His Only Obsession (Protectors #27)

by Beverly Barton

  Mick laughed gruffly. “You’re a gullible old fool. All we had to do was play along with your foolish idea of a scientific exploration and we had the perfect front.”

  “A front for what?” Cheryl asked.

  “For our drop-offs,” Mick said. “In Kingston and San Juan and St. Mallon and Baccara.”

  “Illegal drugs.” Jordan didn’t know why he hadn’t figured it out sooner. Because he’d had his head in the clouds, just as Dr. Arnell had.

  “Yeah.” Mick snorted. “You and the old man aren’t so smart, are you? Book smart maybe, but dumb as dirt out in the real world.”

  “You said we.” Dr. Arnell stared at Mick. “Who do you mean by we?”

  “Who do you think I mean? Molly and me. As soon as she met up with you at the Yellow Parrot back in Puerto Nuevo, she came up with the idea of our pretending to believe in your theory about that stupid island.”

  “I don’t believe you. Molly cares for me. I care for her. We’re going to be married after I bring the miracle plant back to the world.”

  Mick laughed and laughed.

  Cheryl reached over and patted Dr. Arnell’s hand. “Don’t listen to him. Whatever her original motives were, isn’t it obvious that Molly does care about you? She took a bullet for you, didn’t she?”

  With tears streaming down his face, Dr. Arnell stroked his bony fingers through Molly’s short, dark hair and cupped her head tenderly.

  “Oh, my God!” Cheryl shouted.

  “What is it?” Jordan’s gaze followed hers. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “Land,” Cheryl cried out gleefully. “I see land.”

  “There is no land out here,” Mick said. “We’re in the middle of the Triangle. There’s nothing out here but ocean and more ocean.”

  “No, you’re wrong.” The Professor gazed at the horizon, a smile of pure bliss on his tired, old face. “It’s my island. I knew it would come to me again. Fifty years to the day that I landed here as a young man.”

  “What’s wrong?” Gwen asked when she realized the Footloose wasn’t moving, that the engines were quiet.

  “The engines just died,” Will told her.

  “What? How is that possible?”

  “Hell if I know. First the radio goes out, now the engines die.”

  Gwen glanced over her shoulder at the approaching storm, the storm rising from the ocean’s depth. “Oh… Will…Will…it’s nearly on us.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Within seconds, dark, menacing clouds surrounded them. High waves attacked the cruiser, tossing it about, as rain pelted them and lightning struck the starboard side of the boat.

  Gwen screamed. Will grabbed her and held her.

  We’re going to die. Dear God, we’re going to die.

  Chapter 10

  Gwen had no idea how much time had passed—if it had been minutes or hours—since the Footloose had been engulfed by a raging storm. She had clung to hope, had prayed with every breath she took, had tried to prepare herself for death. And as suddenly as the bizarre storm had descended upon them, it disappeared, as if it had been a merciless mirage, leaving behind utter calm and deadly quiet.

  Will grasped her shoulders and shook her. “Gwen? Gwen, snap out of it.”

  “Huh? What?” From where she huddled on the double seat behind the helm, she gazed up into Will’s blue eyes. Suddenly she realized that his knees straddled either side of her legs, that he hovered over her, concern in his stern expression.

  He helped her into a sitting position, then rested beside her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I think so. What about you?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “What happened?”

  Will rose to his feet, held out his hand and, when she accepted it, dragged her up alongside him. The deck of the Footloose appeared undamaged, just thoroughly soaked, with water standing a couple of inches deep beneath their feet. Overhead, white fluffy clouds floated along dreamily in the clear blue sky. Beneath the cruiser, the ocean lulled softly, but within seconds she sensed something odd was happening. Will sensed it, too. With her hand in his, she felt him tense.

  “We’re moving,” he told her.

  Gwen glanced in every direction. “We’re drifting due north.”

  “No, we’re not drifting. We’re being pulled.”

  “How is that possible? There’s nothing out there to pull us.”

