Finn went up the steps ahead of us and I followed Devon, admiring the fit of her cutoff jeans below my work shirt. Finn stopped at the door, wagging his tail. Holding the door for them, I followed Devon inside. When I closed the door, she turned into my arms, pressing her body against me.
“I’m glad everyone wanted to turn in early,” she whispered, standing on her toes, her lips brushing my neck. “I’ve wanted you since I got here.”
She pushed me back against the door, kissing me passionately. We’d been together long enough to not be nervous about sex. From the moment she arrived, I knew we’d be making love tonight.
I returned her kiss, pulling her in closer. She reached over and turned off the single twelve-volt overhead light, pitching the room into almost total darkness for a moment.
When she pulled away and moved back slightly, the moonlight pouring in from the window illuminated one side of her body, throwing her curves into shadow. Slowly, she unbuttoned her shorts and wiggled them down over her hips, letting them fall around her ankles onto the rough-hewn deck. Stepping out of them, she walked slowly over to the small radio on the shelf and turned it on.
The monotone voice of NOAA weather blared out that the low would be sixty-two degrees, with light winds out of the northeast. Good weather for sleeping. Especially if you can share body heat.
She flipped the switch over to CD and turned the volume down slightly. The music was Mindi Abair and her sax, with a light bass accompaniment. The sound was smooth and sexy. Devon danced seductively back into the moonlight, unbuttoning my worn denim shirt.
She let it fall open and I could see that the tee shirt under it was only a half-tee, cut off just above her lower ribs. Her breasts held the bottom of it away from her flat belly.
Devon took my hand and led me to the bedroom.
A sound woke me. My eyes opened, and I was fully awake. I listened intently. The only thing I could hear was the gentle movement of the water against the shore and the creaking of the boats’ fenders against the docks below my house. Devon’s breathing wasn’t audible.
Judging by the angle of the moonlight through the open window, I knew that it was an hour still before the first light of dawn would replace the cool blue moonbeams.
Had I dreamed the noise? I didn’t dream often.
Devon moved beside me, the warmth of her bare hip against my side felt good. That first feeling of arousal was suddenly replaced by guilt. More than once during last night’s lovemaking, I’d thought of Savannah. Of how her tanned skin always felt warm to the touch and her hair always smelled like tropical flowers. We’d touched a lot during the few days we had together, and I’d inhaled her scent deeply.
Rising on one elbow, I looked over at Devon and forgot all about the sound I thought I’d heard. A shaft of moonlight from the partially open window fell across the side of her face. Her blond hair was all over the pillow and she still wore the half-tee she’d had on last night. How could any man think of another woman while making love with such a beauty?
A memory of Savannah in nearly the same pose popped into my head. But she’d been stretched out in the moonlight on the bow of the Revenge. We’d spent quite a few nights out on the water, making love under the stars.
I blinked my eyes, and Devon opened hers. She smiled at me looking down at her. Stretching and arching her back, the moonlight created a long shadow between the muscles of her middle abdomen as she sighed.
When she opened her eyes again, she reached out to me and pulled me down on top of her, wrapping those long legs around mine.
“I’m cold,” she whispered with a deep sigh of contentment.
A slight scratching sound got my attention and I froze. Devon must have heard it, as I felt her body tense, as well.
A soft whimper came from the other side of the bedroom door.
“I think Finn needs to go outside,” Devon said, sliding out from under me.
I rolled over onto my back. “I’ll get him.”
“You just lay there,” she said. “Conserve your energy. I’m not finished with you yet.”
Walking around the big bed, wearing nothing more than a cut-off tee-shirt, I admired her form. The woman moved with the grace of a mountain lion, her body flowing across the room.
She opened the door, and Finn looked up, his head cocked to one side. “You need to go outside?” she asked him.
He turned and trotted to the outside door.
“I really need to put in a doggy door,” I said, flopping back on the pillows.
I heard the outer door open and then close again. A moment later, Devon appeared in the open doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight in the living room.
