“Somewhat. José is a researcher.” He looked at his watch. “He should be back any time now. But mainly we are all volunteers, here to protect the turtles from poachers. It’s surprising how stealthy they can be.” He opened the safe, stuffed our things inside, and slammed it shut again.
“For the eggs, you mean?”
“Yeah, mostly. They’re sold as a delicacy. Some people think turtle eggs are an aphrodisiac or some other cure-all.” He rolled his eyes and frowned. “Same old story.”
I nodded. Like shark fins, rhino horn, bear bile, tiger penis. All folk remedies, despite having no scientific evidence to prove any real medicinal value.
“So what do you do exactly?”
“We patrol the beach, in both directions from here, about seven miles total.”
As we left the cabin, Doug pointed at an ATV parked around the backside, covered by a tarp. “Sometimes we use it for patrolling. Mostly it’s here for emergencies. The key is hanging on a nail inside the door, so you know, in case something were to happen.”
Doug walked toward the water now, then turned north about fifty feet, taking us to a spot on the beach encircled by a wooden frame and completely enclosed by netting. Inside were rows of stakes, each inscribed with a set of numbers. It looked like a miniature graveyard.
“Depending on the distance from here or time of day,” he said as he slowed, “we either disguise a fresh nest by brushing away the turtle’s tracks once she’s gone, or dig up the eggs and relocate them here. Then when the baby turtles hatch, we return them to that exact spot, and make sure they get safely out to sea. From there, they’re on their own.”
I counted about sixty-seven stakes. “Each one of these markers is a nest of eggs?”
“Yep. The stakes note the date, time, and GPS location of the original nest.”
“Why do some have those tiny fences around them?” I asked.
“Those are the ones expected to hatch any time. The tiny fences keep the hatchlings contained so we can collect them to take them for release.” Doug turned to face me. “You’ll have to keep the dog out of here.”
“I understand.”
“And when we go out on patrol at dusk, the dog will have to stay in camp then, too. But if you want to join us, you’re welcome to.”
“I’d love it.”
“Well, that’s about it. The whole place.” We followed him back toward the cabin.
“So how’d you end up here from Costa Rica?” I asked.
“Oh that. Well, after that whole operation, the gang kinda fell apart. I mean, we didn’t have anything to do then. We stay in touch though. I heard about this opportunity through another organization I follow. They do good work.” He made a little shrug. “I get fed, get to live here, and save turtles. What more could I want?”
He sounded happy, but there was a sliver of unrest in his tone. I could understand. If I remembered correctly, when I’d met him in Costa Rica, he’d told me he was an aspiring actor. Not much security in his future. Was that why he’d popped the questions so fast with Chris? After all, Chris had a great job with the airline with benefits, a pension.
Stop it, Poppy. He’s not one of your undercover targets. Clearly they’re in love. The way they’d made oogle-eyes at each other at lunch— if that wasn’t honest, head-over-heels, I don’t know what is.
We circled back to the cooking area. Noah must have been on clean-up duty. He washed dishes in a bucket. Doug showed us the fresh water cistern and got us glasses to drink.
“Oh, hey, José is back.”
A Mexican man, about my age, walked toward us. He was a slender, fit guy with kind eyes and an upbeat demeanor. Noah plopped a bowl of food on the picnic table. “It’s still hot.”
“Gracias,” he said, his eyes on me. “And who do we have here?”
“Meet Poppy. Another volunteer,” Noah said as José reached for my hand.
He greeted me with a gentle smile. “¡Bienvenida Poppy! And I see Chris has come back. Nice to see you, too.”
“Likewise, mi amigo,” Chris replied.
“Are you hungry?” José asked, gesturing for me to join him at the table. “Looks like we have rice and beans with fried plantains. Only vegan meals served here.”
“Thank you, but we just ate.”
“So you’re interested in turtles?” He sat down and dug in to his bowl with a big spoon.
