Circle of Bones (20 page)

“I said, report.” There was something about Thor’s voice that told him not to mess with the guy.

“Last night, I put the oars on the chick’s boat just like you said.” He decided to leave out the part about invading the powerboat’s liquor cabinet the night before, getting sick after drinking half a bottle of some kind of sweet French liquor, and sleeping in well past dawn. “This morning we followed her boat over here, then I walked all over the island playing tourist with her.”

“Did she see you?”

“Hell, no,” Spyder said.

“Where is she now?”

“Out on her boat. But just before dark Pinky said he saw some dude swim out there. It might have been the Doc. He was about the same size, but it was too dark to tell for sure and by the time he got the glasses out, dude was gone — down below probly. Nears we can tell, he ain’t come out yet even though she come back a while ago. Pinky’s watching whilst I come in to get you.”

“Put my bag in your boat. Stand-by here while I find a meal – then we’ll go out to your boat and regroup.”

“You don’t want me to go check out the guy over there?”

Dude who called himself Thor smiled and shook his head. “Try hard to remember these two things. No questions. No thinking for yourself. Give me an hour.”

As Spyder watched Thor’s back disappear around the corner toward the village, he was pretty sure the man had just called him stupid. For that, he was gonna make him pay.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Aboard the Bonefish

March 26, 2008

7:45 p.m.

“What the heck was that?” Cole asked, clinging to the companionway ladder on the rocking boat.

Riley was standing behind the wheel squinting into the darkness. “It’s some jerk —” she said, pointing at the offending boat. But she didn’t finish as all around her shouts were flying from the other cruising boats. Riley reached for the binoculars she kept in a teak rack near the helm. 

“I guess he doesn’t understand the concept of a no-wake zone,” he said as he grabbed the stainless arch over the binnacle to steady himself. “No wonder you sailors get so upset. These things really roll.”

Riley ignored him and held the glasses to her eyes. It was a grungy-looking local boat, and she was surprised that a local fisherman would come into the anchorage so hot. What was his hurry? The boat was nearing the town wharf and a man was standing on the rear deck. She swung the glasses over to check out the dock, and there standing under the light was the ponytail guy.

“Shit,” she said.

“What is it?”

She lowered the binoculars and looked at him. What had he said his real name was? Cole. She had no reason to trust him. He’d lied to her, stolen from her, and broken into her boat. But it was like she’d told Hazel last night, in spite of the deceit, there was something so earnest about him. And now even his speech had changed — he no longer sounded like the opening act for Larry the Cable Guy.

After she’d swung the Maglite, then turned on the overhead light and discovered her intruder wasn’t the man she expected, she’d also had about five long minutes before he came around to take a good look at him. He might spout some weird ideas, but he sure looked great in nothing but a little red Speedo swimsuit. His shoulders were broad and well-muscled and his torso tapered to a slim waist and hips. Maybe Hazel was right, maybe she was just swooning over the closeness of so much masculinity, but she didn’t think so. 

At Quantico when she’d first attended MSG School, they had been trained in many ways to assess people from reading body language to known facial tells that indicate whether a person approaching a sentry is a friendly or not. Such assessments had become second nature to her, and in spite of the lying, her assessment of Cole was that he meant her no harm. He had owned up to everything — hadn’t tried to deny it. He’d even apologized, which was rare enough in her experience with men. She thought about the scrap of paper with the photocopy of his coin — the coin he was no longer wearing. He might be a harmless kook, but he was somehow involved with some dirtbag characters, and she needed to find out what the connection was.

She handed him the binoculars. “Check out that man on the dock. The slender guy with a ponytail standing under the light.”

When Cole centered the glasses on the man, his reaction matched hers. “Oh, crap.”

“You know him,” she said more as a statement than a question. The fishing boat was now backing and filling to bring the stern around into the wharf so that the passengers could disembark. The roar of the diesel filled the anchorage.

“Afraid I do.” Cole lowered the glasses. “How do you know him?”

