"Ease up just a bit," Connie coached. "You don't have to turn the helm much. Just think of putting a little pressure on it in the direction you want the boat to go. She'll respond slowly, and when she's headed where you want her to go, just ease the pressure. The helm will hardly seem to move. And when you turn your head to look at someone, there's a natural tendency for you to turn the boat, too, so watch out for that."
"Okay," Julia said. "It's pushing against me now, like it wants to turn to the right."
"Yes. She's a little out of balance, now. The sails are trimmed for a certain course relative to the wind. If the bow is pointed too far away from the wind, you'll feel that pressure increase. Just let her come around until you feel the pressure ease."
As the bow came back to the starboard a few degrees, the boat stood up a bit straighter. "She should be fighting you less now," Connie said.
"Right," Julia agreed. "I feel just a tiny bit of pressure. Is this the right course?"
Connie glanced up at the sails. "Looks good to me. Just concentrate on how the helm feels. If the wind clocks, that means it swings to the right, then you'll feel the pressure increase, so let her follow the wind until it feels easy again. If the pressure falls off, that means you're pointing too close to the wind, so push against it until you feel the pressure building again. As the wind swings back and forth, our course will change along with it. It cycles through ten or fifteen degrees every few minutes."
"How did you learn all of this?" Julia asked.
"The same way you're learning. It becomes instinctive in no time, especially if you don't have to overcome any bad habits from steering a car."
Connie watched Julia as she experimented with the helm, seeing the girl's frown of concentration soften to a smile as she became more sure of herself.
She turned to look at Connie again, this time keeping the boat on course. She grinned. "This is really cool. You're right. It's like I'm dancing with her."
Connie smiled. "You're a natural, Julia."
"What if I wanted to go in a whole different direction?"
"Then we'd have to trim the sails. To go closer to the direction the wind's coming from, we'd tighten them, or 'sheet them in', to be more nautically correct. To go the other way, we'd let them out, or 'ease the sheets.' Steering is kind of secondary to sail trim."
"You're really a patient teacher, Connie. Thanks."
"My pleasure. You're a good student."
"Monica's patient with me like that. My mom wasn't."
"Well, I guess it's not easy to be a mom," Connie said.
"She was an alcoholic."
"Was? She must have stopped drinking, then."
"She's dead."
"I'm sorry, Julia."
"Thanks. It's okay; I mean, I miss her and all, but it was pretty tough after she and my dad divorced. Monica's great, though."
"She does seem very nice. Have she and your dad been married for a long time?"
Julia shook her head, intent on the sails and the helm. "No. Only a couple of months. This is like their honeymoon, so I'm trying to give them some time alone, you know?"
"That's very thoughtful, Julia, but I'm sure they want to share this time with you or they wouldn't have brought you along."
"Oh, I didn't mean that like it sounded. Of course they want to share it with me; I just want them to have some time together alone, too."
Connie nodded, watching as Julia concentrated on the boat's behavior as the wind shifted. The girl was steering well, keeping the sails full and the boat speed up. Connie put her feet up on the cockpit seat and leaned back, closing her eyes and enjoying the peace of their companionable silence.
Derek Simmons sat on the small, private balcony that adjoined his cabin. Actually, it wasn't his cabin, but he appropriated it when the owner wasn't aboard Aurelius, which was most of the time. It was a perk that he was sure Yuri Jovanovich wouldn't begrudge him, if he should ever discover it. Derek didn't sense that the man particularly cared about the motor yacht. It was just one of those things that every Russian billionaire had to have, and it made a good base for the human trafficking operations in which Derek played a part. Yuri had his fingers in any number of legal and illegal businesses; buying and selling women was almost more of a hobby for him, Derek thought.
As he sipped his coffee, he glimpsed movement through the smoked glass sliding door that opened back into the cabin. Turning, he saw that it was Helga Wertz. She knocked softly on the glass, and he motioned for her to join him. She stepped out onto the balcony and pulled a chair out from under the table, lifting it and rotating it 180 degrees with one hand, showing off her rippling muscles. She plunked the chair down and sat, straddling it, her brawny forearms crossed on the back as she faced him.
"Morning, Helga. Want a cup?" He raised the thermal carafe in her direction.
"Yeah," she said, reaching out and picking up a cup that had been inverted on the service tray that held the remains of Simmons's breakfast.
As he poured the coffee, he asked, "So, how's our new arrival?"
"Wasted," she said.
He raised his eyebrows. "I thought they said she was clean."
"Oh, yeah," she replied. "I think so, but they drugged her when they took her."
"With what?"
"Roofies, probably. That's the way she's acting."
"Think these two are going to do okay?"
"Probably. They got her; first white one we've had since you killed Wilson."
"Son of a bitch; knew too much for his own good."
"Yeah, but he was getting us a different class of women than the last bunch."
"You're right about that. Problem with using locals to do the recruiting is they bring us women that locals find attractive."
"How'd you find these two?"
"A guy who was in prison with one of them told a friend, who told a friend."
"These guys were in prison?"
"Yeah. Cellmates. Why?"
