Storm Sail - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 4th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Connie Barrera Thrillers)

by Charles Dougherty

"Yeah. Fix enough for you and me both. The pig don't need nothin'."

  "You need to go to the bathroom or anything?" Gina whispered as she and Connie traded places. "He said you could, but you gotta leave the door open so's he can watch."

  Connie shook her head. "I took care of that the old-fashioned way a while ago," she whispered, gesturing over the side of the boat.

  "Good. He wants in your britches in the worst sort of way; I'm pretty sure he was a figgerin' he'd get you while you was in the head. He's done been talkin' 'bout it, 'bout makin' Paul watch, so be real careful from here on. He's meaner 'n a snake; he won't just screw you and be done with it. He likes to use them pliers down there, too." Gina went below and started a pot of coffee and began spreading peanut butter and jelly on enough bread for several sandwiches.

  Connie kept an eye on Gina as she worked in the galley, thinking about the girl's comments about Dalton. She wasn't surprised by Gina's warning, given Dalton's comments; she'd been expecting him to assault her. Given what she had seen below deck, she decided to take the initiative. She needed to keep Gina occupied while she took care of Dalton; she thought the girl could go either way once the action started.

  She braced a knee against the helm and pulled her shirttail out of her shorts. Reaching up behind her back and unfastening her bra, she slipped first one strap and then the other through the sleeves of her polo shirt and over her hands. She tucked the bra under her seat cushion and pushed her shorts and panties down over her hips, wriggling out of them. She pulled the shorts back up and retrieved the panties from the footwell. She tucked the undergarments under the front of her shirt and into the waistband of her shorts.

  As she put her hands back on the helm, Gina came up with the coffee and the sandwiches. "I done give Dalton his. He said I could steer while you eat."

  "That's great," Connie said, watching as Gina put the plate of sandwiches and a steaming mug of coffee on the bridge deck right beside the companionway opening. She reached down and loosened the brake on the helm as she applied more pressure to hold the boat on course. The extra effort required to steer would keep Gina busy. If she released the helm, the boat would round up into the wind the moment she let go, warning Connie that Gina was up to something. "Be ready," she said. "It's a lot harder to steer, now."

  Gina sat down beside her and gripped the helm with both hands, knuckles white. "I got it."

  Connie let go and watched Gina's surprise as she fought the helm. After a couple of short zig-zags, she said, "You been doin' that all this time?"

  Connie shrugged as she moved toward the sandwiches, scooting herself along the seat. "Just the last couple of hours. If it keeps up like that, we'll have to reduce sail; I'll need you to help me if it comes to that."

  "You'll have to tell me what to do," Gina said.

  Connie stood and faced away from Gina, bracing herself in the footwell and looking down the companionway. Deciding this time was as good as any, she reached under her shirt, grabbing her underwear in her right hand and steadying herself with her left hand on the corner of the companionway opening.

  "Dalton, I've got something for you," she said, in a lilting tone that she hoped sounded sultry.

  As he whirled into view, she tossed the bra and panties in his face. As she had expected, his eyes followed the ball of lacy fabric, his hands coming up instinctively to catch it. While he was distracted by that, she dropped the shorts and stripped off her shirt, posing seductively for him when he looked back up.

  A foolish grin on his face, he tore at his filthy shirt as he staggered toward the companionway ladder.

  "Come and get it while it's hot, lover-boy," she said, stepping onto the side deck and dashing forward toward the mast. "If you're man enough."

  "No!" Gina screamed, standing up and letting go of the helm. The boat lurched, heeling sharply to the starboard as the bow came around into the wind.

  Connie had anticipated that, and braced herself, laughing as she heard Dalton fall, cursing. She shouted, "Get ready for the wildest ride you ever had, you scrawny little faggot!"

  Gina had recovered and was fighting the helm, bringing the boat back onto its course as Dalton's head popped out of the companionway. He paused, hanging on as the boat continued its erratic motion, his head swiveling as he looked for Connie.

  "Dalton, don't, please!" Gina screeched, as he emerged into the cockpit, his eyes fixed on his quarry.

  Perfect, Connie thought. He's right between me and Gina; she can't interfere. She watched as he staggered again, catching himself with one hand on the main boom and the other on the boom gallows, his eyes popping at the sight of her leaning back against the mainmast, her right arm stretched along the boom, her left hand stroking the top of her thigh. She slid her right foot up along the mast, pointing her knee in his direction.

