Love for Sail

by Charles Dougherty

  His greeting was interrupted as she wrapped both arms around his chest, squeezing him so tightly he couldn't breathe. As he returned the hug, he heard and felt her sob. Patting her on the back, he asked, "What's wrong?"

  "Scared," she sobbed.

  "It'll be all right. It's all behind ..."

  "No. No, I thought so, too, but they, they …"

  "Okay," he said, running a hand up and down her shoulder blade. "Take it easy. We'll get it all straightened out. What's happened since I talked with you and Phillip last night?"

  She blubbered through an explanation, still clutching him, the side of her face pressed against his chest. As she finished the story, he felt her grip relax. She took a half step back and rubbed at her eyes, sniffling. "God, I'm sorry, Paul. I hate acting like a helpless female. I'm just ..."

  "Look, no way are you a helpless female. A hell of a lot has happened since you left Annapolis; you've probably been on an adrenalin high since those bastards attacked you guys the other day. You're just crashing; roll with it. It's okay."

  "Thanks." She gave him a sheepish smile. "The boat's a real mess; I got us a nice dinner, and a couple of bottles of your favorite Barolo, but ..."

  "That's great. Let's go find a quiet spot to sit down. I could use something cold to drink while we regroup."

  "Okay. There's this place close by; I had lunch there."

  "Good. Let's go, and don't worry about the boat. With both of us, we'll have it back right in no time, and we can enjoy that dinner and the wine in the cockpit after we finish."

  * * *

  Chapter 22

  It was a lovely evening; the moon rose over the island as they were getting ready for dinner, bathing the glassy water in a silver glow. Connie had set the table in the cockpit while Paul busied himself in the galley, warming, tasting, tweaking the spices, and doing those things that people who love to cook do. He had been right; it had taken them less than an hour to stow everything and clean up the mess.

  Satisfied with her arrangements, Connie lit the hurricane lantern that was hanging over the table and adjusted the wick so that it gave off a soft, orange glow. Between that and the moonlight, they would be able to see well enough to eat without attracting flying insects or spoiling the moonlit vistas that surrounded the boat in every direction. She sat down and took a sip of the wine that Paul had passed up to her a few minutes earlier. Before she set her glass down, Paul appeared in the companionway, silhouetted in the light from the galley. He held a steaming plate in each hand.

  "Take these, please?" He stepped back below, switching off the bright lights, and returned, taking the seat across from her.

  "Here's to Diamantista's first successful season, coming up!" He raised his glass toward hers and they clicked the rims.

  After she took a sip of the wine, Connie said, "A belated welcome aboard."

  "Thanks." Paul smiled at her and nodded his head.

  "Sorry I was such a basket case when you got here. I had planned to be the one to serve you dinner -- not the other way around. When I saw the mess, I just went to pieces. Thanks for being so understanding."

  "It's not a problem; besides, I signed on to this tub as the cook. I don't want the boss messing up my galley. Now, let's eat before I have to warm this up again. Bon appétit!"

  "Bon appétit," she replied.

  After a few minutes, she put her knife and fork down. She took a swallow of her wine and studied Paul as he applied himself to the food.

  "Not bad for ready-to-eat," he said as he finished chewing and reached for his wine, noticing surreptitiously how the moonlight picked out the sheen from her thick, black hair, which was loose tonight, brushing her shoulders.

  "Phillip's friend says that a lot of the big charter yachts, the one's with big freezers?"

  "Yes, what about them?" he asked.

  "Well, they have that store put together a whole list of frozen entrees for their guests," she continued.

  "Good thing Diamantista doesn't have a freezer, or I'd be out of a job."

  "Nah, not really. I'd keep you around; a good-looking first mate's bound to be an asset. Our first charter's a couple of widows."

  "Now I feel like a sex object. Or I would, except for being a broken-down old cop."

  "That reminds me. I've been meaning to ask you something."

  "Will I have to take my shirt off?"

  "What?"

