“Yes?” Becca’s voice floated into the passageway, her tone syrupy.
“Just checking to see if there’s anything you need before I go back down to my cabin.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.” Sarcasm singed Becca’s voice.
“Have a good evening then. We’ll take the tender in to Bequia in the morning so that Fiona can find her health guru.” Lindsay paused for a second, but the silence on the other side of the door made her face flush with heat.
She moved quickly forward to her own bunk, torn between trying to get Becca’s accusations out of her head and obliterating the memory of Alton’s scorching kiss.
But then the thought of Raoul servicing Becca Carrothers cooled her down in a hurry. Ewww.
* * *
Tuesday Morning, Admiralty Bay Anchorage, Bequia
After Lindsay’s eleven to two a.m. shift, she managed to get a few solid hours of sleep before the morning outing. She got up at seven to check over the ship’s systems, log water and fuel consumption, and do some diesel maintenance.
Raoul would take the party to shore in the tender and pick them up later in the afternoon.
When she headed toward the stern, she had to stifle a gag. Becca emerged nude from the water onto the swim platform where Raoul waited with a towel. Double ewww.
Just what she needed. Crew and passenger challenges. Disciplining Raoul would be next to impossible now that he was probably boffing the boss’s wife.
“Lighten up, captain,” Becca called out. “My stupid husband isn’t here yet, and besides, what does he care?” She shook her wet hair behind her and squeezed the excess seawater onto the deck.
Raoul just smirked and climbed below along the companionway steps.
“Mrs. Carrothers, what happens on this boat stays on this boat. As long as you do not endanger yourself, any other passenger, or the ship, I don’t care how you spend your time.”
“How soon until we go onto the island to find Fiona’s quack?” Becca ignored Lindsay’s attempt to remain professional. The woman was shameless.
“Raoul will have the tender ready at 1100 hours,” Lindsay said. So much for BFFs.
“How do we get around this little third world sand spit?” Becca wrapped her towel tighter and secured it with a knot above her breasts.
“There’s a dive shop onshore that rents motor scooters,” Lindsay said. “I’ve radioed a reservation for several for your party.”
“Scooters? You’re kidding, right?”
“No, Ma’am. The only way to get Fiona where she needs to go is by scooter.” Lindsay nodded toward Becca and then pivoted on her heel to head back down below. She had to have a Coke before she blew a gasket.
* * *
Alton bent over the galley counter, sprinkling Thai peppers into the final layer of a salmon aspic salad when he felt feathery patters on his neck, like maybe an insect dropped down from the ceiling. Shades of his early days in Paris.
He hated bugs. When he slapped at the side of his face to brush away the offending critter, his fingers were caught in a vice grip. Becca. Again. He nearly pitched face forward into his partially jelled creation.
“What brings you to the bowels of the ship this early in the day?” He would have to think fast to come up with something clever to defuse whatever new kinky assault she had in mind.
“It’s time for us to escalate this affair another notch,” she said, with a predatory purr.
Oh, God, Alton thought. He created this nightmare and somehow, he’d have to figure out a way to end it with Becca’s pride intact.
“What can I do to make your day?” He turned backside to the counter and braced himself to put some distance between them.
“Since you brought up the subject, there is something you can do for me.”
Oh, God.
“The only mode of transport on this stinking little island seems to be scooters. I’m terrified of falling off some cliff and never being heard from again.” She pursed her lips, pushing the lower one out in a full pout. “I can’t let Fiona and Moj go alone in search of some charlatan out to steal them blind. Please, Alton? Won’t you drive my scooter? Then I can straddle the seat behind you.” She bit her lower lip.
“Why can’t Raoul take you?” he asked carefully.
“Because I’m not paying top dollar for Raoul, I’m paying for you,” she said, the look in her eyes filling in the unsaid part.
Alton assessed the galley ceiling, weighing his options. Then he hazarded a look into Becca’s silver gray eyes.