  She risked a glance at Gina, pleased to see that she was wedged behind the helm, struggling to steer as she watched them, a look of horror on her face.

  "Don't do it, Dalton. She don't mean nothin'; please don't mess her up. She don't — "

  He wheeled to face her, shifting his grip and bending erratically at the waist as he fought for balance. "You shut the fuck up, Gina. I know what I'm doin' here, and I'm gonna tend to your ass once I'm through with her. You just think about pissin' blood for the next few weeks and keep your big mouth shut and watch what I'm gonna do to this here spic whore."

  He turned back to face Connie, grinning again. "You gonna get to see what happens when one a my bitches gets outta line, once you and me are finished. Gina ain't told you 'bout the pliers, I bet, but you'll see. If'n you're real good, maybe I won't need to use 'em on you. You're doin' fine so far, but callin' me a faggot's gonna cost you."

  He ducked under the boom gallows and stepped onto the coachroof, keeping his left hand on the boom to steady himself.

  Connie blew him a kiss. "You've still got your jeans on," she said. "Ashamed to show me what you've got? That why you like it with boys? I'll bet you were somebody's bitch when you were in the pen, weren't you?"

  "I'll fuckin' show you what I got; I ain't never been nobody's bitch, and you're gonna get to learn about these here pliers while you're gettin' it." He pulled the pliers out of his pocket and transferred them to his left hand, tucking them between his palm and the boom. He unbuckled his belt and shoved his jeans down over his skinny hips.

  When his pants were mid-thigh, Connie struck, launching herself with a push against the mast. With the timing of a seasoned dancer, she straightened her right leg, driving her foot into his solar plexus with all of her momentum behind the kick.

  Grunting as the air left his lungs, he fell back against the boom gallows, doubling over, gasping for breath. Connie shifted her weight to her right leg and smashed the foot-long, two-pound bronze winch handle in her right hand down on his left temple. As he fell, she recovered, swinging the winch handle into his jaw with a backhand motion. The force of the second blow brought him back almost to a standing position. Connie set herself and drove her knee into his groin, realizing as he collapsed against her that he was finished.

  She looked back toward the helm to see Gina, her face white, her eyes wide. Climbing back into the cockpit, she put on her shorts and shirt. "You able to keep us on course for another few seconds?" she asked.

  Gina nodded, a tense, jerky motion. "I thought he was gonna kill us both. How'd you — "

  "Later," Connie said. "Keep us on course."

  She went below and saw that the chef's knife had fallen across the table onto the cabin sole. She scooped it up and cut Paul's hands free. "You okay?" she asked.

  He nodded and tore the strip of duct tape from his mouth. "I'll live. You?" he reached for the knife and began sawing at the tape around his ankles.

  "Fine. I've got some unfinished business with Dalton, though." She picked up the roll of duct tape from the settee where Paul had been bound and went back up on deck.

  As she passed through the companionway, she saw that Gina was still cl
inging to the helm, her body wracked with sobs, tears running down her bruised face. Connie was kneeling beside Dalton, taping his ankles together when Paul came up. She tore the tape off and surveyed her work as Paul wrapped her in a big hug.

  "Are you really okay?" she asked, keeping an eye on Dalton, even though she'd bound his wrists, ankles, and knees. She saw the blood running from his mouth, thinking he must have bitten through his tongue when she hit his jaw.

  "Yes. I'm going to have some painful bruises for a little while. That little bastard pinched me with pliers."

  "Gina told me; apparently he did that to her often."

  "Oh, yeah. He told me all about it, where, and how hard, and how he was going to do it to you while I watched. She sat there and bawled like a baby while he carried on about it."

  "I almost died every time you screamed."

  "I screamed more than the pain warranted; I thought maybe it would make him ease up sooner."

  "I was hoping you were doing that."

  "We're badly over trimmed; she's hardly able to hold the helm," Paul said, looking up at the sails.

  "All part of the plan," Connie said. "I wanted to slow us down and keep us close to the Virgins. Let's fix that and figure out what to do with these two. I'll take the helm if you think you can handle the sheets."

