Way Too Deep (Love Overboard Book 1)
Page 17
Without another word, they stood and leapt into the waves, plunging and paddling until Lindsay curled her arms around Alton’s neck, kissed him, and said, “It’s time.”
Back on the tender, they gathered their clothes and Lindsay searched for her sunglasses. “Must have gone overboard,” she said.
Alton took her hand and placed his Cartiers in her palm. “Sell them if you can,” he said with a smile. “They’re worth hundreds of dollars.”
Lindsay grinned in spite of trying hard to remain distant and objective.
“Sure you don’t want to keep them? Looks like you’re out of a job.”
He shrugged. “Fiona asked me to come to LA and cook for her and Moj, so there’s that. But looks like I’m done with the sea.”
She slid the sunglasses onto her nose. “Not me. I have to get back. Bye, Alton.” Her words came out hard.
Goodbye, Lindsay. Hello, Captain Horrible.
No, she wasn’t horrible for being a strong, focused woman. She was just Lindsay, and the great times they’d had were over.
He lifted a hand and said, “Bye, Lindsay.”
He watched her roar off into the distance. You didn’t get her number. Alton, you are a butthead. And that last crack about the sea? You need an asshat to go with your butthead.
He could’ve asked, they could’ve stayed in touch, but it seemed like Lindsay wanted a last goodbye. He’d have nothing but a cheap pair of unisex sunglasses to remind him of the best sex of his life.
He pulled the flimsy frames from one of his pockets and slowly pushed them onto his face. Though they probably weren’t worth a nickel, Lindsay had worn them. They were special, and he knew he would gladly wear them for the rest of his life, or until they fell apart.
Another great day in the life of Kitchen God Alton Maura. He’d blown his career. Again. And the only woman he’d ever loved had disappeared across the waves.
* * *
Thursday Afternoon, Off Carriacou
Lindsay had blown it. She’d wasted her last chance to talk with Alton about some kind of future together. Instead, they’d had mind-melting sex that had blitzed everything out of her brain except the need to get out of there before she broke down crying in front of him.
He’d made it clear her was done with the sea, and that made any kind of future together impossible. Which was probably for the best. He had to pick up the pieces of his career somehow, and she had to keep hers from sliding off into seagoing oblivion.
When she pulled up behind the Bonnie Blue, CeCe was there, kicking her feet in the clear, Caribbean blue water. She wore her uniform, a white shirt and shorts, revealing tanned legs. Most likely, she’d been working on the passengers while Lindsay was gone. Everyone needed a little stress relief after all the drama.
Lindsay maneuvered the boat to the winch and CeCe helped her do the haul-out. Once the tender was secure, they stood at the stern and peered down into the water. Schools of fish darted around through pink coral about twenty feet below.
“I was waiting for you,” CeCe said.
“Why’s that?” Lindsay asked.
“Maybe you need someone to confide in.” She blushed. “I mean, saying goodbye to Alton must’ve been hard. I’ve seen the way you two looked at each other.”
“Well, you’re dead wrong,” Lindsay said quickly. If Becca suspected Lindsay, and not Fiona, had been bedding Alton, she might explode into several mission wind-sodden pieces.
“I don’t think so. You and Alton were like magnets to metal. I could feel how strong your attraction was.”
“There might have been something.” Lindsay had to pause, get a grip on her emotions, so she could talk without sounding like a heartbroken schoolgirl. “But it’s over now. He doesn’t like the sea, and face it, I’m too much of a sailor to ever settle down.”
CeCe didn’t say anything for a long time. A pod of dolphins broke the water in the distance and then playfully raced off.
“You think settling down means leaving the sea?” CeCe asked.
“With Alton, yes. But even if he agreed to live this crazy life with me, well …” Lindsay’s voice drifted off.
“Well what, Captain Fisher?”
Lindsay took off the Cartiers and folded them carefully. “Well, nothing. It’s over. He didn’t offer to get in touch with me, and under the circumstances, I’m sure he’s more worried about how he’s going to make a living than any kind of romance.”
