by Lynn Patrick
Trying to remember movies she’d seen in which actresses played Mata Hari types, Caitlin tossed her long hair back over her shoulder, hoping to look worldly and sophisticated. “Moreau? Ha! Moreau is nothing.” Anger egging her on, she narrowed her eyes and told Bryce in a low voice, “I work for governments—particularly the United States and the Soviet Union. I’m what you call a triple agent. If you let me go quickly, I’ll try to talk them out of killing you.”
Bryce moved back in his chair. “You’re saying you’re a spy?”
Caitlin corrected him, “I’m an agent. We don’t like to be called spies; it sounds so unprofessional. I’m very good at my work because I look perfectly innocent. That’s why it’s easy for me to sneak in and get the plans for all kinds of weapons. Then I sell them to the highest bidder.”
She couldn’t tell if Bryce believed her or not. He leaned forward again to ask, “What’s an agent doing in the West Indies?”
“I’m here because of the submarines,” Caitlin explained glibly. “They contact me and approach an island when I’m ready to give them blueprints or diagrams. And you’d better get me back to Hibiscus fast,” she added, sipping from her water glass as though it contained expensive vodka. “I have a date with the Russians tomorrow. They’ll think you’re competing with them…and blow you out of the water with a torpedo.”
Bryce’s reaction to her last statement was unexpected. Looking down at the floor, he shook his head tiredly. Was this the calm before the storm? Did he actually believe her and was concerned? Or was now the point where he’d lose his temper completely and throw her overboard? Angry also, Caitlin couldn’t find it within herself to be afraid.
“Don’t you have anything to say, Captain Winslow?” she asked. “Want to see a diagram of the newest guided missile?”
Glancing up at her, he yawned. “No, I don’t want to take the time. I’m ready to get some sleep.”
“Sleep? You mean, you aren’t the least concerned about the Russians?”
He gave her a derisive glance. “The only thing I’m concerned about is your sanity, but I’m not worried enough about that to keep myself awake.” He raised his voice to shout, “Lars!”
“Yes, Captain,” answered the old man from nearby. “You don’t have to yell. I’m right here. I’ve been waiting until you were through to set the girl to work.”
Bryce pointed to Caitlin. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m having milady work down here. She seems to be as balmy as you are. Get her dressed in those jeans Anselm is supposed to find for her and have her swab the galley.”
So Bryce hadn’t believed her! Well, at least she’d taken up his precious time with a wild tale. Powerless in her captive situation, even succeeding at telling a few lies made her feel that she had more control. And so far she’d managed to escape the encounter unscathed. The captain had made no move to punish her. Caitlin stared coolly at Bryce as he rose and walked away.
He turned before ascending the stairs. “I’ll talk to you later, crazy lady, after I’ve had some rest.”
“I can’t wait.”
Caitlin was happy that Bryce didn’t show up for the noonday meal. Having changed into a pair of faded denims and a cotton shirt, she kept herself busy cleaning pots on the far side of the galley area when most of the ten-man crew filed in to eat a lunch of rice, beans, and fish.
“What kind of slop are you serving for dinner, Lars?” asked a black deckhand after most of the men had finished eating and were getting ready to leave. “More of this, mon? We’re not very happy with our meals.”
“More! More! You dirty fish heads, sons of… Squawk!” cried the brightly feathered parrot from her cage in one corner of the room. She squawked again as Lars shook a heavy spoon threateningly in front of her.
“Shut up you foul birdbrain or I’ll roast you alive!” said Lars. “And you relax, too, Thomas. Beans are good for all the body’s organs. Beans, greens, tureens…”
“I think I’d rather have roasted parrot,” muttered Thomas. Sliding out of his chair, he and the others left to ascend to the upper deck.
“Roast, toast…” sang Lars as he moved the macaw’s cage closer to Caitlin. “Now, this is going to be part of your job here. You’ve got to take care of all the animals every day—clean the cat litter pan and bring this cage down from the deck to change Captain Flint’s paper. Then feed all the beasties too. When he’s not eating rats, Calico Jack likes fish and cat chow. The parrot gets birdseed and fruit. She prefers oranges.” He offered the bird a slice of the latter and backed away swiftly when she charged across her perch with her beak opened menacingly.