  “I don’t know. It’s some kind of current in the ocean and it’s dragging us slowly along with it.”

  “Is that normal?”

  He looked right at her, and what she saw in his eyes unnerved her. Not exactly fear, but apprehension. If a man like Will was concerned about their situation…

  “What is it?” she asked. “Tell me.”

  “There was nothing normal about that freak storm we encountered. There’s nothing normal about a late-model cruiser in tip-top shape having sudden engine trouble and losing radio function. Nothing works. None of the navigation instruments, compasses, our cell phones. Not a damn thing.”

  “Do you think what happened is because we’re in the Bermuda Triangle?”

  He grunted. “I don’t believe in superstitious nonsense, but it’s possible some type of magnetic field is wreaking havoc on the engines and the radio and other equipment. Whatever caused the storm and the cruiser’s problems is what’s probably creating the current that is pulling us along.”

  “If it continues moving us due north, it could take us closer to Bermuda.”

  “Or it could simply take us farther into the Atlantic and leave us stranded.”

  “If that happens…”

  “We have water and supplies to last a few weeks, but without being able to radio for help—”

  “I’m not ready for the we’re-going-to-die scenario,” she told him. “Not quite yet. Give me a best-case scenario.”

  “We’re spotted by another vessel and rescued. Or better yet, the engines become operational again or maybe the radio.”

  “And the odds are?”

  He shrugged. “I’m going to check the engines and see if I can discover anything wrong. Same for the radio.”

  “I wonder if my father and the others aboard the Sun Dancer encountered the same storm we did.”

  “If they took the same route we did, then the storm hit them, too, before it hit us.”

  “Then my father and the others could be alive and stranded just like us. Or they could be—”

  Will grasped her face, cradling her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t think about the alternative. Remember, no death scenarios.”

  Half an hour later, Will joined Gwen at the helm where she’d been sitting while he checked out the engines. Both were in perfect condition. Both should be working, but they weren’t. He couldn’t figure out why. Same with the radio and the ship’s instruments. Although he didn’t believe in the supernatural or the paranormal, he’d seen enough of the world and its mysteries to keep an open mind. Almost every strange occurrence had a basis in scientific fact, so that meant whatever had happened to the Footloose could eventually be explained. No voodoo-hoodoo involved.

  When he approached the helm, Gwen jumped to her to feet and came to meet him. “What did you find wrong with the engines?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice.

  He shook his head. “The engines are fine. So’s the radio.”

  Hope died instantly. “We’re still gliding along, due north. I don’t need a compass to tell me that.”

  He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “How long did that storm last?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been trying to figure out how long the storm lasted, but for the life of me, I’m not sure if it was only a few minutes or if it was hours. Our watches don’t work.” She tapped her wristwatch. “Nor do the clocks. The sun is in the west now and it was in the east when the storm hit, so that must mean the storm lasted for hours, right?”

  “Right.” Like Gwen, when the s
torm had ended, he’d had no sense of time, of the actual duration of the event.

  “Why can’t I get a grip on time? I feel as if I’ve lost hours.”

  Will huffed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “You feel the same way?”

  “Yeah. Everything that happened during the storm was weird, as if time stopped, as stupid as that sounds.”

  “No, no.” Gwen grabbed his arm. “That’s exactly how I felt. As if time stopped. But that’s not possible, is it?”

  Will shook his head. “No, it’s not possible.” He searched the sky, noting that the sun was deep into the western horizon, which meant it was late afternoon. “We both must have passed out for hours. That’s the only explanation.”

  She squeezed his arm. “Do you remember passing out? I don’t. I remember clinging to you, of being afraid, of thinking we were going to die. I heard the horrible noise of the wind and the waves. But from the minute lightning struck the boat until the sea calmed and the wind died away, it seemed like only minutes passed.”

  Will tensed. That was another thing he couldn’t explain. The Footloose had taken a direct hit from the lightning bolt. He’d bet his life on it. But there was absolutely no sign that the cruiser had been struck by lightning.