  "For the widows. What have you promised them? I've got some pride, you know. Gotta draw the line somewhere."

  "No, you silly man," she laughed, an easy, musical sound that made Paul wish things were different between them. "I wondered how you decided to become a cop, if it's not too personal."

  "Well, compared to being asked to give my all for the team, it's kind of a relief, actually. I inherited it."

  "You inherited being a cop?"

  "My grandfather was a beat cop in New York. He retired and moved to Florida while my dad was still in school, and my dad became the town cop in this little Podunk place called Two Egg."

  "Two Egg?" Connie giggled. "In Florida?"

  Paul nodded. "Mm-hmm."

  "Where in Florida?"

  "You know where Possum Holler is?"

  She laughed again, that melodious, full-throated sound that invited him to make her do it over and over.

  "Guess not. How about Weewahitchka?"

  "At least that sounds like it could be a real place, like an Indian name, maybe."

  "Oh, they're all real. Up in the panhandle. That was pretty seriously backwoods when I was growing up. It's not much better now. Once I saw Miami, I was outta there. Finished college, did my time in the Army, and settled in."

  "You miss being a cop?"

  "No, not a bit. It felt good while I was doing it, but it's behind me now, or almost behind me."

  "Almost?"

  "Yeah, I need to stick close to Internet and telephone service for a few days. I've got a conference call tomorrow; there's some kind of office services place in Cruz Bay that I can use."

  "I know where it is; I passed it going to the Park Service office today."

  "Can't be too hard to find; there's not much in Cruz Bay. You never told me what they said."

  "The Park Police?"

  "Yeah, I guess."

  "Well …” She took a sip of wine, her face turning serious again after the laughter, making Paul sorry he'd asked. "They filled out a report form, but they said petty theft was an occasional problem, particularly from boats that didn't have any close neighbors. They offered to send somebody out with me to make sure it was okay, but I decided to just wait for you."

  "You tell them about the other?"

  She shook her head, the moonlight on her hair distracting him again. "No. It would have raised way more questions than I wanted to answer, and I didn't think it would do any good in the end."

  "Probably not," he agreed, taking a sip of wine.

  "Paul?"

  "Mm?"

  "You think it was related?"

  "What do you think?" he countered. "You heard the guy that Phillip and Sharktooth questioned."

  "I didn't get much from what he said, but it would be a huge coincidence if it wasn't, wouldn't it?"

  He nodded. "You think like a cop," he said.

  "Survival instincts."

  "That's healthy. You looked for the money?"

  "Yes, but we didn't find anything. Besides, the whole Federal government took the boat apart in Beaufort, remember?"

  "Yep." Paul stifled a yawn.

  "I'm sorry," Connie said. "You must be exhausted."

  "Pretty tired," he agreed.

  "Why don't you call it a night? I can clean this up. I promise not to mess up your galley, okay?"

  He smiled. "Deal." He stood up, stretching his back, his hands on his hips. She saw how flat his stomach looked as the polo shirt stretched across it. She tore her eyes away before he could notice. He took a step toward the companionway and paused, turning to face her again.

/>   She was glad of the dim lighting. As his eyes held hers, she could feel a flush rising from her neck to her face.

  "Connie?"

  "Yes?" she responded. Her soft, husky voice embarrassed her as she realized how it must have sounded. Her body was betraying her, making a mockery of her resolve to keep their relationship on a professional level; she felt the last of her control melt away as she returned his gaze.

  "Try not to worry. We're going to get through this, and those widows will be sending their friends down before you know it." He turned and stepped through the companionway.

  "'Night, Paul. I'm glad you're here. Rest well."

  "Thanks. You, too."

  ****

  It had taken Connie less than five minutes to clean up after their dinner, but before she had dried the dishes and put them away, she heard soft snoring sounds coming from the forward cabin. She smiled, finding comfort in Paul's presence, even as she was confused by her own reactions to him.