I sat across from him. “Oh yes. Chris sure knows how to plan a great surprise.” I gave Chris a smile. “I want to learn all I can, and help, of course. Whatever I can do.”
“That’s music to my ears. We are expecting an arribada anytime. We might get them by the thousands so we can use all the help we can get.”
“So, what do I need to know?”
He tapped the notebook he’d dropped on the table next to him. “We’re here to glean any information we can about the turtles while we work to protect them from poachers who want their eggs, meat and shells. They’re very vulnerable because of their nature. Like salmon, they return to the same nesting grounds at which they were born. And the poachers know it.”
He shoved another bite of food into his mouth and quickly swallowed. “Turtles have been coming to these beaches to nest for more than 100 million years. They’re more ancient than the dinosaurs. And yes, people have been taking their eggs and making turtle soup for a long time, too. But now there are more people. More demand. That, and all the other threats like entanglement in fishing gear, or getting caught in plastic or other marine debris. Then there’s coastal development taking over the beaches. And global warming has increased ocean temperatures.”
I was nodding along. Same old story. All critters of Earth face pretty much the same threats. Human ignorance and greed being the most dangerous.
“What are you doing to deter the poaching?”
He shrugged. “What we can, which isn’t much.”
I looked to Noah who gave me a discouraged frown.
José went on. “Six of the world’s seven sea turtle species nest on Mexico’s beaches. Every one of those is considered threatened or endangered.”
“Doug mentioned the olive-ridleys are the ones here?”
“Oh, you’re likely to see several species here. But it’s the olive-ridleys that come in arribadas.”
“You’re a scientist, right? A marine biologist? What kinds of studies or data collection are you doing here?”
“Nothing substantial, unfortunately. The usual. Counts, measurements. We also fit some adult turtles with satellite transmitters to track their migratory movements and surfacing behavior, that kind of thing. The data collection is limited though because the transmitters are triggered by water conductivity, which means they only send a signal when the turtle surfaces. That and they cost about $4000 each, so we only have a few.
“I’m excited because this year we got some new, tiny devices to put on a few hatchlings. It’s experimental, both because the devices are temperamental, and only one in a thousand hatchlings, some say ten thousand, survive. So, if we don’t choose the right one, well, we’ll get nothing. But it’s still worth a try.
“We do know quite a bit about their behavior when on land. Sea turtles don’t raise their young. Once a female lays her eggs, she heads back to sea. The hatchlings are on their own.” He paused to eat another spoonful of his lunch.
Noah came to the table with a bottle of wine, a corkscrew and five cups. “Let’s toast the lucky couple.” He set down the cups and worked the corkscrew into the cork.
I saw the label. A Henschke Mount Edelstone. “That’s a two hundred dollar bottle of wine. You just happened to have it with you here in Mexico?”
He shrugged. “I might have had an inkling there would be something to celebrate.”
Doug separated the cups and placed them side by side for Noah to pour. “It’s Noah. He can afford it.” His tone had a hint of annoyance—no, envy. “Hey, thanks for sharing the love.” He handed me a filled cup, then took one for Chris and one f
or himself.
Noah filled the last two, pushed one over to José, then lifted the last one. “To Doug and Chris. May they find every happiness. And when you do, hold on to it with a tight grip.”
“Indeed!” I added and took a sip.
“Hey,” Doug said after he’d downed the wine in one gulp. “Let’s get a photo.” He handed his cell phone to José. “Would you mind? Of the four of us.”
“Sure, sure,” José said, herding us to a nice spot with the ocean in the background. Chris snugged up to Doug and Noah put his arm around me.
My legs went a little wobbly.
“Say whiskey!” José said and clicked.
“Thanks,” Doug said, taking the phone from José. “And thanks for the wine. We’ll catch you later. We’re gonna go for a walk.”
I gave them a wave and moved right back to the table. I wanted to enjoy this bottle and, more importantly, to know more from José. “Will your research help decrease poaching somehow?”
