A Ryan Weller Box Set Books 1 - 3

by Evan Graver

  “Come up here so I can speak to you face to face,” Joulie demanded.

  “I can’t.” He glanced at his dive computer. “I have another twenty minutes of decompression left.”

  Ryan heard her shout, “Bring him up here!”

  “No,” Travis said. “If we don’t do all of his deco, he could get the bends. Do you want him to die, eh?”

  Ryan heard no response. He glanced at the computer again. If time had passed slowly before, it was standing still now. He closed his eyes and tried to picture what was happening topside. “Talk to me, Trav.”

  “It’s all good. Your lady friend is chatting with Dennis now.”

  “Any way we can speed this up?” Ryan asked, knowing the answer.

  “Sorry,” Travis replied. “No can do.”

  Ryan let out a sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Boring, eh?”

  “Yes.”

  Travis laughed. “That’s why I take a book with me.”

  “A book?”

  “I’ve got a waterproof one.”

  Ryan asked, “Why didn’t you give it to me?”

  “I wanted to see how you handled yourself.”

  Ryan closed his eyes and leaned his head back in the helmet. He cracked the demand valve and flushed away the water which had risen to his chin. He was more comfortable with it now, but it was something he’d fix when he surfaced. His thoughts moved from the helmet leak back to the woman who’d just arrived on Peggy Lynn.

  He had met Joulie when Toussaint had demanded Ryan hike to the Citadelle Laferrière, at the top of the three-thousand-foot peak of Bonnet a L’Eveque mountain, for their first meeting. Joulie had stood stoically in the small candlelit room. She wore a purple dress, purple lipstick, and purple eye shadow. The color offset her lustrous mahogany skin and wavy, jet-black hair. Her most startling feature were her bright blue eyes, and they had pleaded with him for help. He could still see the look of revulsion in them when Toussaint touched her. Later, when she had snuck into his room in Toussaint’s house to bring him a cell phone, he’d seen those same eyes sparkle and dance in the pale moonlight while she cupped his face in her hand.

  Those eyes were the window to her soul, and he’d also seen displeasure and disappointment in them as they waited out the hurricane in the Bahamas. After Landis informed Ryan that Emily had dumped him, Ryan threw himself a pity party and spent most of his time half-drunk with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Joulie had tried to console him and, well, he’d turned her down.

  “You ready for some sunshine, eh?” Travis asked.

  The LARS basket jerked, and Ryan started upward. He stood and grasped the bar. Water cascaded off his body as he emerged from the sea. When the basket was clear of the water, Emery swung the crane boom inboard and lowered the LARS to the deck. Ryan already had the helmet buckles undone and was pulling it off when the basket touched down. Travis grabbed the helmet and unhooked the hoses before setting it inside its hard-shell plastic box.

  Tilting his head back, Ryan drank in the tropical sunshine. It was good to be back on the surface. Travis helped him shed the rest of his gear and strip off the drysuit. Neither made mention of the gold bar.

  Before making his way up to the bridge, Ryan hung up his gear and used a hose to rinse it off. Dennis greeted him with a cup of coffee and a tight smile.

  Ryan turned to face their visitor. She was still beautiful, and her simple white sundress accented the lush curves of her body. “Hello, Joulie.”

  “It’s good to see you again.” She crossed the small bridge, arms outstretched. He squeezed her in a tight hug. Stacey gave him an evil glare.

  “Nice to see you, too.” He raised his eyebrows at Stacey to say what do you care?”

  Joulie stepped out of the embrace. “I came out as soon as I heard you were here.”

  “How did you know we were here?” Stacey asked, staring angrily at Joulie with her fists on her hips.

  Joulie returned the stare. “I’ve taken over Toussaint’s operation in Cap-Haïtien. I hear all the latest gossip.” She turned back to Ryan and asked, “Are you done for the day?”

  “Yes.” He wasn’t. He wanted to put Travis in the water.

  “Good, you can come with me. We need to discuss a few things.”

  “Let me get cleaned up.” Ryan left the bridge and walked down to the bunkroom. He wanted to get the gold and get out of Haiti. Now that he’d seen her again, he did want to have dinner with her. Emery came out of the galley holding a spatula, his eyes gleaming.

