Enduring Charity: A Charity Styles Novel (Caribbean Thriller Series Book 4)

by Wayne Stinnett

  “They are adjoining suites.”

  With the anchor set firmly and two hundred feet of chain rode out, Jesse shut down the engines. “Once you secure that, get up here,” he yelled to Tony on the bow. “We need to talk.”

  Charity watched Tony in the moonlight as he made his way back to the cockpit and ladder.

  “There really isn’t anything more to talk about,” Tony said, climbing the ladder to the bridge. He spoke just loud enough to be heard on the intercom, though it seemed as if he was keeping his voice low.

  “Sure there is,” Jesse said. “For instance, you said that she called herself Leilani. Hardly a Cuban name. And the woman Cook was seen with was a tall Cuban.”

  “She said she was from the island of Tahiti,” Tony said, feigning ignorance. “Maybe that’s off the coast of Cuba somewhere. I don’t know, and I really don’t give a crap. The boss gave me a job to do, and I’m only half finished.”

  “Look, Malcolm,” Jesse said. “There’s a chance that what she says might be true. Tahiti is in the South Pacific, not the Caribbean. And she looks more Polynesian islander than Cuban. And damned near a foot shorter in height. Maybe you did kill the wrong guy.”

  Tony stood and stomped around the bridge deck, really getting into his part, but mostly to make noise. “If that’s the case, it’s all the more reason we should just get rid of her right here and now, so we can get back on the hunt for Cook.”

  Charity listened, partially detached. She’d managed to suppress her emotions throughout the ordeal of the day before, except for crying on Jesse’s shoulder. Numb to the pain, with adrenaline waning, now all she felt was tired.

  “You need to just cool your jets, man,” Jesse said.

  “Why? If that wasn’t Cook I shot, he was someone who stole the money that Cook stole from Mister Livingston. She was with him, which makes her a thief, too.”

  “And that means she might be useful,” Jesse said. “Maybe she knows where the real Cook is hiding out. Maybe she can be useful in other ways. Kill her and we might never know.”

  “She’s not gonna roll over,” Tony said, “so her only use to me is for target practice.”

  “I’ll go down and see if I can get something more out of her.”

  Before he climbed down, Tony stood and leaned in close. “She’s afraid of dogs.”

  Jesse nodded and went down the ladder. Tony motioned Charity forward and they sat on the small bench in front of the helm, away from the intercom.

  “How do you think he’ll get her to talk?” Tony whispered.

  Charity thought back to the time she’d spent on his boat. “By not asking her anything,” she whispered. “He’s good at this.”

  A moment later, there was a clicking sound over the intercom. “What was that?” Tony whispered.

  “No idea,” Charity replied.

  They heard the sound of the stateroom hatch opening and Jesse speaking. “You want some water or something?”

  Tony and Charity both turned in their seats and leaned toward the speaker on the console.

  “I’m hungry,” the woman replied.

  There was a rustling sound over the speaker, then Jesse said, “We’re anchored miles from land. I’m gonna free you now. But don’t try to swim for it, cuz Malcolm will just shoot you in the water.”

  A minute passed, then Charity heard galley sounds, as Jesse opened the refrigerator and a couple of cabinets or drawers.

  “He patched the galley comm in,” Charity whispered.

  “Thanks,” the woman said, followed by a barely audible grunt.

  There were more galley sounds, which Charity recognized. He was setting the coffee maker up to brew another pot. In the two weeks she and Jesse had spent on his boat, his coffee ritual was employed constantly; she often thought that he measured time by the mug. It was his easygoing manner while brewing and drinking what he called lifer juice that had finally gotten Charity to reveal her emotions and secrets. The machine seemed to take a long time, and the man had just stood watching it, waiting patiently. In her mind’s eye, she could see him doing that now, leaning against the counter, waiting for the brew to finish but really waiting for the island woman to speak.

