“And remember we’ll be sailing for fifteen hours, most of the time in the dark.”
Debbie lifted her chin. “Sounds like fun.”
Javi knew that tone of voice. Stubborn. She wanted to go, and no amount of common sense persuasion would talk her out of it.
“The sail over might not be such fun,” he said, nodding at Irish, who seemed the most cautious of the three.
She glanced at Debbie, and then back to him. “Is it safe? I mean, we wouldn’t be in any danger of getting lost at sea, would we?”
“I can’t make any guarantees,” Javi said, needing to talk these three sirens out of this idea. “Something could always go wrong—equipment failure, unexpected weather. That’s in the contract that you signed. And there’s always the possibility of getting sick in rough seas.” Or make that the likelihood.
“I never get seasick,” Joan proclaimed. “And something could break even if we stay in the Keys.”
“Repairs are easy when we’re close to land.”
“Is there something wrong with the boat?” Debbie demanded.
“Not at all,” Javi said. “Spree is totally sound.”
“Aren’t the Bahamas an option on the website?” Joan asked.
“Yes,” Javi admitted.
“Have you made the sail before?” Irish asked.
“I think our hero is afraid of making the trip,” Debbie said before he could answer.
Javi sighed. “What I’m afraid of is it won’t be an enjoyable vacation. I’ve crossed the ’Stream against a norther many times, and can handle the sail.” Single-handed if necessary, which it practically will be.
“Experienced cruisers usually wait for the wind to shift to make the crossing. You don’t have that kind of time.”
“I still say it sounds like fun,” Debbie said. “And I need some fun.”
“Are you sure?” Irish asked.
“Come on, guys,” Debbie said. “You bullied me into this holiday to cheer me up, to do something different.” She raised her flute into the air. “So let’s do something different.”
“What do you say, Joan?” Irish asked.
Joan shrugged. “If it’s as thrilling as flying a Hobie, I say we definitely go for it.”
“I can’t talk you out of it?” Javi asked.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Irish said.
Javi nodded, knowing he’d lost the battle, that he hadn’t painted an ugly enough picture of what they’d be up against.
He could refuse to take them, but that would make the coming week more than miserable for all four of them, plus result in a bad review online. And Marlin did list the Bahamas as an option in his charter brochure. They were within their rights to ask for Gun Cay even if he thought it was a horrible idea.
And maybe he secretly wanted to make the sail, which would be exciting, a definite challenge to sail against the wind in Spree while pushed by the Gulf Stream. He’d been bored since the FBI placed him on medical leave and needed a distraction. Wasn’t that one reason he’d agreed to help Marlin?
“I need to file a new float plan with the marina,” Javi said. “While I’m gone, stow everything that’s out so it can’t bang around the cabin when we leave the dock.”
“Um, you mentioned the possibility of some aspirin?” Debbie said.
Smothering a grin, Javi pointed. “In the first aid kit under the nav station. Remember, put everything back in its place. You ladies also might want to grab a hot shower at the marina.”
“I already took a shower,” Debbie said. “A cold one.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, Javi said, “Then I’ll need to top off the water tanks again. When I get back, we’ll check off a few safety issues and go for a sailing lesson.”
He heard someone mutter, “Captain Bligh,” as he climbed the companionway.
Javi shook his head. If his charterers disliked him now, they’d hate him in twelve hours.
CHAPTER THREE
STANDING ON THE bow of Spree, Cat waited for instructions from the captain. The fiberglass beneath her feet rumbled with the vibration of Spree’s engine. The smell of diesel fuel floated on the steady north wind, which tossed her ponytail, tickling her neck.
It was almost 5:00 p.m. and they were finally beginning their journey.
Her job was to release the dock line and throw it onto the dock. Joan stood on the back of the boat ready to cast off the stern line.
Debbie, hungover and tipsy from a second bottle of champagne, sat in the cockpit. Her task was to stay out of everyone’s way. During the safety instructions, she’d complained about queasiness, so the captain sent her up on deck for fresh air. Instead, she went to her cabin and fell asleep. Joan didn’t have the heart to wake her, so they never went out for that sailing lesson.
Cat refused to let Debbie’s resentment of the entire known world spoil her excitement. She was about to embark on an adventure, something that even sounded a little daunting. Who’d have thought that she, Cattleya Sidran, the biggest coward in the known world, would actually look forward to something scary? For sure her mom and dad wouldn’t believe it.
“Release the stern line,” Javi yelled to Joan.
When Javi instructed her to release the bow line, Cat heaved the rope onto the dock. He gave Spree some fuel, motored out of their slip toward the channel that led out of the marina.
“That noisy motor isn’t helping my headache,” Deb muttered when Cat scrambled back to the cockpit and sat beside her.
Cat shrugged. She didn’t much like the motor, either, but they couldn’t raise the sails until they were out in the ocean and had room to maneuver.
His jaw set, the captain alternated his focus between the water ahead and a depth finder mounted on the cockpit. Spree had to stay dead in the center of the channel that led out of the marina. The instrument “pinged” every so often, indicating they were close to running out of water beneath the keel—running aground, Javi called it, quite obviously not a good thing.
