The Girl on the Yacht (3 page)

After a couple of stops, with maybe an hour left of daylight, Michael drove down the cul-de-sac leading to the entrance of the Blue Water Marina. A six-by-five-foot guard shack crowded the curb with its yellow metal arm extended across the entry.

He pulled the dark Suburban over to the side of the road and parked. A silver Lexus passed by on its journey into the marina parking lot. The gate went up when the driver put a card in front of an electronic reader. No guard appeared from behind the smoked glass of the small structure.
Not unusual—the gate operator probably knows all the boat owners.
A moment later, a golden Escalade approached the gate. It went up, with still no movement in the darkened box.

Michael grabbed his backpack and ball cap from the seat and strolled toward the entrance. As he closed in on the tiny building, with its window air conditioner sticking out the far side, he got his answer––it was vacant. He peered inside to discover that it had been abandoned for some time.
Excellent. Budget cuts mean less security.
He jogged through the entrance and continued down the driveway leading to the boats and the clubhouse some quarter-mile in the distance. One thought kept crossing his mind––
how am I going to find her? Maybe through their security system, if they have one.

When he reached the long series of boat slips that shot out into the bay, he examined the rooflines and the tall light posts. He specifically checked the places where he would have located the security system’s cameras for optimal coverage of the facility.

What he saw surprised him. Of the twenty-four arms extending out into the water at right angles from the embankment walkway, there were only three cameras––
three
cameras
. Michael sat down on a nearby bench, stretched his legs out as if enjoying his day at the marina, and watched the nearby camera make its sweep of the area. He was baffled when it only scanned 180-degrees, instead of the expected 360. He watched it again while it went from sidewalks to clubhouse to restrooms and back in the reverse direction. It never cast its searching lens at the boats or the docks.

He shook his head in frustration. The camera positions didn’t make sense until he peered out at the expensive yachts and their well-off owners––they pay for their privacy
from
spying eyes.

Michael studied the docks while he continued his stroll along the iron fence that separated the rest of the world from the boaters. He passed the clearly marked entrances with their security keycard locks––past B-dock, past C-dock, past-D, past E, F, and G. At one point, he took special notice of the camera placement above the E-dock gate. He timed its movement and its span. Like a sentry with his back to the boats, the eye searched––first left then right and back again––its assignment of nine dock gates from A to H with each getting their three minutes of allotted time over the course of twenty.
This is security?
He shook his head while he contemplated. Someone could slip down the ramp into one of the boats and remove thousands of dollars worth of electronics in minutes, or perhaps even kill someone.

He continued walking the entire length of the facility––still no sight of her. There were dozens of women with blonde hair, but not
his
woman. Upon returning to F-dock, Michael leaned against the rail and peered out toward the gathered boaters on each leg of docks. The clusters of people appeared to be clones of each other
––
lawn chairs, barbecues, food, and alcohol. A few groups even had flat screen TVs set up on the back of their boats to watch sports or a movie while they lounged on the dock with friends.

A woman appeared near the far end of E-dock, well out into the bay. She stepped from the cabin of the fifteenth boat on the right. Elevated on deck at that distance, she appeared to levitate above the crowd, with a brilliant yellow halo created by the low-angled sunlight against her hair. He needed to get closer.

His eagle eyes cooly searched along the entire upper walkway and then down the extended concrete docks that ran into the bay for a solution to his problem––
how can I get closer?
At the base of H-dock, he spotted his answer hanging off the side of the tall rack filled with inflatable dinghies––a dark green kayak.
Perfect.

He continued toward the locked gate leading down to the boats. At six-foot-four, it was not always easy to remain inconspicuous and non-confrontational, but he had perfected his technique over the years. Even though his physical size and demeanor were enough to intimidate anyone with thoughts of interfering, he slumped his shoulders and cocked his head a little to the side, accurately creating the illusion of another easy-going boater. His tight, faded jeans and black T-shirt highlighted his muscular build, while the Dodgers cap hid much of his angular face. He fumbled in his pockets for a nonexistent keycard. A yacht owner walked up the ramp, pushed open the gate from inside, and held it open for his fellow boater.

“Thanks.” Michael’s voice exuded friendship.

“No problem,” the friendly boater replied.

Michael nodded and continued down the incline. At the bottom, with the man out of sight, he wound behind the steep angled ramp to the tall rack stacked with six dinghies and a single kayak. He gave a cursory glance left, then right, reached up and pulled the light boat from its snare. He looked inside the cockpit where the rower sits.
Excellent.
The paddle, along with a small fishing rod, were neatly tucked into the compartment.
I couldn’t have planned it better.

Minutes later, he stretched out his arms and pulled the paddle slowly through the calm water. The sliver of a boat slipped across the surface effortlessly, leaving the tiniest of ripples trailing behind. Nobody seemed to take any interest in a man kayaking in the long, narrow runways of the marina. He easily blended in with the other kayakers.