  “What is it?” Gwen’s gaze bolted to his.

  “Lightning didn’t strike the Footloose.”

  “Yes, of course it did. We saw it hit. We felt it.”

  “Yeah, we thought we did.” He clasped both of her arms, just above the elbow. “There’s no damage to the cruiser, not even a scratch, nothing to indicate we were hit by lightning.”

  Gwen’s big brown eyes widened. Wonder? Fear? Disbelief? He couldn’t tell for sure.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “I don’t understand any of this and I don’t like it.”

  “You think I do? But there has to be a logical explanation of some kind for what’s going on.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why does there have to be a logical explanation? After all, we are in the Bermuda Triangle, a place that’s known for the unexpected, the strange, the illogical.”

  Hating her train of thought, he released her, his gaze narrowing as he glared at her. “The next thing I know, you’ll be telling me you believe your father’s mystical island is out here somewhere and we’re drifting straight toward it.”

  Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes sparkled. She smiled.

  “Damn it, Gwen, I wasn’t serious. Don’t you know a damn joke when you hear it?”

  “You’re not sure what’s happened to us, and it scares you. You don’t like being taken by surprise and not being able to get a handle on things.”

  “I’m not scared. I’m pissed. There’s a big difference.”

  “Well, I’m scared. We’re lost in the middle of the Atlantic, in the Devil’s Triangle, with hours of our lives missing, a boat with inoperable motors, useless instruments and we’re being pulled slowly but surely toward some unknown destination.” She glowered at Will. “You’re a damn fool to not be scared.”

  “Then I’m a damn fool.” He turned his back on her and stared out at the sea surrounding them. The big wide ocean. Calm, peaceful, tranquil. Then he glanced up at the sunny, blue sky.

  “Will?”

  “Just leave me alone for a while, okay? I’m going below again, so stay put.”

  Needing to get away from her and her fanciful ideas, Will left her alone topside as he went below to the salon. He had to think, had to consider his options, few as they might be. They either stayed aboard the Footloose and waited to see how long the mysterious current carried them and where it carried them to, or they boarded the seven-man life raft and tried to row free of the current. Either could be a death warrant.

  If he didn’t report in soon, Dundee’s would know he was in trouble. But since he had no idea how far off course the storm had taken them or where the current was dragging them, it could take weeks for a rescue team to find them, if ever.

  Will opened the minifridge, retrieved a beer, removed the cap and took a hefty swig. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he flopped down on the sofa and closed his eyes. If they stayed aboard the cruiser, they had food and water that would last for weeks, but the current could guide them into the middle of nowhere, if it hadn’t already done so. If they took the life raft— No, that would be a last resort.

  Damn! He hated feeling helpless. He wasn’t accustomed to having no options. But then again, he’d gotten out of some deadly situations, a few that had seemed hopeless. It wasn’t as if, when he’d been on assignments, he hadn’t known the risks involved, that he could as easily die as live. One of the reasons he’d left government work and signed on with Dundee’s was because, at almost forty, he’d wanted a little more security, to work on cases that didn’t always put him one step away from the Grim Reaper’s grasp.

  “Will!”

  Gwen’s scream startled him. He dropped the beer bottle in his haste to stand, then ran up the steps and onto the deck. She came running toward him, waving her arms, gasping for breath. What the hell?

  She grabbed his arm and tugged. Her eyes were bright, her lips curved into a wide smile. “Come on. Hurry. You’ve got to see this.”

  “What is it?” He allowed her to escort him to the helm.

  “Look,” she said, pointing straight ahead. “See for yourself.”

  Will looked, blinked, shook his head, closed his eyes, and then looked again. He wasn’t seeing things. It was really there, wasn’t it? He scoured the horizon. A greenish tint colored the sky, which in the tropics usually meant reflected sunlight from shallow lagoons or shelves of coral reefs. He checked the sky, focusing his gaze on the fixed cumulus cloud hovering over the distant land mass, while clouds all around the cruiser moved ever so slowly.

