PARADISE COVE (PARADISE SERIES Book 1) (5 page)

CHAPTER SIX

At five a.m. Kayla slipped out of bed, donned her jogging shorts, sports bra and sneakers and quietly left the cottage, where everyone else was still fast asleep. A sliver of moon illuminated her path.

She loved the quiet early mornings, and running the beach was certainly more pleasurable than pounding the Philadelphia pavement. When she reached the thick mangroves which separated her cottages from the beach, she stopped and did her stretches, looking around to see if she were alone.

It was against the law to trim mangroves, as they were protected, but someone had done it before her and she merely maintained the pathway. There would be no other access to the beach if she didn’t, and what would her guests think about that? The trail was only a little more than a foot wide and she picked her way through, weeding a little as she went. If someone spotted her and reported it she could face a heavy fine, but this time in the morning was relatively safe. The sun hadn’t yet made an appearance.

Reaching the sand she took up a slow jog, heading past the marina on her left, and picking up speed about ten minutes in. This was the part she enjoyed most—pushing past the pain, finding her rhythm, her breathing coming easier. She ran a couple of miles to the end of the beach where a small causeway linked Paradise Cove to Islamorada. She stood for a moment breathing deeply, then turned around and ran back home.

As she neared the marina she saw the helm of a glistening white sailboat slipping into its berth. Her heart skipped a beat, and she wondered if Sean had just returned. She slowed her gait, and watched in the pre-dawn darkness.

When she got close enough she was able to discern the name on the back of the boat. Sara. A woman's name—not unusual, but it piqued her curiosity. Who was Sara? He must have loved her very much. His wife, perhaps? But if he was divorced, wouldn't he have the name painted over? Ah, but if she’d died tragically that would explain his grief and his love for the boat.

It was a small marina, with only about a dozen boats moored at any one time. There was a tiny shop which sold tackle, bait, snacks, and snorkeling gear, plus motorboats could fill up on gas. But it was still early and no one was about.

She decided to greet him as he arrived and invite him back to the cottage for coffee. It was the neighborly thing to do, rather than hiding in the dark and spying on the mysterious stranger. She made a damn good cup of coffee; besides it was a better way to learn his secrets than by snooping.

Once the boat was moored she saw him jump off, and tie up. She was about to call out to him, when suddenly she realized he wasn't alone. A man came from below to the deck, then reached behind him to assist a child of perhaps seven or eight. The boy was thin and ragged, the same as the man. They looked wet and bedraggled, and Kayla had a horrible feeling that her earlier remarks about Sean being a smuggler might be correct after all.

Had he met a boat out in the open water between here and Cuba, and transported the illegal immigrants into the country? Was that how he made his money? How he was able to afford three month’s rent up front? Her mother said he’d paid in cash. What would he do if she confronted him? Would he deny it, threaten her, or simply turn around and disappear? She had no credit information. 

Who did that nowadays? That should have been the first clue that he was up to no good. Yet, wait a sec. He'd paid for the rental car with his credit card. Did she still have a copy of that transaction? She turned and was about to quietly slip away and find out, when she happened to hear him speak Spanish with the small, wiry man.

The father of the boy returned to the boat, lifted something off the floor and carefully shifted that weight to Sean, standing with his arms spread wide. From where Kayla stood it looked like a body. Had someone died?
Murdered?
Was this secretive guest of theirs someone who'd bring illegal immigrants into the country and get rid of the ones who died while crossing?

The thought made her shudder. Her heart thundered in her chest and her skin broke out in a sweat. She fell back into the shadows, watching the men as they carried the body down the ramp, over the mangroves, to disappear amongst the cabins.

She followed slowly, her stomach clenched, her mind in denial. She was a good judge of character and she truly did not think Sean Flannigan was dangerous or mixed up in bad business. But how could she know for sure? There was only one way to find out the nature of his secrets.

Before she could talk herself out if it, she walked up to his cottage and knocked firmly on the door. She heard Sean say something to the people inside, but not being fluent in Spanish, she didn't understand.

She knocked again. "Sean. It's me, Kayla."

After a few seconds he opened the door two inches. He'd taken his shirt off and was using a towel to dry his sandy brown hair, probably hoping she'd think he’d just gotten out of the shower. "What can I do for you?" he asked, his accent pronounced. "It's a little early for a social visit."

"You can stop the act, Sean." She pushed the door wide. "I know you're hiding some people inside. What I don't know is who or why."

Sean shook his head, spraying water on her, then scratched his chest. Still faking. "I was just getting dressed. Can this wait?"

She brushed past him. "Where are they?"

"Where is who?" he asked politely, stepping aside.

He was every bit as good as an actress as her dear mother. She put her hands on her hips, breathed in and out, and tried not to stare at his tanned muscular chest. No fair, him taking his damn shirt off.  It was distracting.

"The people from the boat. I saw you. You can't deny it." Before he could answer, she walked down the hall and opened the door to his bedroom, but it was empty. "I was out for my jog, and I saw a man and a boy on your boat. Where have you hidden them?" She went to the second bedroom, not knowing what she'd find when she opened the door.

What if someone was dead? She didn't have her cell on her, and even if she did, how long would it take the police to arrive? This smuggler and the immigrants could be long gone by the time the local cops showed up, leaving her with a dead body to explain.

"It's not what you think,” Sean said, stepping toward her. His brown hair curled over his ears, his demeanor calm.

She glanced back at him, her hand on the doorknob. "Were you helping them into the country illegally? Is that why you're staying in this cabin, so close to the pier? Using your boat to bring people across?"

He slowly shook his head. "Go home, Kayla. Everything will be fine. I’ve done nothing wrong. Trust me."