  There was silence for several minutes, then Charity heard a cabinet open and close and the sound of two porcelain mugs being placed on the counter. The woman’s voice came over the speaker. “The man your friend killed wasn’t Rene Cook.”

  “Coffee?” Jesse asked.

  Charity couldn’t help but smile. He’d used the same tactic on her nearly three years ago. The near silence drew on. Over the speaker came other sounds, as Jesse moved around the salon and galley, straightening things that probably didn’t need it.

  “I’m serious, mister,” the woman said. “And to be honest, he wasn’t really my boyfriend.”

  “Oh?”

  “We were sleeping together, but he was just a guy I met.”

  The rattle of the coffee pot came over the speaker. Charity had heard that sound so many times that it was easily recognized and somehow comforting.

  “More coffee?” Jesse asked.

  “His name was Brent,” she said. “I don’t even know what his last name was. We…worked together.”

  “You can see how it might be viewed differently,” Jesse said, his voice measured and reassuring. “Is Leilani your real name?”

  The woman hesitated a moment. “Well, yeah,” she said. “It was a completely understandable mistake. And yes, Leilani is my name.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Jesse said, “French Polynesia? The Society Islands?”

  Charity could picture the scene just below them. His innocent questions about her would get Leilani talking, and he’d get answers without asking questions.

  “I was born there, on Tahiti, but don’t remember much about it.”

  “Too bad,” Jesse said. “It’s a beautiful place.”

  A few more seconds of silence followed, then the sound of running water. Suddenly, the woman couldn’t shut up. With just a little bit of prodding or steering from Jesse, she wove a story about how her and the man she’d been with had gotten aboard Victor’s boat and stolen his cash box. She made it clear that they’d actually stolen it from the group she worked with, her rationale being that if she and the man she called Brent didn’t take it back to the group, they would have sent someone else for it. The way she described it, she almost made it seem like it was okay.

  “So you don’t have to worry about Cook, mister,” she said. “Brent and the others killed him. I was late and wasn’t even there when it happened, but I did crawl through the little places of his boat, after Brent stole his keys and wallet.”

  “The others?” Jesse asked.

  She hesitated for a moment, as if unsure. Charity knew from experience that the retired Marine was probably going about some other chore, as if he weren’t very interested and just making small talk. Over the intercom, they’d fed the woman enough misinformation for her to be certain that Jesse was her only hope.

  “Brent, Doug, and Jeff,” she finally admitted. “I don’t know their last names. They were the ones who killed Cook. Rayna and Fiona lured him out to them. I was supposed to help but was late getting there.”

  “So Brent was the leader?” Jesse asked.

  It took a while, but Jesse managed to get names and descriptions of everyone involved, as well as the locations of several other attacks on tourists the group had perpetrated.

  Finally, Jesse said, “Okay, I need to go up and talk to Malcolm. You’ve been real helpful, Leilani. I’m not going to tie you up again, but I would like you to sit over there on the corner of the couch.

  “Why?” Leilani asked.

  “Because I still don’t completely trust you, and this boat cost me a whole lot of money. I just don’t want you moving around. As long as you sit on the
couch, my dog won’t bother you.”

  A moment later, Charity heard him tell Finn to lie down and stay. Charity knew the woman was in no danger from Jesse’s dog; he was obedient and would stay right where his master ordered him, even if the girl got up. But he was also a naturally curious animal and his attention would be on her constantly. To a person with a fear of dogs, having one that weighed more than you stare very intently at your every movement could be unnerving.

  The hatch below opened and closed. Then Jesse climbed up to the bridge. He first turned off the intercom, then sat down at the helm.

  “Some crazy shit,” Tony said, quietly. “She just confessed to being in on half a dozen murders.”

  “We need to get all of them,” Jesse said, his brow furrowed.

  “You have a plan?” Charity asked.

  “I’m working on it. For now, we all need some rest. Tomorrow—er, today might be a long one.”

  “You’re not going to tie her up?”

