by Lark Brennan
The twenty or so vessels in Great Harbor ranged from small, beat-to-shit motorboats to an impressive sailing yacht and everything in between. As they passed a gleaming wooden ketch, a young, buxom blond in nothing but a miniscule white g-string emerged from a hatchway and waved. All over tan and breasts that stood up and saluted.
“Lively place,” he said, tearing his attention from Naked Barbie.
“With the trouble in Little Harbour, they have to go somewhere to drink.”
“Right.” He’d been in the Caribbean long enough to know she wasn’t joking.
A gaggle of dinghies cluttered the patch of white beach in front of a colorful establishment nestled in the palms. The open-air bar and restaurant sported blue awnings and roof, and tables extended from the shady interior out onto the white sand. As the seaplane glided to a stop at the end of the plank dock, he heard beach party music—Cheeseburger in Paradise to be specific—and cringed. Why did every beach bar in the Caribbean have to play goddamn Jimmy Buffet?
Lex had hopped out and secured the plane to the dock by the time he got his seatbelt off and climbed to the land side of the cockpit.
“Would you handle our bags? I need to hose the salt off.” With that she trotted down the dock.
So she intended to stay here. Overnight. No hotels or resorts dotted the shoreline. How far would they have to go for accommodations? A wave of dread rolled over him. His sensor didn’t show any pockets of yellow or orange orphic but that didn’t guarantee unfriendly entities couldn’t pop up en route.
Chapter Ten
The world-famous Foxy’s buzzed, crowded for mid-afternoon with locals, tourists, and the boat crowd all talking about the dolphins. The bar itself was little more than a concrete slab, some wooden decking, and a corrugated metal roof. Bodie had to duck under the assorted tee shirts hanging from the ceiling to follow Lex to one of the heavy wooden tables where three leathery older men greeted her by name.
“Wondered how long it would take you to get here,” a lanky Brit in a faded Hawaiian shirt said. “A jolly bit of excitement we’ve had.”
Lex stashed her backpack and duffel under one end of the long table. “Boys will be boys,” she muttered and he wondered if she meant the dolphins or present company. “This is Bodie.”
All three men eyed him curiously over half-eaten sandwiches and fries.
Climbing over the long bench, Lex plopped herself next to the Brit and gestured to each in turn starting with the guy next to her. “Colin, Briggs, and Hank.”
Nobody bothered to offer a handshake, making do with a nod before turning their attention back to her. He was tempted to find a quiet spot in the back to retry the upload connection, but a loud roar of rebellion from his stomach convinced him to park his butt on the bench.
Half listening to the local gossip, he surveyed the bar-restaurant. The three dozen or so patrons were as varied as the boats in the harbor. Two scruffy young men eyed a pair of bikinied young women in the company of a white-haired gentleman. A four-top of middle-aged tourists were burnt pink and drunk. Farther to the front, a West Indian couple ate heaping plates of fried fish without talking.
Bodie’s senses confirmed what he’d seen on the screen of his sensor—low delphic energy, orphic pale blue. All in all about as good as it got. Too bad he hadn’t invented the orphic energy sensor before he picked Fat Dog as his refuge. Sure, the island offered seclusion. Unfortunately the eighteenth-century massacre of escaped slaves whose lost souls haunted the place hadn’t come up in the scouting report.
A dark hand thumped a pint of deep gold beer in front of him and another in front of Lex. “Come to tame the naughty dolphins, have you?”
Lex laughed. “So far they’ve gotten the better of me, Cat. Bodie had to pull me out of the drink earlier.”
The young West Indian woman turned to him, flashing white teeth in a broad grin. She extended her hand. “I’m Catalina.”
He stuck out his hand to shake back. Her attention zeroed in on the inside of his arm and her eyes widened at his ink. When their palms connected an electrical charge sizzled under his skin and he quickly drew back.
She took a quick step away and murmured something in patois he didn’t understand. Surely the woman didn’t recognize him and even if she did, that didn’t explain the buzz.
