Monday morning, and that I’d pay for it on delivery.

  On Sunday, I took Devon back to the Anchor and then stopped at No Name Key on the way back to the island. When I knocked on the trailer door it opened immediately. Amy saw the little chest under my arm, and her eyes welled up with tears.

  “You got it back?”

  “Minus about a dozen stones,” I replied. “But more than enough to finish your house and set you up for the rest of your life.”

  She invited me in and I placed the little chest on the table in the dining room. When I lifted the lid, Amy’s mouth fell open.

  “Four hundred and eighty-two stones, including the one you loaned me. Each one identical in size and shape, and worth about five grand each.”

  Amy staggered slightly and I quickly caught her hand and led her to a chair. “That’s almost a quarter of a million dollars,” she said, her voice quaking.

  “You missed a zero,” I said.

  She looked up at me in utter disbelief. “You mean—”

  “Two-point-five million,” I said, sitting down next to her. “But there’s a catch.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Each stone could be sold individually to any number of people for twice that amount. But you can’t flood the market with them; they’re too recognizable.”

  “They’re stolen, then,” she said, her mouth turning downward.

  “Many times,” I replied. “The rightful owner has been dead for centuries and there’s no way to trace any heir. Your husband came by them honestly, but more than one government would like to take them from you.”

  “So how can I turn them into cash?”

  “I know someone,” I said. “He knows the right people for this, and says he can turn them into a million in cash in less than a week.”

  “A million dollars?” Amy asked, picking up one of the stones and looking at it.

  “Or, you can go through this same guy and sell them off one at a time over the next several years for twice that. Maybe more.”

  “Here,” she said, picking up three more stones and thrusting them toward me. “These are for you.”

  “No, Amy,” I said. “I told you what my price was. A cold beer at the Rusty Anchor, and you donate a little something to the Watermen Foundation. Just tell Pam Lamarre at the bank, and she’ll handle everything. Completely anonymous.”

  She started to struggle to her feet and I helped her up. She looked as though she was going to give birth any minute. Throwing her arms around my neck, she blubbered into my shoulder for a moment. I held her until it passed.

  She stepped back, wiping tears from her eyes. “How can I ever repay you for this?”

  “Raise your son to know who and what his father was, Amy,” I said, taking her by the shoulders. “He wasn’t just an Army officer.”

  I went on to tell her all the things about her husband’s service that she didn’t know anything about. I told her about a new star that now hung on the wall at Langley, and though there was no name attached to it, those who knew, knew, and were very grateful for his service. We talked until it was nearly dark. She agreed that I’d take the emeralds down to Key West for her, to let Buck Reilly find a new home for them.

  “In the meantime,” I said. “You have a house to finish. I took the liberty of setting up a delivery tomorrow morning. Everything you had on your order. I’ll take the cost of that out of what we get from Buc
k.”

  “There’s no way I can arrange workers today,” she said.

  “Took care of that, too. I doubt any will be licensed contractors, but they’ll be here in the morning along with the material.”

  The next morning, the work crew numbered sixteen, and more arrived after lunch. Over the next several days, we worked hard from before sunrise to well past sunset, stopping only to eat and watch the sun go down. The house quickly started looking like a home.

  Buck came through, as promised, delivering one-point-two million in cash the following Friday. The exterior of the house had already been finished, and in five days’ time all we had left to do was to set the cabinets and fixtures. It was a quaint little Conch house, and Dan Huggins, Junior was born in it a week after we moved the furniture in.

  By November, I still hadn’t heard anything from Charity. Kim came down to celebrate the Marine Corps birthday with us at the Anchor and asked if I’d read the recent review on our website.

  “It’s kind of weird, Dad,” she said. “And I don’t see any charter that you took the person out on. I mean, it was scheduled, but you didn’t even enter the fishing report afterword.”

  “What did it say?” I asked.

  Kim took her phone out, tapped the screen a few times, and turned it so I could read it. The review was from two days ago.

  Outstanding adventure. I found our butterflies and two nasty bottom-dwellers. The crew made me feel at home like I hadn’t felt in a long time. The captain and his mate took great care in seeing to it that I was pleased. Will definitely book them again.