Her stomach knotted. "Trust you? You’ve been close-mouthed and guarded since you arrived.” She tapped the door of the bedroom. “You're hiding people in my cabin. I own this place, and I won't have any illegal activities going on."

Hearing a noise, she looked once more at Sean, hoping he’d tell her the truth. When he didn’t, she opened the door. Inside, she saw a man and the boy sitting on the floor between the bed and the wall. Beside them lay a woman, breathing heavily, her belly swollen.

Dark, wet hair clung in lank hunks against the woman’s pale cheeks. Her lips, blue and trembling, parted as she fought for even breaths. Attempting to sit up, the pregnant mother dug her hands into her thighs and moaned in pain.

“Is she in labor?” Kayla asked, her hand to her throat.

Sean put a steadying grip on her shoulder. “Her name is Juanita. The father is Miguel, and the lad here is Raul. If you give me a minute, I can explain.”

"Oh my God!" Her eyes switched from the huddled, frightened family back to Sean. "She's having a baby
right now
?"

"Looks that way."

"Well, don't just stand there,” Kayla said, pushing away from the doorjamb. “Call for an ambulance."

"I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sean said, his tones much too relaxed for the situation. “Juanita's already in labor and we can't risk moving her. Besides, she needs to have the baby here."

Kayla pointed at the family staring between her and Sean, sensing their vulnerability.
Fear
. The little boy’s large brown eyes beseeched her to help them. "Here?” She dropped her voice to a lower, calmer, octave, walking into the kitchen and out of view. “Why?  The baby could die—or the mother might. What exactly is going on? And don't you dare lie to me!"

Sean reached her side and took her face into his hands. He gazed into her eyes for a long moment, as if deciding whether or not he could trust her.

Trust her? What about him?

She shook loose. "Tell me, or I'm calling the cops."

"Their raft capsized and I found them about a mile out, clinging to a piece of driftwood.” Sean tilted his head toward the bedroom, his voice cool as if he picked up strangers all the time. “As you probably know thousands of Cubans flee their country every year, and it's a dangerous crossing. These people are desperate, Kayla. Desperate enough to risk their lives to get here. And damn lucky they didn't get caught."

"You
rescued
them? You're not trafficking or smuggling, or selling their body parts?" She wanted to believe him. Had an easier time imagining him as a hero.

His lips curled into a half smile. "No. Did you really think I might do that?"

"Not really,” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I didn't know what to think. I’m still not sure—but that woman, Juanita? Is that her name?" At his nod, she carried on. "Well, Juanita can't have a baby here, in this cottage. It isn't safe." She lifted her head and straightened her spine. Sure she felt sorry for the immigrants, but her family and their business had to come first. "I'm sorry, but you’ll have to drive them to a hospital if you won’t call an ambulance. We can't get involved. Paradise Cove is our livelihood."

"I understand,” Sean said, nodding his agreement. “I’d leave right now, but since it seems she’s in labor, I'm concerned about moving her." He gently placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes warm with compassion. "We aren't doing anything wrong, Kayla. The law states that if they make it to American soil they’re free to stay. Other countries aren't so lucky, but Cubans are welcome, thanks to President Clinton for implementing the wet foot/ dry foot policy." His thumbs pressed into her upper arms before he took a step back.

Kayla could see the concern on his face, and didn't want to add to it, but she had to be sensible, and not let emotions rule her decision. "I don't know anything about that. I would like to help, I really would, but I can't risk it. We have everything at stake. I'm sorry."

"Why don't you call for an ambulance," he spoke gently, "while I see to this woman? If the baby is born before it gets here, they can transport them all to the hospital. The family will be out of your hair, and everything will work out fine."

She followed him as he returned to the bedroom and kneeled down beside the woman. Her husband held her hand, murmuring what sounded like words of comfort, while the little boy sat cross-legged on the bed, shivering.

"I'm doing the right thing," Kayla said, feeling as though she needed to justify her actions. "I'm not being cold-hearted, just prudent under the circumstances." She glanced at the young, frightened boy. Guilt became a big lump in her throat, and she nearly choked on it.

Sean looked up at her and nodded. "Prudent is good." A small smile crept over his face. "This baby will ease the family’s way to citizenship." He turned his attention to the mother, whispering what Kayla presumed were words of encouragement.

"I need to discuss this with my mom and sisters. Maybe they can stay until the baby comes." She understood how important it was for the family to have a healthy baby and soon.

"Of course." He took the woman's fingers in his. She was curled up in a fetal position, and looked to be in agony.

Kayla backed away a few feet, wanting to hide from these people and not see their despair. "She needs a hospital. They all do. Look at them," she urged. "They need medical care." As she spoke, she grabbed an afghan from the closet and put it around the small boy's shoulders.

"You're right. They do." He held up the woman’s bare arms, covered in ugly welts. "Jellyfish bites. They're all badly bitten."

She stood there, torn between her instinct to help and fix while protecting her mother and sisters.

Sean said, "If you could have seen them clinging to that  wood, a small piece of what had been their raft, and know they braved possible storms, strong currents and the very real threat of sharks, you'd know just how determined they were to leave their country behind." He rubbed his jaw. "When I asked Miguel about it, he said the raft was made from spray foam, wrapped in tarp and metal rods. The engine was from an old car."

Kayla squirmed at the image forming in her head. It wasn’t safe, by any means. "That's crazy! I can't believe anyone would be desperate enough to try crossing the straight in a thing like that."

She tried not to look at Raul. The fear in his big brown eyes just melted her heart, urging Kayla to wrap him up and protect him. But getting involved might mean landing her own family in trouble. She didn't have the solution to the immigrant issues. At this moment, Kayla just wanted
these people
safe, protected and handed over to professionals who would protect their rights.