“Okay.” He finally acceded. “But this is just the second-day teaser. We’ll savor the rumble of the scooter today, and then maybe tomorrow …”
She made a deliberate show of running her tongue over her bright red lips and turned to leave, then tossed a warning over her shoulder. “Be on the launch at 1100 sharp. Don’t want to upset Miss Captain Smarty-Pants.”
Alton’s shoulders slumped in relief. He’d bought himself another day. And then he had a good laugh. Miss Captain Smarty-Pants. He couldn’t wait to see the sparks fly when he let Lindsay know Becca’s pet name for her.
* * *
Lindsay sat near the stern of the tender and let the wind sluice through her hair. Raoul raced full throttle toward one of Port Elizabeth’s dinghy docks. Moj and Fiona sat in the far back, and Fiona had a hat lashed down over her head. Fish-bowl sunglasses covered most of her pale, thin face. Her smile glowed with excitement.
She was ecstatic for once, the only time Lindsay had seen her let go and relax the whole trip. Moj was happy because Fiona was happy. He managed an artful, sexy sprawl against the creamy white cushions, his flowery shirt unbuttoned to show muscled abs and flexing pectorals.
In the next set of seats, Becca pawed at Alton and devoured every inch of him with her soulful looks.
Lindsay could have done without the disgusting floorshow. She knew she had to leave the Bonnie Blue in Tommy’s care because although the boat was important, the passengers were also her responsibility. The more Fiona gushed on about the health guru on Bequia, the more uneasy Lindsay became. She had come along to make sure the “guru” wasn’t a con man who would take Fiona’s money for some worthless placebo, or worse.
Alton glanced over at Lindsay with pleading eyes. Becca had tucked herself under his arm, and he seemed on edge even though he was wearing one of Tommy’s laid-back Hawaiian shirts with frayed sleeve edges. The chef towered above her uncle by at least a foot, but the shirt was still a good fit. Tommy wore everything oversized and floppy.
So much for the Ivy League/Fire Island look Alton had when he first came aboard. Now he sported official boat-bum gear.
When they reached the dinghy dock, Raoul tied off to one of the pilings and then helped everyone onto the weathered wood planks leading to the beach.
Lindsay turned back toward her ship gently swinging at anchor with the slight shifts in shore breezes. Big, puffy clouds scudded past, occasionally blanketing the sun and making dark patterns on the turquoise waters.
The loud sound of a huge motorboat grinding through the bay interrupted her thoughts. She turned, wondering who would roar that fast through the peaceful anchorage. Was René back?
The boat hauled a passenger aloft on a parasail, tethered by a rope to the boat. When she shaded her eyes and looked up, the passenger cut loose from the boat and drifted down toward the dock.
She had a creeping suspicion she knew the perpetrator. When the man drifted nearer to where she stood, she cursed under her breath. Devin Manning.
He touched down onto the sand a hundred feet away and bounced a few times. Then instead of removing the parasail’s harness, he sawed himself free with a serrated dive knife. He leaned over, sheathed the knife in an ankle holster, and strutted toward Lindsay and her passengers.
She could tell he enjoyed the entire spectacle. When he approached them, he plucked off his Cartier sunglasses. Same pair that Alton and René had. Men.
Manning didn’t
smile. His face was emotionless. But that was Manning, forever serious, forever playing the part of the super spy. He could be cast in the part. Indeterminate age, light-brown eyes, sandy hair, still styled even after his parasail entrance. A strong chin and firm jawline completed the look, perfect for charming a lady or taking a punch.
“Captain Fisher,” he said. “I believe you were expecting me.”
Becca and Fiona chattered like frantic birds. Moj grinned. Alton looked on, disbelief on his face. Lindsay sighed, disgusted with the over-the-top display.
The speedboat pulling the parasail slid up onto the beach. Several dark-skinned men jumped out, and began shouting at Manning.
From the pocket of his Vilebrequin swimsuit, he retrieved a gold money clip holding a wad of hundred-dollar bills. He flipped it down to the beach. “That will take care of the parasail. Now, bring me my gear.” He didn’t give them a second glance, but kept his eyes on Lindsay.
A man in cut-off shorts picked up the money clip, counted through the bills, and began shouting and smiling.