He was fully dressed now, wearing khaki shorts, a blue T-shirt and matching visor. Polarized sunglasses covered his dark eyes, but the shirt couldn’t hide the biceps in the arms that gripped the wheel. The earring glinted in the setting sun, again reminding her of a pirate.
But he wasn’t a pirate. Just a sail bum she found mysteriously attractive.
The depth finder pinged several times. Javi cursed, then muttered, “Pardon me, ladies.”
“Have you ever run aground?” Cat asked.
He grinned. “More times than I care to remember.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Debbie said, one hand holding a huge straw hat in place on her head.
Joan caught Cat’s eye and shook her head. Even Joanie was running out of patience with Debbie’s negativity.
Other marinas and businesses concerned with boating interests streamed by Spree on the right—or starboard, Javi said it was called at sea. On the left, or port, was a natural area full of mangroves, their long spidery trunks covered with roosting pelicans and a nasty odor. The narrow channel widened into a harbor, and Spree passed a large group of sailboats, their bows all pointed the same direction.
“Are those boats anchored?” Joan asked.
“They’ve picked up a mooring, which is more permanent, but there’s a fee,” Javi said. “Dropping an anchor is free.”
The wind steadily increased the farther they got from the marina. The commercial area gradually turned residential and some amazing homes appeared.
Javi nodded at Deb. “We’re about to clear the shelter of land. Trust me, you’re going to lose that hat.”
Debbie removed her hat and tossed it through the opening into the cabin below.
When they got offshore, the wind plastered Cat’s T-shirt against her body. The stiff bree
ze also chopped up the ocean, causing Spree to wallow through the waves.
Cat glanced at Deb, but she didn’t complain about the rough ride.
“Ready for your first lesson, Cat?” Javi asked.
She jumped to her feet. “Sure.”
“Take the wheel.”
When Cat placed her hands on the smooth metal, it was warm, either from Javi’s body heat or the sun, and she felt the rumble of the engine in her fingers. He stayed behind her, his tanned arms around her and his hands also on the wheel. She took a deep breath, got a whiff of his spicy aftershave and forced herself to concentrate on the captain’s instructions.
“Turn the wheel to starboard, like you’re driving a car, and get the feel of how the helm reacts,” he said.
“Easy enough,” Cat said, and within a few minutes got the hang of how the boat maneuvered. Not hard at all.
Then Javi stepped away, leaving her to steer alone. After a brief moment of panic, she enjoyed the sensation of being in command of the sleek boat. It was like driving a car. Sort of. She swallowed and stared at the whitecaps in the ocean.
Joan gave her a thumbs-up.
“You’re doing great, Cat,” Debbie said.
“You okay?” Javi asked.
“I’m fine,” Cat said.
“So are you ladies ready to go sailing?” Javi asked.
“Definitely,” Joan said.
“Anything to stop that noise,” Debbie said.
“I’m going to raise the mainsail,” Javi said, and moved the engine lever to Neutral. “Cat, steer the boat to port and put the bow directly into the wind.”
“How do I know when I’m directly into the wind?” Cat asked.
“See these ribbons?” Javi flicked a ribbon attached to a wire supporting the mast. “These are called telltales. When they’re streaming directly to stern, you’re in the eye of the wind.”
“Got it.”
She turned the wheel to the left until the telltales flowed toward the back of the boat where the dinghy hung off davits. Javi went forward on the deck, did some magic with lines, and a huge white sail rose on the mast, flapping so loudly she could barely hear the engine.
“Now slowly fall off the wind,” Javi yelled.
Cat steered to the right. The wind caught the sail, which billowed and quieted. Javi returned to the cockpit and pulled the huge metal pole attached to the bottom of the sail—the boom, she remembered—toward the center.
The sail grew taut, and Spree darted forward like a racehorse released from the starting gate. She felt a tug on the wheel and overcorrected, which made the sail snap crazily again, so she turned the wheel until the sail became taut again.
Javi grinned at her and shut down the engine. The vibrations abruptly ceased. Without the engine noise, the only sounds were the rush of wind on the sail and the ocean flowing over Spree’s hull. She hadn’t realized how intrusive the sound of the diesel engine had been until the natural sounds took over, a huge relief to her ears.
But with the wind pushing on the huge mainsail, Spree definitely tipped to that side, what the captain called heeling. She spread her legs for better balance.
Javi pointed to a compass, which floated inside some kind of liquid, beneath the wheel.
“Try to hold a course of thirty degrees,” he told her. “A couple of degrees either way won’t matter. We’re a long way from Gun Cay.”
As Cat gazed at the compass, trying to focus on the number thirty—northeast—the sail began flapping again.
“That noise—it’s called luffing—will be one indication that you’re off course,” Javi told her. “You can also tell by the action of the ocean on your rudder. You’ll feel a difference in the wheel.”
Cat nodded, too engrossed in sailing to reply. Watching the telltales, she played with Spree’s direction, turning the wheel, figuring out how best to remain on course. The boat responded quickly, so the trick was to make gradual adjustments. Oversteering made the sail luff every time. She relaxed her grip, aware she clutched so tightly her fingers ached.
