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

by Wayne Stinnett

  “I think he’s waking up,” a woman’s voice said.

  Bruce struggled to open his eyes, trying in vain to say something. His mouth was open very wide, and something hard was pressed firmly against his teeth and tongue. Suddenly aware, his eyes flew open and he thrashed his head from side to side but saw only darkness.

  The memory came flooding back. He’d left the bar with the hot, redheaded cougar and went with her to her suite. By the time they got through the door, she’d nearly been carrying him.

  She’d helped him to get onto the bed, where he’d seemed to lose control of his muscles completely. He remembered lying there helpless, fully aware of everything going on, but unable to move any part of his body. The woman slowly removed his clothes, wrestling them off him. Then she’d climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. Though he hadn’t been able to move a muscle, he’d felt every contact she made, as if she set fire to whatever part of his body she touched.

  Raising his arms above his head, she’d snapped leather cuffs onto his wrists, stretching to attach them to the bed frame. The softness of her breasts, crushing against his face as she stretched to manacle each wrist, had felt wonderfully suffocating.

  When she’d climbed off, she’d even turned his head for him, so he could watch as she fettered his ankles with the same leather straps. He also remembered thinking that she’d drugged him unnecessarily. He would have willingly allowed her to subdue and dominate him. In fact, he enjoyed it.

  She’d gagged him then, even though he couldn’t move his mouth to form words, then propped several pillows under his head so he could watch. What happened next was beyond anything he’d ever imagined. His mind had been fully functioning, and he could feel every sensation of her touch. He just couldn’t do anything about it.

  Looking down he remembered seeing electrical wires leading to a box of some kind. The box had switches and lights on the face and one large knob. But it was the contraptions on top of the box that filled him with horror. One wire led from the box to a cylindrical metal cage that would fit only one part of a man’s body. Next to it was a small device, like a miniature microphone stand, with a flat base plate. It also had a wire going into the box. But it was the cage that had frightened him most.

  Standing beside the bed, the woman had put her hands on her hips and smiled at him, as if admiring her handiwork. Then she took the microphone stand and wedged the flat base under his thighs and butt, positioning the mic over his groin. She’d picked up the small cylindrical cage, and the smile on her face could only be described as evil.

  It was at that moment that Bruce realized it wasn’t a microphone at all, just a flat piece of metal suspended horizontally just above his groin. He also noticed that it was insulated from the metal stand, and the wire from the box was connected to the flat piece of metal with a wingnut, not an audio jack.

  The cage and the metal plate made up a simple electrical switch.

  A hand grabbed his chin, stopping his thrashing movement, and bringing him back to the reality of the present. The effects of whatever drug she’d given him had worn off, and Bruce could move.

  It was the redhead. “Do I have your attention?” she asked. “Nod your head if I do, Bruce.”

  He nodded quickly.

  “Good,” she said. “You’ve been chosen to join our little group. Your options are none.”

  She released his jaw, pushing his head away and slapping him hard across his cheek. “First, you’ll be tested. I’m going to give you a shot now. Basically, the same drug as before, but without the sensory stimulation added. Do you know what that means?”

  Two hands gripped his left arm, one above the elbow and one below. It was the green-eyed blond woman he’d met the night before. His arm was forced hard against the bed he was lying on. He felt a sharp sting on the inside of his elbow, then something cold moving up his arm.

  “I asked you a question, Bruce,” the redhead said. “Do you understand what I just said?”

  Eyes focusing, Bruce saw a third person in the room; an older man. He remembered seeing the blonde with him when he’d left the bar with the redheaded hard-body. The redhead was looking at him expectantly. He shook his head side to side.

  “What it means is,” the redhead began, moving up alongside his head, “that in a moment you’re not going to be able to move again. Like before, you’ll still be aware and can see, hear, and feel, but this time there’s no X, so you won’t be as easily aroused.”

  She again propped pillows under his head, and to his revulsion, he saw that he was still inside the cage, connected to the electrical torture contraption.

  “Rayna,” the man said to the blonde, “it’s nearly dawn. Go wake the others. They’re to keep a wary eye out for a possible female recruit. We never know when our next enemy will show up and we need six. Also tell them to watch for anyone suspicious. Remember, someone got to Leilani and Brent before me. Then you come back here. It’s time you take part in the training.”

  As the blonde left, the man walked around the bed and joined the redhead. Bruce tried to turn his head to follow him, but he couldn’t. The drug was already in his system.

  “What was that about Leilani and Brent?” the redhead asked, absently checking the bindings on his wrists. Bruce remembered her telling him her name at the bar, but it escaped him now.

  “Someone else got to their boat before Joe. Whatever they took from the last mark is gone. Brent’s dead, and the boat captain and Leilani have disappeared. My guess is she double-crossed Brent and had an accomplice on the outside.”

  “Did you enjoy yourself with Rayna?” the woman asked, stroking Bruce’s inner thigh.

  Her touch didn’t feel quite as provocative as before, though Bruce couldn’t help but get excited a little. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying desperately to ignore the feeling.

  “No comparison to your antics, my dear Yvette,” the older man said. “Not even as good as Leilani, but she will learn. Can I help with anything here?”