Manning acted unconcerned. He was a total nutcase.
The men dropped two duffle bags with the U.S. Marine Corps logo onto the dock along with a huge silver carrying case. They then folded up the parasail and returned to the speedboat.
“Whatever you’ve got stashed in that case,” she said, “hadn’t better be a weapon, or I’ll be tied up all day in customs trying to explain.”
He slid his sunglasses back on his face.
“Captain Fisher, I am not at liberty to divulge what is in the case. I can assure you, the only weapons I possess are my dive knife, my wits, and my hands, all of which are lethal.”
He was serious. He was an idiot.
“Okay, Mr. Manning,” Lindsay said. “We’re going on a little excursion, and I would invite you, but we have a limited number of scooters.”
He shrugged, turned away, and saw Raoul. He spoke sharply in staccato Russian, and Raoul answered. In Russian. Raoul left his seat and began to load Manning’s gear into the tender.
Alton nudged her elbow. “See? He is Russian.”
Lindsay didn’t respond.
“Do I have your permission to board the ship, captain?” Manning asked.
“Of course.” Lindsay rolled her eyes.
“Very good.” He moved and addressed the other people on the dock. “I am Devin Manning, Mr. Carrothers’s business partner. Becca, it is nice to see you again. Moj, I am impressed by your skill in the studio, though I do think a few of your signature bass lines have become cliché. Fiona, I wish you luck in your efforts to improve your health. And Alton, I have read all the police reports on the poisonings. It seems you were innocent of not one, but two unfortunate culinary mishaps.”
Alton nodded. “Yes, mishaps. I appreciate your support.” He did some eye rolling of his own.
Manning continued, doing a great impression of being oblivious to his effect on the crew and passengers. “I do not support you per se, but I do believe you were innocent. However, I will be careful in evaluating what you prepare, for perhaps you are not as innocent as you appear.” He then drew close to Lindsay. “In my haste, I forgot to say goodbye to Captain Baudoin. Perhaps you will thank him for me. According to my sources, you and René were lovers at one time.”
Lindsay didn’t lash out, though she wanted to. “Why were you following us on The Other Woman? Why not just board the Bonnie Blue right away?” Lindsay had to ask the questions, but didn’t expect answers.
“I have my reasons,” he said in a husky, mystery-tinged voice. “Oh yes, I have my reasons.”
He turned abruptly, swaggering down the dinghy dock to the tender. Manning pushed Raoul away from the wheel, and then motored off toward the Bonnie Blue.
“What a fool,” Alton whispered to Lindsay.
“A royal fool ready for court,” she responded, still puzzled as to why Manning would be following them.
She turned finally toward shore and brought up the rear while her passengers drifted along the beach toward Port Elizabeth. After she warned them to meet her in an hour at the dive shop scooter rental, they headed to the right toward the farmers’ market and gift shops.
Lindsay veered left toward the Bequia Customs office to get passenger and crew passports cleared, and to obtain driving permits.
When she later headed through the open-air doorway of the dive shop, she stepped into her worst nightmare.
“You have no right,” Alton shouted at René. Both men leaned into each other’s space in front of the rental counter. When the burly charter captain shoved hard against one of Alton’s shoulders, the chef pulled back a fist.
Lindsay stepped between them. She had to interrogate René about the mystery of Devin Manning, and she suspected he would be less forthcoming if he were missing teeth.
Chapter Fifteen
Tuesday, Bequia
“What are you two fighting over?” Lindsay demanded as she pushed on Alton and René’s chests. “Do I have to give you timeouts?” Jaw clenched, she splayed her hands on their chests and shoved harder.
“He started the fight.” Alton pointed a finger at René.
The enraged Frenchman slapped at Alton’s hand. “Did not.”
“Yes, timeouts for both of you. Now step back and tell me what’s going on.” Lindsay stayed between them, arms out. The dive shop’s counter was deserted. No help there.
Alton folded his arms across his chest. “He was trying to bribe the shop owner into renting out one of our scooters. One of the scooters we reserved.”
Fiona, Moj, and Becca strolled in. New accessories glinted off their wrists, ears and throats. The island gift shops could close early today.