“You learn fast,” Javi said.
“Thanks. This is fun,” Cat said, thankful the captain remained at her side. She looked behind her. Key Marathon had receded in the distance, becoming smaller and smaller on the horizon. Facing forward again, she watched the bow cut through the waves, occasionally sending a cool spray back to the cockpit. She laughed in sheer delight.
This must be what it feels like to fly.
“I’m going to release the jib,” Javi said. “It’ll change the feel of the helm, so don’t let that throw you.”
Another white sail, hidden inside a blue cover, unfurled from the bow of the boat. When it caught the wind, Spree surged forward even faster. Cat intuitively made the adjustments. And now the whole deck really did tip to the right, although the sensation wasn’t too horrible. Just a little awkward.
No one spoke for what seemed like a long while as they skimmed across the water. Deb said, “You know this is really nice, guys. Thanks for making me come.”
“Told you,” Joan said.
Debbie shot her a bird, and everyone laughed.
“Do you want to take a turn at the wheel?” Cat asked.
Debbie shook her head. She placed a white boat cushion behind her, leaned against the back of the cockpit and extended her legs out on the white fiberglass. “No thanks. I’m good.”
“Joan?” Cat asked.
Already in a position similar to Deb’s, Joan waved a hand. “I’ve got all week.”
Secretly pleased, Cat returned her attention to steering the boat. Of course, there was no way she could stand behind this wheel for the fifteen hours it would take to sail to Gun Cay.
She experienced a moment of terror when Javi left her side and trotted forward on the deck to fiddle with lines on the mast. What if he fell out? Or what if one of her friends did? By now they were miles from land.
During the safety briefing, he’d cautioned them about the boom and jibing—where the boom swung around, potentially knocking people overboard. She stood safely behind the boom and suspected that was one reason Joan and Debbie stayed low. He’d instructed them on how to use the radio for emergencies, so they could call the coast guard if the captain went for an unplanned swim.
He’d also showed them where the life jackets were stowed and made them promise to wear them if things got rough. She nibbled on her lower lip. Actually, he’d said when things got rough.
Right now he was so far forward the boom couldn’t smack him. But footing was precarious, and the seas were getting choppier. The captain couldn’t fall over, could he?
“What’s he doing? Debbie asked.
“I don’t know,” Cat answered.
The sail luffed, and Javi glanced in her direction with a frown. She quickly made a course correction.
Cat released a breath when Javi returned to the cockpit.
“You need a break,” he said.
She stepped away from the wheel, stretching her arms overhead, her shoulders tight from holding the boat on course for over an hour.
“Unless one of you ladies wants a turn?” Javi called out.
“I’m too relaxed,” Joan said. “Maybe later.”
Debbie shook her head, placing her palm flat against her stomach.
“I think your friend is a little seasick,” Javi told Cat.
“Too much bubbly,” Cat said.
“You’ll feel better if you take command of the boat,” Javi yelled to Debbie. “That helps.”
She grimaced. “No thanks.”
Javi shrugged and refocused on the sails.
“What were you doing up there?” Cat asked.
“Double-checking a repair I made. Don’t worry. We’re safe.”
“It�
�s gotten rough,” she said.
“It’ll get worse.”
A tingle of alarm sliced down her spine at his ominous tone. How rough?
“I was thinking,” she said. “What if one of us falls into the water?”
Javi focused on far distant land to their left and nodded. “You’re right, Irish. It’s time to put on our life jackets.”
* * *
FIVE HOURS LATER, with the jib refurled and the main reefed, Javi stood behind the wheel and evaluated the status of his vessel. It was full-on dark, the moon not yet up. The bow rose as it crested a trough, and then crashed back into the Gulf Stream, making him release a pleased laugh. Nothing like pitching a man and a well-designed boat against the elements to make that man feel alive. Almost as good as catching criminals.
On a thirty-degree heel, Spree raced toward Bimini like a champion thoroughbred. He could put up more sail, but why take a chance? NOAA weather predicted a storm behind this north wind, although they’d be safely across before it hit. Still, no sense in beating the hell out of his boat with novices on board. With the two-to three-knot push from the Gulf Stream, they’d make good time to Gun Cay even without the jib.
If they continued on to Gun Cay.
Satisfied that Spree was operating perfectly, Javi turned his focus to the condition of his charterers. Matters weren’t so rosy on that front.
Debbie had been violently ill over the side of the boat even before they hit the worst of the conditions. Definitely too much “bubbly.” Joan, the purported sailor, held out a little longer, but had insisted on going below to pee and as a result had also puked her guts out.
Wearing their bulky life jackets, the two of them lay curled up in misery on opposite sides of the cockpit. Debbie, on the low side, had the best of it. Joan, on the high side, clutched a winch to keep from rolling into the floor.
Irish, because she took his advice and kept control of the helm most of the time, had so far remained upright. She’d even managed to go below to relieve herself without getting sick. Since he’d taken control, she’d developed a worried crease between her green eyes, and he suspected she’d gotten a little queasy herself. But she needed a break, and he wanted to get the feel of the helm in these conditions.
Stranded with the Captain Page 4