“What’s your special today?” Lex said, apparently unaware of Cat’s reaction to Bodie.
Catalina recovered her poise and rattled off a list of local dishes he only vaguely recognized.
Lex ordered her usual, whatever that was, and he ordered two cheeseburgers, coleslaw, and onion rings from the blackboard, then added a coke. As Catalina hurried to the kitchen, he would have sworn she crossed herself.
“The beer’s local,” Lex said, bringing his attention back to the conversation at the table. “Foxy runs the only microbrewery in the Caribbean.”
Local and cold. Condensation ran down the side of the glass to soak the square cardboard coaster. He took a long draft. “Not bad.”
“Damned good,” Hank said. “Better than the local rum, for sure. Where you from?”
Fat Dog wasn’t a good answer. Neither were Miami, Houston, Boston, or New Jersey. “Been sailing the islands for a couple years. You live here?”
“’Bout half the time. Rest of the time I spend at my ranch in Texas just west of Bandera.”
“You’re a big man. Ever play ball?” Hank asked.
“No.”
Briggs elbowed his friend. “Who does he remind you of?”
Hank studied him. Bodie shrugged, pretending to be clueless.
“Come on,” Briggs said. “Celtics, ponytail.”
Bingo. Bodie’s blood turned to ice. What were the chances?
“Damn. You’re right. Joaquim Wilson.” Hank cocked his head. “Not as big as Wilson. That boy was what, six-ten, six-eleven? I saw the game that ended his career.”
“I remember that,” Bodie said and went in for the slam dunk. “Whatever happened to him?”
“Got himself killed,” Briggs said. “Shot up in a drug war in Boston. It was all over the news.”
Yes. Dead made an excellent cover. Bodie glanced at Lex. Her face remained expressionless.
Cat delivered their food and they ate while the two basketball fans traded recollections of other sports tragedies with Colin injecting international flavor.
Pulling some bills from his pocket, Bodie threw them on the table next to his empty plate. “I’ve got work to do.” He reached for his bag. “Nice to meet you guys.”
“I’ll find us a place to stay tonight.” Lex’s voice lacked its usual sass. “Then we can review the data before I go back to the cove.”
Not before he and she had a little talk about keeping under the radar and staying alive.
• • •
Lex followed Bodie in her peripheral vision until he settled on a quiet table at the back of the bar away from the other patrons. Her first impulse was to pull out her cell and run a search on Joaquim Wilson. Not subtle and she’d only confirm what she already knew. “Is anyone in your house at Little Harbor, Colin?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Could I rent it for a few days?”
“Nope, but it’s yours until my sister gets here in three weeks. Take the jeep. It’s out back.” He winked. “No one’s about so you’ll have plenty of privacy.”
She rose and kissed Colin on his weathered cheek. “Thanks. You’re the best.”
He chuckled. “If I was the best, you’d be going home with me instead of the young, brawny bloke.”
Hefting her bags, she clenched her teeth as a pain shot up her hip. She carefully adjusted the weight and headed toward the rear of the bar where the ‘young, brawny bloke’ scowled at the screen of his sensor. Testy was a good look on him.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Colin’s lent us his guest house. We can work there more comfortably.”
He rose, nearly toppling the chair, and shoved his electronics into his bag. �
�How far is this place?”
“The next cove. We’ll take Colin’s jeep.”
Between the rutted dirt road and the dust, the five minute drive in the open vehicle left them both grimy and jostled when they finally turned into the tropical oasis surrounding Colin’s pink stucco guesthouse. She pulled up to the side door and parked.
“Nice place. Where does he live?”
“In a house overlooking White Bay. This is where friends and family stay.”
“Which are you?”
“Friend. Let’s take our things inside and I’ll show you around.”
A long, deep porch extended across the front of the house and overlooked Little Harbor. Well-used rattan and bamboo furniture lent it the air of an earlier era.
