CAT SAT AS close to the flames as she dared, loving the heat that blasted the front of her body.
And when she wasn’t shivering, she could actually think.
She’d been holding herself stiff for so long every muscle in her body was painfully tight. She closed her eyes and focused on relaxing her shoulders. Not easy to do. She imagined herself standing in her vanda house, which she kept at around eighty degrees, surrounded by blooming orchids. The sanderiana should be fully opened by now. She wished she were there to see it.
Would she ever see any of her orchids again? She opened her eyes and stared into the flames. What if she died on this island? Her parents would be devastated. Their relationship might be difficult, but her mom and dad loved her. They just wanted her to quit hiding in the shadows. Well, she’d tried that and look what had happened.
What would happen to the plants? Would they sell out? Oh, God. Would Mom’s condition worsen because of stress?
Stop it, Cat. No one is dying and no one is selling Green Gully Orchids.
If she got home—no—when she got home, she’d never leave again.
She took a deep breath. A mistake since she got a good whiff of the stink in the surrounding mangroves, an irritant way down on her list until now. And there were other discomforts. Sand had worked into her bathing suit and chafed her skin whenever she moved. Not to mention how the elastic dug into her flesh at the seams.
She’d longed to peel off the clingy fabric, but dismissed the idea. How long had Javi been gone? How long did it take to wash conch?
She should go look for him, but not yet.
She turned around so the fire could warm her backside. Sitting this direction, she could see the path and know when he returned.
She should have gone with him, but he’d insisted she stay and truthfully she hadn’t wanted to leave the fire. Some adventurer she was.
Why hadn’t she and her friends bothered to think about the fact that help would be a long way away from a place like Gun Cay? The idea of a pristine, quiet anchorage had sounded so enticing in the noisy bar in Key Marathon. Wow, but that tequila-soaked dinner seemed like a long time ago. Had it only been three days? Or was it four?
Should-haves and could-haves were of no help. She needed to pull herself together, organize her thoughts and think logically.
Now feeling a chill on her cheeks, she turned to face the fire again and forced herself to assess the situation.
She had less than a liter of fresh water, which she had thankfully stuffed into her dive bag at the last minute. But how long would it last? Was there a source of fresh water anywhere on the island? Doubtful. They’d have to conserve.
Okay. What else? Maybe she could figure out how to catch a fish or two. She had a knife, so could harvest more conch.
Well, no, actually, she didn’t. Javi had taken the blade with him.
But she did have his wrench. She reached down and picked up the heavy tool. How had he swum with this? No way was she attempting any propeller removal, so what good was a wrench should she find herself alone on this island?
Maybe she should use it to bang some sense into her thick skull. Wanting adventure, wanting to break out of her self-imposed shell, she’d made one bad decision after another on this supposed vacation. Well, she’d learned her lesson.
Although, to be fair, Javi wasn’t such bad company.
And where was he, anyway? At least no one could blame the takeover of Spree on her lust for the captain. Warmth that had nothing to do with the flames crept into her belly. She’d had her adventure, hadn’t she? And a pretty spectacular one at that.
Yeah, they’d been drunk, but Javi had made her feel beautiful.
She forced down a sob. She didn’t want to die, but if her last hours on earth were destined to be spent on this godforsaken island alone with Javi, why not—
“Hey.”
She leaped to her feet and whirled, clutching the wrench like a club.
“Whoa,” Javi said, holding up both arms. “It’s your friendly neighborhood captain.”
“Sorry,” she said, lowering the wrench. “You startled me.”
“You must have been deep in thought.”
“More like daydreams,” she said, waiting for the flush to warm her cheeks. It didn’t. Maybe her nerves had been destroyed. More likely she’d moved beyond mortification into numbness.
He nodded. “Dreaming of escape, no doubt.”
She collapsed on her rock. “Yeah, something like that. Was Spree still there?”
“Yes. No change.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, looking for the sun, which had set below the line of vegetation. It would be dark soon. “Maybe they won’t leave tonight.”
He grabbed the metal grate propped on the inside of the pit. “Has your bathing suit dried?”
“Almost,” she said. “Do you want your shirt back?”
“No.”
Using a stick, he spread some of the burning wood out flat, creating a ledge to position the grate over the flames. Cat placed a hand over her belly. The thought of food made her nauseous. How could he think about eating?
“Tell me more about your plan,” she said.
“I’m going to let that grill get hot enough to kill any bacteria still hanging around and sear the conch.”
She shook her head. “I mean your plan to rescue Joan and Debbie. It sounds like you basically want to run the boat aground if they try to leave?” she asked.
“So far.” He shrugged. “My thinking is fluid.”
Cat shook her head. She had so many objections to this half-baked idea. Where to start?
“Won’t that damage your friend’s boat?” she asked.
His face tightened. “I never said my plan was perfect.”
“But it won’t sink like the Sandra Lou.”
“I hope not.” He shot her a look. “Your friends would drown. I’ve no doubt they’re tied up, thus unable to swim. I might not get to them in time.”
“Oh.” She’d considered a lot of horrible results of his plan, but not that one.
Javi poked the flames with his stick. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain to Marlin that I’ve destroyed his livelihood. And his home.”
