Enduring Charity: A Charity Styles Novel (Caribbean Thriller Series Book 4)

by Wayne Stinnett

  Jesse advanced the throttles slowly, bringing the big boat up to cruising speed, then backed off as he made a wide turn around the tip of the island.

  “You’re gonna have to hike a ways,” Jesse said. “This end of the island is mostly cleared. We’ll have to go a little farther east, to where the resort people won’t see us.”

  A few minutes later, he slowed the boat, and Tony went back down to release the anchor. Jesse turned the boat away from shore in fifteen feet of water and flipped the switch to release the anchor. He then backed the boat toward shore, paying out more anchor rode. When the sonar showed they were in only six feet of water, he set the windlass brake and backed down hard, setting the anchor deep in the sandy bottom.

  “We’ll let the wind push us a little closer,” he said, releasing the brake. “At best we’ll be in four feet of water, fifty feet from shore.”

  “That’s fine,” Charity said, “I think all I’ll need is a swimsuit. And a plastic zipper bag.”

  “For the phone?” Jesse asked. Charity nodded. “Bottom drawer in the galley.”

  Charity went down to the guest cabin, where she’d stored her bag, and changed into her red one-piece. She’d bought it on Saint Thomas after Victor commented how good it would look on her. He’d been right; the suit was cut high at the hips, with a deep neckline and no back. She stuffed the plastic bag in next to her belly, smoothing it as best she could.

  “Wow!” Leilani said, as Charity came out of the cabin to join the others in the cockpit. “You look like a model.”

  “One of us can slip ashore and help,” Tony offered.

  “We’d only slow her down and be in the way,” Jesse said, opening a gear locker and taking out a pair of powerful binoculars. He scanned the beach slowly, stopping now and then. Finally, he set them on the fighting chair and opened the transom door. “The beach looks deserted, but go in as covert as possible.”

  “Roger that,” Charity said, stepping down onto the swim platform, and pulling her tinted goggles down over her eyes.

  She began hyperventilating, taking quick deep breaths to oxygenate her lungs. She pressed the small goggles against her eyes with the heel of her palms.

  “Be careful,” Tony said.

  Charity nodded, then dove off the starboard side of the platform. Underwater, she turned toward shore and started a dolphin kick, arms extended ahead of her. She knew she could cover a lot more distance below the surface than above. Her goal was to get far enough away that anyone who might have seen her dive off the side wouldn’t be looking for her halfway to shore when she surfaced. Behind her, a small stream of bubbles rose as she slowly exhaled.

  Her air nearly gone, Charity slowed and rose to the surface. Her head breached for only a second, as she gulped another lungful of air. Then she was underwater again, kicking toward shore.

  She finally rose to her feet in hip-deep water and moved quickly up onto the beach, removing her goggles. Jogging across the loose sand, she made it to the dune and hung her goggles on a dead tree branch.

  When she looked back, Jesse was standing on the swim platform, scanning the beach in the direction of the resort. When he lowered them, she waved, and he waved back. Then she disappeared into the tropical foliage at the top of the dune.

  Spotting Doug making his way back toward the little Tiki bar, Jeff angled toward him, and jogged to catch up.

  “This is fucking boring, man,” Jeff said, as he came up beside the smaller man.

  “Why don’t they ever book us on bigger ships?” Doug asked. “These little ones are always full of old farts trying to save a buck. I’m pretty sure I’ve met everyone on board by now.”

  “Rayna said that the guy they found last night looks like he might be a good fit,” Jeff said, as the two men sat down on wooden stools at the open-air bar.

  “I want a real drink,” Doug complained. “We got lucky finding the one. We don’t need a third girl.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Jeff said, puffing his chest out in a macho display. “I can handle three easy enough.”

  “Yeah, right,” Doug said as the bartender approached them. “We can’t screw ’em, and if two can’t get a guy to leave the bar, then a third ain’t gonna be much help. Our real need is three guys. A third girl is just another ticket to buy and mouth to feed.”