  She had been sure for a moment that he was about to take her in his arms and kiss her good-night as he left the dinner table. She alternated between feeling relief and frustration that he had not. Rationally, she knew it was for the best that he hadn't, but reason seemed to flee when she was alone with him. It would be a long three weeks before those widows arrived.

  She wanted a cold shower before she went to bed, but she worried that the noise of the pressure water pump would disturb Paul; it was mounted in a locker in the forward cabin where he was sleeping. She went into the aft head and filled the sink using the hand pump, settling for a cooling sponge bath instead as she tried to make sense of her emotions.

  ****

  Paul passed from sleep to wakefulness in a flash. He lay still, his eyes closed as he assessed his surroundings. He remembered that he was on Diamantista after a second or two. He was trying to figure out what woke him up when he heard a soft, sighing sound and a gurgle from beneath his berth. Water tank, he thought. He had heard the pressure water pump running in one of the lockers as he got ready for bed, but he hadn't heard it just now. Then he realized that Connie must be using a hand pump, worried that she'd disturb him.

  That brought a smile to his face. She'd disturbed him, all right, but it didn't have anything to do with running water. The moonlight on that hair, and those big, dark eyes, he remembered. It had been all he could do not to take her in his arms tonight, but he knew that would have ruined everything.

  Even though he might be feeling differently about their earlier agreement, this was not the right time to act. She was shaken, vulnerable. She needed a friend and a protector, not some drooling, fawning, middle-aged man with the hormones of a thirteen-year-old boy. He drifted off, dreaming that he was falling into the dark, deep pools of those eyes.

  * * *

  Chapter 23

  "That's the boat, right out there. First one." Tony Ferranti gestured with his head. He and Murano were having breakfast in an outdoor coffee shop overlooking the beach in Caneel Bay. Like everything else about the resort, the coffee shop was overpriced, but it gave them a view of the boat. That was an unexpected bit of luck; they couldn't have planned it better if they'd known what they were doing. Tony was facing away from the water, giving his boss the chair that afforded a view of the beach and the boat.

  "First one? Looks like the only one, to me."

  "Yeah, well, you can't see the others from here, but there's a string of them mooring balls runs clear down to Cruz Bay."

  "How'd you get out to the boat yesterday? Swim?"

  "No, man. That's the friggin' ocean out there. There's sharks 'n' shit. I got a dinghy."

  "Where?"

  "Bought it off a guy. He prob'ly stole it, but ..."

  "No. I mean where is it now?"

  "Oh. There's a public dinghy dock in Cruz Bay right next to the ferry dock. I locked it up there."

  "How long will it take us to get there?"

  "To the dinghy? Or to the boat?"

  "Both."

  "Fifteen-minute drive to town, give or take. Traffic's un-fucking believable, man. These damn people stop their cars to talk to one another -- just block the damn road while they shoot the shit. And if you blow the horn, man, they act like you're the asshole, not them."

  "And from the dinghy dock?"

  "Huh?"

  "Once we get to the dinghy, how long to get to the boat?"

  "Oh. Ten minutes, maybe. No traffic problem there."

  "So the cop's staying on the boat with her?"

  "Yeah. I can see 'em real good from my balcony, with binoculars. They went out there late yesterday afternoon. Been there ever since, unless the dinghy's gone."

  "No, it's there. How close are the other boats?"

  "Too damn close, but they mostly leave by late morning. Guy I bought the dinghy offa told me that, and he was right. The broad went into town a little before lunch yesterday, and by the time I got out there, the boat was all by itself."

  "You got any ideas how to handle this?" Murano asked.

  "We gotta make the bitch talk, that's all. I'd bet my ass the money's not on the damn boat; I took that sumbitch apart yesterday."

  "You're thinking we should snatch her?"

  "Yeah, but I don't like the looks of that guy that's out there with her now."

  "You afraid of cops?" Murano asked, grinning.

  "You said he's retired."

  "Yeah. So?"

  "So he ain't really a cop. 'Specially down here."