“Stinking moron!” cried the parrot, sampling the orange wedge that had fallen inside her cage.
“Inflated mass of useless feathers!” cried Lars. He turned to Caitlin. “Watch out for Captain Flint. She bites. Why don’t you take her back upstairs?”
Later that afternoon Caitlin decided that cleaning the parrot’s cage was probably the most dangerous of her duties, though not the most disgusting. Wrinkling her nose at the smell, she picked another slippery fish from the bucket Lars had given her and started scaling it with a knife. When she’d finished with that task, she’d have to gut and fillet the creature. Would she ever want to have fish for dinner again? she wondered, frowning down at the silvery contents of the bucket. Lars’s beans certainly smelled better at the moment.
Standing at the stove, the old man was busy overcooking a boiling pot of mixed red and black beans while he took swigs from a cheap bottle of rum. A pan of mushy white rice sat on the back burner. As far as Caitlin could tell, Lars hadn’t added pepper, salt, or any other seasoning to either dish.
No wonder the crew was unhappy with the meals. Only Thomas had spoken up at lunch, however. For a pirate crew the men were amazingly quiet and well mannered. Although they’d given her a few curious glances, none of the men had made any of the raucous, bawdy remarks she’d expect of criminals.
But then, their captain may have warned them away from her. Gritting her teeth when she thought about Bryce, Caitlin scraped even harder at the fish she held. Too bad there wasn’t any poison around. Imagining herself as a Mata Hari character again, Caitlin visualized mixing arsenic into the captain’s food. Then, when he was dying—probably in her arms—Caitlin would tell him her only sorrow was that he’d been so handsome.
“Hey, watch the weapons!” grumbled Lars, awakening her from her daydream. “What are you planning to do—scalp that fish down to its bones?” Startled, Caitlin looked down at the mess she’d made by not paying attention to her task.
“Give that one to Calico Jack. He’s not particular. And since we’ve got enough fish for tonight, I’ll throw the rest overboard. Fish, wish, they slide off their dish…and a yo ho ho…”
“What shall I do next?” Caitlin asked after washing her hands thoroughly at the sink.
“You can help me cook, I guess.”
“Would you like me to mix some seasoning into the rice or the beans?”
“Seasoning? What do you want to do that for?”
“Seasoning makes food taste better,” Caitlin told the old man, and-then wondered if she were insulting him. “Not that your cuisine isn’t already excellent, I’m sure.”
“Do what you want. I’ve got plenty of bottles and cans of stuff around here.” Lars took another swig from his bottle. “Want some rum? It’ll make you relax. One time I gave it to Captain Flint to make her settle down.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather have a drink some other time,” Caitlin said, opening cupboard doors. Soon she’d found black pepper, dried red pepper, jalapenos, onions, and a variety of spices. Wondering what seasoning mixture would be best with beans or rice, she came up with a great idea. “Does Captain Winslow like hot, spicy food?” she asked Lars.
“Hot and spicy? I don’t know.”
“I think he should try it,” said Caitlin with a wicked grin. But how was she going to flavor the captain’s food without changing the taste for all the
rest of the crew? “Do you fix a separate plate for the captain?” she asked hopefully.
“Sometimes he eats in his quarters, but of late he’s been sitting down with the crew. He likes to talk to his men and help himself out of the pot like everyone else.” Lars frowned. “You know, missy, I heard the talk before, and there aren’t any real thieves or murderers around here. Captain Winslow wouldn’t allow it. Why, he’s one of the best men I’ve ever served. And I’ve been a sailor for sixty years.” When Caitlin was silent, Lars continued, “See these tattoos? I got them in all the ports of the world. I’ve seen a pack of humans, and I surely know the good ones when I see them. You’re lucky Captain Winslow got a hold of you off that cabin cruiser. You were in with the wrong people.”