  “Another mango smoothie, gentlemen?” the bartender asked, his teeth smiling brightly in his dark black face.

  “Add some vodka to mine,” Doug said.

  The bartender frowned. “That’s not really going to taste very good at all, sir.”

  “What would you suggest then?”

  “The only spirit to drink with tropical fruit is a tropical spirit,” the bartender said, smiling broadly. “Rum.”

  “Surprise us,” Jeff said. After the bartender walked away, he pointed with his chin toward Fiona, reclined on a lounge chair, absorbing the sun. “Why ain’t she helping look?”

  “Guess she figures hitting on girls is man work. She don’t like to get her hands dirty.”

  “I’d hit it,” Jeff said, as the bartender placed two orange-colored drinks in front of them.

  “Dude, you’d hit a knothole in a fence post.”

  “Tell me you wouldn’t.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Doug replied. “And if you’re smart, you won’t try. She’s tight with Red. Besides, she used to work the streets, man. No telling what you’d get from her.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw color and movement through the palm trees. He took a long sip of whatever the bartender had made for them and looked across the island. A long-legged blonde in a red swimsuit was slowly strolling along the far shore, at the edge of the resort property.

  “There’s only a couple dozen people on the whole ship who are the right age,” Jeff said, licking the remnants of his drink from his lips, as he continued to watch the blonde.

  Jeff was certain that he’d seen everyone on board at one point or another. The woman had either stayed holed up in her cabin in Nassau or lived here on the island. Even from more than a football field away, he could tell she was hot.

  “There’s probably still a few people that haven’t come ashore,” Doug said. He nodded out toward where the Delta Star lay at anchor, one of the ferries just pulling away from the side. “Another ferry coming this way. I think I’ll head over to the dock and see if anyone looks like a prospect.”

  Jeff grinned, tearing his eyes away from the blonde over Doug’s shoulder. “You do that,” he said. “I’m gonna take a walk down the beach, see if we missed anyone.”

  “Remember, we need to get back to the ship by sunset,” Doug said, standing, and dropping a ten on the bar. “Red wants us cleaned up for dinner.”

  “You shouldn’t call her that,” Jeff warned.

  “What? You gonna tell? That’s low, man.”

  “Nah,” Jeff said, then lowered his voice. “But Fiona has other things in common with rabbits. She can hear a mile away.”

  After Doug left, Jeff tilted his drink and drained it. When he looked across the island again, the woman was gone. He stood and scanned the far shore through the trees. Finally, he saw her, walking away from him, close to the water’s edge.

  “Hey,” he said to the bartender. When the man approached, Jeff nodded at the ten Doug had left. “That cover the drinks?”

  “Six dollars each,” the man said. “American or Bahamian.”

  Jeff reached into his pocket and took a five from a small roll of bills, laying it on top of the ten. “What do you call that, anyway?”

  “Make Me Disappear,” the bartender replied with a smile. “White rum, orange cognac, demerara, and orgeat. I make my own orgeat.”

  “No mango?”

  “You said surprise you,” the bartender replied, gathering up the bills and quickly replacing them with three ones. “Like it?”r />
  “Yeah, thanks,” Jeff said. “Keep the change.” He then hurried away from the bar toward the other side of the island.

  Jeff had no idea what the last two ingredients the guy had mentioned were, but he liked the drink and would order it again, and maybe find out what those ingredients were.

  Once he was away from the beach, the loose dry sand of the island’s interior made it difficult to hurry. Unbeknownst to Jeff, the three ounces of liquor he’d just consumed was masked by the very ingredients he was unaware of, and that was making his feet move a little slower as well. But the blonde was just a few hundred yards down the shoreline and walking slow.

  Angling through the tropical greenery, he half-trotted to catch up with her. But she suddenly turned and started walking the other way. Adjusting his course, Jeff walked out onto the beach less than a hundred yards ahead of her.