She retrieved the key from a potted palm and unlocked the front door. Once inside it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light in the long open space. Nothing had changed since she and her cousin Chantal stayed there the year before.
A low whistle emitted from her new housemate. “Big enough for us and ten of our closest friends. Where should I drop the gear?”
“The bedrooms are in the back.” Her gaze drifted the length of his huge body. No way he’d fit in a double bed in the smaller rooms. “Come on. You can have the one with twin beds and push them together.”
“Lead the way.”
Readjusting her grip on her own bags, she bee-lined for the hallway at the back of the house. Behind her the mahogany floorboards creaking under Bodie’s tread were the only sounds in the house, emphasizing that they were alone and headed for his bedroom. Adolescent nervousness fluttered in her stomach. Could she be more ridiculous? What did she think might happen?
She opened a door on the left side of the hall and stepped inside. “This one’s yours. Mine’s across the hall. You have your own half-bath. The shower’s out back in the garden. Towels are in the closet.”
He set his bag on a battered trunk and opened the shutters covering French doors. Light streamed into the high-ceilinged room, revealing three twin beds.
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Three should do it. With the legs tied together they should stay put.”
The bed would be enormous. Her mind took a traitorous leap—her, him, naked and sweaty. He’d been able to pull her straight out of the water with one hand.
“Is anything you’ve told me about yourself true?” she asked.
His expression hardened and he sat down on a sturdy writing desk between the French doors. “Everything but my personal history.”
“I assume you were shot. The drug angle was a cover-up, wasn’t it?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Mark wouldn’t have helped you. My brother has a thing about drug dealers. If that’s what you were into…”
“He’d have killed me himself?”
She didn’t think about her brother’s darker side. “So who tried to kill you?”
“Killed me.” The silver gray eyes bored into hers, his voice was cold and bitter. “I flat-lined in the hospital and didn’t wake up for two weeks.”
Neither moved. The warm cheery room did nothing to dispel the prickle of alarm on the back of her neck. His gaze pinned her. She knew it took extraordinary psychic power to bring a person back from death, to create a revenant. Whatever happened to Bodie couldn’t be attributed to medical science alone. She shuddered. Did her brother wield that kind of power? Did Adrien? He had still been in the field back then.
“You didn’t sense orphic energy before you died, did you?” she asked.
“No.”
“And you didn’t see spirits either.”
His arms folded over his chest. The lines of his face hardened. “This again? Who said anything about spirits?”
His fear and distrust pulsed at her in waves. Hadn’t whoever saved him explained the natural laws of his new life? Did he even know what being a revenant meant?
She set down her bags and sat on the edge of the nearest bed. Educating Bodie wasn’t her responsibility. Hell, she wasn’t sure of the specifics of his current situation herself aside from bits and pieces she’d picked up from legend and psychic mythology.
“When people with psychic abilities have a temporary death experience their abilities usually ramp up a notch or two. If a psychic person dies and is brought back to life, they can attract spirits and ghosts afterwards, or can at least sense them.”
“And you know this how?”
Within the Durand, the subject of revenants was off-limits, especially where Mark was concerned. Of course Bodie didn’t know about Mark, had never seen her brother without his blue contact lenses. “A classical education?”
“Try again.”
If he was ever going to trust her, she had to give him reason. The thought startled her. Did she care if he trusted her? Yeah, she did. “Over many generations my ancestors encountered psychic phenomena and passed the knowledge to their direct descendants. I’m sorry I don’t know more.” She stood and picked up her bags. An ache in her hip reminded her of the reason they were on Jost Van Dyke. “I’m going to unpack then we can go down to Little Harbor. You have everything you need?”
“I’m good.”
When she was halfway out the door his deep voice stopped her. “Lex.”
She turned back. “Yes?”
“You see the espectros too, don’t you?”
A lie came automatically to her lips but she bit it back and went for the truth. “Yeah, sometimes I do.”
