"I'm okay," he said. "Thanks, though. Maybe in a little while."
"Just give a shout," she said.
Mo nodded and went back to staring at the horizon.
"Rick said Mo was an engineer," Paul said. "How about you? You study engineering?"
Abe laughed. "Not me. My mind doesn't work that way. I majored in English."
"Nothing shabby about that," Paul said. "I thought English was a tough subject."
"Guess it depends on your interest, like anything else," Abe said. "I always wanted to write, so it was kind of right up my alley."
"What kind of writing appeals to you?" Connie asked.
He shrugged, looking into her eyes for just a beat longer than he should have. "I don't know yet. I think I kind of need to do some stuff first, you know? Get a little life experience under my belt."
"That why you're working in the boatyard?" Paul asked.
"Yeah, pretty much. I thought it would be cool to work in a factory; like a mill, maybe, but jobs like that aren't so easy to find nowadays."
"I guess not," Paul said. "Everything's either automated or moved offshore, I suppose."
"Yeah. So what about you guys? What did you do before you got into the charter business?"
"I retired from the Miami P.D.," Paul said. "I was a homicide detective."
"Cool. I'll bet you've got some stories to tell."
Paul grinned. "I haven't been away from it long enough. I'm still trying to forget stuff. Maybe someday I'll want to talk about some of the things I saw, but not yet."
"I can see that. How about you, Connie?" He locked eyes with her again and smiled.
"I've always been an entrepreneur. I've done all kinds of stuff — small businesses — started them, run them, sold them, gone broke a few times. Then I got hooked on sailing."
"Cool. Where'd you guys meet?"
"On some friends' boat, down in the Caribbean," Paul said. "Connie hired me when she decided to go into the charter business."
"Hired you? Like, as crew?"
"As the cook."
"Guess you must be a pretty good cook to end up marrying the boss." He swept his eyes over Connie's curves again. "Rick said you guys were getting married soon. Congratulations."
"Thanks," Connie and Paul said in chorus, and then laughed.
"Let's talk about watch schedules," Connie said, ignoring the sense that Abe was imagining her in yesterday's bikini. "Think you can keep us on this course for a few more hours?"
"Sure, no problem." He gave her another lingering look, his lips parted in a half-smile, half-grin.
"Good. The wind's predicted to back to the south and drop a bit this evening. I'm planning to hold this course until we can come about and lay Cape Cod on a close reach on the port tack. If you and Mo can handle her for a few hours, Paul and I can get some rest." She looked at her watch. "It's almost four p.m. How about if I relieve you at eight?"
"Okay, that works for me," Abe said.
"You and Mo divide up the time however you see fit. You've got the experience, so you're in charge. Call me if you have any questions. Otherwise, I'll see you about eight, and we'll come about before you and Mo go off watch."
"Aye, aye, captain," Abe said with a grin, as he stepped behind the wheel.
4
A few minutes after Connie and Paul went below, Abe waved Mo back to the cockpit.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, as Mo settled himself on the port cockpit seat, wedging a cushion behind his lower back.
"Okay. I'm getting used to it. I think I'll be all right. Not ready to try going to sleep, though. I need to keep my eyes on the horizon, like you said earlier."
"Good. Could you hear the conversation?" Abe asked, keeping his voice down.
"Not really; the wind kind of carried the sound away from me. What were you guys talking about?"
"Just bullshitting with them. You know, the normal get-acquainted stuff, mostly."
"I see. Anything interesting?"
"Yeah, maybe. Paul's a retired homicide cop."
"Uh-oh," Mo said, his brow wrinkled with worry. "What about her?"
"I didn't get much out of her. She said she'd done lots of stuff. Tried to make it sound like she was an entrepreneur or something, but I got my doubts."
"Why? She could have been. Somebody made enough money to buy this boat; must have cost close to a mil. A retired cop wouldn't have that kind of money, would he?"
"I don't know. Maybe if he was bent."