CeCe put an arm around her. “If he chooses his career over you, you don’t want him. Trust me. Nothing is sadder than a woman waiting around for a man to find time for her. Someone will come along who loves you truly.”
“You too,” Lindsay said.
“All the men I want are stupid, self-centered, and obsessed with their careers. I keep thinking I can charm them away,” she said, and then laughed with her whole body, her face shining.
“Was that how it was with Jerome Carrothers?” Lindsay asked. Might as well broach the subject, since he was coming aboard soon.
CeCe’s face fell. “Maybe that, or maybe it was his money, or how when he looked at me, I felt like the only girl in the world. Or it was me being stupid. I can’t say. But obviously, we are finished. He will not leave his wife, and putting us together is cruel.”
“It is,” Lindsay agreed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s what I deserve for getting involved with a married man,” she said.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Lindsay touched her arm.
CeCe smiled a little. “Thank you.”
Lindsay sighed. Back to work. “Okay, first things first, I have to figure out who is going to cook, but more importantly, who poisoned the soup last night?”
“Get Mr. Manning on it,” CeCe said. “That’s his thing.”
“You’re right, but I’m not sure he would tell me anything even if he found something. He’s so secretive.”
“Devin is what you could call delusional, yes?” CeCe asked.
“Definitely. And we have Carrothers coming aboard. Terrible timing.”
“For you and for me,” CeCe agreed. “Why would he bring me on when his wife is here?”
“I don’t know,” Lindsay said, but she had a hunch her troubles were only beginning.
* * *
Thursday Afternoon, En Route to Grenada
Lindsay found Tommy at the helm and helped him release the mainsail and complete the tack to head them back down island toward Grenada.
She asked Raoul to take over the wheel for a while and jerked a finger toward Tommy, motioning for him to follow her below. Their passengers were nowhere to be seen. Good. Lindsay had fought the tears and anger for hours, and it was time to let loose.
In the crew dining room, she threw savage punches into the soft stuffing of the expensive, custom-made cushions. She was nearly growling, punch after punch, and she wanted to scream out her fury but kept herself quiet. Angry tears coursed down her cheeks.
When she reached back to really let the cushion have it, Tommy caught her arm. “Linds, you gotta stop. This ain’t the time for fireworks.”
“No, it’s exactly the time for fireworks,” Lindsay shot back.
Tommy sighed and put the booth back together. “Once again, you move directly to anger without passing ‘go’ when I think what you’re feeling is fear.”
“I am not in the mood for your magazine bullshit, Tommy.”
The old sailor shrugged. “Of course you’re not ‘cause you’d rather be pissed off than afraid. So what are you afraid of?”
Lindsay let out a long breath and wiped the tears off her cheeks. “Fine. I knew Alton and I would come to an end. I got that. But why do I always have to end up by myself? I don’t want to be the old lady of the sea some day, toothless and alone.”
“Linds, it’s simple. If you don’t want to be alone, then don’t push everyone away.” Tommy’s words were stern, but a smile quirked at the corners of his mouth.
“What?” Lindsay asked.
“Fuck that.” Lindsay growled. “He didn’t ask for my number, didn’t say he wanted to see me again. I said bye. He said bye. We’re done.”
“Is that the truth? Or is that more of your fear and anger?” Tommy asked gently.
Lindsay softened. “Fear and anger, I guess. I did get a little cold and pissed off at the end. But he didn’t act like someone who needed me. He gave me his sunglasses. What the hell?” She took in a deep breath, with some effort, and tried to let go of some of her rage.
“Yeah, well,” Tommy said, “people who love each other do stuff they don’t mean all the time.” He gave her one of his ornery looks and added, “That’s what make-up sex is for.”
Just then Becca walked into the crew quarters and folded her arms over her chest. Her accessory wine glass was missing for once.
“Where’s that bitch, CeCe? We should put her off the boat, too.”