Chapter Eleven
Bodie wasn’t surprised that no one complained when Lex dumped her gear bag on the wooden pier that ran along the water in front of Sidney’s Peace and Love. A pair of young men offered their services and she politely declined. They went back to their table and watched with interest when she dropped her shorts and pulled her tee shirt over her head.
“What can I do?” Bodie asked.
“Crowd control for now.”
Amidst helpful and not-so-helpful suggestions from her audience, she removed a sling and filled the pontoons from a small bottle of compressed air. Meanwhile he surveyed the bar like a bodyguard with a rock star. Eventually the men took the warning and refrained from calling out to her. Bodie couldn’t stop the gawking.
She straightened, holding two small silver pistols, and handed him one. “You may need this.”
Too light and oddly shaped for a normal weapon. He glanced around at the bar crowd. “Who do you want me to shoot?”
“Very funny. It’s a tranquillizer gun.” Pointing hers at the water, she flipped a catch that released a chamber where bullets might have gone. Instead, two tiny canisters lay side by side.
“Seems a little unfriendly,” he observed.
“One of the male dolphins tried to kill me. We’ll go in from the beach and wade out. I’ll call one of the females and hope she’s not too agitated to work with. The tranq guns are a last resort in case of another attack.”
“You sure this is a good idea?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should wait for the Ariel.”
“And tell them what?”
“None of them know about your little talent?” he asked.
“No.”
“Not even Latham?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She peered at him over her glasses. “David’s not in the club.”
And now he was. Officially. The Doctor Doolittle I-See-Dead-People Club.
Without further explanation she dug another float from the bag and arranged it on the edge of the dock, inflation cartridges up. “If we need another sling, grab this one,” she said. “Ready?”
His baggy swim trunks floated around his legs as he waded into the clear water. Lex had already retrieved the sling and stood chest deep, gazing over the bay. Minutes went by and no gray body appeared.
The smooth surface of the bay sparkled in the late afternoon sun. He squinted at what might be fins in the distance. The skeptic in him st
ill found the concept of debriefing dolphins absurd, and yet he’d witnessed too many impossible phenomena in the past three years to dismiss it. If one of these creatures could tell her what happened, perhaps he could figure out what caused it.
The hot tropic sun beat on his scalp beneath the short bristle of hair. Filling his hand with water, he cupped it over his head. Twenty yards out, a gray fin broke the surface and glided toward them.
Lex pushed the sling behind her. “Take this. I won’t need it,” she said quietly. “You’re a sweet girl, aren’t you?”
The huge gray body slowed less than three feet from her outstretched hand, barely moving. Through the crystal clear water he could see the bottlenose’s snout nudge Lex’s palm like a dog looking to be petted. She obliged, running both hands over the gray head and down the sleek back. The dolphin swam away to circle back.
“She’s curious about you,” she said. “I vouched for you so be nice. Put out your hand and touch her.”
Fascinated and wary, he tucked the tranquilizer gun into the waistband of his trunks. The female approached him, her eyes friendly enough. Not that he knew what unfriendly dolphin eyes would look like. And she was enormous—nine feet, five hundred pounds—much bigger than he was. Could he trust her? Hell, he didn’t even totally trust Lex. “What do I do?”
“Come out a little deeper. When she gets close, stroke her like you would a horse.”
No point explaining he’d never touched a horse. Wading deeper he reached toward the female as Lex had. Instead of swimming under his hands, she stopped directly in front of him and lifted her head from the water. A thrill shot up his spine.
“She senses you’re male,” Lex said with a laugh.
The dolphin’s smooth head glided over his hand and she rested her beak in his palm. Then he felt it, faint but distinctive. The residue of negative orphic energy. A wave of nausea hit his stomach and he fought it back.
The dolphin squeaked and twisted away. The water pressure from the powerful fins and tail threw him backwards. The sandy footing shifted and he grabbed for the pontoon of the sling and missed as he slipped under the surface.