  He straightened his shirt, brushing it off as he strode toward the woman. His shadow stretched more than twice his height toward the leggy blonde, with the late afternoon sun over his shoulder. The closer he got, the better she looked. Tall and athletically built, she moved with a slow, methodical grace, like a lioness on the hunt. The sun cast a golden glow on her dark bronze skin. She had her head down, as if looking for something.

  The woman started when Jeff’s shadow passed in front of her. When she looked up, Jeff saw the bluest of eyes looking back at him.

  “Did you lose something?” he asked.

  She gazed at him for the briefest of moments, then smiled. “No,” she said. “I am looking for a shell. Usually, the northeastern shores of these islands are more dynamic.”

  Jeff looked down at his feet. The whole beach was littered with shells of all sizes and shapes. “Not sure what that means,” Jeff said, smiling. “But there’s lots of shells here. My name’s Jeff.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Jeff” she said, extending her hand. “I am Gabriella.”

  Taking her hand in his, her grip was firm and confident. “Pleased to meet you, too.”

  “Sorry for the lab speak,” she said. “A lot of shells is just what I meant. The northeast side of most of these islands get heavier surf, so more shells wash up.”

  “But you don’t have a bag or anything to carry them in. Be glad to offer my pockets.”

  She smiled again, then reached a hand under the side of her swimsuit and pulled out a plastic bag. “I would be lucky if I find one murex shell; that’s what I am looking for. They are very rare.”

  “What’s it look like?”

  “They are white,” she replied, walking again. Jeff fell in beside her. “Some have streaks of light brown and pink on the bottom. They have long spurs that grow out all around the bottom and across the newer portion of the whorl.”

  “Like a conch shell?”

  “Similar, but the spines are much longer and thinner compared to the size of the shell. They are very small, only an inch or two in length.”

  “Are you on the cruise ship?” Jeff asked. “Because I’m sure I’d remember having seen you before.”

  “No,” she said, pointing up the beach. “I arrived on a private yacht. I had the captain come around to this side, so I could come ashore. The cruise line doesn’t allow anyone but passengers ashore when the cruise ships are here. You won’t tell, will you?”

  Farther down the beach and just a hundred yards offshore was a big, dark blue power boat. “Nah, your secret’s safe with me. You own that?”

  “It used to belong to my adoptive father,” she said. “He passed away last year.”

  “You were adopted?” Jeff asked, incredulous. “I was too. It’s a small world.”

  Jeff couldn’t believe how easy that information was gained. It’s not something a person usually asks when meeting someone new. Being new to the Gang of Six, he wasn’t real sure on all the rules still, but first and foremost everyone had to be an orphan. The fact that this woman seemed to have money should be a plus.

  “My biological parents died when I was a baby,” she said. “I have no memory of them at all. Neither had any relatives, so I was put up for adoption. My adoptive parents were unable to have children and raised me as their own.”

  “You were lucky,” Jeff said. “I was seven when my folks died. Nobody wants to adopt a boy that age. Where are you from?”

  “Florida,” she replied, “but my parents were Cuban, so I picked up some of their accent. You?”

  “The mean streets of New York,” Jeff replied. “I couldn’t wait to get outta the Bronx. This is a lot more my speed.”

  She stopped and stooped down, picking up a small sea shell. Jeff took advantage of the opportunity to get another look at her ass.

  “Close,” she said, standing, and showing him a shell. “This is murexsul ianlochi. See the long spines? But see how they’re irregular, and look like branches of coral? The one I am looking for is murexsul zylmanae. The spines are thinner and more delicate, which is why they’re so rare.”

  Walking again, Jeff scanned the beach, hoping to find the shell she was looking for. He sensed that she was a little older than him, but not much. And real smart.

  “You some kind of marine biologist or something?”

  “I was once,” she said, walking slowly, and looking all around.

