His Only Obsession (Protectors #27)

by Beverly Barton

  “If we’re lucky, we’ll catch up with them in Kingston.”

  “And if we’re not that lucky?”

  “Then we’ll find out where they went and catch them at the next port.”

  “That might not be possible, not if they head out to sea, straight toward Bermuda, directly into the Devil’s Triangle.”

  Lieutenant Seabert had done nothing to allay Gwen’s fears that her father had gotten himself involved with a couple of dangerous criminals. Instead, Will realized grimly, the lieutenant had only frightened her more when he told them that Mick McGuire, alias Michael Smith, Mike Willis, Micah Muir, was suspected of murder. Several murders to be exact.

  If Will thought it would do any good, he’d suggest that she let him handle things with their contact, while she waited like a good little girl in the car. But being a realist Will knew that wasn’t about to happen. Gwen was the kind of woman who would resent a man trying to keep her safely in the background. And that’s the reason he included her in his meeting with their Dundee contact, a wiry, brown-skinned Jamaican named Webster. Webster was a good operative. Dundee’s had used his expertise in the past. So had the CIA.

  “Where are we meeting him?” Gwen asked, as Will drove the rental car they’d picked up at the airport straight toward their destination.

  “The Caribbean Marina,” Will replied.

  “Do you think that’s where my father’s rental boat is docked?”

  “Webster didn’t say.”

  “Well, what exactly did he say?”

  “He said to meet him at the marina, that he had information for us.”

  “Why didn’t you—”

  “Gwen, stop asking me so many questions. You’ll know what I know when Webster tells me. Got it?”

  “Yes, I’ve got it!” she snapped at him, obviously aggravated.

  He could explain that Webster didn’t deliver messages over the phone, that he was a look-you-in-the-eye kind of guy. But he damn well didn’t feel like explaining every move he made to her. After all, he was doing her a favor by letting her tag along. She should be grateful and just keep her mouth shut. But since she was a woman, that might prove impossible.

  Ten minutes later they arrived at the marina. The piers were lined with docked sea craft, everything from huge yachts to small fishing boats. If the Sun Dancer was here, Webster would know and could take them directly to it.

  “He said he’d meet us at the entrance,” Will told Gwen as he opened the passenger door for her.

  She got out of the car but didn’t say a word, just followed along beside him as he headed for the entrance. Webster, wearing white slacks, sandals and a colorful floral shirt, emerged from where he’d been waiting just inside the stone pillar entrance.

  “Who is she?” Webster asked, appraising Gwen as if she were a priceless jewel he wanted to purchase.

  “She’s mine,” Will replied, not giving any thought to his answer.

  Webster lifted his eyebrows. “Not your usual, is she, mon? This one, she is a lady.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Webster.” Gwen smiled at the Dundee contact.

  “Just Webster, pretty lady.”

  “Back to business,” Will said.

  “They are not here.” Webster looked directly at Will.

  “They’re not here at this marina or they’re not here in Kingston?” Will asked.

  “They were in Kingston. Molly Esteban delivered a package. They were gone, back to sea, in three hours’ time.”

  “Gone where?” Gwen asked.

  “What about the package?” Will wanted to know.

  Webster glanced at Gwen. “Gone to the next drop-off. San Juan, Puerto Rico.” He looked back at Will. “We think the package contained cocaine. Molly and Mick are not major players, but they wish to be.”

  “Have the San Juan authorities been contacted?” Will asked.

  “No, mon. The time is not right.”

  “What do you mean—” Gwen said.

  “Now, don’t you worry about things that are none of your business, honey.” Will hurriedly draped his arm around her shoulders and dragged her up against his side.

  Webster chuckled. Gwen bristled, but thankfully kept her mouth shut.

  “Who’s our contact in San Juan?” Will asked.

  “Jose. He’s new in the business, but you can trust him.”

  Five minutes later Will and Gwen were back in the rental car heading for the airport. Gwen hadn’t spoken to him since they left the marina. He knew she was as mad as hell.

  “Okay, let me have it.” He hazarded a glance at her stern face.

  “Is all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense really necessary?” she asked. “And what was that ‘she’s mine’ business all about, anyway?”

  “Look, if you don’t like the way I do things, then when we get back to the airport, we can go our separate ways. But I can be in San Juan in less than two hours and have a good chance of catching up with Jordan Elders. Don’t forget that my only interest is finding Cheryl Kress.”

  Gwen fumed. Will could almost see smoke coming out her ears.

  She didn’t say another word all the way to the airport.

  The Dundee contact in San Juan met them at the airport. Jose was short, stocky and remarkably good looking, with curly black hair and huge black eyes. He was pleasant to Gwen but for the most part ignored her.

  He spoke rapidly in Spanish as he zipped along in late-evening traffic. Gwen, who was squeezed between the two men, kept her hands in her lap and listened, hoping that sooner or later, Will would translate at least part of the conversation.

  He didn’t. Jerk.

  Glancing out the windshield, she watched the scenery flash by as they sped along. Gwen thought that under different circumstances she would enjoy doing some sightseeing. She’d never been to Puerto Rico before. Usually on vacation trips she visited botanical gardens, explored nature trails and loved collecting information about the local flora.