“Sorry,” Cat said softly. Damn, but this was a nightmare for everyone. “But look at it this way. We have to be alive for you to make those explanations.”
“We will be.”
She was tempted to roll her eyes at his confidence, but refrained. No sense antagonizing him. Her best shot at survival was definitely with his help. She just needed him to reconsider his plan of action.
He stood and tossed bits of conch on the grate. The meat hissed as it came in contact with the hot grill, releasing a strange yet appetizing fragrance. Cat sniffed the air. Maybe she was hungry, after all.
“The point of my plan is to separate the perps from your friends,” he continued. “When the pirates realize Spree isn’t going anywhere, they’ll have to come ashore. I’ll be waiting for them.”
Waiting for them? He had some hand-to-hand combat planned? No doubt using the handy wrench. Cat took a deep breath. Or maybe the knife.
“So you think they’ll abandon Joan and Debbie on the boat.”
“I don’t believe they’ll attempt to bring them along.” He shook his head. “That would be too much trouble. They’ll bring food and other supplies and lie in wait for another vessel to anchor. I’m surprised one hasn’t showed up already.”
“But the pirates know we’re here.”
“Yes.”
She stared at Javi. What was wrong with him? This was no plan. This was suicide.
“You say they’re desperate. What if they decide to kill Joan and Debbie before they leave?”
“There’s that chance.”
He shot her a glance, hesitating. She raised her eyebrows at him to encourage him to speak. There was something he didn’t want to tell her.
Finally, he released a sigh. “We have another option, and I guess I should discuss it with you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He reached out with his stick and flipped the conch over. The fire side was nicely browned.
When he remained silent, she demanded, “So what is that option?”
“We could do nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“We sit tight and allow the pirates to leave in the morning with your friends. We’d be rescued within a day or so, but we lose any chance of saving Joan or Debbie.”
Cat opened her mouth to ask a question, but no words formed.
“As soon as Spree is out of Bahamian waters,” Javi continued, “the pirates will force your friends to jump overboard.”
She followed his logic, wanting to refute his thinking. But she couldn’t. The pirates wouldn’t keep Joan and Deb around for long. They might be raped, but eventually the pirates would get rid of them.
“It would be better for your friends if they were shot first and then dumped,” Javi said. “That way their death would be quick.”
Was he deliberately being cruel? Cat closed her eyes, imagining Joan treading water miles from land. Her friends were both good swimmers, but how long could...? She released a moan at the unwanted image of a giant shark grabbing Debbie’s leg, dragging her under, her long blond hair streaming behind her.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured.
“What I’m trying to tell you is if the pirates leave this area with Spree, your friends won’t survive.”
She opened her eyes and stared into the flames. “They could be dead already, couldn’t they?”
“We haven’t heard a shot.”
“Exactly.” She jumped to her feet. “They have guns, Javi. Come on. Even if you manage to lure them ashore, how are we going to defeat them? We’ll be killed, too.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?”
He poked at the conch with his stick, steam rising from the grill. “I’m trained for this sort of mission.”
“Trained?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Trained?”
He cut her a sideways glance, frowning. “Calm down.”
She swallowed. “Just exactly who trained you?”
He met her gaze. “The FBI.”
* * *
JAVI LOOKED AWAY from the incredulous expression on Irish’s face. She didn’t believe him. She likely thought he was delusional. He’d known that would be her reaction, one reason he’d resisted revealing his true identity until now.
True identity? He shook his head. Yeah, that’s it. I have a secret identity à la Clark Kent. Too bad I’m not Superman. I could use some X-ray vision and awesome hearing to learn what was taking place on Spree.
He flipped the conch again. The meat was cooking fast on such a hot fire.
He needed to convince her he knew what he was doing. That way maybe she’d stop questioning every decision he made.
“I’m a special agent with the FBI,” he told her.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. If we were on Spree, I could show you my badge. I hid it so the pirates wouldn’t find it.”
“Of course you did.” She collapsed on her rocky ledge. “Okay. I’ll bite. Why is an FBI agent captaining a charter boat?”
“I’m on medical leave because of an injury.”
“What injury?”
“Gunshot wound.”
She crossed her arms. “Where were you shot?”
“My upper thigh. Right leg.”
“Show me.”
He stood, raised his shorts leg and revealed the still-vivid scar.
Her eyes grew even wider. “Oh, my God.” She placed a hand over her mouth. He couldn’t blame her.
He re-covered the scar and sat. Because he was thinking about it, the injury now throbbed with a dull ache.
“I’m surprised you didn’t notice it last night,” he said.
She sat beside him. “It was dark.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“And everything happened rather fast.”
Too fast. Javi felt her scrutiny while he flipped the conch one last time, but she remained quiet. She didn’t believe him yet. The scar could be from any number of things. And why should she believe him? What kind of lame federal agent would allow perps to take over Spree?
The sun had set, and a brilliant orange reflected in the clouds all around them. Yeah, just another beautiful night in paradise. But it would start raining within a few hours.
“What happened?” she asked, nodding at the injury.
“Bank robbery in Coral Gables. I was a customer. No one else got hurt but the bad guy.”