“I came over here today hoping to find you, to get you to come back to Pointe-à-Pitre to deal with Immigration. Went up to Fort Napoleon, and had a little run in with him.”

“What happened?”

She thought for several seconds about how she could say this without sounding like a raving lunatic. Then she decided what the heck, she was talking to a lunatic. “He was following me in the museum, and when I went to confront him, he shoved this dummy at me.”

“A dummy?”

“Wearing a costume, you know, like a mannequin. Anyway, he ran, I chased him, tackled him, we fought, he got away. Then the cops came and got me.”

“What?” His mouth gaped.

“Well, I would have taken him, but I have this injury. He kicked me in the shoulder here.” She touched her collar. “It’s an old injury from my days in the service, but it still gives me trouble.”  

“You must be one hell of a fighter, Magee,” he said. “That guy in there is no one to mess with. I know him from back in North Carolina, and word is he’s killed at least one guy, probably more. I gather the police let you go or you wouldn’t be here. I’m sorry I got you involved.”

“What do you mean — got me involved?”

“I didn’t think he saw me on your boat.”  He raised the glasses again and scanned the dock.

“What?”  Riley could see that another man had joined Ponytail, but she couldn’t see much more than a silhouette without the binoculars. “What’s happening? Let me see the glasses.”

Cole lowered the binoculars and said, “How am I going to get back to my boat without him seeing me?” 

She started to reach for the glasses, then stopped. “Your boat?”

“Yeah, I’m anchored in the bay on the other side of the fort.”

He handed her the binoculars, but she just held them in her lap as she stared at him. “You have a boat?”

He shrugged. “A trawler — converted shrimper. Sixty feet. Dark blue hull.”

Riley had started to lift the glasses for another look, but she lowered them again and looked at him. “I saw that boat when I was up at the fort. That’s
yours
?”

“Yeah.
Shadow Chaser.
” 

Riley was having a difficult time changing gears and reevaluating who this Cole guy was. That boat was a serious boat, not some plastic toy. Who was this guy? She lifted the glasses to look again at what was happening on the wharf, hoping to give herself time to digest this new information. Ponytail Man and the new arrival had moved into the shadows, and she could barely make out where they stood, much less any recognizable features. It looked like Ponytail was now carrying the other bigger guy’s bag. 

When she dropped the glasses back into her lap again and looked at Cole, he looked different somehow.

“Listen,” he said, “that guy in there, his name is Spyder Brewster, and he’s bad news. I feel awful that I’ve somehow got him looking at you. You want to stay away from him. He’s a poacher, a pirate and he’s after something I’ve got. Crap. I need to get back to my boat.”

Cole took the binoculars back from her, then trained them on the wharf. “It looks like the new guy is going off into town, and Spyder is standing by on the wharf.” He lowered the glasses. “I suppose I could swim to the beach—”

The words came out of her mouth before she was aware of thinking the thought. “I could sail you around to your boat.”

He was kneeling on the cockpit cushion next to her, and he swung round on her with the enthusiasm of a game show contestant. “Miz Maggie Magee,” he said cupping her face in his rough hands, “you’re beautiful!” He leaned in close, then his face broke into an embarrassed smile and he lowered his hands. “Thanks,” he said turning away from her.

She jumped to her feet and began coiling the main sheet as she issued orders, telling him  what to do before they could depart, but even as she spoke she felt dizzy, like when she hyperventilated just before a free dive. Her heart was beating like a run away engine with a faulty governor. She looked up at the star-filled sky and took a slow, deep breath. 

What was wrong with her? So he’d touched her. Big deal, right? Why did she feel so angry? Was it because of what he had just done – or because of what he hadn’t done?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Aboard the Bonefish

March 26, 2008

8:00 p.m.