  They continued to walk toward the boat resting at anchor, gently rolling in the waves. Jeff could see that there were at least two people on the upper deck. “I hope I’m not being too forward,” Jeff said, “but the cruise ship puts on a beach party here tonight. And it’s not quite what you’d call a single’s cruise.”

  “I don’t know if my friends would like that,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to look back down the beach.

  “Ah, you have a boyfriend. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, stopping, and turning to look at him. “I had a boyfriend, but he’s gone now.”

  Jeff noticed her eyes seem to grow cold and she again looked back down the beach where they’d walked from. On the boat, he could now see that there were three people. One was a small woman with long dark hair. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn it was—

  “Leilani?”

  Standing at the rail on the top deck, Leilani looked toward the beach. The woman she only knew as Gabby was walking with Jeff, just a hundred yards away. He didn’t seem like he was being forced, and he hadn’t seemed to notice the boat yet. How the woman planned to get him out to it, she had no idea. Leilani couldn’t believe the woman would be much of a match for him physically. He was big and heavily muscled.

  She looked up at the tall man next to her. None of them had given her their names, but she’d heard them talking to one another, when the black guy had left the intercom on. The other two had called him Stretch.

  “What if he doesn’t want to swim out here?” she asked.

  “He’s not going to be invited,” Malcolm said, joining them at the rail. “She’s just going to knock him out and drag him to the boat.”

  “No way,” Leilani said. “Jeff’s pretty tough.”

  The couple on the beach stopped, and Gabby stepped in front of Jeff, looking all around as she said something to him. Jeff turned and looked directly at the boat. Leilani was certain that he could recognize her and tried to step back. But Stretch was right behind her and blocked any retreat.

  Suddenly, Gabby moved. In the blink of an eye, she stepped forward, lowering her left shoulder and driving her right knee into Jeff’s mid-section. Even from fifty feet away, Leilani heard the whoosh of air from his lungs.

  Gabby stepped beside Jeff and delivered the edge of a closed fist to the back of his head. Jeff dropped to the sand, his hands not even attempting to break his fall, instead hanging useless at his sides.

  “Whoa,” Leilani breathed out, slowly. “Who are you people?”

  “Besides being a chopper pilot,” Malcolm said, �
��she was once a martial arts and combat fighting instructor for both the Army and Miami-Dade Police. That dude wasn’t much of a challenge for her.”

  “You wanna go down and give her a hand?” Stretch said.

  Malcolm nodded, then moved quickly down the ladder and opened the little door on the back of the boat. On the beach, Gabby had dragged Jeff to the water and now had an arm over his right shoulder and hooked under his left arm, pulling him through the surf.

  “So the government fired you guys or whatever, and now you just go around shooting and beating up people you think broke a law?”

  “No,” Stretch said. “That’s vigilantism. We just want to live our lives, like anyone else.”

  “So why are you doing this?”

  “There are some people in this world,” Stretch said, “people like us, who will always try to walk away from a fight. But when cornered these same peace-loving people are more than capable of stopping a fight real quick, using overwhelming force. Your former associates picked the wrong guy.”

  “Well, why are you helping me then?”

  The tall man looked down at her, his face unreadable. “I’m not,” he said, bluntly. Then pointed toward Gabby, now swimming, and pulling Jeff’s inert body along. “I’m helping a friend. Someone who once helped to save my life. She sees something in you that I don’t, and wants to give you a shot. If I were you, I’d take her up on it in about half a heartbeat.”

  Leilani didn’t understand. Stretch had been the one who convinced Malcolm not to shoot her. “I thought you were the one who wanted to give me a chance.”

  He looked down at her again. “You’re a thief; I don’t associate with thieves. If it was up to me, I’d turn you over to the cops. But for whatever reason, she’s decided that she wants to help you and give you another shot in life. The fact that you’re part of the group that killed her boyfriend speaks volumes about that woman’s character.”

  Leilani had no idea who Gabby was, but she could obviously take care of herself. The woman wanting to help her made no sense to Leilani. There wasn’t anything in it for her.