José shrugged. “We don’t always know, but information is power, right? The more we know about their behavior, the more we can do to protect them.”
“Is there any work being done to promote conservation tourism here?” I looked to Noah. “We know that is most often the best solution, to help the locals understand that a live, healthy turtle is worth much more than a dead one.”
Noah shook his head. “This area is too remote. By the time the coastal sprawl gets close enough, bringing the tourists, it will be too late and have destroyed too much habitat along the way. The best we can do now is what we’re doing, continue to recruit volunteers like these, willing to patrol the beaches.”
I frowned. Unfortunately, this story was all too common.
One of the girls approached—Nikki?—with a box in her hands. “I thought you’d want to see these.” She set it on the table and opened the top. “They’re beautiful,” she said, “but illegal. Most people don’t realize what they’re buying, so we like to show any visitors.”
She held up a bracelet and a hair barrette with the distinctive brown and amber color of turtle shells. It had an almost plastic look. “Dead animals are not a fashion accessory,” she said.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“We’re glad to have you, Poppy,” José said, rising from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get a quick nap. Tonight might be a long one.”
He returned his empty bowl to the cooking area and disappeared, Nikki trailing behind him. Noah scooted over on the seat to face me.
“We make several patrols throughout the night, so most of the day is spent napping.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you up,” I said.
His eyes lingered on mine for a few seconds longer. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe I should relax, give it another try. Why not? Noah was, after all, a great guy. Loves animals. Likes me.
“Do you want to take a walk?”
“Sure,” I said, too quickly.
“Where’s my dog?” I said, looking up and down the beach.
“She’s your dog? She followed Chris. I figured he brought her.”
“No, but that’s okay.” I grinned. “Chris didn’t make her ride on the back of a motorbike for thirty miles.”
He gave me a knowing smile, as if that were a perfectly normal thing to do. “What have you been up to since I saw you last?” he asked, leading me down the beach, away from the camp. The thought of being alone with him made me shiver. Now I wasn’t sure I was ready for it. This vacation was supposed to be a getaway, time to think, figure out how to deal with Dalton. And here was Noah, leading me down a path toward nothing but trouble.
The way he walked—his shoulders back, a gentle confidence—was that of someone who knows who he is. There was no arrogance in this man. Even though he had the looks of a movie star, and the money—and he had a lot—he’d learned that none of that really mattered. He’d left a career on Wall Street to save animals. He had a heart of gold and a passion to back it up with action. Damn, he was just so…irresistible.
“Cat got your tongue?” He teased with a smile.
“Oh, sorry. Let’s see. Well, when I left Costa Rica, I was supposed to go back to my post in Michigan, but I was sent right away to Norway. There was this guy, Ray Goldman, who was trying to capture a killer whale to sell for the mega-aquarium business and we—”
Noah halted in his tracks and spun to face me, his eyes wide with admiration. “That was you? I saw it on the news. Wasn’t he on the most-wanted list? That must have been dangerous.”
“Not any more than in Costa Rica, really.”
“How’d you do it?”
I had wooed the man’s son to get on board his fishing vessel, played like I wanted to be his girlfriend. But somehow, I didn’t want to share that with Noah. “Chris made me promise to forget about work while I’m here and have some fun.”
Noah grinned and the look in his eyes was so inviting, my breath caught in my throat. “That’s great advice.” He paused, his eyes holding mine. “And your partner, the guy you were with in Costa Rica, he still—”
Dalton. “Yeah.” I started walking again. “He worked with a marine biologist in Norway to help us find the whales. Beautiful lady. I think maybe they’re an item now.” Why’d I say that?
“I see,” he said, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, which made me smile.
My cheeks had this inconvenient habit of blushing. I quickly turned away, acted as if I were looking out at the ocean. “How are things with the Butterfly House? Did you find good staff to replace you while you’re here?”
“Yep. Good. Nothing to tell, really. The news about the bust in Norway came out a month ago. What else have you been up to?”