She decided to sail
Bonefish
out, to avoid using the boat’s engine so as not to attract any undue attention. The forecast had been for winds outside the bay blowing twelve to fifteen knots out of the due east, but inside the bay they had less than ten. While she readied the interior for sailing, stowing things that might fly when they heeled over, Cole climbed into her dinghy, rowed aft and tied it to the stern. As soon as the anchor was off the bottom, she unfurled her headsail. Gradually, the boat gained steerage as it fell off the wind. The only noise was the sound of the water under
Bonefish
’s transom or the occasional music that flowed from another sailboat’s open hatches. The waning moon was due to rise soon and would aid them as they picked their way into the next bay. For now, she was thankful for the cover of darkness, wondering if she was succumbing to Cole’s conspiracy fears.

Once Riley completed the turn, the boat ran almost dead downwind out of the anchorage picking up a little speed as she ghosted past the last of the anchored sailboats in the bay. There were not as many boats as she had thought — maybe a dozen sailboats with flags from nearly as many different countries, and one big sportfisherman. They were gliding along at three knots when Cole came aft and slid onto the cockpit seat ahead of her. 

“I can see why sailors love this,” he said. “No engine noise. Just the sound of the wind and the gurgle of the water in our wake.”

“Yeah, it’s addictive. I’ve been hooked ever since my dad taught me.”

“Does your old man still sail?”

She almost made a defensive wise crack, but closed her mouth and took a breath. She started again. “No, my father’s got dementia. So bad now he can’t take care of himself, much less sail.” 

“Sorry to hear that.”

Riley shrugged. “He was always older than my friends’ fathers, so it wasn’t like we were close. But sailing was the one thing we had together.” 

“You were lucky to have that.”

Luck
. She leaned back to check the set of the jib, and the sigh that escaped from her lips was louder than she’d intended. It was time to change the subject. “I don’t think we’ll bother to raise the main. We’re only going around the headland and into the other bay.” She switched on the autopilot and pulled her legs onto the seat, crossing them Indian style. “So, tell me about this guy. Why is he looking for you?”

He spread his arms out atop the coaming behind him. “It’s complicated. I’m not sure I know where to begin. My boat, the
Shadow Chaser
, is a former shrimper that I converted for wreck diving and salvage up in North Carolina. We ran into Spyder in Hatteras.” He sighed. “See, my mate and I, we’re searching for a wreck.”

He paused, then crossed over to the opposite seat and scanned the anchorage with her binoculars. 

So he was one of those guys chasing treasure. Figured. She wanted to ask him more about this “mate” of his, like whether it was a he or a she, but she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression.

“This wreck — would it be the
Surcouf
?” she asked.

He dropped the glasses to his lap and stared at her, naked suspicion in his eyes. “How did you know?”

“That was the name you gave me. Robert Surcouf. When I mentioned it to the Immigration guy, he told me some story about pirates and submarines.”

Cole laughed. “I forgot about that — the fake name. Sorry. But this submarine is more than just some story. It’s an amazing tale of treachery and treasure.”

“When I tumbled with that Spyder guy, I found this picture —”

Before Riley could finish, the headsail fluttered in a wind shift, and she reached for the winch handle to trim the sheet. They had to tack their way east before they could turn into Marigot Bay, and for the next half hour or so, working the boat required most of her attention. The short tacks gave them brief moments of quiet broken by the noise of the slapping sails and ratcheting winches as they brought the forty-footer around through the eye of the wind.

When they cleared the point under the fort, the three quarter moon was rising ahead of them, looking like a piece of yellow sea glass worn down on one side. When Cole asked if he could steer, Riley turned off the autopilot and stepped out from behind the helm.  The boat began leaping over the swells, and she saw his teeth white in the moonlight. He stood behind the wheel flexing his bare legs to stay upright in the growing swells, his shaggy hair blowing back around his ears, a big grin on his face. With the dark tattoo of the words
Carpe Diem
across his collar bones, he looked every bit the raffish salvage diver.

Riley looked away. Damn Speedo. She wished she had something to give him to cover himself with, but she had exhausted her supply of man-sized clothes on his last visit. A towel at least — because she was a normal woman after all, and given all these months of sailing solo, how could she not look?

She jumped up and hurried below to search for the biggest beach towel she had aboard. When she climbed back into the cockpit, she tossed it onto the seat next to him. “In case you get cold,” she said.