"Bent?" Mo raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah, you know. Like, crooked. He doesn't seem like the type, though. I can think of lots of ways a girl like her could make big bucks." Abe's lascivious grin left no doubt about his ideas.
Mo shrugged. "How'd they get together?"
"Oh, get this. She hired him, as — are you ready? — the cook." Abe chuckled.
"The cook? I thought they were a couple."
"Yeah. Seem to be. Rick said they were getting married soon, remember?" Abe grinned and shook his head.
"Right. I remember that now. You'd better watch yourself. I think you set off ... well, never mind."
"What?"
"It probably doesn't matter. We only have to do this for another couple of days."
"Yeah, that's true. But what were you about to say? You thought I set off something?"
"Well, I couldn't hear you guys, but I could see the body language," Mo said.
"So? What about it? You noticed something? Spit it out, man. It could be important."
"Maybe. I don't think he liked the way you were looking at her; you were pretty obvious."
"She's hot. Any red-blooded guy's gonna look at her. Old fart like him, he's gotta be used to that."
"Like I said, you were pretty obvious. I think you should take it down a notch."
"Bullshit, man. She loves it. I can tell."
"We don't need the friction, Abe. We just — "
"Don't tell me about women. This is me — Abe Shahir — remember?"
"Yeah, yeah. Trust me, she's no sorority girl with hot pants, and he's not some wet-behind-the-ears kid. You're playing with fire. You could blow this whole thing if you're not careful."
"Mo, what do you think she was doing when she put that bikini on yesterday? She was asking for it, that's what."
"I don't think so. You spent too much time listening to the mullahs, man. You're reading her wrong. We're back in the States, remember?"
"Bullshit. She was looking for attention. Don't tell me she wasn't."
"Yeah, Abe. Attention. She wanted to get all of us to work on her boat, man, that's all. You saw how she acted when Paul came back to the yard."
"Nah, Mo. Trust me; if she was getting enough from him, she wouldn't be putting the moves on me."
"Putting the moves on you? She's been polite to you, Abe. That's it. The rest is in your head, man. Get a grip."
"We'll see, I guess. We're on watch until 8 p.m. Why don't you take the first two hours, while it's still daylight. I'll nap until dark, and then take it."
"Okay. What do I do?"
"The autopilot's on, and the wind's nice and steady. Just make sure we don't run into anything. If the sails start to flutter or anything seems to change, just wake me up. I'm gonna stretch out right here."
"He's creepy, Paul," Connie said, snuggling under Paul's right arm. They were in their berth, a down comforter over them to ward of the chill.
Paul thought for a moment before he answered. He agreed with her, but he didn't want to alarm her. Besides, the boy no doubt still had the image of her in that orange bikini burned into his retinas. "He's just a kid. Probably still got raging hormones. Just keep your distance. His looking won't hurt, but be careful how you act around him."
He felt her stiffen under his arm, and worried that he'd said too much.
"I didn't lead him on, Paul. Don't make this about me."
He started to apologize, and then thought better of it. He patted her shoulder with his right hand. "Want
me to talk to him?"
"No. I can handle this. I just need to know you're with me."
"Count on it," he said. "That aside, he's an interesting kid. Self-assured. Mo's more typical of what I'd expect from a kid their age. Quiet, kind of feeling his way. Abe's full of bluster; he fits the rich kid image, all right. Funny how he wants to experience life on the other side of the tracks. My take is that Mo's the brains in that pair."
"Rick said he was the best natural boat mechanic he'd ever seen," Connie said. "He said Mo could fix anything. I guess that's part of his engineering background."
"I don't know," Paul said. "My college roommate was an engineering major, and he was all thumbs. He couldn't keep his bicycle going."
"Bikes are complicated. I bought one, once, when I lived in Thunderbolt. I thought I'd get some exercise riding to work, but it spent more time in the shop than on the road."
Paul smiled. He'd gotten her mind off Abe. "Ten-speed?" he asked.
"Mm-hmm," she said, shifting her position a bit, her head on his chest.
"Those things are complicated. But my roommate had an old fat-tire bike with a coaster brake. Remember those?"