Lindsay turned, smoothed her uniform, and put her cap back on. “Mrs. Carrothers, I’m sorry, but we will not be putting any more passengers off this boat until we pick up your husband on Grenada.” She handed her the satellite phone. “If you like, you can call him now and ask him what he wants me to do.”
Becca threw the phone on the table. “Whatever. By the way, speaking of phones, Devin is missing his. It’s a huge deal to him, so if you see it, let the James Bond wannabe know.” She then clattered her heeled sandals down the passageway back toward the master suite.
Lindsay wasn’t worried about Manning’s phone. He’d find it, and if he didn’t, he’d enjoy the chase to get it back. Most likely, he had some sort of homing beacon on it. The search would absorb him for days. Another helicopter would probably be involved.
CeCe came into the room shortly after Becca’s exit and embraced Lindsay. “Feeling better? Just think, at least you don’t have to wake up and be Becca Carrothers, not even for a minute. Don’t let that old hag get you down.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Tommy said, and lifted his cup from where he stood near the coffeemaker.
“CeCe, Tommy, please don’t dis Mrs. Carrothers. She’s the owner’s wife. Let’s finish this trip as quickly and professionally as possible,” Lindsay said, and left to check on the supplies in the galley. She and Tommy would be sharing sailing chef duties until the cruise ended.
She walked around the bulkhead separating the crew mess from the galley and began taking inventory when she caught sight of a polished wooden box on the counter. Alton had left his precious knives.
On top of the box was a note. “These knives mean everything to me and so do you.”
Emotions raced from the top of Lindsay’s head to her toes, but the one that stuck was euphoria. “CeCe,” she screamed, and her friend came running from the other crew side.
“What?” CeCe demanded. “What happened?”
“He loves me,” Lindsay said, and grabbed her friend in a hug.
Tommy walked into the galley and held up a pair of wildly expensive Hugo Boss topsiders. “Hey, look what I found. Alton left me shoes. How cool is that guy?”
Lindsay showed him the knives. Tommy whistled and smiled. “Can’t imagine why, but that guy must really love you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thursday Afternoon, Carriacou
Alton sat, kicked off the truck-tire sandals, and dug his toes into the sand on the deserted Carriacou beach. Ah, land. Delicious.
Stooping over, he picked up the ugly footwear and buckled them to the handle of one of his Hartmann bags. Note to self: Next time you’re marooned on a desert island, pack light. High-end luggage was more suited to airports, with Skycaps.
He still had some savings left, but who knew if he could access his funds on a small island? Tommy had pressed some cash on him before he abandoned ship and though he protested, he was grateful and vowed to repay the loan as soon as he got back to civilization.
He had a way to reach Tommy, and through him, Lindsay. Maybe. Maybe not.
First though, shade. He’d get out of the sun, sit for a minute and regroup. Get a plan together. He was good at organizing—benefit banquets for hundreds, bunches of line cooks, multiple lovers—oh, yeah, that’s what got him into this situation in the first place.
He moved closer to the cluster of palm trees bordering the beach, alternately kicking and dragging his Hartmanns. There was a cinder block building he hadn’t seen from the tender. Crap. Hope no one had taped their boat-fucking spree.
The concrete structure was tucked back behind the trees, in some blessed shade, and there was a hammock out front. He hadn’t napped in a hammock since the last time he’d been in his mom’s backyard.
He collapsed into the swinging net and took in the bright blue forever of a high noon Caribbean sky. Small puffy clouds hung suspended in the lunchtime heat. Lunch, God, he was hungry. But he was more tired than hungry. Maybe a nap.
Something vibrated in his pocket. Couldn’t be his phone, since he’d broken it the night before during the CeCe-Becca smackdown. No one would be calling him for a very long time.
Alton dug into the pocket of his whites, and there was a black smartphone, with a call coming in. He swiped a thumb across the screen and got a password request. Four characters across a black and silver background.
Then it hit him, this was Devin Manning’s phone. How it got into his pocket, he had no idea. Last he’d seen it, Manning was using it to shine a light into the poisoned soup.