  "So what's the problem?"

  "You seen him up close?"

  "No, why?"

  "I was watchin' the broad when she met him at the ferry dock. He's one tough-lookin' hombre. Got them cold blue eyes, always movin' over the crowd, like one of them dudes covers the president."

  "I never knew you were a chickenshit, Tony."

  "Fuck you, Murano."

  "So how are we going to do it?"

  "I'd waste him first thing, before he can turn it around on us. That'll shake the broad up, too."

  Murano thought about that for a moment. He knew how Giannetti felt about killing cops, but he didn't share that old-fashioned idea. Besides, it would be easy to ditch the body. They could just pick up a weight belt at a dive shop, buckle it on, and drop him in deep water out of sight of land. "All right," he agreed. "We can't really question the woman right out there, though."

  "Nah. I figure we go for a sail. Gotta be some places where we could find a little privacy."

  Murano nodded. "How long before you figure the boats out there will thin out?"

  "Couple or three hours. There's a trail out to the point; we can see from out there. Only take us a couple minutes to walk it."

  "What if they leave?"

  "Hell, Murano, they just got here."

  "Yeah, but ..."

  "We still got the tracker. They can run, but they can't hide."

  ****

  Connie sat at the table in the saloon sipping coffee when Paul stepped out of the forward cabin rubbing his eyes. "Morning, sleepyhead."

  "Good morning, captain. Got any more of that coffee?"

  She nodded, gesturing to the carafe that sat on the table next to an empty cup. He picked up the carafe and filled the cup.

  "Have a seat," she invited.

  He shook his head. "I'll rustle up some breakfast first. You hungry?"

  "I was going to do bacon and eggs for you. It's the one thing I can cook with predictable results. Have a seat."

  "I'm the cook; if you've got bacon and eggs in the galley, that's a good start. I need to get in practice at cooking in this galley before those widows show up. Might as well start now."

  "I bet if you took your shirt off like you said, they wouldn't care about the food," she said, an impish grin on her face.

  "Keep it up and I'll file a complaint with, um ...”

  "Yeah? With um? Okay. I'm scared; I apologize."

  Paul chuckled.

  "You started it," she said.

  "What?"


  "The thing about taking your shirt off."

  "Oh. Well, I'll have to be more careful about what I say." He was rummaging in the top-loading refrigerator, setting things on the countertop beside the stove.

  "What time's your conference call?"

  "Noon."

  "That's an odd time."

  "Yeah, but everybody stops to eat, so it doesn't cut into productivity too much. The prosecutor's a real bear about efficiency."

  "So you need to leave around 11:30?"

  "Maybe a little earlier; I need to get my email. They sent me some reports I need to review. You're coming ashore with me, right?"

  Connie was tempted, but she had already decided that she was not going to lean on Paul; she could take care of herself. Besides, she didn't want him to think she was going to cling to him, even though she wanted to. She didn't want to drive him away.

  "No, I don't think so. I want to get that lock fixed, where the bastard broke in."

  "You got someone coming out?”

  "No. I can do it. I've got everything I need to repair it."

  "How're you going to do it? Looked like they broke the wood, to me."

  "Yes, they did. Nothing a little thickened epoxy won't fix."

  "Where'd you learn about stuff like that?"

  "Dani. You have to be able to fix things if you want to run a boat; she gave me a crash course on all kinds of minor repairs. Why?"

  "Oh, nothing."

  "You think that's man's work, don't you?"

  "Well, I ..."

  "Sexist pig," she teased. "I'm surprised at that, from a man that likes to cook."

  Paul chuckled. "Okay, okay. You win, but I don't like the idea of you out here by yourself."

  "I can handle myself, Paul."

  "I know; I've seen ample proof of that, but it worries me that the people from yesterday might come back. You know they didn't find the money."

  "Maybe they did."

  "No. It's Cop 101. Basic stuff. Whoever made that search didn't find what they were looking for."