  “No,” Jesse replied. “I think she trusts me a little now. We can use that to our advantage. I’ll put her in my cabin with Finn. He’ll stay on the deck and she’ll stay put on the bed. You were right, Tony; she’s scared to death of dogs.”

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Tony said.

  “Okay, wake me in three hours. Charity, you take the guest cabin; you’re not in the rotation since we may need you in the air. I’ll get some shut-eye on the couch.”

  Charity started to object, but Jesse shut her down, with a hand on her forearm. “You’ve been through a lot, and we need you at your best. Tony and I can function on three hours’ sleep for a few days.”

  She was tired, and she knew it. The practical side of her brain told her that he was right. This whole ordeal had drained her. And flying in this condition was unsafe. The emotional side, the part that she strove constantly to keep buried, had a great fear of being alone. Twice since Afghanistan, she’d opened up and allowed a man to get close. Both times they’d died.

  Before going below, Jesse turned to Tony. “Send Chyrel an email. Ask her to cross-reference the names she gave us against the passenger manifests of ships that were in port in the places and times Leilani said the murders took place. From that, she should be able to get better intel on who the players are. They seem to be living aboard cruise ships, and we need to know how long they’ll be on Delta Star and which ship they’ll be on next.”

  Tony nodded, and Jesse led the way down the ladder. Once inside, Charity went forward, while Jesse explained to their guest what her sleeping arrangement was going to be. She didn’t like it but went forward with him anyway.

  Charity entered the small cabin and closed the door. With the lights off, only a narrow shaft of moonlight on the outboard bunk lit the cabin. She kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her work shirt. Removing it, she folded it on the bunk, then stepped out of her shorts and did the same, folding them neatly on the inboard bunk. She fell onto the outboard bunk, wearing just a tank top and panties. Through the boat’s bulkheads she could hear Jesse explaining to Leilani that Finn wouldn’t bother her if she stayed on the bed. A moment later, she heard the stateroom hatch close and Jesse’s bare feet on the companionway steps outside her cabin.

  Lying on her back, Charity stared blankly at the ceiling. There were a few sounds from the stern, then everything was quiet, but for the lapping of water against the hull. She’d been alone many times. In fact, for the better part of the last two years, she’d been in self-exile, living off the grid and out of touch with everyone.

  That had all changed several months ago in the Virgin Islands, when she’d run into Victor again. Since then, they’d been together most every night, and she’d come to rely on his physical presence. Not that she needed a man to protect her — she and Victor both knew that wasn’t necessary. It was the physical contact that had become so important. Being completely cut off in the cabin made her feel lonelier than she’d ever felt before. Emotional pain, isolation, and vulnerability were all things she’d not felt in many years. The feelings that were foreign to her. The one constant had been the warmth of Victor lying next to her at the end of the day.

  Just a few feet away was a woman who had taken part in Victor’s murder, or at least she was working in conjunction with the three men who had beaten him to death. It hadn’t been easy, listening to the woman recount the details to Jesse. One of the three men was already dead. From what the doctor had told her, the ball in the sock was most likely the injury that had eventually killed him. The fact that the man who’d swung it was already dead seemed to take all the wind from Charity’s sails.

  After an hour of staring at the ceiling in the dim moonlight through the porthole, sleep still eluded her. Quietly, she rose from the bunk and reached for her shorts, then decided against it and sat back down. Tears flowed freely as she quietly sobbed.

  Finally, she stood and went to the hatch, opening it quietly. In bare feet, she went up the steps to the salon. It was much lighter, with all the large windows letting the moonlight in. Jesse had pulled the convertible couch out into a bed and was sleeping under a lightweight camouflage blanket, which she recognized as a military poncho liner. He was against the outboard side.

  Quietly, she lifted the cover and slid down alongside him, with her back to his chest. He didn’t stir. In fact, for several seconds he didn’t even breathe. Then he gently rested a hand on her waist.