"The young one, he doesn't look old enough to have done time." Helga was remembering when she and Simmons had watched the two men work the bar in Fort-de-France. The men hadn't known they were being observed, but Simmons had carefully orchestrated their first abduction, unbeknownst to them. He and Helga had wanted to see them work before trusting them to deliver women on their own. They had watched Troy and Linton pick up the three rough hookers who were down in the hold now.
"He's a pretty boy," Simmons said, "if your taste runs that way."
Helga snorted with laughter. "Not mine," she said.
"Nor mine," Simmons said. "But if he screws up, I know somebody that would give us a good price for him. We'd have to kill that old bastard he runs around with, though. That one's too old and ugly."
"Speaking of old and ugly, what are we going to do with those three hookers?" Helga asked.
"Let your boys play with them. They're not salable, unless somebody wants them for maids."
"Okay. By the way, this new woman is prime meat," Helga said.
"Looked like it in the picture," Simmons agreed. "How long do you think it's going to be before I get to sample her wares?"
"I don't know. She woke up sometime last night and ate the food I left her, then she crashed again, I guess. I went in the cabin a little while ago and she was out cold. I couldn't rouse her. Odd thing, though."
"What's that?"
"She put her shoes back on. Sound asleep, in sling-back high heels."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I took them off when we brought her aboard. Had to check them out. They had the kind of platform heels that could have had damn near anything hidden in them."
"Well, keep an eye on her. I'm not interested in screwing her while she's doped up, but bring her up when you think she's ready."
"Well, look at you, Julia!" Monica said, feigning astonishment as she stepped into the cockpit.
Connie's head snapped up at the sound of her voice. She stretched and rubbed her eyes. "She's such a good sailor tha
t she lulled me to sleep."
"I'm not surprised. She's a quick study at everything she puts her mind to."
Julia smiled. "It's like dancing with the boat, just like Connie said. I could do this all day."
"Well, I'm sure you'll get plenty of time to sail. Go sit with your dad for a few minutes; he wants you to see the porpoises."
"Porpoises?" Julia's voice betrayed her excitement.
"There're two of them, zigzagging under the bow," Monica said.
"Go see them, Julia. If you clap really loud or slap the side of the boat, sometimes they'll jump out of the water and put on a show for you," Connie said, slipping back behind the helm. She and Monica watched the girl scamper along the side-deck to sit beside Luke. "She's a nice young lady," Connie said.
"She's really sweet," Monica agreed. "She's had a rough few months."
"She told me her mother passed away."
"Yes." Monica gazed at Connie for a moment, squinting slightly. "Passed away is an especially mild way to put it. The police weren't sure whether it was suicide or murder. She and her, um, I guess he was her second husband, technically. Anyway, they shot and killed each other. The cops couldn't quite figure out the sequence of the shots, but it was pretty ugly."
"That's awful," Connie said. "I hope Julia wasn't there."
"No. Fortunately, she was with us. We were taking her back to her mother's when we came to the police barricade."
"Oh, my," Connie said, shaking her head and frowning.
"I'm sorry to share our troubles with you, but it seems that Julia's taken quite a liking to you, and I thought you should know. She gets kind of moody sometimes."
"I understand. Thanks for taking me into your confidence."
"Luke and I thought this getaway might be good for her — help her put that behind her. Her home life wasn't very happy after her parents split. I guess it wasn't a picnic before, either."
Connie nodded. "She tells me you and Luke are newly married."
Monica smiled, her relief at the change of subject evident as she relaxed against the back of the cockpit seat. "That's so. We'd actually been planning a charter for our honeymoon, but his ex-wife's death accelerated our plans."
"It's great that you included Julia."
"Neither of us would have it any other way. I know I can't be her mother, but she's like my best friend, only more ... "
"Special?" Connie offered.
"Yes. It's hard to describe. If I had given birth to her, I don't think I could feel any closer to her."
"She's a fortunate girl, then," Connie said.
"Thanks, Connie. Have you and Paul been married for long?"
"Um, we actually, er ... "
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
"No, I didn't take it that way. We thought we were just really good friends, and I asked him to help me get this charter business started. I can't cook, see, and Paul is ... "
"An excellent chef, based on two meals so far."
"Yes. Anyway, we just blundered into something more than friendship a couple of months ago. I'm not sure either of us was really ready, but ... "
"That's the way it happens. You two are perfect together; all three of us commented on it yesterday when we were walking to town."
"Really? You made a quick judgment on that."
"It's pretty plain to see. You two are easy to be with, and the mutual respect is obvious."
Connie swallowed hard and looked away for a moment. "You said you were planning a charter for your honeymoon. Have you done this before?"
Monica gave Connie a searching look before she answered. "No. Somebody at work told me about crewed charters. She was investigating it for a vacation with her husband, and she had a brochure for a boat that was run by two women. I actually called about that boat, but it wasn't available. The broker recommended you and Paul instead. She thought you'd be perfect for a honeymoon charter — probably because you're kind of like newlyweds yourselves."
"Vengeance?" Connie asked, blinking back a tear as she pretended to scan the horizon for boat traffic.