“Oh, we had to go straight to Alaska. Our supervisor had a hunt booked with a known poacher and needed a female agent to sell the story.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yeah, but, right. No work talk.” He pushed through the thick foliage at the edge of the beach. I followed him. Ten yards in, we stood in an open area under the canopy of large trees, their limbs intertwined above us providing glorious shade. A stream gurgled over a patch of rocks and spread into a sandy pool. “Take off your shoes,” he said, kicking off his sandals and plunging in. “You’ll love it.”
My feet froze in place. The water was moving. There was sand, but… “Are there leeches in there?”
He spun around. “You’re kidding. Don’t tell me I’ve found Poppy’s kryptonite?”
“Gimme a break. I just…don’t like them is all. Who does?”
“C’mon,” he held out his hand, “I’ll be right here with you.”
“Very funny.”
He dropped his hand. “I’m sure this isn’t leech habitat. But I promise, if anything happens, I’ll run for the salt.”
I kicked off my shoes and stepped into the pool, about ankle deep, where I could still see my feet in the sand. The cool water felt like heaven, that was sure.
“I found this place right after I arrived,” he said. “Sometimes I bring a book and hang out here all day.”
“It’s very nice,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“It’s not my treehouse in Costa Rica, but…” He made a little shrug like he had more to say but decided not to.
He owned a place right on the ocean, a little bungalow nestled in the treetops, where we’d spent a night together. My insides warmed at the memory of his hands on me, his lips caressing my skin, his body pressed to mine.
“It feels empty now anyway.” He shifted his stance, stretched, his muscles pulled taut, then relaxed. He pivoted and locked his eyes on mine. “After you left.”
Standing this close to him, his eyes on me like that, brought back all the feelings I had for him in a rush. He was everything I could want in a man and I’d left. Without a goodbye. “I said I was sorry and I truly am. The job, it—”
“I understand,” he said.
Again. He bent over and scooped up water, splashing it on his face, then wiped his hands over his cheeks and ran his fingers through his long hair. He reached around and fixed the pony tail at the nape of his neck. I had an urge to wrap my arms around that neck, dig my fingers into that hair.
But I wasn’t ready. Instead, I said, “What made you want to come here, to Mexico?”
“Doug asked me to. And, you know—” he took a step closer to me, made the tiniest shrug “—I like turtles.”
“Yeah, I know you like it wild, but—” I drew in a short breath.
His eyebrows shot up and a grin spread across his face.
“I mean, the wild…der-ness. You like being in nature, outdoors. But still, this—”
His expression turned serious. “You know how I feel about poaching.”
“Yeah. But stealing turtle eggs? That hardly seems dangerous enough for your taste. I know what an adrenaline junkie you are. You’ll get bored out here.”
“Actually, you’d be surprised,” he said with a grin. “The hueveros, the men who come for the eggs”—he threw his shoulders back, his chest forward—“I’m told they carry machetes.”
I let loose a giggle.
“Seriously, Doug said he needed my help.” He raised his hands out to his sides, palms up. “So here I am.”
“Yes, here you are.”
“And so are you.” His eyes held mine and I couldn’t pull away from that impossibly handsome face. That jaw. Those lips. “We make a great team, you know. Maybe you should stick around for a while. There’s more going on that—”
“Oh no,” I said, holding up my hands, as if I could shut him down with a gesture. “You’re not going to drag me into some crazy eco-warrior campaign. I’m here for three days. Three days of fun and relaxation, then I’m back on the job. I’m confident you can handle the egg thieves without me.”
“Right,” he said. “I just thought you might want to—”
I held up my hands again. “I can’t. I can’t.”
“All right, nothing but fun. I get it.” He took another step closer to me, his eyes soft, his lips slightly parted.
Operation Turtle Ransom: A suspenseful, wild-ride-of-an-adventure on a tropical beach in Mexico (Poppy McVie Mysteries Book 4) Page 4