Off Kilter (7 page)

“Are you referring to the cops in George Town?”

“Yeah. That was an unexpected coincidence, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?” asked Collin.

“The cops over there got a tip that a fugitive from Europe was on his way to their island, so they were searching all inbound flights from the continent to find a foreigner wanted for embezzlement. Anyway, it’s a good thing you got out of there. The cops are pretty antsy,” said Lukas.

“Yeah, I noticed that. I barely slipped through.”

“The large police presence is not altogether surprising. The guys at Interpol are really stirring things up. They are getting slaughtered in the British press, so they’re scrambling to make an arrest ASAP. And the banks in Grand Cayman make a tidy living catering to wealthy British businessmen and corporations. This RBS thing has created a panic in the UK, and I’m sure the West Indies are feeling pressure to cooperate. So, how’d you get out of there, anyway?”

“Chartered a private sail boat,” said Collin.

“Good thinking, my friend. Take to the seas. There are a million boats out there. Hard to track. That’s brilliant.”

Collin gave Lukas a brief synopsis of what had happened and how he escaped. “We’re anchored a mile from the mouth of Kingston Harbor. There seems to be quite a bit of activity on shore. Any ideas on what’s going on?”

“No, but you don’t have time to go ashore, anyway.”

“Yeah, I saw your last text. What should I do?” asked Collin.

“You need to get back to George Town and get your money out of the Grand Keys Bank. My sources tell me that the new directive from Interpol is to lock down all electronic transfers that have come into the banks since the RBS attack. Didn’t you just move some money into Grand Keys Bank last week?”

“Yeah, about $1.5 Million on top of the $1.3 I deposited there originally. It seemed like a safe place.”

“It is. Or
was
. Now all these offshore banks are being scrutinized. Especially the ones with strong ties to the UK. It’d be best to get your money somewhere safer,” Lukas said. There was the familiar sound of keys tapping in the background.

“Any suggestions?”

“My operatives in the field have always used The InterCon Bank in Panama City. It panders to uber-wealthy Americans and those who have a need for secrecy. You’ll fit their client profile perfectly. I’ll alert my contact there to your impending arrival.”

“Wow, such royal treatment,” quipped Collin.

“After a couple of close calls, you need something to go smoothly. The difficult thing will be getting your money out of Grand Keys. You’ll have to take a cash withdrawal and move it physically to Panama. Can you do that?”

“I think so,” said Collin, scanning the walls around him, knowing something of the secrets this vessel contained. From what Rojas had shown him about the boat’s special features, Collin felt some assurance.

“Going by boat seems the best option. You trust the people you’re with?”

“Do I have much choice?”

“Not really. But you better get back to George Town as quickly as you can. There’s no time to waste.”

“Got it,” Collin said without hesitation. He had no idea how he would pull this off, but he didn’t want Lukas to worry unnecessarily. “But it’ll be dark here soon.”

“Then sail through the night.”

“You’re not kidding, are you?”

“No, I’m not. And call me as soon as you’re done.”

“No problem,” Collin said, continuing the illusion that he knew what he was doing.

The next ninety minutes went by faster than he could have hoped, mainly due to his preoccupation with researching and recording details, gathering the information he would need to protect the only two things he had left—money and freedom. Captain Sewell and the others pulled up in the dinghy just as Collin finished his planning work. He was anxious to get back to Grand Cayman to execute his plan. It took some convincing and another $10,000 to persuade the Captain and crew to sail through the night. Once the financing was settled, they were anchors up and heading back the way they came. The sun was a glowing orange ball hanging just above the horizon as they set their course north by northwest for Grand Cayman.

Collin hoped to arrive without the police welcoming committee this time.

Caribbean Sea

May 4

Collin was roused at midnight for his shift. He, the Captain, and Jaime would man the controls for the next four hours. Collin had watched and learned several of the many tasks required of a sailor. He also recalled much of what he had learned about sailing as a youth.

With only two sails deployed for a nighttime voyage, the boat was traveling much slower than it had on the way to Jamaica. There was not much to do between tacks. The moon overhead cast its white light across the water, creating a tranquil ambiance.

Collin stood amidships and fussed with a length of rope, knotting it and unknotting it repeatedly as the Captain watched in the moon’s glow. “Where’d you learn to tie knots like that?” he asked.

“Boy Scouts,” Collin replied without looking up.

“I knew you were different. Not like most clients.”

“Oh, really? What are most of your clients like?”

“Most are rich, spoiled, and rude. But not you. You’re just rich.”

“What makes you think I’m not spoiled and rude?”

The Captain chuckled. Then, pointing at the rope in Collin’s hand, said, “Not many of them can do that.”

Collin just shrugged and tied another knot, which brought another chuckle from Captain Sewell.

“And not many of them make me sail through the night for that matter,” said the Captain as he checked his GPS monitor. The glow from the screen illuminated the Captain’s face with an eerie, purplish light.