"Yes. Did the broker — Elaine, I think she was — did she tell you?"
"No. Dani and Liz — the women who run Vengeance — they're good friends of ours."
"I see. I guess this is a small world, these crewed charters?"
"Well, in this case, anyway. They actually taught me to sail. I chartered Vengeance for a few months and decided this was what I wanted to do."
"How interesting. I'd like to hear more about that, but I probably should go see how Julia's doing. I don't want her to think ... "
"Go, Monica. I understand."
"Thanks. And thanks for taking up the time with Julia. I think you're her new heroine." Monica stood and made her way forward, putting an arm around Julia as she sat down beside her.
When Mary woke up the next time, she felt much better. As she lay on the bed taking in her surroundings, she noticed a small window covered by translucent curtains. She had missed that last night. Curious, she got up and pushed the curtains aside, finding a small oval of smoked glass. Peering out, she saw nothing but an endless stretch of impossibly blue water, rippled slightly by waves that played over the larger, longer ocean swells. That explained the strange bathroom with the shower that shared space with the sink and toilet, as well as the low rumble and the vibration; she was on a ship, or at least a large yacht.
She turned to examine the cabin more carefully and saw that the tray that had held the sandwich had been replaced with one that held a bowl and a single-serving box of cereal. There was a half-pint container of UHT milk, and a thermal carafe. Pressing the button in the center of the lid, she was pleased to smell the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She poured some into the mug that stood beside the carafe, adding a little of the milk. She savored the cup of coffee as she wondered how she came to be locked in a cabin on a yacht at sea. She finished her cup of coffee and addressed herself to the cereal. After devouring it, she poured a second cup of the wonderful coffee and settled herself on the edge of the bed. Some memories of last night were returning; she knew she'd gone to the beach bar at the resort, looking for male company.
There had been two guys, and one of them had bought her a drink and introduced himself. She remembered chatting with him for a few minutes and then excusing herself to go to the ladies' room. "Bastard must have drugged my drink," she muttered. But she wondered why he would have done that; she had been sending all the signals that she was ready and willing to leave with him. Had he done something kinky to her? She didn't think so, but who knew. Her body didn't betray any untoward activities. Still, here she was, locked up on a ship of some kind that seemed to be out in the ocean. She'd been kidnapped, but to what end? She was a nobody — a moderately well-off nobody, after her divorce, but not possessed of the kind of wealth or family connections that she thought might make her a target for abduction.
As she finished her coffee, she heard the sound of a key being inserted into the door of the cabin. She swallowed the last of the coffee and pushed herself back against the wall as the door swung open. A blonde built like a fireplug stepped into the cabin and closed the door behind her. She kept her eyes on Mary as she twisted around to insert the key in the door and lock it. She was of medium height — Mary estimated about 5 feet 6 inches — but had the stocky, solid build of a weightlifter. With her short hair and square build, she could pass for a man without any trouble, Mary thought. Her visitor was dressed in white Bermuda shorts and a white polo shirt with the profile of a motor yacht embroidered above the left breast. The image bore the caption, "Aurelius," embroidered in script.
"I am Helga Wertz," the woman announced, her voice low and unpleasant. "First mate aboard Aurelius. You can call me Helga. Or Ms. Wertz, if you wish. What is your name?"
Mary hesitated a moment, trying to place the accent. Helga wasn't a native English speaker, of that she was sure. She remembered meeting a Dutch South African once — she saw stars and found herself spr
awled on the cabin floor at Helga's feet.
"When you are asked a question, you will answer," the woman barked. "Do you understand this?"
"Yes," Mary said, in a tentative tone. "Where am I?"
"I will ask the questions. You will speak when you are given permission. I let it go this once, but do not forget. Next time, I will punish you. Is this clear?"
"Yes," Mary said.
"Good. Get up and sit on the bed."
Mary complied.
"Now, we try again," Helga said. "What is your name?"
"Mary Nolan."
"Good. Where are you from?"
"Atlanta."
"You are married?"
"Divorced."
"Do you have parents living?"
"Yes."
"In Atlanta?"
"No. In Japan. My father's ... "
"Enough. You have brothers or sisters?"
"No."
"Good. Anyone who will miss you in the next few days?"
"No."
"Any sexually transmitted diseases?"
"No! What are you – "
"Good. So you are at our disposal. You have a question, now, maybe?"
"Yes."
"Good. You learn well. You are smart and beautiful. You may ask."
"Where am I?"
"You are aboard Aurelius, in the Caribbean Sea. We are a private yacht. You have been purchased; you now belong to us until we sell you to someone else."
"Purchased? I don't ... "
"You do not need to know more. From now on, you will do what your owner tells you; you may be expected to cook, to clean, and certainly, one like you, you will be used for sex."
"For sex? By ... "
"By whomever your owner wishes. I think that is enough questions, Mary. Now you will meet the captain. His name is Derek Simmons, a very nice man, if you happen to like men. In your case, it doesn't matter what you like, only what you are told to do. You may go to the head and freshen up before I take you to him."
"The head?"
Sailor's Delight - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 2nd Novel of the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Connie Barrera Thrillers) Page 4