  It was almost twilight when they pulled up in the parking area of a small marina. Jose parked the car, got out and disappeared. Gwen crossed her arms over her chest and looked straight ahead, determined not to be the first one who spoke.

  “Jose is checking to see if our cruiser is ready,” Will said.

  Snapping around to face him, Gwen stared at him, puzzled and speechless.

  “The Sun Dancer is one step ahead of us,” Will told her. “They left here about three hours ago, after Molly made a delivery.”

  “Why are we renting a cruiser instead of flying to the next destination?”

  “Because the next destination is the Atlantic Ocean, somewhere between here and Bermuda.”

  “Crap! They’re actually letting Daddy go on his adventure, aren’t they? But if they’re smuggling drugs, why would they?”

  “Your father’s mad adventure is a good front for Molly and Mick. They could be headed anywhere, maybe the Bahamas, maybe Bermuda. What harm would it do to let your father think they were helping him search for his mythical island?”

  “You and Jose were doing a great deal of talking. Is that all he told you?”

  “No, that wasn’t all. It seems five people were seen aboard the Sun Dancer as it headed out to sea.”

  “Five people?”

  “Mick and Molly, an old man fitting your father’s description, a young man, whom we assume was Jordan Elders and a young redhead.”

  “Cheryl Kress?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “You think she didn’t go with Jordan willingly, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know and I’m not making any assumptions about why she might be with your father and his assistant.”

  “And with two dangerous criminals.”

  “Remember that it’s highly unlikely your father and Jordan know Molly and Mick are criminals.”

  “But if they killed Tori Boyd, then surely—”

  “If Mick killed Tori, he would hardly have done it in front of witnesses,” Will said.

 
; “Then my father and Jordan really might not know the kind of people they’ve hooked up with.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t. As long as they believe Mick and Molly are investors, people who’ve simply bought into your father’s crazy dream, then your father, Jordan and Cheryl should be safe.”

  “And if they learn the truth?”

  “Let’s hope we find them before that happens.”

  Chapter 5

  “What do you mean we’ll have to stay the night aboard the yacht and not leave until morning?” With her hands planted on her hips, Gwen glowered at Will.

  “No vessels are being allowed to leave tonight,” Will explained. “There’s a storm just north of Puerto Rico, one that any sane sailor would try to avoid.”

  “What about Daddy and the others aboard the Sun Dancer? They set sail a few hours ago. Why were they allowed to leave?”

  “Three hours ago the storm warning had not been issued.” Will paused in their trek down the pier to where their rental boat, which Will referred to as a yacht, was anchored. With his vinyl bag hooked over one shoulder and carrying her small suitcase, Will turned and faced Gwen, then he laid his free hand on her shoulder. “This Mick fellow isn’t going to risk his life. Once he learned of the storm warning, he probably dropped anchor at the nearest port, probably the Dominican Republic or possibly one of the Turks and Caicos islands.”

  “Then why can’t we take the jet and—”

  “And go where? We don’t know for sure where they might have docked.”

  The wind whipped around them, a warm, moist tropical wind, a precursor of the approaching storm. The pressure of Will’s strong hand on her shoulder felt reassuring, and yet the simple contact slightly unnerved her.

  “How will we ever find them, chasing after them in a boat, when we have no idea where they are?”

  “Look, I’ll fill you in on details later.” He looked skyward. “The bottom’s going to drop out any minute now, and I’d prefer not to get drenched.” He grabbed her arm. “Let’s get on board the Footloose and I promise I’ll do my best to answer all your questions.”

  They stood there on the pier for a locked-horns moment. Gwen was growing more and more frustrated with Will’s reluctance to share important information about their search for her father and his shipmates. A flash of lightning lit up the evening sky. When a loud rumble of thunder followed the light show, Gwen quickly nodded in agreement and raced alongside Will, hoping to stay one step ahead of the approaching rain.

  “There she is,” Will said. “She’s a Sea Ray 580 Super Sport. This little yacht is a compact beauty, with two staterooms.”

  Gwen stopped just long enough to size up the Footloose, and knowing very little about seacraft of any kind, her appraisal consisted of noting it was white, clean and apparently quite new.

  “It must be expensive to rent,” she said.

  “Yeah, probably is. But that’s not our concern. Dundee’s is picking up the tab.”

  “Of course.”

  “The fold-out steps are hidden in the coaming,” Will told her as he tossed their bags aboard and revealed the steps within the frame around a hatchway in the deck.

  After boarding, Will helped her onto the yacht. Another streak of lightning lit up the twilight sky. Gwen barely had time to notice that the aft-deck layout included a large U-shaped seating area, high-low tables and what she thought was a wet bar before Will shoved her bag into her arms.

  Hoisting his own bag over his shoulder, Will led Gwen to an acrylic door and hatch, flipped a switch to turn on an overhead light, then led her down the companionway. The first thing she noticed was the abundance of lacquered wood. Beautiful. Simply beautiful. Sleek and modern in design, the galley boasted abundant storage and molded black granite countertops. A large curved leather settee was nestled against the wall opposite the galley in the neat and compact salon.