  “My God, it’s an island.”

  “Yes, it’s an island,” Gwen said.

  Land? How was that possible? “We must have gotten blown way off course, maybe back toward the Turks and Caicos or—”

  “That’s not possible. We’re drifting due north. All those islands are south of us.”

  Damn, she was right.

  “It’s an island out here in the Bermuda Triangle,” Gwen said, a wistful expression on her face and a hopeful tone in her voice.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he told her. “It’s not your father’s mythical island.”

  “We can’t be sure.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. And I can prove it to you, once we set foot on the island. It’s probably a tiny, uninhabited landmass that’s uncharted.”

  “We are going ashore, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, we’re going ashore. I’ll drop anchor and we’ll take the raft. The raft doesn’t have a keel, so we can’t sail it into the wind, but we can sail downwind.”

  “What if the island is inhabited?” Gwen asked. “What if—”

  “What if up is down and down is up? What if the world is flat and we just sailed off the edge? What if this is your father’s mystical island and you’ve discovered it instead of him?”

  Gwen’s smile vanished. “You don’t have to be hateful.”

  “And you don’t have to be stupid.”

  Gwen gritted her teeth.

  She was right. He didn’t have to be downright mean, but if she knew him better, she’d know getting angry was the way he handled frustration. Angry with himself, angry with circumstances, angry that he couldn’t fix things.

  He was on the verge of apologizing when he noted the stunned and hurt expression on her face had altered. She stared at him with an ambivalent look as if she were torn between hating him and needing him. What was it about Gwen Arnell that had him tied in knots, that made him act out of character? It wasn’t his style to care so much about another person. But he cared that he’d hurt her. Cared so damn much that he’d been about to apologize—something he never did!

  “Okay, so I’m hateful and you’re stupid,” h
e said. “Does that make us even?”

  She stared at him, her nose crinkled and her eyes squinched as if she were studying him, trying to figure out what made him tick.

  “Round up some water bottles and packets of nonperishable food,” he told her when she didn’t reply to his question. “I’ll anchor the boat and get the raft in the water. Then we’ll go explore the island.”

  “Is it safe?”

  He grunted. “Safe? Probably not, but we’re no safer on this boat.”

  Twenty minutes later Will spotted a point of land jutting out into the ocean and decided that if at all possible, that was the place to bring the raft ashore. Hopefully, safely ashore. Knowing they’d go through the surf to reach shore, Will removed the mast from the raft, then inflated Gwen’s life jacket and his own. He lowered the raft’s anchor over the stern, extending all the line he had. Using the paddles, he constantly adjusted the sea anchor to keep a strain on the line, knowing his actions would keep the raft pointed toward shore. Anticipating the next wave in the medium surf and feeling no offshore wind, he tried his best to keep the raft from passing over the wave too quickly and capsizing them. When the raft neared the beach, they rode it in on the crest of a large wave. Will rowed as hard as he could, bringing them as close to the beach as possible.

  “Don’t jump out!” he yelled to Gwen. “Wait until the raft has grounded, then get out as quickly as you can when I tell you to.”

  She nodded and then waited for his orders. When he told her to jump, she jumped. Good girl. He jumped out, grabbed the raft and pulled it ashore, securing it for their return trip to the Footloose.

  Once ashore and drenched from the ocean waves, they lay in the sand, breathing heavily. Will came to his feet first, then offered Gwen his hand. She took it, if somewhat reluctantly. Together, they scanned every direction. A sandy beach spread out from left to right, seeming to go on endlessly. Behind them, and equally as endless, lay an island jungle, the trees and brush appearing untouched by man.

  “It’s so quiet,” Gwen said.

  “What did you expect, a party of two-hundred-year-old natives to greet us?” Damn, why had he said that? There was no way she’d think the comment was funny.