Lars began singing again in earnest, slowly dancing around the galley with a broom as he swept the floor. After removing the bean pot from the heat, Caitlin mixed salt and cayenne and black pepper to its contents, then added diced jalapeños and spicy cumin for good measure. Captain Winslow would just have to share the spicy food. As she stirred everything together she thought about the old sailor’s lecture. He was probably too crazy to know about Bryce’s illegal activities. She should be thankful that Captain Winslow had gotten hold of her? Low Tide Lars was definitely deluded.
“Lars?” called a man’s voice from the door at one end of the galley. Caitlin turned her eyes to the stranger who’d obviously come from another area below deck. Neatly dressed in chinos and a short-sleeved shirt, his brown hair parted precisely, this man hadn’t been, present at lunch. He smiled politely at Caitlin as soon as he noticed her at the stove.
“How do you do?” the man said, offering his hand. “I’m Raymond de Silva, the Sea Devil’s engineer. And you are—”
Lars moved nearer to interrupt. “She’s the girl the captain took off the cabin cruiser last night. Now she’s working for me.”
“Really? I didn’t see much from the engine room. For a minute there I thought we were hosts to a new passenger.”
“I wish I were a passenger…and that this was only one of the more colorful types of cruises around the Spanish Main,” mumbled Caitlin. “Then I’d know when and if I could get off this ship.”
The Portuguese looked uncomfortable. “You aren’t enjoying sailing on the Sea Devil? We’re in such a beautiful area. Hasn’t Lars given you time to look at the scenery? Well, I hope things improve,” he offered lamely. “Your situation may not be as bad as you think.”
Was this pirate trying to gloss things over? He acted like Caitlin was on vacation. She looked back at the stove and stirred the beans thoughtfully.
“That smells wonderful,” said the engineer. “You must be a good cook. May I have a taste? I skipped lunch and came over here for a snack.”
“It’s not ready!” exclaimed Caitlin, moving the pot away defensively. She didn’t want to be found out now. But Lars ruined everything. Taking a bowl and spoon from the cupboard, he followed her to scoop out some beans, then handed the mixture to de Silva.
For the next few minutes there was nothing to do but try to make herself inconspicuous. Her back to the table, Caitlin carefully examined the pots and utensils that hung on the far wall of the galley. She was surprised when she didn’t hear an outcry, then turned to see the engineer eating the beans with relish.
“You’ve got a great assistant there, Lars,” said de Silva, smiling at Caitlin. “This dish is excellent. Red pepper’s just what your beans needed. The only thing that might make them better is to add some sautéed onions or scallions.”
“We’ve got plenty of onions…grunions, bunions…” chanted Lars. Opening a drawer, he threw out several bunches of the vegetables. “Can you cut these up, missy?”
“Sure.”
Slicing onions on the large cutting board near the stove, Caitlin couldn’t keep from crying. And she didn’t know if she was more affected by the potent vegetables or by her disappointment over failing to ruin Bryce’s dinner. It was too bad the seasoning had been so diluted. She should have waited and somehow gotten all the pepper flakes into Bryce’s food alone. That would have made the captain sit up and take notice. Imagining his discomfort, she grinned through her tears.
But her smile froze when she saw Bryce enter the galley a few seconds later. Staring directly at her at first, he quickly turned away, a strange expression on his face. Had that actually been a look of concern she’d seen? Surely not.
Beneath his gorgeous exterior Caitlin was certain that Captain Winslow had a black, self-serving heart. Hadn’t he almost made love to her to get her to answer his questions? Degraded her by forcing her onto his nightmare ship and threatening her? Caitlin only hoped she’d live long enough to see Bryce locked up someday!
Later that night a strong wind came up from the southwest, driving banks of heavy clouds and the Sea Devil, in full sail, before it. Standing near the prow, Bryce watched the ship slice through high, black swells, and then gazed up at the velvety dark sky. The moon had disappeared. Bryce hoped a storm wasn’t brewing; that might stop them from reaching St. Lucia by morning. Once there, he planned to send a message to Jean Moreau and demand a ransom for the return of his kidnapped mistress.
Would Moreau be willing to make a deal? Bryce wondered. Or would he try to trick them to get Caitlin back? The Frenchman was well known for being as shrewd as he was deceptive. But would he dare to gamble if he thought his woman’s life was in danger?