She didn't answer, and he realized that she'd dropped off to sleep. He resolved to keep a close eye on Abe; his comments to Connie notwithstanding, he didn't trust the guy.
As she often did, Connie woke before her alarm went off. She swiped the screen on her iPhone and entered the security code, being careful not to disturb Paul. She looked at the screen; it was 7:50 p.m. She reset the alarm for 10 p.m. and left it on the shelf above the berth; Paul could sleep another couple of hours.
She felt her way into the galley and turned on a dim, over-the-counter light. Flipping the propane safety switch on, she lit the burner under the kettle on the stove. She lifted the lid and checked to be sure the kettle had enough water to fill the thermos. After she spooned instant coffee into the stainless steel thermos, she mounted the companionway ladder and peered out into the cockpit.
Abe grinned at her from the helmsman's seat. "Good morning, gorgeous," he said in a stage whisper.
"Everything all right?" she asked, ignoring his impertinence.
"Four bells and all's well, captain," he said, putting a mocking emphasis on the 'captain.'
She heard the kettle begin to boil. "Want a cup of coffee? Or tea?"
"What happened to coffee, tea, or me?" he asked.
"Coffee and tea are on offer. Watch yourself," she said.
"Nah, thanks. Neither of those sounds as good as the other."
Letting that pass, she stepped back into the galley and filled the thermos with steaming water. She screwed the top down and gave the bottle a shake. Realizing that she was still groggy, she took a mug from the locker over the stove and put a teaspoonful of instant coffee in it, filling it about three-fourths full with the hot water. An extra cup couldn't hurt. She reached out through the companionway and set the thermos on the cockpit cushion, wedging it between the back edge of the cushion and the bulkhead so that it wouldn't roll. She picked up the cup and stepped into the cockpit.
Taking a sip of the coffee, she moved behind the helm, standing to Abe's right as she studied the compass. Making note of the heading, she looked up at the wind vane on the masthead. The wind had backed as expected, and the autopilot, steering a course relative to the wind, had taken them onto an easterly course. She was irritated that Abe hadn't either corrected that or called her when the wind shifted.
"How long ago did the wind shift?" she asked, mentally computing how much extra time his carelessness might add to their trip.
"Huh?" he asked.
"You were supposed to keep us on a course of around 135 degrees magnetic. We followed the wind shift around to an easterly course."
"Sorry," he said, reaching behind her and putting his right hand on her right hip, giving it a squeeze. "Let me make it — "
She heard him gasp as she poured the scalding coffee into his crotch. As he began to remove his hand, she spun to her right, trapping his hand against her hip with her right hand and cupping his right elbow with her left hand. Keeping his arm bent, she raised his elbow with a sharp thrust, twisting his arm behind his back as he rolled to his left side on the seat, trying to escape her arm lock. She followed through, putting her weight into twisting his arm until she captured his right wrist in the crook of her left elbow, freeing her right hand. She levered up with her left arm, and he let out a muffled cry. She grabbed his collar at the scruff of his neck with her right hand and smashed his face into the cockpit coaming. She leaned on him with her weight, holding him down as he struggled.
"Be still," she hissed, "or I'll break your arm." She ground his face into the varnished wood, and he moaned. "Shut up, you asshole. If you wake Paul, I swear I'll kill you. You understand?"
When he didn't answer, she jerked him back and smashed his face into the coaming again. "The right answer is 'yes, ma'am,' or 'yes, captain,'" she said, increasing the pressure on his arm.
"Yes, ma'am," he gasped.
"Good boy. Listen to me, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'm going to let you go in a few seconds. If you look at me again the way you did this afternoon, I'll blind you. You believe me?" She moved her right hand to the side of his head, pressing his cheek into the wood as she slipped her clawed fingers into the inner corner of his right eye. "Or should I take one eye now, just to show you I mean it?"
"No! I mean, no, ma'am, please," he whined, as she increased the pressure of her fingers in his eye socket, digging her nails in.
