Forget Me Not (Love in the Fleet)

by Ashby, Heather

  Rodrigues took a sip of water and set his bottle down on the desk. “We cannot risk losing the maiden cargo of Pearl you will carry. I have been heavily promoting our new product to our friends in Mexico and it will be your responsibility to ensure all of it arrives on time. Once you are beyond our borders, that is when it may become necessary to fire on the yanqui bastards. You have my permission to kill any sons of bitches that stand between our profits and us. Besides, what is the worst thing that could happen if you succeed in shooting down an American helicopter?”

  Without hesitation, Antonio practically shouted, “Firing on the Americans would be a game changer. They and their allies, including all the countries we pass by on the way to Mexico, would treat every suspect smuggler as a potential hostile combatant. We would either be forced to arm ourselves, losing precious cargo space to haul guns and ammunition, or we would be forced to use another method of transport altogether. All future shipments would incur greater risk and getting people to do it would become much more difficult.”

  “Sí, sí, sí, Antonio.” José beamed with excitement. “You are a fast learner. Suppose the Don was one of a small handful of smugglers that had access to a new method of transport which forced everyone else to accept the enormous risk or pay him to ship their product?”

  “He would become a very, very, very rich man, José. What is this new method of transport you are talking about?”

  Rodrigues lowered his voice. “Submarines are the wave of the future, Antonio. The Don has crews building them in the jungle as we speak. But you need to focus on this trip and only this trip for now, assuming you still want to lead this expedition.”

  Antonio had heard rumors about the submarines, and his pulse quickened at the thought of someday working on them. But first he had to survive this run. “I will carry the Pearl. But how am I supposed to shoot down a helicopter with an AK-47? Surely you don’t expect us to mount larger machine guns on the speed boats.”

  “RPG.”

  “What?”

  “Rocket Propelled Grenade. I obtained a couple of launchers from my cousin in the Army, along with a few dozen rounds. If you decide to lead this expedition, you will meet him later today. He is coming over to teach us how to load and fire the device.”

  Antonio shook off his unease. “Don’t worry about me, Rodrigues. I’m good for it. I’ve taken this trip many times.”

  And he had. There were eighteen notches in his go-fast belt. He’d started out in this trade quite late at the age of twenty-five, working as a simple mule onboard one of the go-fasts. But he’d worked his way up to second-in-command in three years and the last three trips he had been in charge, El Gerente. Most mules didn’t last that long.

  Although the money was good, the danger was ever-present. Many never survived their first outing. Some were killed by anti-drug forces from one of the South or Central American countries that, although working with the Americans, did not have to abide by the yanquis’ Rules of Engagement restrictions or a public that frowned on a shoot-first policy.

  Some became deathly ill along the way. Stopping for medical care was not an option. Some fell overboard and drowned before anyone even realized they were gone.

  But what Antonio and most of the mules feared was prison. If caught by the Americans, they would do at least ten years. And if they survived prison, coming back home was not an option, as they would never be trusted again. He knew the Don saw him and all other mules as expendable.

  For each man captured or killed, there were ten more willing to take his place. The money was that good.

  Antonio knew the drill well. Cover by day. Move by night. Knowing the wakes of their boats would be easy to spot by air in the daytime, the flotilla crews would stop their engines right before sunrise. They’d drape their boats with blue tarpaulins to camouflage them with the sea and climb underneath the tarps during the day. Less likely to be seen after the sun went down, they removed the tarps and ran all night. Even though the yanquis had night vision capabilities, the chances of spotting go-fasts amidst the thousands of square miles of ocean were greatly reduced by running after dark. At dawn, they would stop and tarp up again.

  He cringed as he thought about the heat and stench while baking under the tarps under the hot sun all day. He also recalled the icy bite of the ocean’s spray when it hit him as they flew through the water in the dark. But, aside from a little discomfort, he had always been lucky. So far. He crossed himself nervously. Because this time he would be carrying an RPG launcher—and expected to use it.

  Sweat trickled down his back, and the sun had not even reached its zenith today.

  “Protect the shipment with your life,” Rodrigues reminded him. “The cocaleros have been busting their butts to get La Perla to the labs. If you are spotted and chased, do not throw any of it overboard. This cargo you guard with your life. Each of the three boats in your flotilla is identical. Each will carry sixty bales of the Pearl, worth many more millions than the average load. If you are pounced upon by a helicopter, you will head out in three different directions: north, east, and west. They will be forced to choose one of you to follow. Each boat will be fitted with a GPS unit and a radio, so you may rendezvous later. But only you will be given a satellite phone, Antonio. They can track you by that phone so do not use it except in an extreme emergency, meaning the shipment is in danger of not reaching our customer.”

  Rodrigues was dead serious. Antonio read the warning in his eyes, the set of his jaw. “Don’t fuck this up” radiated from his face. Shit rolled up and down hill in this business. If Antonio should lose the cargo, his immediate boss would also be held liable, for not training Antonio properly.