“Seriously?” She narrowed her eyes. “You foiled a bank robbery?”
He smiled at the way she phrased it. “I guess you could say that. I usually say I was in the wrong place at the right time.”
“How long ago?”
“Two months.”
Her gaze fell to the area of the scar. “Does it still hurt?” she asked, her voice sympathetic.
He didn’t want her sympathy. Or pity. He wanted her to follow his lead on how to handle this situation.
“I’m fine.”
“So you’re an FBI agent,” she said, as if trying the idea on for size.
“I know you don’t believe me.”
“You have to admit it’s a bit of a stretch.”
“Maybe.” He had to give her that. He’d in no way acted like a professional law enforcement officer on this trip.
“However,” she continued, a smile in her voice, “I prefer to believe you’re a good guy rather than a bad guy.”
He glanced up at that. “What?”
“You seem to know a lot about how criminals behave. Or think you do, anyway. I’ve been wondering if maybe you’d been a bank robber yourself at some time in the past.”
He laughed. “Thanks a lot.”
“You do rather look like a pirate.”
Javi rubbed his beard. Did he?
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked.
He shrugged and handed her a long stick. “The conch is done. Help me slide this grate off the fire.”
Each with a side, they worked the grill away from the flames onto a grouping of rocks he’d prepared for that purpose.
“Let it cool a few minutes,” he told her.
“Looks good,” she said in a voice that told him she wasn’t convinced it was even edible.
He shook his head. “I’m not making any promises, but it’s protein.”
“I guess we’ll have to use our fingers.”
He handed her the knife, hilt-first. “Here.”
Accepting it, she said, “So why didn’t you tell us who you were?”
“When exactly should I have done that?” he asked.
She remained quiet, poking a piece of conch with the tip of the knife. The flames cast flickering light on the rocks and her pale cheeks.
“Last night?” he asked softly.
She met his gaze. Her lips curled into an enigmatic smile that would put the Mona Lisa to shame, and he suddenly needed to know what she was thinking.
“You three already doubted my abilities to take over as captain,” he said. “Especially Debbie.”
“Because we expected, well, an older gentleman. You were quite the shock.”
“Marlin,” Javi said with another stab of guilt, knowing Marlin couldn’t afford insurance on Spree.
Using the knifepoint, Irish removed a small piece of conch from the grill, steam rising into the air with it. She blew on the meat, so maybe she intended to give it a try.
“Marlin is your friend?” she asked. “Spree’s owner?”
“Yeah.”
“You said he had an emergency?”
“Heart attack, but he’s expected to make a full recovery.”
She shifted her gaze from the knife to Javi. “He’ll probably have a relapse when he hears about Spree.”
“Great. Thanks.”
She brought the conch to her mouth and touched it with her tongue, testing for temperature, then took a hesitant bite. Javi held his breath as she chewed, although he wasn’t sure why. What did it matter if she didn’t like it?
She swallowed. “Not bad. A little tough.”
“Conch always is no matter how much you tenderize.”
She lowered the knife. “So you work for the FBI,” she stated. Again. Maybe she was getting used to the idea.
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“That explains some of the books I saw in your cabin.”
“Snooping, were you?”
“I wasn’t in there long enough to snoop, but I did see a few titles that intrigued me.”
“I’ve been using downtime to catch up on reading.”
“Downtime? There hasn’t been much of that on this trip,” she said. “How do you know so much about boats?”
“I grew up on a sailboat. My parents were cruisers, lifelong live-aboard sailors.”
She nodded. “And that’s how you got to Bali for your ear piercing.”
“Yeah, among a lot of other places. They wanted to see the world, and took their kids with them.”
“What about school?”
“My mom and dad homeschooled—or I guess boat-schooled—me and my brother.”
Javi froze, wanting to snatch the words out of the air, hoping she wouldn’t ask about Roberto. He didn’t talk about his brother. He normally tried not to even think about him.
“You’re lucky to have a brother,” she said. “I’ve always wished I had a brother. Or a sister.”
“You’re an only child?” he asked to shift her attention away from his ancient history.
She nodded. “And a big disappointment to my parents.”
He smiled at her, relieved by the change of subject, feeling as if he’d dodged another bullet. “I doubt that.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. A sibling would have made my life a lot easier. But we were talking about you.”
“And how I could convince you I’m a trained agent.”
Javi selected a piece of conch. It had cooled enough to eat, so he popped the meat into his mouth and chewed. And chewed. Tough, but, like the lady said, not bad.
“You don’t look like a G-man,” she said.
He reached for another piece of conch. “A G-man, huh?”
“Isn’t that what they call FBI agents?”
“I haven’t heard that one in a while. So what does a G-man look like?”
“In the movies they have short hair and always wear suits.”
He laughed. “I own a lot of suits, but remember I’m on leave.”
“So you’re not a sail bum?”
“Not anymore. You sound disappointed.”
“No,” she said. “I’m extremely pleased the FBI trained you for this mission.”
“Well, I’m not exactly trained specifically for this particular scenario,” he said. “But we’re taught to improvise. That’s what I’m doing.”
“Is your brother a G-man, too?”
“My brother is dead.”