“I’m going to go ahead and set the coffee maker for an hour from now,” she whispered. “The sun will be up about then, and an hour should give me enough time.”
Grinning back at her, I silently vowed to give her my undivided attention. I closed my eyes, as she turned away from the door. I heard kitchen sounds, and a moment later, I could smell the coffee as she poured the fresh ground beans into the machine.
The door opened and closed again, and I heard the clicking of Finn’s claws on the floorboards. Devon came into view, stopping and leaning against the doorjamb, her left hip cocked out.
“You better not have fallen back to sleep,” she said.
“Who can sleep, knowing what’s coming?”
“Me or the coffee?” she asked, pushing away from the door, and closing it behind her.
“Both,” I replied honestly, as she crawled up onto the bed from the footboard.
Pulling the covers off, she drew them up over her hips and moved slowly on top of me. The anticipation began to build as her skin gently caressed mine.
Easing herself down on top of my body, straddling my thighs, she guided herself down onto me. We moved slowly at first, but her breathing soon grew labored. She began to moan softly, her movements becoming more intense. Arching her back, she pushed herself upward and back with her hands on my chest.
I could feel her body tensing, as she rocked back harder. Her soft moans became interspersed with quick inhalations as she tried to prolong the feeling. The intensity continued to build, and I held back for as long as I could, knowing that she was almost there. I gripped her thighs and forced her down onto me, harder and faster.
Waves of pleasure rolled through my body as Devon rocked back once more and froze in place, her whole body quivering. Moving only her hips, she squeezed me tightly for a moment before both our bodies convulsed, and she collapsed onto my chest.
We lay like that for several minutes, both totally spent and breathing heavy.
Finally, Devon rolled slightly off me, snuggling her face into the crook of my neck. “I think I’m done with you,” she whispered. “For now, at least.”
We both drifted into semi-sleep, gently stroking and caressing one another in that dream-like state of total satisfaction. Eventually, Devon stopped moving and her breathing slowed. She was asleep.
I must have drifted off too, but the smell of the coffee brewing soon woke me again. The programmable coffeemaker is better than any alarm clock.
Devon wasn’t lying next to me. I usually sleep pretty light.
A sound from the kitchen gave me her location, but I recognized the sound as that of a skillet being placed on the stove. A very unusual sound for Devon to be making.
I got quickly to my feet, opened a drawer, and put on clean skivvies and shorts. Then I hurried into the other room. Devon was in the little corner kitchen, dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting gray sweater. Finn was sitting a few feet away, watching her.
“You’re cooking?” I asked. Devon’s not what you’d call a natural in the galley.
“I’ve been practicing,” she said, as I hugged her from behind. “I can do bacon and scrambled eggs.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“Coffee’s almost ready,” she replied, dropping half a slab of bacon into the heated skillet. “Pour me a c
up?”
I filled two heavy porcelain mugs and carried mine to the recliner table in the living room. “I need to get dressed,” I said, placing the mug on the side table between the two chairs.
In the bedroom, I dressed quickly for the cooler weather and returned to the recliner to watch. Devon had never taken any interest in cooking her own meals, preferring to eat out. She had a regular list of restaurants she alternated between for each meal.
“Why the sudden interest in cooking your own food?” I asked.
She turned and smiled. “I’ve never had anyone to cook for and you’ve made plenty of meals for us. So I’ve been practicing.”
“On who?”
“Well, to be honest,” she began. “I wasted a crap-ton of food, until I could eat it myself. But bacon and eggs are pretty easy.”
Using a long fork, she pushed the bacon slices out of the skillet onto a plate that was covered with a paper towel. She then poured the bacon fat from the skillet over Finn’s dogfood. Finn licked his chops in anticipation. Next, she poured what looked like half a dozen whipped eggs from a bowl into the skillet, causing it to sizzle.
A few minutes later, she spooned the eggs onto two plates. She added one slice of bacon to the smaller serving and piled the rest on the other. Though we’ve only been together a short time, she knew my weakness for bacon.
