“You mean the tender?” Lindsay asked carefully.
“No, the Bonnie Blue,” he said, giving her a look that brooked no disagreement.
“I want to go on a night dive, in a very specific location. And the marina is the perfect jumping off point. I’ve heard there’s some spectacular dive artifacts near Glover Island.”
“Glover Island? You’re kidding, right?” Lindsay could not stop the words spilling from her mouth.
“I never joke. Can you get us there, or do I need to replace you?”
Lindsay heard the threat. He wouldn’t just replace her, but fire her and then make sure she would never again captain anything bigger than a dinghy.
“I’ll get you there,” she said. “And we will prepare dinner in the deck dining area tonight.”
“Don’t bother,” Carrothers said. “We’ll have dinner at the marina restaurant before we leave.” He turned his back on her and headed toward the stern again.
Lindsay went below to the nav station and trembled with anger while she plotted the courses to the marina and Glover Island. From all reports, that island was a terrible location for a dive at any time—a deserted strip of little more than rocks and a scrubby interior.
The outpost had been a whaling station in the 1920s, but scarcely worth a visit during the day, let alone a night dive. However, the way things had deteriorated, she sure as hell wasn’t going to argue with the owner. Carrothers was running the show now, and she would follow his orders to the letter.
On top of all her other problems, the electronic plotting system seemed to have some hiccup going on. She switched to paper charts and finished the course plots with an old-fashioned pencil, ruler, and metal dividers. If she had to, she’d pull out her sextant for a reliable fix. Must be some sun spot interference.
Her sixth sense was running around tolling a cowbell, warning her just how wrong things were.
If only Alton were back aboard, he would make everything better with his gentle way with people. She really needed that guy, and not just for his food.
* * *
Friday Morning, Carriacou
When Alton emerged from Carriacou’s government office, if you could call a shack a “government office,” he needed wings, or Devin’s helicopter, anything that could get him back to the Bonnie Blue.
After he’d explained the emergency, the guy on duty had looked at him without saying a word and then shrugged. He did try to radio the Bonnie Blue but said there was no response.
When Alton had pressed the island bureaucrat to do more, he’d returned to shrugging. Nothing he could do.
Manning’s phone had some sort of lock on it, and though Alton had been able to read the text messages, he hadn’t been able to respond. He couldn’t call out either. Of course, Manning would have multiple fail-safes, in case his phone fell into enemy hands. Loose lips sink ships, and that was exactly what Alton most feared.
At least Zoe and Yann had made up. After the amazing crowds the day before, Zoe agreed to change the menu. They both wanted him to stay.
Puttering along in their little rattle-trap Citroen, bright yellow where it wasn’t rusted, Alton had explained it was a matter of life and death to get to the Bonnie Blue. And, oh yeah, he’d broken down and spilled his guts about how much he needed Lindsay.
“So what are my options?” he asked.
“We’re going to the airport to check the schedule,” Zoe said, her voice soothing. “We’ll loan you the money for the ticket. You can pay us back by returning to cook for our customers.” The smile on her face was genuine, and he noticed his two sort-of employers had not argued once since they’d joined together to help him get back to Lindsay.
When they pulled the Citroen in front of Carriacou’s small airport building, Alton unfolded his long, lean frame from the tin-can-sized car and ran inside to check the schedule.
The sign next to the entrance of the corrugated roof building showed just three flights to Grenada for Friday - 8:15 a.m., 2:50 p.m., and 5:20 p.m. It was already 9:30, and he knew he couldn’t wait for the 2:50 flight knowing the contents of the two texts on Devin’s phone. There had to be another way.
What was making Alton even crazier was how all his efforts to contact the Bonnie Blue had led to dead-ends.
“Maybe this man, Carrothers, disabled communications,” Yann said, and frowned. “So you’ll have to find the ship on your own. I have a friend who has a boat, but it might be expensive …”
“Money doesn’t matter,” Alton said. “I can pay him once we find them. Please.”