  Paul nodded. "No problem, skipper."

  24

  "Thank God it's over," Gina sobbed, as Connie took the helm and Paul trimmed the sails. "I thought we was all dead; he's a killer, you know." She sniffed, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand.

  Paul looked at her over his shoulder as he eased the main sheet. "A killer?"

  "I done told Connie."

  "I thought he'd done time for drugs," Paul said.

  "Yeah, he did, but after he got out, they nailed him for killin' some fellers back in West Virginia. The DNA got him."

  "But how did he — "

  "Excaped, like I told Connie a little while ago. Come and got me where I was workin' in Annapolis; he made me come with him. I been figgerin' he was gonna kill me any minute ever since he showed up there. He's plumb crazy. Thank God you done took him down, Connie." She sniffled again. "What're y'all gonna do now?"

  Paul looked at Connie. "Weather helm gone?"

  She took her hands off the helm and they watched for several seconds as the boat tracked like she was on rails. "Looks good," she said.

  Paul looked around in the growing darkness. "Where are we?"

  "Between five and ten miles southeast of Virgin Gorda," Connie said.

  Paul took his iPhone from his pocket and looked at the screen. "No service," he said.

  "What about the handheld VHF?" Connie asked.

  "I'd rather call Bill O'Brien before we get the local Coast Guard involved."

  Connie frowned. "The FBI? But he's an anti-terrorist guy."

  "Yes, but he owes us for that business with the nuke in Manhattan. Without a little help, we'll get all tangled up in red tape. Besides, he wanted to come to Martinique for our wedding, remember? I need to tell him when and where. With O'Brien to smooth things over, we can probably get the Coast Guard to pick up these two and be on our way to St. Martin this evening."

  "Okay with y'all if'n I get a washcloth and see can I wake Dalton up?" Gina asked, a worried look on her face.

  "Sure," Connie said. "Go ahead."

  Gina scurried below.

  "Where's she in all this?" Paul asked, his voice low.

  Connie shrugged. "She didn't interfere; she begged him not to attack me. But I don't know. You were down there with the two of them. What do you think?"

  "I don't know either. I was out of it at first. I don't know how long I was unconscious after he hit me."

  "I wondered how he got the drop on you."

  "I can't quite remember. I remember being in the cockpit with Dalton, and then coming to all taped up on the settee."

  A worried look crossed Connie's face. "Damn; I didn't even think ... do you have a concussion?"

  "Maybe. Not much of one, but I've got a hell of a headache. Don't worry; it's not my first time. It's not serious; I know the signs. That memory will come back, eventually. I'm okay."

  Gina reappeared with a washcloth and a bowl of water. She went up on the coachroof and knelt beside Dalton.

  "Gina?" Connie asked.

  "Yes'm?" The girl was sponging Dalton's face with the wet washcloth, but he didn't respond.

  "Did you see Dalton knock Paul out?"

  "Yes'm. I was in the galley, fixin' to make a sandwich. Dalton was drivin' and Paul come up to the door and leaned over to say somethin' to me, but before he opened his mouth, Dalton done hit him. Paul kinda fell on top of me, and then Dalton come down and made me help drag him to the settee."

  "Do you know what he hit me with?"

  "Sock. I seen it in the cockpit a few minutes ago, down where you stand up. Reckon he put somethin' in it."

  Connie felt around with her feet and bent over, retrieving one of Paul's white athletic sock with two bars of soap in the toe. Paul put a hand to the back of his head, wincing as his fingers found the tender area.

  "What did you do to him?" Paul asked Connie.

  "Kicked him a couple of times and whacked him on the head with a winch handle. Twice. He pissed me off; I almost let my temper get the best of me. Then he collapsed before I could hit him again, or I might have killed him."

  Paul took a flashlight from the bracket at the helm and went to kneel beside Gina. He thumbed back Dalton's eyelids, first one and then the other, shining the light in his eyes. "Pupils are uneven and unresponsive," he muttered, leaning back a bit. He played the light over Dalton's face. "I think you broke his jaw. Where else did you hit him?"

  "Above his left ear."

  He ran a hand lightly over Dalton's head, brushing his matted hair aside as he aimed the light at the area above his ear. "Looks like a depressed skull fracture," Paul said. "He's out for the count."