Rising, I strode across the room, and moved the plates over to the table. “Smells good.”
She put Finn’s bowl on the floor and I held her chair until she sat. The eggs were perfect and the bacon nice and crispy. Before we finished eating, a vibrating sound came from the small side table.
“That’s mine,” she said, standing, and moving quickly to retrieve her phone.
I continued eating while I listened to the one-sided conversation. She told whomever she was talking to that she’d be at their place as soon as she could, then ended the call.
“I have to go,” she said. “Can you give me a ride? I don’t want to ask Marty, since he’s supposed to be suspended.”
“Sure,” I replied, eating quickly. She sat down and finished her meal, her brow furrowed in thought.
“Something at work?” I asked.
“A development in a case that Ben has me working on.”
Lieutenant Ben Morgan was Devon’s boss and sometime partner. A nice guy, he was pretty much counting the days until he retired. But he was still devoted enough to go out in the field with a younger detective. He’d been hoping he could reach retirement as a lieutenant. He told me that the idea of being promoted to Captain Morgan in a town where water is consumed almost as much as rum didn’t much appeal to him.
“I’ll get the boat ready,” I said, taking the last piece of bacon and giving Finn half.
“Give me a minute to wash up and get my things,” she said, stacking the dishes in the sink. “I’ll be right down.”
Outside, the sun was just above the eastern horizon. I saw Carl at work in the garden. I called down to him that I had to take Devon to Key West and would be gone most of the morning.
“I’ll let Kim know,” he called back.
The wind was still out of the northeast. It would be too rough in the Gulf for Knot L-8 or the Grady. So, stepping through the door to the dock area beneath the house, I grabbed the keys for El Cazador from the hook just inside the door.
Stepping aboard, I switched on the batteries and tilted the console up. A quick check of the engine told me everything was well, and I closed it. At the helm, I raised the instrument panel and then started the engine. The gauges fell into the normal range as the engine settled into a low burbling idle. I clicked the key fob, remembering as the hinges squealed in protest to the saltwater environment, that they needed oil. With the engine warming up, I took a can of spray lube and hit the offending hinges liberally with it.
“We’re not taking the big boat?” Devon asked, as she entered the dock area.
“Cazador will be faster,” I replied. “We can take a few shortcuts.”
“Remember where Ben’s place is?” she asked, stepping aboard and stowing her things in the dry box under the forward port bench.
“He still in the houseboat?”
“Yeah. Just drop me there. I’ll ride to the office with him.”
Tossing the lines, I bumped the bow thruster to move the nose away from the pier before engaging the transmission. Navigating El Cazador was a cinch in tight quarters even with her single engine. At idle speed, you can use the bow thruster instead of the wheel and she responded more like a car, with the stern following the bow, instead of swinging out and pushing.
Fortunately, with a full moon just two days away, the tide was near its peak so the water was higher than normal. Instead of turning northeast in Harbor Channel, I pointed the bow due south and brought Cazador up on plane.
“I thought you had to go that way in the bigger boats,” Devon said, pointing toward Harbor Key Bank.
“The tide’s the highest it’ll be for two weeks,” I said, judging the distance to the turn between the Water Keys. “Hang on.”
Turning the wheel sharply, Cazador heeled over and knifed through the shallows on her starboard chine. This raised the prop tunnel a little more. On plane, Cazador drew about twenty inches. Turning raised the keel a few inches more, providing plenty enough draft to clear the two-foot-deep sandbar.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” she said, as I navigated the unmarked shallows, keeping the boat in at least three feet of water.
“Anything Ben would call you in for on a Sunday has to be important, right?”
“It’d be nice to get there in one piece.”
“This shaves a good six miles off the trip at this end. We can cut across the shallows at the other end and save another mile.
A moment later, I aimed the bow at the gap between Little Crane and Racoon Keys, seeing the white caps out on the Gulf. Clear of the two islands, I turned northwest and pushed the throttle down further.