“See? I’m spoiled.” Collin looked out over the dark horizon and turned his face into the soft, warm breeze. “But look at what a beautiful night it is. Perfect for sailing.”

This elicited another chortle from Sewell. “And that’s another thing I noticed. You see the good. You don’t complain. That’s different, I tell you. Different than most of my passengers.” The Captain studied Collin for a moment. “Why are you running, Mr. Cook? What kind of trouble finds such a decent man?”

Collin set the rope down and held onto the rail as the boat pitched into a swell. Wiping spray from his face, he replied, “The usual trouble, I guess.”

“Be straight with me, Mr. Cook. I know you are not a criminal. But you behave very peculiarly. What’s your story, man?”

“My story? You don’t want to hear my story.”

“Sure I do. Come on, what brings you here? What makes you run?”

Collin turned back toward the man piloting the boat.
Tell him or not?
The Captain was nothing if not a captive audience, Collin considered. But there was more to it than that. Although his skin was a different color, this man was much like his father. Business-like, yes. Hard on the surface, yes. But inside, Collin could tell, this man was one that could be counted on and trusted for his wisdom and honesty. There was an inner kindness the Captain could not hide. He was not a big talker, but he had experience and would only dispense advice when it was sought from him. He had already helped Collin and seemed willing to continue. With all that swirling around him, Collin knew it couldn’t hurt to make this man an ally. Maybe it was time to open up.

He had only recounted the story in bits and pieces, never in its entirety. No one had heard the sad tale beginning to end. Sure he had been interrogated during a deposition in his attorney’s conference room, bombarded by representatives from both the construction and the insurance companies. It was recorded. Cameras and microphones pointed at him; question after question was asked, then rephrased, and asked again. It was excruciating. Not something he ever wanted to experience again. He did not like the fact that he had been forced to talk, forced to answer inane questions, and forced to break down over and over again. It was a humiliating sob fest. Something he would never repeat.

And still, there were parts of the story that no one knew.

In the ten months since the tragedy, he had not spoken of it in depth to anyone else – not even his own parents or siblings. His best friends in the world, Rob Howell and Lukas Mueller, knew most of the story but not all.

Shifting his weight, he turned his eyes outward to the ocean and his thoughts inward. In that moment, Collin realized for the first time how completely he had shut off the outside world. He hadn’t talked much to anyone. Nor had he felt the need to share with anyone. It was painful. Disturbing images, in hauntingly graphic detail, bubbled up from within every time he thought about what happened.

He shuddered and faced the Captain, whose eyes were wide, searching, and full of curiosity, not judgment.

Collin spoke slowly and recounted the whole thing, starting with the fight before Amy went to Tahoe for the Fourth of July week. He explained how the pressures of his crummy sales job and the strain of their financial situation had led to near constant tension in their marriage. He spoke of Amy and her beauty, her energy, and her caring spirit. He praised her for being his strength and his staunchest supporter for so many years. He blamed himself for dropping out of college and for not knowing what he wanted to do with his life and never having a job that satisfied him or their family’s growing financial needs.

“So what happened? Now you have money, but where is your wife?” asked the Captain.

Collin grew quiet again, searching his thoughts and choosing his words.

“I was an idiot. I almost threw the whole thing in the garbage.” Collin’s gaze was far away, pointed at the horizon ahead, but focused on nothing. For some reason, he wanted the Captain to have the full picture, to know what was going on inside as well. He shook his head as a wave of shame passed through him, then continued. “I had this friend, a female friend. Actually, she’s more than a friend. She was my girlfriend in high school. My first love. The girl I always thought I’d marry. She dumped me after graduation, which wrecked me. Amy saved me a year later.” Collin paused and surveyed the Captain’s face. Without words his expression begged Collin to continue the story. “Her name was—is—Emily. She called me and said she was in San Francisco and wanted to invite me and Amy to dinner.”

“Your ex-girlfriend invited you and your wife to dinner?”

“Yeah, believe it or not, the three of us were friends, although my wife was always wary of Emily.”

His heart sank to his toes as the memory of that evening snailed its way through his conscience, starting with the words he had uttered on the phone that evening ten months earlier: “Sure, that sounds good. I’ll see you around eight.”

It was supposed to be –harmless—two friends having dinner together. Problem was this was Emily Burns, now Dr. Emily Burns, who could’ve become Dr. Emily Cook. She was mesmerizing in every way: gorgeous, brilliant, and fun to be around. Even her voice was captivating. Hearing it had actually made his heart skip a beat.

The other problem was that Amy had been at Tahoe all week with the kids. It was supposed to have been a family vacation. But with his job on the line, he had to close the Renfro account or be fired and that would only compound the misery. It was the end of a long, lonely, and difficult week. Not the best time to hang out with his ex.

The restaurant lived up to the rave reviews. The food was the best he had ever tasted and the conversation was engaging. Emily was passionate about her work and enthusiastic about her hobbies, several of which she and Collin shared. They reminisced about high school and relived some of the pranks they pulled and the fun times they had together.