  “No, you run along and get rested. You’ll need your energy when I come to you in a few hours. I’ve thought up a new antic that you might enjoy. Young Mister Wheeler will be going to sleep again soon. But I want to wait until Rayna returns, so she can help with the milking.”

  Bruce clenched his eyes tighter, as he heard the door open and close.

  “Closing your eyes will do no good,” Yvette said. He was certain that wasn’t the name she’d given him last night. She walked to the foot of the bed, letting her fingernails trace lines down his thigh. “True, visual stimulation is important in what we do. That’s why you were chosen. You’re quite attractive, you know.”

  A knock on the door startled Bruce. He opened his eyes, hoping it was someone that would help him. Yvette looked through the peep hole, then opened the door. The green-eyed blonde came in.

  “You’re just in time,” Yvette said. “He thinks if he doesn’t watch, he won’t get excited.”

  “What would you like me to do?” Rayna asked.

  “Just follow my lead.”

  Bruce clenched his eyes tightly, concentrating on the image of the ugliest woman he’d ever seen. The room fell silent for a long minute. Nobody touched him, and he started to think that the ordeal might be over. He slowly opened one eye. The women were on either side of the bed, facing one another. They were both slowly unbuttoning their blouses while staring down at his manhood.

  “Oh, he’s peeking,” Yvette said.

  They both began to seductively caress his thighs and belly, getting closer and closer to the cage.

  Bruce closed his eyes, apparently the only motor function at his disposal.

  Suddenly, he heard the spark of the closing circuit, even smelled the ozone it created, then pain shot through him. It wasn’t as powerful as before, though. The electrical charge was lower and actually stimulated him even more.

  H
e chanced another look. Just as he opened his eyes, Yvette turned to the box and twisted the knob next to the glowing switch. In less than a second, the pain increased ten-fold, and Bruce blacked out again.

  The Revenge slowed as Jesse brought her around the tip of the island in the darkness. On the radar screen, the cruise ship was hard to miss, three miles out and closing. They’d left the previous anchorage before the sun was up and made the short fifteen-mile run to Half Moon Cay in less than half an hour.

  Arriving under cover of darkness, they could see the lights of the big cruise ship as it approached. Jesse had hugged the shoreline of the western tip of the island, idling slowly as he followed the ten-foot line on the chart plotter, keeping a cautious eye on the forward scanning sonar. The idea was to use the island itself to create enough backscatter on the ship’s radar that an inattentive operator working late at night might miss the Revenge slipping in.

  The effort, they soon realized, was for nothing. There were two other yachts at anchor off Half Moon Beach, a small pocket schooner and an Albin trawler. The cruise line owned the resort, and while one of their ships was at anchor, other boats weren’t allowed to disembark. They could anchor, during those times, but could only go ashore if there weren’t any cruise ships there. The island was strictly off-limits when a ship of the line was anchored.

  Like many police stakeouts Charity had been on when she was with Miami-Dade, sitting and watching from a distance was monotonous. The three of them talked about common friends and what was going on in everyone’s life, but Jesse didn’t bring up his search. He’d seemed to just put his life on pause for now.

  “Looks like they’re getting ready to start ferrying people ashore,” Tony said. “It’s getting light, and service people ashore are starting to move around.”

  Tony had been at the controls of the rooftop camera, watching the activities ashore and on the Delta Star for over an hour. The powerful zoom function of the high-resolution system allowed clear images from a distance if the platform it was on was steady enough. There was little wave activity on the lee side of the island, so the boat barely moved.

  “They’re scheduled to be here until late tonight,” Tony said. “With a beach dinner party just after sunset. Next stop is Little Stirrup Cay.”

  “The last shuttle from shore will be about midnight,” Jesse said. “That would be the best time.”

  “You really think this will work?” Charity asked.

  “Cruise ship employees work long hours. And it being a private island, owned by the cruise line, they’ll barely be checking.”

  “You don’t have a dinghy.”

  “Tide’s rising and the wind should hold out of the east. At sunset, I can move around to the windward side, drop anchor, and let out enough rode to put the stern in four feet of water.”

  “I don’t think a bathing suit is going to be acceptable dinner attire,” Charity said.

  Jesse glanced at her with that half-cocked grin and winked. “It should be.” Then his more somber expression took over. “Under the inboard bunk in the guest cabin, there’s some clothes that Devon left behind. You’re about the same size — a little taller, maybe. I think there’s a couple of cocktail dresses in there.”

  “Cocktail dresses on the Revenge?”

  “We enjoyed the night life sometimes,” he grumbled. “Docked for a whole weekend in South Beach once.”

  “What happened with her?” Charity asked, genuinely concerned. She’d only met the woman Jesse had been dating a couple of times, under what Devon might have thought suspicious circumstances.

  “Just didn’t work out,” he said. “She took a job in rural Georgia.”

  His tone said more than his words. It was a touchy subject, as was Savannah.

  Changing the topic, Charity asked about the old man on Andros, who had given her a ride to the airport and was apparently part of a hostage rescue with Tony and the others.

  “He and Pap served together, during the Second World War,” Jesse said. “On Guadalcanal and Peleliu.”