  “And don’t forget to remind your drivers to protect those engines. They are your lifeblood. You will be responsible for all nine engines. The Don has paid more than three hundred thousand dollars per boat in engine costs alone. Do not get your boats in a position where some American asshole can destroy them. You will not scuttle these boats upon arrival. We will use them later as decoys for another shipment of Pearl. I trust you. And so does Señor Gutiérrez. If you know what is good for you, you will deliver everything on time and in one piece. Get it?”

  “Sí, El Gerente.”

  “We are changing the rules of the game, Antonio. The only things that can stop you are those damn helicopters. But I expect you to outwit them. If one of them fires warning shots at you, simply stop. Pretend to cooperate. It is likely their mother ship is a long distance away. Most likely the helicopter will have to leave to get fuel long before their ship arrives with the boarding team. As soon as the helicopter departs and flies out of sight, get moving. If it returns, stop again. And have your crew sit on three of the engines.

  “Our intelligence says they won’t shoot if they think they might hit one of you. While they are deciding whether or not they can safely take out the one engine you don’t have a crewman on, grab the RPG and take them down. Now go. It’s time for you to meet with my cousin at the range to learn about launching an RPG.”

  As Antonio headed toward the range, he mulled over the threats he had just received. He was well aware the Don did not accept failure. If he lost the cargo there would be no need to worry about being found innocent by the Americans and returned to his country. He’d just as soon enjoy the safety of an American prison. Because if he fucked up and came home, Giovanni Gutiérrez would be waiting at the pier for him with a sharp knife to cut off his huevos.

  Fortunately, he had only been on one mission where they’d come close to being caught by the Americans, so at least he had good luck on his side. But there was always a first time. No, he could not think that way. It might bring on trouble. Like shooting at the Americans. Holy Mary, Mother of God. He uttered a silent prayer in his head and crossed himself one more time, firmly believing God still listened to him. Despite his occupation.

  Antonio G
onzalez fully understood he had traded a sizeable portion of his soul for a chance to make good money. Since he’d begun as a common mule, he’d been able to move his wife and children into a decent home. Way nicer than most men in his country would ever see. He understood he risked their lives every time he went out on a flotilla. What would become of them if he died or was captured? But the money was too good to pass up, especially as a flotilla captain. Maybe he should count his blessings and retire to something less dangerous like paying bribes. No, he did not want to end up in one of the Don’s thuggish gangs, those who threatened the men who refused to accept the bribes.

  He shuddered at the thought. He’d seen some of that action before settling on the danger of the go-fasts. Just after he’d married, he’d considered a job on land. Thought it might be safer. Maybe safer for his body, but not for his soul. His “bribe training” came from a grizzled old cocalero-turned-thug: “Our hand reaches far. The new constitution forbids extradition of traffickers to the U.S. where they would be screwed over by a legitimate trial. But here? We buy the judges. Every man has his price. Any official we can buy, we pay handsomely to look the other way. The others? The ones who refuse us? We kill. No, wait. We do not kill them first. We start with family members. Maybe a mother or father. Or a brother or sister. Then a wife—after we have a little fun with her, if you know what I mean.” Antonio remembered the man’s almost toothless grin. “We save children for last. But it rarely goes that far. Most cave after the first death or mutilation.”

  Antonio had been so horrified, he’d never pursued a land-based job with the Don again. He’d rather lose his life in a go-fast or rot away in an American prison than lose his eternal soul. Antonio crossed himself one more time for good measure and headed to the firing range.

  Chapter 21

  Every woman who had ever had sex with Brian “The Skylark” Crawford knew he was a talker. He talked his way through sex, just like he talked his way through driving a car, flying a helicopter, or making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. There were even rumors out in the chick community of the amazing things Sky could do with his mouth, while talking the entire time. All true.

  Talk about multitasking.

  However, as he beached the kayak—on the backside of the island this time—he found himself absolutely speechless. This was too important. This was the big time. So he better not screw it up by opening his big mouth, except when called upon to show her why he was known as king of the skies and the bedroom—and the sand dunes, as well.

  Not this time. This was tabula rasa. He didn’t want one single other sexual experience—or his reputation—to intrude on this momentous occasion. Probably why he’d found himself ready when he’d spotted the island. Neither of them had any baggage here, unlike their bedrooms. The only ghost that resided on the island was the memory of a spontaneous kiss from the previous month. Now Sky was ready to find out where that kiss might lead.

  But he wasn’t going to screw it up by talking. So he engaged the filter on his brain, removed two condoms from his wallet, tossed them onto the quilt, and gave Daisy his full, silent, attention.

  Daisy bit back a smile that threatened and remained silent as well. She took his breath away, she was that beautiful. Sea oats and cattails gently waved in the breeze as her stage. A T-shirt, cut offs that accentuated her tan legs, and the sexiest bare feet he’d ever seen were her costume. She reached back to unclip her hair.

  “Let me. Please.” Sky reached behind her and unhooked the clip, allowing her hair to cascade down over her shoulders. He lifted a handful to his nose and breathed in something forest-y. Herbal-y? He divided it into two, wrapping the hanks around each hand and pulled her gently to him, so he could kiss her. Tenderly, softly, and sweetly. They had all day. Nobody dared show up and spoil things today.