As the evening wore on, Emily accepted every offer from the waiter to top off her glass of wine. As the alcohol took effect, the conversation became more personal, more emotional, and more intimate. She told him how none of her relationships had worked out. None of the men she had dated seemed to have their act together. She confessed that none of them measured up to the standard Collin had set. “There’s no one like you left out there, Collin,” she had said. He struggled to recover from that comment. It was as if his heart had shifted within him and now beat in a strange, but oddly familiar, new rhythm.

She was in a silly mood, giggly and flirtatious. It scared Collin.

Inch by inch, Collin felt himself being pulled into the tantalizing orbit of Emily Burns. Everything about her was exciting, exacerbated by his weakened and lonely condition. In many ways he felt his life was crumbling around him while she seemed to generate a certain magnetic charge that pulled him closer.

The candlelight, her perfume, the soft music in the background, and the good food they had enjoyed, all worked together to create a very pleasing glow, a palpable sense of belonging and closeness. Alarms were going off in Collin’s head, but he pushed them aside, rationalizing his choice to stay by telling himself she really needed a friend right now.

When Emily started to slur as she flirted with him, Collin put an end to the conversation.

“I need to go, but first I’ll help you to your room so you can sleep this thing off,” he said as he stood and held out his hand for her.

Emily heaved a sigh and gripped his outstretched hand as if it were a rescue buoy being thrown to a drowning victim. Her hands were soft but her grip was firm. She didn’t let go, even after gaining her balance. It felt good, and a thrill ran through him. She needed him; she really needed him. As a friend, he told himself. But it felt good. As he pulled her up from her seat, she eased up against him and leaned her head on his shoulder. Before he knew what was happening, he found his arm wrapped around her slim waist, and the two of them were striding out the door onto Polk Street. She was staying at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel, just around the corner. At $500 a night, it was apparent she was doing very well.

Despite that fact, Emily was lonely and needy and drunk. She leaned on him for support, in more ways than one, as they walked through the opulent lobby. In the elevator, she draped her arm over his shoulder and by the time they made their way down the hall to her suite, Collin was practically carrying her.

Always neat and organized, a quick dive of the hand into her designer purse was all it took for her to produce the card key, even inebriated. As Collin opened the door and helped her into the room, she was increasingly amorous. Her vulnerability was in itself intoxicating. Her touch, her movements, her very presence was a turn-on. This was a dangerous place to be. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was starting to sweat. It was even hard to swallow.

He hesitated after helping her through the doorway, propping the door open with his outstretched leg. Emily gave a squeeze, pulling him closer to her. Collin was already off balance, so with her tug, the door swung shut. He was in forbidden territory and he knew it. The will to escape the situation was draining from him with every beat of his heart.

“So, what happened with this friend?”

The Captain’s voice pulled Collin out of his memory-induced daze. His eyes focused briefly on the Captain, then fell to the deck of the boat. “I’m ashamed to admit what happened next.”

“Did you sleep with her? Can’t say I’d blame you if you did, but you don’t seem like that kind of person.”

“No, I didn’t sleep with her. That would have been a complete disaster.”

Collin closed his eyes and let the memory run its course as he narrated. He remembered the conflicting feelings that gripped his heart like octopus tentacles when she wrapped both arms around his neck and pressed her slender body against his.

Her embrace felt good—too good.  Her steel gray eyes locked onto his and froze him in place. There was so much in those eyes. He couldn’t look away, let alone move. She pulled him in for another embrace, breathing against his neck and talking in a low, sultry voice. She wanted him to stay and keep her safe. She didn’t want to be alone, she confessed. Neither did he, but he didn’t tell her that. He wanted so badly to stay with her. The conflict within was paralyzing him and sending her the wrong message.

She kicked off her shoes as she looked him in the eye with that seductive gaze. He was trembling but couldn’t look away. Their eyes were locked and their mouths were moving slowly toward one another.

Collin felt like a passenger in a speeding car with no brakes. Things were happening so fast he didn’t have the ability to stop himself. His brain couldn’t calculate, couldn’t unwind, the swirling emotions within him. At the same time, it felt as if he were in slow motion. The moment was thick and ripe, the tension palpable.

The boat lurched and Collin stumbled as the bow plowed through a swell. Collin shook his head to clear the thoughts. “We had dinner. We talked. She got a bit tipsy. I walked her back to her room. We kissed. That’s it, but it was enough to bring back old feelings and memories. It was wrong and I knew it, but I let it happen. I think we both wanted the evening to continue, but I finally got control of myself. It took every ounce of will power to pull away and leave before we got too carried away.”

“You’re a better man than most, Mr. Cook.”

“I don’t know about that. I should never have gone there. I should have left after dinner, but I didn’t. I was too weak.”

“What did she do?”

“She just sat down on the bed, covered her face with her hands, and started to cry, saying, ‘I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.’ She’s not that type of person, either. I think we were both just in a bad spot—together at the same time, unfortunately.”