Zoe sighed. “We fight over nothing, and now people are in trouble. What a world, what a world. We’ll get you there. But where?”
“Grenada,” Alton said. “From there, who knows?” His shoulders slumped. “All I know for sure is Tommy mentioned they’d probably head to a marina on the south side of the island.”
“Maybe Secret Harbour,” Zoe said. “We’ve sold some baked goods to the ship’s store there over the years.”
“Secret Harbour?” Alton asked. “Will I have trouble finding the place?”
Both Zoe and Yann smiled. “No,” Yann said, “it’s just a name.”
“Good. Let’s go see your friend about his boat.”
Alton relaxed his jaw. He’d been gritting his teeth. If couldn’t secure some kind of ship, he’d swim to Grenada.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Friday Night, Secret Harbour Marina
At the wheel once again and motoring up the Mount Hartman Bay inlet toward the marina, Lindsay felt better, but her gut still niggled at her.
Manning was her best bet for answers, but then, she’d have to convince him to let her back into his game.
Carrothers had assured her his partner would be waiting for them at Secret Harbour. The inside road he’d be biking from St. George’s to the marina was only a few miles long, unlike the sail down along the coast.
When she backed the Bonnie Blue into her slip, there he was, leaning on the sleek silver-toned bike. How the contraption folded up into the metal carrier she had no idea, but the first time she’d seen the carrying case, she assumed it contained a weapon of mass destruction.
Tommy helped her attach the gangplank onto the dock, and Manning came aboard, pulling his toy with him.
Lindsay had sent Raoul to secure the huge padded fenders along the sides of the boat to prevent scuffs on the gleaming hull finish. She wanted to keep her conversation with Manning private.
“Did you find your phone?” she asked.
Tommy was still nearby, snugging dock lines.
“Unfortunately, captain, my phone will not be a variable in what I expect to be Mr. Carrothers’s endgame.”
“What game?” Tommy asked.
Manning didn’t respond, and Lindsay couldn’t either when her uncle gave her his WTF look.
“You’ll have to ask Mr. Manning,” she said. “We think Carrothers is up to something, but we’re not sure what.”
“Night diving in that cove?” Tommy growled, “My ass. Which is about all he’ll see.”
Lindsay didn’t like it either, but she had no choice.
“So who really poisoned the soup?” she asked.
“Alton Maura was the perfect patsy.” Manning looked at Tommy, then at Lindsay, and raised an eyebrow. “Poisoned soup from a cook accused of serving dangerous food. Who else would ruin such a delightful meal?”
“Alt didn’t do it,” Tommy said, his voice gruff. “Fiona and Becca don’t have enough sense, and Moj is too good of a guy. Only one bilge rat left.”
“Raoul.” Lindsay said, and put her finger to her lips to signal the two of them to keep their voices down.
Both she and Tommy watched Manning for any change in his expression. Of course, that was a dead end.
The inscrutable tool finally spoke. “And if Raoul is the bilge rat? Who is pulling the strings?”
Lindsay knew there could be only one puppet master, and he was currently on the bow of the ship, stand
ing alone, catching the ocean breeze on his face.
Jerome Carrothers had the look of someone in firm control of his domain.
A situation Lindsay didn’t like. Manning had called her a queen in his chess game, and she was about to upset their little board. “We should make sure the Grenada offshore authorities know where we’ll be tonight, and that we might encounter trouble.”
“None of your communications are working,” Manning said.
“You’re right,” Tommy said, after he checked his cell and the radios on board. “Who the hell do they think they are? I’ll just go to the marina. Not very smart on their part.”
“It’s a powerful electronic jammer. The marina’s electronics will undoubtedly not be functioning either,” Devin said.
“What the hell?” Lindsay whirled on him, hating his smug assessment. “How could you know that?”
He shrugged. “It’s what I would have done. And finding military-grade electronics is not difficult for men like us. We will have to see what Carrothers’s next move will be.”
“And what are you going to do?” Lindsay crossed her arms tight across her chest and glared at Manning.