  “The galley’s fully equipped,” Will said. “I believe the master stateroom and bath are aft, and the guest stateroom and bath are forward. You can take your pick.”

  “I’ll take the guest room,” she told him. “As long as there’s a bed and bathroom with a shower, I’ll be fine.”

  “Why don’t you go check it out, and if you don’t like it, we can swap. If you’d like to take a shower and change clothes, go ahead and I’ll whip up some supper for us. We’re supposed to have enough supplies for a couple of weeks.”

  “I’ll put my bag in the stateroom and be right back.” She looked directly at him. “But before either of us does anything else, I want us to have the discussion you promised me.”

  Will grunted. “What happened to the good old days when women just did what men told them to do?”

  “Remind me just what century that was.”

  “Okay, okay. You made your point,” Will told her. “I’m going to get a beer. Want one?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Aggravating, macho, bossy… Gwen silently grumbled to herself as she opened the door to the forward stateroom; at least, she believed it was forward. She felt along the wall for a light switch and found one. The room was tiny, the bed taking up almost all the space. But like the rest of the small yacht, the room was clean and neat. She laid her bag at the foot of the bed, then opened the door and checked out the bathroom. Will would probably refer to it as the head. Wasn’t that what bathrooms on ships were called? The head was finished in Fiberglass and what she thought was Corian. White and dark blue. Nautical-print blue towels hung on the bar across the front edge of the sink.

  When she returned to the lounge area, she found Will sprawled out on the large settee, one leg crossed over the other and a bottle of beer in his hand. Her stomach did a stupid flip-flop as she stared at him. It was totally illogical, not to mention stupid, of her to be attracted to him. First of all, he didn’t seem the least bit attracted to her. And second, he was just a little too “me Tarzan, you Jane” to suit Gwen.

  “It’s raining,” he said. “If the winds get rough, we’ll probably be rocking most of the night.”

  Completely ignoring his comment, Gwen asked, “How can you be certain we’ll be able to follow the Sun Dancer’s path?”

  “Straight to the point.” He saluted her with the bottle, then downed a hefty swig, emptying half the contents.

  “It’s not that I’m ungrateful for your help, it’s just that I feel as if we’re on a wild-goose chase and are accomplishing nothing.”

  “If any of our operatives had gotten lucky enough to find the Sun Dancer while it was still in port, they might have been able to put a tracking device on board.” Will paused. “No questions?”

  She shook her head. “Go on.”

  “It’s possible that might still happen.”

  She nodded.

  “You’re wondering how come if an operative could board the Sun Dancer, why wouldn’t one of our guys simply detain the ship and all aboard.” He waited for her comment, but when she said nothing, he continued. “My contacts—Dundee’s contacts—are independent operatives. They work outside the law, and neither they nor I have any authority in these various countries, so our guys have to be careful not to get caught doing something blatantly illegal.”

  “Are you telling me that you—that the Dundee Agency has contacts everywhere, on every little island in the Caribbean?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. We have contacts on several major islands, but our contacts have contacts who have contacts everywhere on earth.”

  A tight knot formed in the pit of Gwen’s stomach. “When you said your contacts, you meant just that, didn’t you? These contacts, these operatives aren’t all Dundee’s.” She knew before she posed the question to him, but she had to ask, needed to hear him say it. “What did you do before you became a private investigator for the Dundee Agency?”

  Will finished off his beer. “I worked for the government.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I worked in the field,” he said vaguel
y.

  “Like the CIA or something?”

  “There’s another reason none of our contacts would try to detain the Sun Dancer,” Will said as if she hadn’t asked about his former line of work. “We don’t know what Mick McGuire and Molly Esteban might do. They could easily fight back, and one of the other passengers could get hurt. Or they could take the others hostage. It’s better for your father, Jordan Elders and Cheryl Kress if we can separate them from Mick and Molly before taking any kind of action.”

  “How do we know that my father and Jordan and Cheryl aren’t already hostages?”

  “We don’t.”

  “In any case, their lives are in danger.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

  The door lock clicked. Cheryl Kress backed up against the headboard of the bed in her small stateroom, a room in which she was kept confined whenever the yacht came into port. Only when the Sun Dancer was out at sea was she allowed any freedom.

  “I’ve brought your dinner.” Jordan Elders entered the room, a cloth-covered tray in his hands.

  “I’m not hungry.” She glared at him, hating him almost as much as she hated Tori for getting her into this situation. Here she was trapped aboard this boat with a crazy old coot, his assistant and his sleazy investors, while Tori was back in Puerto Nuevo safe and sound. Tori should be the one here, because it was Tori who had a thing for Jordan Elders, Tori who had planned to stow away on the boat and surprise Jordan.

  “Come on, Cheryl, don’t pout. You have to eat something.”

  “I’m not pouting. I’m pissed. I’m angry. I’m outraged.”

  Jordan placed the tray at the foot of the bed. “Look, I’m sorry we can’t put you ashore so you can go home, but it’s like Captain McGuire pointed out, we can’t take any chance that you’ll involve the police, maybe even claim we kidnapped you. If that happened, it would put an end to our voyage to find The Professor’s island.”