The crowd on E-dock became his focus while he maneuvered into a good spot at a distance across the water from the group. While reggae music filled the air, he reached forward, unlashed the fishing pole, and took up a familiar angler pose.

He spotted her with a tall man in his early-thirties.
That guy’s a pretty good size.
Michael made the mental note––
could be a problem.

His eyes fell back on the blonde woman’s graceful movements. She transferred from dock to boat and back with ease and balance. She’s light-footed and agile, probably a runner. At forty-one, he had no illusions of his abilities–-a tough twenty years had left him with reasonable long distance stamina, but burst of speed sprint––not so much.

Darkness settled in, and he guided the sleek kayak out of the marina into the harbor. Along the shoreline, he carefully observed the egress locations within half a mile––the maximum distance he could hold his breath underwater. Those would be his potential escape and evade routes, if necessary. At one point, he stroked up to a small concrete partition leading to the water’s edge. The three-foot high, old abandoned sea wall was where he could exit the water without being seen.
Perfect.

Michael glided the light craft back into the marina and pulled it up to the foot of A-dock, where it gently nudged up against the floating walkway. After climbing from the shaky hull, he pulled the featherweight kayak from the water and stashed the useful craft out of sight under the long, short hedge that ran the length of the marina’s boundary.

Within a minute, he was on the move again in the direction of the clubhouse.

After the many introductions at the beginning of the summer dock party, Marin’s mind was awash in names and faces. She glanced over at Laura with what must have been an expression of confusion.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it all in no time. You’re going to love it here.” Laura pulled up a chair and glanced at the latest empty tray of margaritas. “John, what’s the deal? We’re out of drinks again.”

“I just brought out four pitchers.” John’s voice emanated from somewhere deep inside the boat.

Dan Douglas turned and handed his margarita to his wife. “I’ll get another.”

John came out of the cabin, stopped, and stared at the table full of empties.

“I think I’m going to be
very
busy tonight.”

“Johnny,” Rob leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the lime elixir, “I was reading a business journal on a flight from Australia and came across an article about this young entrepreneur––some kind of computer genius.” Rob flicked the ashes from his expensive cigar over the water, then made eye contact with John. “He started a small business––right here in Newport Beach. It was a great article about how his company developed the high-tech security system for the White House and the Pentagon.”

“No comment.” John climbed on board his boat and started for the cabin.

“Then, he sold it for two billion.” Rob grinned.

John ducked into the cabin, and somewhere deep inside the shadows of the galley, a muffled word came floating out, “Damn.”

Marin felt her jaw drop. She looked around. Except for Rob, all the people on the dock were equally stunned. The group of twenty-some boaters were now focused on the empty doorway.

“There’s Jackie.” The spell was broken when Rob pointed toward his wife coming down the ramp at the far end of E-dock. “Finally.”

All eyes shifted from John’s boat to the petite, dark-haired prosecutor in high heels, wearing a black business suit, working the concrete runway like a model. Before Jackie reached the midpoint of the dock, a tall man climbed off a fishing boat six slips down. The man, wearing large, dark sunglasses, briefly glanced toward their group, and just as swiftly, turned away. Marin thought she knew the face but couldn’t place it.

Jackie’s voice carried over the water when she addressed the man, “Hey baby, you’re lookin’ hot.” Suddenly, she had a startled expression. “Where’d you get the black eye?”

The man didn’t respond to her stare or question, never slowing his stride toward the wrought iron gate at the top of the ramp.

Jackie swung around and walked backwards slowly to watch his escape.

He moved with a slow, deliberate gait, and Marin couldn’t take her eyes off him.
Who is he?

Jackie turned back around and announced to the partiers, “One thing about Raphael, he’s hot going in both directions.”

“That’s what started this whole mess,” Rob added.

Beth started to ask, “Is that––?”

“Raphael Montoya,” Jackie inserted.

“The movie star?” Marin took another look at the escaping mega star.

“Yep.” Rob Irwin glanced from Laura Douglas to her husband.

Dan Douglas got up quickly from his chair and hastened into his boat.

John came out of his boat’s cabin carrying three more pitchers of margaritas. He glanced at the facial expression on Marin, then Beth, then Jackie, then Rob. “Did I miss something?”

“Yeah, the movie star,” Beth said.

“Rafe? It’s about time he showed up.” John spun around and scanned the group. “Where is he?”

“He took off without coming over.”

In a low voice, John said, “The word is that Dan punched him in the face––he’s really messed up–––swollen jaw.”

“And a terrible black eye. It’s horrible, even with the sunglasses.” Jackie pulled up the chair next to her husband and glanced over at the two new women. “Who have we here?” The 59-year-old lawyer leaned toward Marin. “You’re both beauties––and so young––wish I were still in my twenties.” She winked at Beth, then shook her head. “Not really.” Jackie reached over and poured herself the last margarita. “This is the best day of my life.” She held her drink up in what appeared to be a toast to her Rob. “The smartest guy I know once told me it’s the secret to a happy life—live in the moment.” She finished the margarita in one take. “It doesn’t get any better than this. John, my dear, I’m a little behind with the drinks.” She summoned his attention with her empty glass held out. While John poured, she turned back to the women. “By the way, I’m Jackie.”