  Ryan put a finger to his lips. He whispered, “Loose lips, Grandpa.”

  Emery nodded.

  Ryan whispered again, “Get Travis in the water after I’m gone. Find the other box.”

  Emery grinned and saluted, spatula still in hand.

  Ryan smiled back and went into his bunkroom. He was about to step into the small shower when the door opened. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Joulie standing in the door frame. He grabbed his pants off the bunk to cover himself.

  “My driver is coming back,” she said. “You may shower at my place.”

  Ryan stared at her for a moment, uncertain what to do. He could disarm a bomb in pitch black water with a paperclip and a hole punch, but women were another story. He shrugged and pulled on his pants. He stuffed a change of clothes into a bag and wondered if he should include his Walther PPQ. He wasn’t sure how much he could trust Joulie, or if he could trust her at all. As comforting as it would be to have the reassuring weight of the nine-millimeter riding on his hip, he didn’t think it was a bright idea to carry it into Joulie’s den of thieves. She was sure to have protection. They would just pat him down and take it away.

  He left the gun lying where it was, tucked under the pillow, and slung his backpack onto his shoulder. Joulie’s quirky smile never wavered as she watched him pack. She led him topside. He couldn’t help but notice how the sundress hugged her curves. Her newfound power and wealth hadn’t changed her fashion sense. There was something elegant about the understated way she dressed.

  Topside, Joulie’s boat had been tied off alongside the salvage vessel. Ryan shook his head and grinned. The woman knew how to accessorize. They stepped down into a garishly painted Cigarette 38 Top Gun. Ryan dropped his bag and kicked it under the passenger seat. They cast off the lines, and the driver eased the racing boat away from Peggy Lynn. Once clear, the driver shoved the throttles forward and the slim boat rocketed up onto plane. Ryan stood behind the passenger seat, feet spread wide, knees bent, and he kept a firm grip of the grab bars. The driver kept the bouncing boat in a straight line for Cap-Haïtien.

  A wild sense of recklessness came over him. He was on a fast boat with a beautiful woman heading for what, he had no clue. It was like his life was caught in a loop, bad guys, fortunes, women, and the unknown. Maybe he was, as Greg liked to remind him, cavalier. He was supposed to be in charge of the operation, recover the gold, and sail off under the noses of Joulie and Jim Kilroy. Now, he was going to have to negotiate away some of his newfound wealth. Joulie wouldn’t let him leave with all the gold. It did come from her people to pay for illicit weapons and she had a right to demand it be returned. It didn’t mean he wanted to give it to her.

  They passed the commercial quays at full throttle. Cargo ships were unloading at one of Haiti’s few full-service ports. The driver reigned in the throttles and the Cigarette came off plane and settled in the water. Ryan recognized the dock they were headed for as the same one Greg’s Hatteras GT63, Dark Water, had been tied to when Ryan had come to rescue him from the bounty hunter. The old fishing trawler and two-masted yawl were gone and the rickety old dock had been replaced with a newer version, capable of raising and lowering with the tide on tall metal poles sunk into the harbor.

  When they came alongside the dock, the driver motioned for Ryan to toss out a set of fenders and be ready to tie off. Ryan did as he was asked and climbed onto the long nose of the go-fast boat with a bow line in hand. The driver expertly
brought the boat along the dock, and Ryan stepped to the floating structure and secured the bow line to a cleat. He jogged to the rear and caught the stern line the driver threw to him. When he stood, he was nearly thrown off balance by his backpack smacking him in the chest. The driver grinned.

  Joulie stepped up on a seat and Ryan extended his hand to assist her. She placed her hand in his. It was nice to hold her hand even if he was just helping her out of the boat. On the dock, she didn’t let it go. She led him toward a small building where they were met by an older man with a shock of white hair and a white beard.

  He stroked the beard as he looked Joulie and Ryan up and down. “Afternoon, Miss Joulie.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Parker,” she replied.

  “This be the gentleman you went to fetch?”

  “It is,” Joulie said.