  Gina looked up at Paul. "Is he ... um ... "

  "I don't know, Gina. I'm an EMT, not a doctor. He's alive right now; that's all I can tell you. He needs to be in a hospital."

  She nodded, tears running down her face. Dipping the washcloth in the bowl and wringing it out, she resumed bathing his face.

  "What say we jibe and take up a course for St. John?" Connie said. "That should put us in cellphone range within an hour or two, and you can call O'Brien, but ... "

  "What?" Paul asked.

  "What if you can't get him?"

  "I can always get Luke Pantene; he won't have quite as much clout as O'Brien, but he'll do in a pinch."

  Connie nodded. Pantene was Paul's old partner at the Miami PD and had taken Paul's place as the city's liaison to the Joint Terrorism Taskforce. "You ready?"

  "Ready," Paul said, crouching at the mainsheet winch.

  "Keep your head down, Gina," Connie said. "The boom's coming across, hard." When Connie saw Gina nod, she called, "Jibe ho!" and swung the helm around as Paul cranked in the mainsheet.

  The bright orange MH-65 helicopter roared away into the night, rushing the still-unconscious Dalton to the regional medical center in St. Thomas. A U.S. Coast Guard Response Boat - Small was holding a position a few yards off Diamantista II's starboard quarter. Gina was already aboard the RB-S, which was waiting for the two crew members who sat in Diamantista II's cockpit talking to Connie and Paul.

  "About where were you when you picked them up from the life raft?" Chief Boatswain's Mate Cheryl Vincent asked.

  Connie flipped back through the logbook she'd retrieved from the chart table. "Between 50 and 100 miles south of Bermuda, as best we could tell. We were still cleaning up after the hurricane; we lost our instruments when we were hit by lightning."

  "You went through Ian?" Vincent asked.

  "Yes. We later remembered that we had a working handheld GPS, but we hadn't gotten that far when we saw the raft."

  "You're lucky you came through with just the electronics damag
ed. Lot of boats were lost all along the storm track." Vincent shook her head. "Guess that's what happens when a hurricane pops up out of nowhere; no time to run, huh?"

  "Right," Connie said. "We got the first warnings about two hours before the wind piped up. We're lucky we were in the western semicircle, I guess."

  "So, Lt. Russo, I know you told whoever you called all the details, but they didn't filter down to us. I'll try to keep the questions to the minimum. I got the word down the chain of command that you're in a hurry to get to St. Martin to do some repairs."

  "We're okay on time," Connie said.

  "Yes," Paul said. "Ask whatever you need to."

  "Thanks. They had no papers, you said. Did they have any personal belongings with them?"

  "No," Paul said. "They were both unconscious when we found them. I had to get in the raft so we could hoist them aboard. There was nothing there — literally, nothing. It was bare except for the two of them."

  "That's strange. What about rations and survival gear?"

  "Nothing," Paul repeated. "Gina said that he was high on meth when they abandoned their boat — out of his mind, violent. She said he threw everything out of the raft while he was looking for his stash."

  Vincent shook her head. "Guess it's a good thing he didn't find it, huh?"

  "Yes. She said she deliberately threw his drugs overboard in the confusion of boarding the raft."

  "We got the word from Miami that you said he was an escaped convict. Know anything more about that?"

  "Nothing beyond speculation," Paul said. "He claimed he'd served his time, was trying to get himself back on track."

  "She told us he'd escaped, that he'd served time for drugs and been released, but then got sent away for killing somebody much earlier," Connie said. "She said something like, 'the DNA got him.' Her story was that he'd forced her to come with him from Annapolis."

  "Do you know the name of their boat?"

  "Cajun Burn, like the hot sauce," Connie said.

  "And how long were they aboard Diamantista II before he attacked Lt. Russo?"

  "Four days. After he took Paul hostage, she told me Dalton had found my jewelry in our hidden lockbox. There were some papers in the box that relate to some diamonds that I keep in a safety deposit box in Martinique, too. Until then, we'd been planning to bring Dalton and Gina here, to the USVI, so they could get themselves sorted out. I guess once he found out about the diamonds, he decided to make us take him to Martinique. She said he was going to use Paul as leverage to make me retrieve the diamonds. Then he planned to set us adrift in the dinghy a few miles offshore to give him time to get away."