  Daisy’s mouth opened to him and remained open as he kissed his way around her temples, her ears, her neck. He found the spot where her face met her throat and he camped there long enough to feel her pulse beat against his lips. After a trip back to her mouth to anchor her, he dropped her hair and slid his hands down to encompass both breasts, prompting a moan to escape. He swallowed the sound as his thumbs traced her nipples through her T-shirt. Daisy melted against him.

  After almost a month of contemplating just this, Sky wasn’t sure if his knees would hold, the sensation of her pressing herself to him was so mind-boggling. His hands slipped behind her to cup her bottom, bringing her closer to him. He hadn’t thought it possible to become even harder than he had been sixty seconds ago, but when Daisy begged him—begged him—to make love to her, he swept his arm behind her knees and brought them both down to the quilt.

  She reached for the tail of her T-shirt. “No,” he said. “Please.” Sky took the hem of the shirt and inched it up, leaning over to kiss her stomach. Pulling it over her head, desire slammed into him all over again when he saw her rosy nipples peeking through the lace of her bra. He didn’t move, didn’t touch her. He just looked, wanting to drink her in, his heart damn near pounding out of his chest.

  Finally Sky flicked her shirt away, then laid her back and gazed into those blue-green eyes. His thumbs resumed their favorite activity of getting a rise out of her nipples, this time through pink lace. Daisy’s eyes radiated a heat that caused him to forget his own name and instinct took over. His mouth replaced his thumbs, settling first over once lace-covered nipple, then the other. Suddenly he was going to die if he didn’t get that bra off, like, yesterday.

  When he released the front clasp and let her breasts spill into his hands, Sky forgot how to breathe. He’d anticipated this vision for weeks. Contemplated what her bare breasts would look like and feel like molded in his hands. He’d hungered to taste them. And now all he could do was look. His gaze flickered back to hers. She was watching him, a gentle smile playing on her lips.

  She reached up and cupped his cheek. “Touch me, Sky. Please, touch me.”

  His primal brain attempted to make up for thirty plus days of wanting to do just that and more. He buried his face in the valley between her breasts, breathing in the essence of her. He traced the curve of her breast with his lips, while his hand fondled the other. When he took a beaded nipple into his mouth and suckled, Daisy moaned her approval, as she twisted and writhed beneath him. Her little noises shooting electricity straight to his groin.

  Sky switched nipples to taste-test the other, freeing up his hand to snake down, unzip her shorts, and slide into her panties. He stroked and stroked her as she raised herself off the quilt to meet his probing fingers. Daisy continued to emit lovemaking sounds that would be the death of him if he delayed making love to her one more second.

  He jerked to his knees and caught his breath, sitting wild-eyed, taking her in.

  Daisy lay there with the same look of abandon, her brow furrowed now. Her silky blond hair fanned around her face and breasts—breasts he couldn’t stop staring at. Her soft, perfect stomach and pale pink panties peeking through the open zipper of her cutoffs. He had to slow down. It was too much to take in at once. Too much to absorb. He didn’t want this over too soon. He wanted to look. He wanted to savor. He wanted to memorize every detail of what he knew would be one of the best days of his life.

  No way could he rush this. His eyes traveled back to Daisy’s.

  Hers questioning now. “What’s wrong, Sky?”

  “Nothing. Not a single thing. It’s just... Oh, God, Daisy, I swear I could get off just looking at you.”

  When she threw her head back and laughed, it reminded him he’d promised himself to keep his mouth shut. He would not let his damn ADHD brain speak for him today. “I’m sorry.” He first scrubbed his hand through his crew cut and then lifted his own T-shirt over his head. “I should keep quiet.”

  “And I’m sorry for laughing.” A gentle, seductive smile settled on her lips as she reached for him. “Come here and kiss me.”
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  Daisy so loved it when Sky’s face took on that little boy look. She first noticed it the day she’d met him at the clinic. It seemed he always wanted to do the right thing, but sometimes his simpler self took over. He truly was a little boy at heart—but also a gentleman. He had been more tender than she’d ever expected over the past month.

  But those days and nights were over. His gentlemanly treatment of her since learning of Jack’s death had practically raised him to sainthood. But there was no room for saints in these sand dunes. Daisy wanted him, all of him, and she wanted him now.

  Sky lay down beside her, stroking her breasts as his mouth found hers. Daisy slid her hands over his chest. God, she’d wanted to do this ever since that first time here on their island. His muscles were hard beneath smooth skin. Molding his pecs in her hands, Daisy flicked her thumbs over his nipples, eliciting a groan from him. “Ah,” she said. “What’s good for the goose is apparently good for the gander.” She caught a hint of a smile before his mouth found hers. How good it felt to feel a man’s body again. And be held in a man’s arms again. And feel his mouth on her.

  To feel Sky’s body. To be held in Sky’s arms. With Sky’s mouth on her.

  Daisy slid her hand down his taut abdomen and found the button on his cargo shorts. Flicking it open with one hand, she moved down to find another button. Feeling her way down his fly, she found, among other things, more buttons?

  “Sorry.” Sky rolled back to his knees and proceeded to unbutton all six buttons on the shorts.