  The man extended a hand to Ryan and winked. “I’m Billy Parker.”

  As they shook, Ryan introduced himself. He understood the wink. Billy Parker was Greg Olsen’s contact, and Greg must have informed Billy of Ryan’s impending arrival.

  “Your car is here. I wiped it down as best I could. The water ban is still in effect.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Parker.”

  To Ryan, Billy said, “Since the hurricane, the government has banned us from washin’ cars.”

  Ryan nodded. He knew the island had suffered a glancing blow from Irma, setting the region back even further, as it had yet to recover from previous hurricanes and earthquakes.

  Joulie got into the driver’s seat of a newer model blue Toyota Rav4. Ryan climbed into the passenger side and tossed his bag into the back. “No bodyguards?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t like to use them. It distances me from the people I’m here to help.”

  “Why did you come back?” Ryan asked.

  She backed around and headed down the single lane road off the small peninsula to the mainland. “I came back for two reasons. One, my country needs help and two, your president has decided to eliminate the asylum for my people, and I didn’t want to go to Canada. I explained this to Mr. Landis before I left the States.”

  “He said you were looking for me.”

  “I tried to find you but couldn’t.”

  “Why did you want to find me?”

  Joulie beamed a bright smile and turned into traffic on Boulevard de Cap-Haïtien. She remained quiet as they passed the massive port. She turned off the main thoroughfare and started up a hill. The neighborhood could have been transplanted from New Orleans, with its the French architecture and large, mature trees. She braked and swung the SUV behind a ten-foot-high wall. Lush trees, flowers, and well-manicured grass surrounded a large house. Once a summer home for Henri Christophe, a key leader in the slave revolt of 1791, which lead to the independence of Haiti from France, it was now one of the oldest hotels in Cap-Haïtien, Hotel Roi Christophe—the King Christophe.

  A cobblestone driveway curved up to an ornate porch. Joulie parked the Toyota, and a valet came around the hood. Joulie led the way through the lobby, past a horseshoe shaped desk, and down corridors covered in gleaming black-and-white checkerboard tiles. Potted ferns hung from the walls and lined the courtyards. Framed black-and-white photos, showing the history of the ancient structure, adorned the walls.

  Several staff members greeted Joulie deferentially as she and Ryan passed and continued up a flight of stairs to the second floor. Wrought iron railings spanned the gap between the balcony’s ornamental arches, and patrons lounged in wooden chairs. Arched doorways led into guest rooms, and she took him into her suite at the far end of the hall. Ryan checked the rooms over and glanced out the window at the view of the stone courtyard and swimming pool.

  “This place is nice,” Ryan said. He swung his backpack onto a king-sized, four-post bed. Mosquito netting hung from the posts like a shroud.

  “It is very nice,” Joulie said. “The bathroom is through there.” She pointed at another polished, wooden door. “Take a shower and I’ll meet you downstairs for a light lunch.”

  Ryan watched her close the door behind her. He stripped and stepped into the shower where he luxuriated in the hot water. The Peggy Lynn had a limited supply, and they took just long enough in the water to rinse the salt from their bodies. He dressed in khaki pants, a blue-and-white cabana shirt, and deck shoes before going downstairs for lunch.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Joulie Lafitte took a seat at her usual table in the hotel’s restaurant. It was close enough to the veranda to feel the cool breezes, but private enough for her to conduct business if she chose to. One of the waiters came over, bowed slightly, and asked her what she wanted to eat. Joulie ordered two glasses of ice water, salads, and a fruit platter. Within minutes, the waiter poured water and the glasses were sweated in the heat. She took a long, cool drink, almost finishing the glass. The ride out to the salvage vessel and back had made her thirsty for both water and gold.

  She had tried to contact Ryan before she’d left the U.S. because she wanted him to do exactly what he was doing now—salvage the gold. With it, she could help the poor of her country, send the children to school and to college. Haiti’s population lacked the technical skills to extract the mineral wealth from the ground and turn it into infrastructure, schools, homes, and businesses for the local economy. Their mineral rights had been sold to foreign companies who brought in their own consultants and engineers. If Haitians were used at all, they were manual labor, and the meager pay wasn’t enough for them to sustain their families, or to achieve the middle-class dream.