The super spy would want it back for sure, but what was the pass code? And did Alton care enough to try to figure it out?
Not right then.
Alton relaxed back into the hammock and was drifting off when a deeply tanned, Gallic looking face suddenly appeared over him. “Monsieur, I am sorry to say we cannot provide anything from the kitchen today.”
Startled, Alton nearly flipped over in his rush to sit up. He finally got his bare feet on the ground and stood. “Why? What’s wrong with the kitchen?”
The Frenchman looked so sad, Alton regretted the question.
“She is not cooking today.”
“Who?” Now Alton was intrigued.
“Zoe.” Tears welled in the man’s eyes.
“Is she your only cook?” Alton couldn’t help prying.
“She’s my wife.”
“Oh, yeah. I understand.” Alton wasn’t sure he understood, but he had to say something. Then again, maybe he did understand. A woman was involved.
The man gave him a slow up-and-down look, lingering on his now trashed chef whites and stopping at Alton’s face. His eye was still swollen from when he’d smacked it after his first round of sex with Lindsay.
Alton touched his eye. “This is how I understand. I wasn’t married to her, but maybe I should be.”
“Maybe,” the guy said. “Come with me. We can talk while I toss together something to eat. Nothing special. You won’t tell her, will you?”
“Your wife? Never.” Alton air-drew a small cross in the vicinity of his chest. He bent to bring along the Hartmanns, then changed his mind and kicked the cases to their sides.
He followed the man, realizing with a start he didn’t know his name. Didn’t matter. They both were suffering the living hell of inscrutable women.
A broken-down gate and rickety fence surrounded the small patio area filled with a few upended plastic tables and chairs. Over the entryway was an odd wooden sign in the shape of a boat’s stern, probably was a boat’s stern once upon a time. A ship’s name—On y Va!—appeared in faded painted letters on an aged, battered surface. From his years of French girlfriends, he recognized the phrase—“Let’s go.”
Inside, more boat parts lined the walls. A thick wooden mast stretched across the ceiling,
serving as a support beam.
Alton took in the rest of the room and whistled. “What happened here?”
The dark-haired man smiled and extended his hand. “I am Yann Viot. And this was my dream twenty years ago when I was an accountant in Nantes.”
“Nantes?” At the name of the French city so full of romantic memories, a shiver trickled down Alton’s spine in spite of the humidity in the small restaurant. No air conditioning.
“Sit down, sit down. I will reveal all over a beer.” The restaurant owner dashed behind the bar and then looked back at Alton and smacked himself on the head. “I forgot to ask. What would you like?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Alton waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever you’ve got that’s cold, and keep it coming.”
The tale extracted from the emotional Frenchman took at least an hour and made him realize his own predicament was a walk in the park in comparison.
Once upon a time, a lonely accountant toiling away in Nantes dreamed of sailing around the world. One fateful day when he was haunting the docks in Nantes, he literally ran into a woman who had the same crazy dream. They slammed into each other while gazing upward at the towering masts of ocean going yachts.
But this was no ordinary woman—this was the elusive Zoe.
Alton could tell the story was painful, so he urged Yann to give him the CliffsNotes version.
The two of them quit their jobs, sold everything they owned, and found their dream vessel. They spent their days at the library and chandlers’ shops. Their nights were spent wrapped feverishly in each other’s arms aboard the boat.
Finally, the day came. They stowed provisions. Friends and family came. They drank lots of Champagne. They shoved off from the dock and sailed into the sunset. That idyllic picture lasted twenty-four hours.
They’d read every book, taken every class, but had never actually sailed into the Atlantic Ocean. They gutted out another three-and-a-half weeks, but they weren’t happy.
The waves towered and rolled from a late autumn storm, and the loving couple discovered the ugly truth about sailing away with just two crew members.
Long, sexy nights together in a cozy bunk turned into a faint memory. There was just too much damned work to do after they left the comfort of the harbor.