  Charity knew the contact was meant as a comforting gesture, much like the night she’d gone to his bed after killing Jason Smith. Finally, her tears subsided, and she drifted off to sleep.

  v

  Some time later, she had no way of knowing how long, Charity awoke alone on the tiny bed. She listened for a moment, then rose to a sitting position. Her shorts and over-shirt were neatly folded on the chair at the foot of the couch and her shoes were on the deck below them. She took her watch from the pocket and saw that it was nearly morning.

  Dressing quietly, Charity went to the galley and opened the cabinet below the sink, where she knew Jesse kept a collection of insulated bottles. She filled one from a fresh pot of coffee that either Jesse or Tony had set up while she was asleep.

  Probably Jesse, she thought.

  She hoped that he’d risen on his own before Tony came down to wake him and found them together. That seemed likely, as he’d moved her clothes from the guest cabin, to make it look to Tony as if she’d slept on the sofa bed and Jesse had taken the guest cabin.

  Carrying the thermos and a clean mug, she stepped out into the cool pre-dawn air and climbed the ladder to the bridge. Jesse was sitting at the helm, reading something on his phone.

  “Good morning,” he said, laying the phone on the console and looking up at her.

  “I brought a peace offering,” she said, holding up the thermos. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  He took the thermos and mug, filling it and another one he had in a drink holder. “Thanks, but you have nothing to apologize for.”

  Charity accepted the offered cup and sat down on the port bench seat. “Well, I don’t usually crawl into bed with a man like that.”

  His lopsided grin looked endearing in the moonlight. “Okay, I’ll bite. How do you usually crawl into bed with men?”

  That made her laugh. “You know what I mean.”

  He turned the chair to face her, stretching out his long legs. “Before my divorce, my oldest used to have these nightmares. Sometimes two or three times a week. She said the only place she ever felt safe was lying beside me. I don’t think it was a safety thing, but more just a need for physical closeness. Humans are a social animal.”

  “Yeah, but I’m a long way from being a little girl.”

  He took a sip from his mug. “You have a valid point there.”

  Charity looked down at her own mug. “You could have had me.”

  “No, I couldn’t have. Your hea
rt’s with Victor. What you needed was physical presence.”

  She looked up at his face and saw the eyes of her father. “How old are you, Jesse?”

  Looking out over the bow, he seemed to have to think about it for a moment. “I’ll be forty-seven in a few months.”

  “I’ll be thirty, next weekend,” she said. “Seventeen years is hardly a May-September thing. May-July, maybe.”

  “I’ve never taken advantage of a person’s vulnerability,” he said softly. Then his eyes danced, and he grinned. “No matter how high the temptation.”

  She smiled back at him. “Thanks.”

  His expression changed; his eyes took on his usual seriousness. “Chyrel was still up, when Tony emailed her.”

  Sitting forward on the bench, Charity’s mind switched gears instantly. She knew that Chyrel Koshinski’s abilities were second to none once she started snooping around on the internet. Victor had told her that Chyrel’s skills at the Agency were legendary. She remembered him telling her of a time that the woman had hacked into the FBI’s main frame. Probably the second most difficult computer hack on the planet, he’d told her, second only to backing out without leaving a trace. All traffic on their super-secure computer system was embedded with a tracker that was supposed to be foolproof. Yet, she’d penetrated all their firewalls and safeguards, avoided the tracker, retrieved the information the Agency needed, and made it look like it never happened.

  “What’d she find out?”

  The foggy veil slowly lifted. Through the loud buzzing in his head, Bruce Wheeler could hear people talking. The voices came and went, and he couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. The buzzing seemed to be coming from inside his own head, as if he had stereo headphones on and someone kept changing the dial.

  “We need a woman,” he heard a man’s voice say. He had some sort of accent, like the guys in the old black and white movies.

  As he became more aware of his surroundings, Bruce realized he was lying down, his arms and legs spread wide. He tried to move his right hand but couldn’t. He hurt everywhere, especially his mouth.