Bryce was anxious to get Caitlin off the Sea Devil. Just thinking about her huge, serious blue eyes and the tears he’d seen running down her cheeks tonight made him feel unpleasantly guilty.
She always looked and acted so innocent. Even the silly lies she’d told him about being a triple agent could be easily discerned as such. Was she playing a game? Or was she really as balmy as Lars?
Thinking about the old cook, Bryce carefully headed back across the slanting deck as the ship rolled with the wind. If Lars still had Caitlin working, Bryce wanted to tell him to let her get some sleep. As he neared the galley door, however, a slight figure burst out in front of him and wove its teetering way to the ship’s side.
“Caitlin! Don’t jump!” Bryce yelled above the sound of rustling sails and wind. She didn’t answer but hung her head over the railing. He reached her in a couple of strides and took hold of her shoulders when he realized what was wrong. “If you’re going to be sick, don’t stick your face right into the wind! Come to the other side.”
Half dragging her as they struggled, he managed to take her in the other direction. Her face was white in the dim light of the open galley door, and she groaned before retching on to the deck—and all over his left pant leg and shoe.
“Oh!” She groaned again. “Now look what you’ve made me do! Can’t you leave me alone?”
“I’m trying to help you. Come over here,” insisted Bryce, steering her toward the opposite railing. Gently placing an arm around her midriff from behind, he held her head over the side as she was sick over and over again.
“Lots of people get sick when they’re first aboard a ship. You’ll get over it,” he said, wondering why he wanted to comfort her.
In a few minutes Caitlin stepped back from the railing, shivering as she leaned against him. “I don’t want to get over it. And I don’t want your help. I’d rather be off this dumb boat.”
“Ship,” corrected Bryce, trying to ignore the warmth where her slight body touched his own. A strand of her hair whipped across his face. “I’d like to see you off this ship too. But in the meantime you might as well try to get used to it. Why don’t you come back to the cabin, take some medicine, and keep warm and quiet?” He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed when she swung out and away from him. She’d felt so good nestled between his arms.
“No. I think it will be better if I sleep on deck,” stated Caitlin. Standing under the straining sails, her blue eyes glowing with angry determination, her long hair tossed by the wind, she looked like a tempestuous water sprite.
>
Bryce stepped nearer. “That’s ridiculous. It’s too cold out here.”
She moved away, edging toward the galley door. “I don’t want to sleep in your cabin again. And don’t think you can talk me into it, either. Thank goodness I found out that all that dizziness was seasickness—and not you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m just seasick! I’m not attracted to you!” she shouted before disappearing down the stairway.
As he made his way to the ship’s wheel to relieve Anselm, Bryce couldn’t help but brood. Caitlin had a lot of nerve for a hostage. Her last remark hadn’t set well with him at all. Did she have to inform the whole ship so loudly that she found him unattractive?
And the remark probably wasn’t even true, Bryce thought, remembering the moon-drenched night he’d held Caitlin O’Connor in his arms. Warm and passionate, she’d certainly acted as if she were attracted to him then. No woman could fake such burning kisses, could she?
Chapter Six
“Miss. Miss, wake up.” Caitlin tried to ignore the lilting island voice, but the hand giving her shoulder a couple of sharp shakes forced her to concentrate. “Hurry or you’ll miss the dolphins.”
“What?” Caitlin groaned and rolled over. What was she doing on deck? she wondered. It took a minute to realize that she’d chosen to bed down there. Blinking her sleep-filled eyes, she stared up into a kindly black face. It belonged to the middle-aged deckhand, Perry. “Dolphins?”
“Both aft and starboard,” the man told her, holding on to a mop he’d been using to clean the deck with one hand, pointing to the rear and right side of the ship with the other. “They’re following us.”
Not sure she trusted her legs after the previous night—not to mention her stomach—Caitlin rose cautiously. But though she was a little stiff from sleeping on the hard wood with nothing but a thin mat protecting her body, she felt steadier than she would have imagined, and her empty stomach merely grumbled for food.
“Dolphins!” she said excitedly, the concept finally sinking into her awakening brain.