“I’m going to search every crooked crack on this ship to find every one of Carrothers’s mistakes and use each one against him,” he said, and disappeared down the companionway.
Lindsay had little faith in their resident spy’s dramatics. The awful feeling in her gut meant it was up to her to save the Bonnie Blue and her passengers.
If she confronted Carrothers, he would bully her with more threats and not tell her a thing. So be it. She was now in emergency mode, and she was going to keep the Bonnie Blue out of harm’s way.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Tommy asked.
Lindsay nodded. “Yeah, this little cruise is over. I’m not going another nautical inch without communications.”
* * *
Lindsay stood at the wheel and ticked off her options. Manning had been gone an hour, after slipping down the companionway in his signature black spy uniform complete with a dark knit watch cap in spite of the sultry evening.
He hadn’t resurfaced, and the hair at the back of her neck had begun to prickle. Raoul was nowhere to be seen either.
She still had Tommy close by, and CeCe. Becca was probably passed out in the master suite.
Carrothers was holed up in the saloon below. Lindsay was wondering where Moj and Fiona were, when the music producer appeared at her side.
“What’s goin’ on here?” he asked. “My phone ain’t working, and when I went to the office, I found out the marina’s stuff is out, too. They called their network guy, but he can’t get here till tomorrow.”
When she hesitated a second, he added, “I want some answers. Now.”
She turned to him and said in the steadiest tone she could muster, “If I were you, I’d rent a cottage here. Maybe the two of you could take a short break from cruising, just for tonight.”
“Why?”
“Mr. Carrothers wants to go on a night dive in some rolly waters. Could be uncomfortable.”
“Bullshit. If there’s some kind of trouble brewing, we’re not going to abandon you.” Moj flexed the bulging muscles beneath his Ralph Lauren polo shirt and cracked his knuckles.
Fiona came up behind her husband and nodded her agreement.
Lindsay sighed. At least the numbers were in her favor. Carrothers and Raoul were only two. With Moj, Fiona, CeCe, and Tommy with her, they could physically throw the pair off the Bonnie Blue if the situation headed south.
* * *
Friday Night, Carriacou
Alton craned his neck to see the sails already raised on the small craft Yann’s buddy called a fishing yawl. Another damned boat.
This was the guy who supplied the restaurant with fresh fish and played cards with Yann. He also apparently had a death wish, considering the size of the tiny boat compared to the waves beyond the harbor break wall.
Alton put one foot down into the bottom of the boat and the whole thing rocked like crazy. No. This was the last straw. He couldn’t. But Lindsay needed him. He clamped his teeth down hard and committed to the second foot.
Fisherman Joe had assured Alton they would make Grenada in a couple of hours, and he’d drop him off at the north end where another friend of Yann and Zoe’s would pick him up. They would drive the remaining twenty-some miles to the marina where Zoe was convinced the Bonnie Blue would be—the not-so-secret Secret Harbour.
Joe motioned to Yann to untie the lines and push them off. Alton tried to avoid looking while Joe adjusted the tiller and the wind jerked them away from the jetty toward the open sea. He took the smelly yellow slicker the other man picked up from the bottom of the boat and offered him.
When the nausea first hit, he sucked in a deep breath and concentrated on the horizon. The seasick moment passed, and he was tempted to high-five Joe but didn’t want to distract him from steering the flimsy little craft.
If he could survive this day, he could survive anything. Life at sea, cooking at sea, sex at sea. Bring it on.
* * *
Friday Night, Secret Harbour Marina
Lindsay worried about Moj and Fi, but was glad the bulked up music producer was staying aboard and had her back. Manning was MIA, and she feared the worst.
She didn’t dare confront Raoul or Carrothers about the pseudo-spy’s whereabouts. When Tommy came up behind her and tapped her on the back, she jumped and gave him a dirty look.
“I’m gonna go for a little walk and check out the magazines at the marina store. Need to stretch my legs without a deck rollin’ under ‘em.”