“Why would you want a scooter anyway, René?” Lindsay asked.
“My passenger is gone, and I have the day to myself. Why not do a little sight-seeing?”
The clerk working the dive shop wandered back to the counter. He needed a shave and shampoo. Greasy blond hair clung to his head. “Hey man, I heard you guys fighting. Yeah, we only have like three scooters left. So, maybe you can all, like, share, or something.”
“Yes, share,” René said and grinned. “I think that is a good idea.”
“It’s settled. We’ll share,” Lindsay said, and released her hands from his and Alton’s chests. “Moj and Fiona. Becca and Alton. You and me.” She wanted René alone, to get the truth about Manning and why Mr. Super Spy had been dogging them across the Caribbean.
* * *
Alton could barely breathe. Becca clung to his midsection as if they were already riding along a cliff. They hadn’t even cleared the outskirts of Port Elizabeth.
But what the hell? He was outside, on wheels, on a firm road. He was loving his life, zooming past tourists, locals, old British cars on the left side, quaint buildings on the right. Then they were beyond the city’s edge and flying through jungle greenery and waterfalls.
If he lived through this cruise, he would never, no, make that never, ever again board something afloat. He felt as though he’d landed in the middle of some kind of medieval penance for all his past sins. Could be. He had enough of them.
Ahead, René roared along as fast as he could push the diminutive scooter. And to pile on the insults, Alton had to look at Lindsay’s shapely fanny perched behind what he’d come to think of as the French ferret.
Every few minutes the bastard would extend a hand back and fondle one of the captain’s thighs. Even though she swatted at René each time, Alton died a little with every caress.
Ahead of him the road curved back toward the sea and followed a steep incline. When he pushed the scooter’s speed and leaned through the curve, Becca moved her Fu Manchu nails lower and squeezed even harder. Maybe he’d be a eunuch by the end of the day, and all his worries would be over.
Although Alton twisted the gas throttle as far as it would go, he couldn’t keep up with René. The last he saw of Lindsay and the French captain, they disappeared onto a side road.
>
Moj and Fiona kept going straight. Alton was torn. Really, what Lindsay and the ferret did wasn’t his business, so he kept following Moj and Fiona.
Yep, none of his business. Let Captain Horrible and the French connection get all hot and bothered. No, he’d just keep going straight.
Except he didn’t. He stopped, whipped the scooter around, and sped down the road in hot pursuit of his captain and the Gallic interloper. Becca squeezed tighter and shouted something he couldn’t hear in the wind, but when she grabbed his crotch, he nearly rolled the scooter.
As soon as he caught up to Lindsay and René, he discovered a grim scene. Lindsay’s scooter leaned against a rock outcropping. René had her locked in a bear hug, and she was struggling.
Alton slid to a stop in billows of dust on the unpaved road and dumped both scooter and Becca.
“Leave her alone, escargot breath,” Alton yelled through the dusty aftermath of his arrival.
Lindsay stared at him, disbelief on her face. René moved away from her and clapped slowly. “So you have come to claim your woman? Very romantic for someone from Iowa, I believe it is.”
The only thing keeping Alton from lunging at the man was the pull of Becca’s claw-like fingernails nearly ripping Tommy’s island shirt from his chest.
“What in the hell got into you?” Becca reeled Alton back toward her and slapped him hard across the face. “Now get back on that piece-of-shit scooter and follow Fiona. If we lose her, I’ll personally see to it you end up as a line cook for a retirement community in Encino.”
Alton took one last look at Lindsay. “Will you be okay alone with him?”
Lindsay waved him away. “Don’t worry, Galahad. If he tries anything else, I’ll turn him into a French gelding.”
* * *
Lindsay studied Alton and Becca’s backs as he wheeled the scooter back to the main road, throwing gravel. Her stomach felt like lead, but she turned resolutely away, back to René, the biggest seagoing pain in the ass she’d ever encountered.
“What was that speech all about?” Lindsay asked. “Have you lost your mind?”
Way Too Deep (Love Overboard Book 1) Page 11