  About a week later, on a beautiful Tuesday evening in late November, I dropped the hook half a mile off Middle Cape Sable. I wasn’t sure why I’d come all the way across Florida Bay to one of the most remote beaches in the state, or anywhere else for that matter, but I just felt the urge to be somewhere else.

  The nearest civilization was miles away and the beach was accessible only by boat. I was anchored in eight feet of water and had a line out, but wasn’t really expecting anything. I’d just wanted to get away for a day.

  A light breeze was coming off the cape, pointing the stern straight toward a cloudless sunset. Gulls squawked and laughed on the beach, but I was far enough away that they were barely audible. Other than that, the only other sound was the gentle, rhythmic lapping of water around the hull.

  The sun was nearing the horizon, and I’d already decided to just stay here for the night. I was far enough from shore that the mosquitoes wouldn’t be able to sense my body heat—though they were few and far between up here in late November anyway. Since it was a weekday, there wasn’t another boat in sight.

  I was alone on the sea—just me, Finn, the Revenge, and the beach. All around, it was quiet and serene. Hearing a whooshing sound, I looked toward the direction it came from. A swirling in the water showed me where the dolphin had surfaced. A moment later it surfaced again, fifty yards away.

  The serenity was shattered by the loud chirping sound up on the bridge. The satellite phone. The one that only had a single phone number programmed into it.

  Climbing quickly to the bridge, I grabbed it, and punched the Accept button. “Charity?”

  “Hi, Jesse,” she said, a whimsical sigh in her voice.

  “Where are you?” I asked, as I sat in the captain’s chair. Opening the little fridge, I took out a cold Red Stripe and opened it, spinning the chair around and putting my feet up on the aft rail.

  “Little Cayman,” she said. “I’m back on my own boat now. What are you doing? Busy?”

  “Feet up, anchor down,” I replied. “I’m watching the sunset from the bridge, anchored off Cape Sable with an ice cold adult beverage.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then she said, “Where that whole mess started a couple of years ago.”

  Charity was referring to a man and woman that had been murdered just down the beach on East Cape. It was one event in many that were meant to draw me out, so a Haitian drug gang in Miami could get their hands on me. Charity had disappeared during the search, when the gang had gassed my island, knocking everyone out and they’d hauled me up to the Ten Thousand Islands.

  “Bad things happen everywhere. It’s not the fault of the location.”

  Another long pause. She had something on her mind, otherwise she wouldn’t have called.

  “Sorry for leaving without saying goodbye,” she finally said. In the background, I could hear boat sounds. She was on the water.

  “Are you watching the sunset, too?” I asked, letting her get to her question in her own way.

  “Every evening,” she replied. Then there was another pause. “I just called to say thank you.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For just being you,” she said. “For listening, even when I wasn’t saying anything. It meant a lot. And a big thanks for helping me find out about my boat.”

  “Glad to be of help,” I said, as the sun and sea began to merge in a dazzling display of color and dance.

  Over the phone, I heard Charity’s breath catch and realized that in degrees of longitude, we weren’t very far apart and the light show I was witnessing on the Gulf was the same one she was seeing in El Caribe.

  “You could have had me,” she said, finally getting to the reason she’d called. “And you’re an easy man to fall for.”

  “Two ships in the night,” I said.

  She laughed. “Part of me is going to miss the excitement,” she said, as I watched the last of the sun disappear with a green flash of light.

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  The Charity Styles Caribbean Thriller Series

  Merciless Charity

  Ruthless Charity

  Reckless Charity

  The Jesse McDermitt Caribbean Adventure Series

  Fallen Out

  Fallen Palm

  Fallen Hunter

  Fallen Pride

  Fallen Mangrove

  Fallen King

  Fallen Honor

  Fallen Tide

  Fallen Angel

  Fallen Hero

  The Gaspar’s Revenge Ship’s Store is now open. There you can purchase all kinds of swag related to my books.

  WWW.GASPARS-REVENGE.COM

  Table of Contents

  Titlepage

  Copyright

  Foreword

  Dedication

  Read More Jesse McDermitt

  Maps

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  More By Wayne Stinnett