"Good boy. Now go below and clean yourself up. If Paul or Mo should ask what happened to you, tell them you fell and hit your cheek, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. I won't tell anybody what a weakling you are. And if you try me again, don't expect that you'll survive without some serious damage." She yanked his head back and smashed his face into the wood once more. Releasing him, she took a quick step back and picked up the thermos, thinking she could brain him with it. She watched as he sat up.
He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled to the companionway, avoiding her eye.
"Good night, asshole. Sleep well," she said.
Connie took a few calming breaths as she sat behind the helm, thinking about what had happened with Abe. She knew that humiliating him and allowing him to stay aboard was not a good idea, but putting the jerk ashore would cost them time, and worse, she'd be forced to admit that Paul's concerns about her behavior the other day were well-founded. She shook her head and decided to focus on sailing her boat; she'd make a decision about Abe and Mo when Paul came up at 10 p.m. She stood and made a visual sweep of the horizon, making sure there were no other vessels in the vicinity.
Satisfied, she went to the companionway and peered below. The dim red night lights were sufficient for her to see that Abe wasn't lurking; she assumed he'd gone to the forward stateroom that he was sharing with Mo. She went down the ladder and settled herself at the chart table, turning on the chart plotter. After the device acquired a GPS fix, she saw that their bearing on Cape Cod was about 240 degrees. With the wind they had, she could sail that course on a close reach. They were 110 miles from Provincetown; they would pass the point into Cape Cod Bay around eight in the morning. From there, the distance to the Sandwich Marina at the eastern end of the canal was a little over 20 miles. That would be a convenient spot to put Abe and Mo ashore.
She went back up to the cockpit and turned off the autopilot, watching as the boat held her course of about 80 degrees on a beam reach unaided. The balance of the rig brought a smile to her face. She began trimming the sails, starting with the Yankee and working her way aft to the mizzen at a pace that allowed the boat to find her own way. After a few minutes, she was sailing close-hauled on a course of about 120 degrees, still on the starboard tack. Impressed that the vessel tracked so well without any correction from the helm, Connie kept an eye on the sails as she squared away the tails of the sheets, coiling
them neatly on the cockpit seats in preparation for coming about onto a port tack. Once she was sure they would run free when she came about, she took up the slack in the lazy jib sheets and tugged them into the jaws of the self-tailing winches on the windward side of the cockpit.
After a last look around, she gave the helm three quarters of a turn clockwise, watching as the bow came into the wind and the sails luffed. As the bow continued through its arc, the sails filled on the port tack, and Diamantista II settled on a course of about 220 degrees. Connie grinned at the realization that the boat tacked through 100 degrees with so little effort. She gave the boat another minute to settle on the new course and then she began to ease the sheets, starting with the main and the mizzen. She watched as the boat fell off the wind. Once she was tracking on her desired course of 240 degrees, Connie eased the Yankee and staysail sheets.
Elated at how well the vessel handled, she sat down behind the helm and reset the autopilot. She monitored the course for a minute and picked up the thermos, pouring herself a cup of coffee. When she put the top on the thermos, she looked up to see Paul watching her from the companionway, a big smile on his face.
"Well done, skipper," he said, when she grinned at him.
"Sorry if I woke you," she said.
"Oh, you didn't. I was half awake when I felt you coming about."
"So how much of the show did you catch?"
"Nearly the whole thing. You're a damned good sailor. You know that?"
"You're biased."
"No question about that. Got any of that coffee to spare?" He sat down beside her.
She passed him the cup and watched as he took a sip. "Paul?"
"Yes?"
"We've got a problem with Abe."
"What happened?" he asked frowning as he handed the cup back to her.
She told him about her tussle with the crewman.
"You should have called me," he said.
"No need; I don't think he'll try anything else. But I don't want them aboard any longer than necessary."
"We can probably drop them somewhere around the canal," Paul said.
"Yes. I've checked it out. There's a marina at Sandwich, right at the east entrance. We should be there around lunchtime."
A Blast to Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 3rd Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series Page 3