  “I got the impression that he held your grandfather in very high regard.”

  “Pap never mentioned it,” Jesse said. “Henry told me at his funeral. They were in a fighting hole — Pap, Henry, two other grunts, and a lieutenant. It was the second night after the landing on Peleliu. A Japanese soldier got close and threw a grenade in with them. Henry told me that Pap didn’t even hesitate, he just threw himself on the grenade.”

  “Oh my God,” Charity said, her voice heavy. “What happened?”

  Jesse grinned mischievously. “It happened a year before my dad was born.”

  “The grenade didn’t go off,” Charity surmised.

  “Nope,” Jesse replied, off-handedly. “Japanese grenades were notoriously faulty.”

  That one little thing, Charity thought. A single grenade that failed sixty-five years earlier was the reason she was here right now. Had that grenade gone off, there would never have been a Jesse McDermitt for her to turn to.

  “Better get her up here,” Jesse said, moving toward the ladder.

  “You really think she’ll rat out her friends? Tony asked.

  “Yeah,” Jesse replied. “I think she will.”

  He went down the ladder and was inside only a minute or so. When the hatch opened again, Jesse’s dog was first out. He went to the transom door and waited patiently.

  “Go up there and sit at the wheel,” Jesse told the woman, opening the transom door for the dog to do his business. He waited, a water hose in one hand to wash down the swim platform, as Leilani moved cautiously toward the ladder.

  Charity watched Leilani closely, as she climbed up to the bridge. She looked suspiciously at both her and Tony, before sitting down at the helm.

  “We’ll wait until they start boarding the ferry,” Jesse said, climbing up the ladder. “Then try to ID the group as they go ashore. Leilani has promised to help. And I want to see them in real life.”

  “I never really fit in with them,” the tiny island woman said, trying but failing miserably to act contrite. “I’ll do anything I can to make things right.”

  “First ferry is heading out,” Tony said.

  “Leilani, keep your eyes peeled,” Jesse said. “I want you to watch the screen carefully and point out the Pences if they get off.”

  Jesse moved around behind the helm, and Charity joined him. Together they looked over Tony’s and Leilani’s shoulders at the screen. Tony zoomed in on the cruise ship, panning the camera along its length. A hatch was open amidships, about four feet above the waterline and a uniformed man stood in the opening behind a yellow rope.

  “The ferry’s probably gonna block the view,” Tony said. “If we can’t spot them through the ferry’s windows, we’ll have to wait until they disembark at the pier.”

  “The Pences probably won’t be on the first excursion,” Leilani said. “They hardly ever get up before noon. Jeff and Doug might be, though.”

  All four of them watched carefully. The camera’s powerful lens was able to look through the ferry’s window at each person as they stepped aboard. The image was a little fuzzy, but each person was facing the camera as they stepped down into the ferry.

  Barely half full, the ferry pulled away, heading toward the dock. They watched again, as the small boat disgorged its passengers there.

  “None of them,” Leilani said.

  While they waited for the ferry to make its next run, Jesse went down to the galley and brought up a package of cinnamon rolls. “Sorry, I hadn’t had a chance to reprovision. I have enough fruit and junk food to last a few days, though.”

  Leilani wasted no time, snatching one up like some sort of starving street urchin.

  Tony had told her and Jesse what the woman had said about being kidnapped as a child. Whether it was true or not, Charity didn’t know. The woman was exotically beau
tiful, but lacked any sort of refinement or manners, licking the glaze from her fingers with a smacking sound.

  The ferry started out toward the cruise ship again and Charity moved back to her seat on the port bench. She watched the young woman, who sat forward on the helm seat, leaning on the wheel for a better look. It did appear as if she had a genuine desire to help them, but a person like her might consent to anything to save her own life. Considering her possible background, that would make sense.

  When the ferry was in position, more passengers began to file aboard from the open hatch. Leilani watched intently, as if to justify her own existence. Suddenly, she pointed at the screen. “That’s Jeff!”

  Tony picked up his phone and scrolled through some documents.

  “And that’s Doug right behind him!” Leilani said. “They’ll be on the hunt for anything that squats to pee.”

  “Jeff Maple,” Tony said, reading from his phone. “Twenty-five years old, from the Bronx. Five-ten and one-ninety, dark blond hair, blue eyes. Says here that he was orphaned at seven, and lived in foster homes most of his life, then juvenile detention. A couple of arrests as an adult, nothing serious.”

  “The other guy?” Charity asked.

  “Doug Bullard, twenty-three, five-nine, one-sixty-five, brown hair and eyes, from LA.” He paused a moment. “Huh,” he said, obviously puzzled. “This guy was orphaned too. At age fourteen, and he also spent time in foster homes and juvenile detention. Minor arrests as an adult.”

  “We’re all orphans,” Leilani said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  “The whole group?” Tony asked.

  Leilani nodded. “The Pences, too.” She pointed at the screen again, practically bouncing in her seat. “And there’s Fiona!”

  Charity moved around behind the helm seats with Jesse. Leilani had said that Fiona and another woman named Rayna had lured Victor out of the bar, after drugging him with ecstasy.