The ride on the outside was rough, but Cazador took it in stride. Her big bow flares knocked the two-foot waves aside effortlessly and we stayed dry behind the three-sided windshield around the center console.
I was enjoying it. We could have taken the Revenge and traveled the longer route at a faster speed, and arrived at about the same time. But the smaller center console was just plain fun. My Maverick Mirage flats skiff was even more fun, ripping through the backcountry in water barely deep enough for a kayak. But going all the way to Key West in the open skiff would be a wet ride.
To a casual observer who knew the water, my route might seem foolhardy, but having lived out here for eight years, I’ve explored every inch of water for miles around, in boats and on foot. I knew where the dangers were.
Less than an hour later, I slowed and turned south toward Garrison Bight, crossing the flats off Dredgers Key. Bringing the boat down off plane, I navigated around the mooring field at an idle, heading to the narrow gap at Trumbo Point.
Devon called Ben and told him we’d be pulling up to the back of his floating house in just a minute.
Idling past Trumbo Point, I entered the shelter of the bight and steered toward Ben Morgan’s houseboat. It was more than the typical factory-built houseboat. It was a boat, in that it floated on the water. But it was moored permanently at the dock, a floating barge with a little blue house built on it. From what I saw the one time I visited, the first floor was much like my combination living room, dining room, and kitchen. But his bedroom was a dormered loft over the kitchen and dining room, and it overlooked the living room, with its high vaulted ceiling.
Ben stepped out onto the little back porch, dressed as I suspected he always did, in a coat and tie. “Jesse, good to see you again. Sorry for spoiling your weekend.”
“Always good to be seen again, Ben. It beats the alternative.”
“Care to come in for coffee, or can I get you some water or something?”
I could tell by his body language that he was anxious to tal
k to Devon and get busy with whatever they were working on. Sometimes being involved with a police detective can be trying, but it is what it is.
“Thanks,” I said, lifting my thermos. “I have enough for the return trip. You guys have important work; I’ll just head back out.”
Devon kissed me and gave me a quick hug before grabbing her things and stepping up onto Ben’s porch. “Thanks for the lift, Jesse.”
“Anytime, ma’am,” I said, tipping my invisible cap.
I kicked the bow around with the thruster and shifted forward. Slowly, I idled away from the little houseboat community, toward Trumbo Point and open water.
Devon hadn’t tried the coroner’s website on the way there, and it was likely she’d forget. I passed Trumbo Point and the mooring field, then brought Cazador up on plane and turned east.
Maybe Doc would be at the morgue in the hospital. People rarely go in search of a morgue, but if you wanted to find Doc Fredrick, you went to where dead people gather.
I switched the VHF to the channel I knew Sunset Marina monitored. I asked for and received permission to fuel up and tie off for a couple of hours.
After fueling, I moved to the day dock and tied up. Lower Keys Medical Center was just half a mile down the road, and I knew the woman who worked as the morgue’s gatekeeper. If Doc wasn’t there, maybe I could get her to call him and I could ask him out for a coffee.
Walking in Key West is usually pretty safe. But on a Sunday, the hotels are emptying out, and the major roads get congested. But there were few cars on College Road and I managed to reach the hospital without becoming a hood ornament on a rental car.
Using a side entrance, I found the stairwell and went down to the basement floor. Basements in the Keys are rare, but in a hospital, it’s vitally important. At the bottom of the stairs, I pushed open a steel door and entered the office area of the medical examiner.
“Jesse McDermitt,” the red-headed receptionist said, looking up from her desk. “You finally decide to give in to my charms?”
Juli Wilkins had been with the sheriff’s office for more than forty years. Always working in administrative jobs, she didn’t carry a gun like sworn deputies. Which was a good thing, in my opinion. She’d never married, and was probably in her mid-sixties, if I were to guess. She never let her years get in the way of flirting with men half her age, though.
Rising Fury: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 12) Page 10