She didn’t bother arguing he should stay aboard, since she knew he was up to something, probably trying to get the lay of the land before they shoved off for Carrothers’s misbegotten night dive.
He walked across the plank to the dock and gave her a mock salute. He strode quickly toward the service buildings and disappeared around the corner.
She stayed alert, wondering if she could trust Raoul alone above decks while she searched below for Manning. As the shadows grew longer toward evening, her fears escalated. Where the hell could he be?
Just then Carrothers surfaced and sauntered toward her, arm in arm with Fiona and Moj. He was gesturing with an obnoxious cigar and laughing at something Fi had said.
“Captain, why don’t you let your hair down for a while and come to dinner with us? Becca’s not feeling well and decided to stay in the cabin.”
Moj flashed her a wink, and Fiona gave her a weak smile. “Please join us,” Fi said. “Don’t make me the only woman.”
* * *
Tommy perused the magazine racks of the marina’s spacious store for the rich and stupid and pawed through the endless varieties of periodicals. He’d already read the latest Cosmopolitan. He was pondering a Redbook, but didn’t like the idea of actually buying it. He found them free easily enough.
Suddenly, reflected in a corner mirror designed to thwart thievery, was a familiar face.
“Monsieur Fisher,” a smooth French voice said, “we meet again. And where is your lovely niece tonight?”
René. Lindsay would not like this, but Tommy had a hunch they’d need all the help they could get, between Carrothers’s half-baked dive plans and Raoul’s nasty attitude.
“Lindsay would kick my buns around the block, but she’ll thank me later. We need your help.”
“Oui, anything. Just tell me what you need.”
* * *
Lindsay trod the wood-planked walkway toward the marina’s stylish Caribbean restaurant, dreading every step. Raoul had shown up at the helm at the last minute, and Carrothers had strong-armed her into accompanying him, along with Moj and Fiona.
An evening breeze blew the sand up from the wood seams, and the grains worked their way between her feet and sandals, making her more uncomfortable than she already was.
When they walked into the restaurant, she saw René lounging at the bar, flirting with
a pretty tourist. Catching sight of Lindsay in the mirror behind the bar, he turned and gave her a slow wink.
Now what was he up to? More importantly, why was he here?
She didn’t have time for his games on top of everyone else’s. She gave him her fiercest glare.
He simply smirked and turned back to the leggy blonde he was chatting up. René being René, he wasn’t too subtle. He kept a hand on the woman’s perfectly tanned knee.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Carrothers leaned over and murmured into her ear. “I’ve heard you and he were together at one point. I believe his name is René.”
“What?” Lindsay slid her arm out of his grasp and plopped into a chair at their reserved table. “That French ‘Rambo’ and I are finished, finito, caput. He can flirt his way through the Caribbean, the Atlantic, the Pacific. I don’t care.”
“He might be flirting with that woman, but he’s here for you,” Carrothers said, an edge creeping into his teasing.
Not now, not ever,” Lindsay said. “In fact, he’s only here because Manning hired him to captain some huge motor yacht he chartered in St. Lucia. They followed us all the way down until your partner finally decided to make his grand entrance on Bequia.”
A flicker of doubt skittered across Carrothers’s smug face.
“Did Raoul leave that bit of intel out of his report?” She tisked and tried a look of mock surprise at her boss’s discomfort.
“You see too much drama where there is none, Captain Fisher.” He reached over and patted her hand. “I would suggest the grilled dolphin fish. It’s excellent. As is the wine I brought. Some of my Henri Jayer, 1970, a very good year.”
Suspicion chewed at Lindsay’s thoughts. He wouldn’t know about the fish unless he’d been here before. This wasn’t his usual digs.
The wine steward brought new glasses, but Lindsay turned hers over. “None for me tonight, though I won’t be on duty. The Bonnie Blue is staying here.”
“Really?” Carrothers held up his glass and sampled the bottle. Once he approved, he poured the wine into Moj and Fiona’s glasses. And turned Lindsay’s back over before giving her a generous pour.
Way Too Deep (Love Overboard Book 1) Page 19