  The people of Cap-Haïtien had welcomed Joulie back with open arms. She had been their priestess, their link to the spiritual world, Toussaint’s trusted advisor, and his fiancée. Toussaint may have been a warlord, but he was well respected, and that respect carried over to Joulie. True, she had to twist some arms and even order men to their deaths for her to obtain power, but she considered it a small sacrifice to put her in a position to do the most good. She could be a mambo—a vodou priestess—and provide spiritual guidance for the masses, or she could become a warlord and yield spiritual, political, and military might.

  The waiter interrupted her thoughts when he returned with the salads and fruit. She nibbled at the salad, thinking about Ryan. She had been strongly attracted to him from the moment they’d met at the Citadel. Seeing him then had brought back a vision she’d had when she was a seventeen-year-old girl. Joulie took a sip of water, closed her eyes, and concentrated on the dream. It came to her just as vividly as the day she had originally seen it.

  Joulie was a leaf on an oak tree in a hurricane. As the leaf tore free from the tree, a violent twisting, tearing strain ripped through every muscle in her body, causing her to lay spread eagle on the ground and scream. Then her body collapsed into a ball as she fluttered away from the tree. She was floating on the breeze yet falling. The ground came up fast, her body tensed in anticipation of the impact.

  A giant hand reached out. She landed in the palm. The fingers closed slightly, and she nestled into the flesh, feeling safe, warm, and content. The hand released her, and she stood on the ground, gazing up at a man with brown hair. She ran a hand along the man’s cheek and stared into his green eyes. She flushed as a deep longing to be with him, to satisfy, and please him, filled her. She knew she must present him with a gift. As her fingertips left the man’s face, he smiled and instantly vanished. She had the strong urge to present her body as the gift.

  Ryan had been the man in the vision. She had given him a cell phone as a present and while she felt a deep longing to be with him in the dream, she wasn’t sure it translated to the real world. She had tried to entice him twice and both times she’d been rebuffed. Now she held the power to make his life easy or to complicate his mission. To help him choose, she would give her body to him, the sacrifice for the people whom she wished to help. And to be perfectly honest, as she gazed at him across the dining room, it was no great sacrifice. A flood of desire washed over her when the
ir eyes met.

  He crossed the room and took a seat beside her. They exchanged a few pleasantries, and he tucked into the food.

  After a few minutes of eating, he asked, “What do they call Haitian food in Haiti?”

  Joulie frowned. “What do you mean?”

  He smiled at what she assumed was a private joke. “Nothing. Are you living here?”

  “Yes, Toussaint’s house was damaged by the hurricane.”

  “Are you rebuilding it?”

  “I am, but I prefer this place. It reminds me of my ancestors more than that modern monstrosity.” The house had been neglected with Toussaint dead and no one to care for it. It needed more work than she wanted to do, and she had decided to sell the property and live at the hotel. She really did prefer it here. The hotel grounds reminded her of where she had lived before her parents had been killed in a landslide.

  Ryan nodded, his mouth full of fruit. He swallowed. “It suits you better.” He wiped his mouth with a white linen napkin. “Are you still practicing vodou?”

  “Yes. When I could not find you in America and returned to Haiti, I asked the loa to bring you back to me.” She laid a hand on his and smiled. “I’m so glad they listened.”

  He nodded and shoved a fork full of salad into his mouth.

  Joulie watched as he put away his salad and most of the fruit with blinding speed.

  It reminded her of the ravenous street children. “It’s okay to chew and swallow, no one is going to steal your food.”

  “I know,” Ryan said with his mouth full. He swallowed. “I haven’t broken the habit of eating quickly. It’s ingrained in me from the military. I apologize.”

  “I enjoy a good show with dinner.”

  He laughed. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

  Joulie smiled and patted his hand. “I would never make fun of you.”

  Ryan finished his meal and said, “Come on, let’s go see whatever it is you wanted to show me.”

  They walked out of the lobby to where the blue Toyota sat idling near the end of the drive. A valet held the door open for Joulie.