“Marin.”

“She’s a criminology professor at the University,” Rob seemed to be grasping for something. “I didn’t get your last name.”

“Ryan, Marin Ryan.” She smiled.

“Huh, her dad was a seagoing captain and Irish to boot. That’s a perfect combination. She has the new Carver in E-28.” Rob pointed to the woman with long brown hair. “And this is Beth Hunter—John’s little sister.”

“It’s good to meet both of you.”

Out of earshot at the top of the dock ramp, a man of Marin’s age, wearing Levis and a yellow oxford button-down shirt, waited at the gate and stopped Raphael. He softly put his hand on the actor’s shoulder, reached up with his other, and gently turned the injured face to get a better look at the damage. The slender man said something that appeared to have a soothing effect over the actor.

Raphael answered the significantly shorter man’s questions, and then he was off again toward the parking lot.

“Who’s that?” Marin asked.

“Mitch Taylor.” Jackie shook her head. “My, this dock is full of gorgeous, rich, single men—and all of them looking for a woman who doesn’t get seasick.”

Sweat pouring off his brow, John plopped down in the nearest chair. “I need a break.”

Beth was up and walking. “Johnny, I’m going back to your house.”

“It’s early––have another drink.” Rob lifted the pitcher. “We’re just getting started.”

“Thanks, but I’m tired from my meetings.”

“We haven’t had a chance to talk about your big brother,” Jackie said.

John appeared in no hurry to dig up his past, whether it was his youth in Wisconsin, or as the boater on E-dock. He called out to his sister. “Wait up, I’ll take you.”

Beth put her hand out in his direction. “I have my rental car. Stay with your friends. I’m going to sleep in tomorrow, so I’ll call you around noon.” She walked away toward the gate at the end of the ramp.

Mitch approached the group. At the last instant, he veered off to the table with the drinks.

“How’s the plastic surgery business?” Rob asked. “Did you fix up any famous people lately? Looks like Rafe might be in need of some help.”

“Nah, he’s good. No broken bones. He’ll be fine in a few days. Besides, I don’t do famous people.” Mitch started for the open chair next to John.

“Hey, handsome, sit over here.” Jackie tapped the open chair between Marin and her. “Mitch, this is Marin—she looks single.” She raised her eyebrows.

“She’s with billionaire boy.” Rob rubbed it in and glanced over at John.

“Maybe John’s sister?” Jackie glanced toward the end of the ramp. “What’s her name––Beth? She’s cute. Is she single?”

“She has a partner,” John said. “She and Julienne have been together since law school,” John added. “They have a great life together.”

Rob looked confused for a second, then his eyes opened wide as the revelation took shape in his subconscious. “She’s open about it?”

“Yeah,” John said.

“Good for them. No one should hide their feelings,” Rob added.

Jackie patted the empty chair again. “Mitch, get over here, boy. I want to talk to you about a facelift.”

“You don’t need a facelift. You’re perfect just as you are.”

“I’ll bet you have an excellent bedside manner,” Jackie said in a sultry tone.

“Rob, save me from your wife,” Mitch pleaded.

“You’re on your own, brother.”

“Jackie,” Marin said, “you must know a friend of mine at the Sheriff’s Department.”

“I know a couple of department heads and a few of the investigators. Who is he?” Jackie asked.

“Cameron West.”

Jackie studied Marin’s face. “How do you know Cam?”

“I’m a consultant for the Department, and she’s my liaison.” Marin sipped her drink.

Jackie’s face lit up at Mitch. “Cameron West––she’d be perfect for you.” She grinned. “She carries a gun.”

“I don’t do blind dates,” Mitch said, before the chance got away.

“Marin, set him up with her,” Jackie suggested. “They’d make a great couple.”

“Hey, I’m right here,” Mitch announced.

Jackie leaned into Mitch’s ear. “Doll, I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to my new best friend, Marin.” She waved her hand to dismiss his comment and mouthed the words to Marin, “Make it happen.”

At that instant, Marin knew she was going to love it on the dock.

Rob rose to his feet and started a chant that caught on quickly. “Billionaire in the bay. Billionaire in the bay.” Dan came out of his boat and joined in.

John’s face had a look of dread. Before he could protest, his hulking frame was hoisted into the air and flung into the dark, cold Pacific Ocean that was the back bay.

A sober John climbed the swim ladder after the shock of his immersion. While he was still dripping wet, he plopped himself into the canvas chair next to Marin. “I hope it’s not becoming an annual tradition.”

Dan tossed John a towel and glanced over at Marin. “I told you we always have a good time on E-dock.”