Ready for Anything, Anywhere!

by Beverly Barton

  “We need to make sure there’s nothing on us or in the raft that could puncture it,” Jordan told The Professor.

  “What?” Dr. Arnell asked, his gaze focused on Molly. “We have to do something for her. Mick shot her. Why did he shoot her?”

  “To hell with Mick McGuire!” Jordan shouted, totally frustrated and scared half out of his mind.

  “I’ve managed to stop the bleeding, but.” The Professor mumbled. “She needs a doctor.”

  Jordan grabbed The Professor by the shoulders and shook him. “Snap out of it. If you don’t help me, we’re all in trouble.”

  “Yes, yes, my boy. What must I do?”

  “Help!” a man’s voice echoed through the torrent of wind, rain and roaring sea.

  “Did you hear that?” Dr. Arnell asked.

  Jordan scanned the area around the raft, searching for the source of the voice. He knew, even before he caught sight of him, that the voice belonged to Captain McGuire.

  “Let him drown,” Molly told them, her trembling hand grasping hold of Dr. Arnell’s arm. “Let the son of a bitch drown.”

  “My dear, we can’t do that. Despite what he did, he is a human being,” Dr. Arnell told her.

  Within minutes, Mick McGuire swam up to the lifeboat and hoisted himself aboard. Short of knocking him back into the water, Jordan had little choice but to allow him to join them on the raft.

  Gwen sat beside Will at the helm as they sailed along in search of the Sun Dancer. The balmy wind and smooth waters added to the perfection of the warm, sunny day, barely a cloud in the clear blue sky. Despite the odds against them, Gwen felt moderately confident that they would somehow be able to rescue her father, Jordan and Cheryl Kress. That confidence came from knowing that if anyone could accomplish the impossible, it was Will.

  “Did you put on more sunscreen?” he asked her.

  “Not yet.” She extended her arms, flipped them over and back, looking at her skin. “I’m not even pink. That SPF 50 sun blocker I brought with me really works.”

  Will reached over and tapped her on the head. “Keep that cap on. It’ll partially shade your face.”

  She studied him for a few minutes. “For a blond, you sure do tan easily.”

  “Blond? Who me?” Will chuckled.

  “Sandy brown, maybe. But I bet you were a cotton top as a kid.”

  “Yeah, me and both of my brothers. Our hair was so light, it was almost white. Our mother was a blue-eyed blonde. The old man had Indian blood in him. Cherokee I think. His folks were from Oklahoma. My dad stayed brown as gingerbread from working out in the sun.”

  “Would you believe that I was bald when I was born and now I have this thick mop?” Moving her head back and forth, Gwen flipped her loose ponytail. “My mother said I looked like a beautiful little boy with my big brown eyes, round little face and no hair.”

  “I can’t imagine you ever looking like a boy.”

  When he glanced at her, Gwen smiled and they exchanged a meaningful look.

  “By the time I was one, I had wispy brown curls and was an absolute doll. Mama dressed me in the frilliest little outfits, ruffled panties and—”

  “No white cotton underwear for little Gwen, huh?”

  She groaned, then laughed. “You’ll never let me forget about my plain, prim underwear, will you?”

  “I tell you what, brown eyes, once we get back to civilization, you go buy yourself some red-hot silk undies, show them to me, and I’ll never bring up the subject of your white unmentionables ever again.”

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  When he offered her his hand, they shook on the deal. Gwen’s heart fluttered and her stomach quivered. Did he realize he had implied that they would be seeing each other again after this wild adventure ended?

  He doesn’t mean it. He’s just making conversation, passing the time, joking around. She shouldn’t make too much of their little flirtation. After all, Will was a man who liked women, and she just happened to be the only available female. Once he had his pick of women, he’d forget she even existed.

  “You got awfully quiet,” Will said. “Are you thinking about that red silk underwear?”

  “Why red? Why not some other color?” she asked.

  He kept his gaze focused straight ahead. “I think you’d look great in red. I can just imagine how red would look on you, with your dark hair and eyes and peaches-and-cream complexion. You’d be a knockout.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know our deal included your seeing me in the red underwear. I thought I just had to buy it and show it to you.”

  “No way. You have to model it for me or the deal is off.”

  Gwen laughed. “You’re crazy, you know that, don’t you? Once you’ve found Cheryl Kress and taken her home to her father, you’ll go back to Atlanta and forget you ever met me.”

  He turned and looked at her, a sly grin curving his lips and a twinkle in his eye. “Something tells me that you’re not going to be so easy to forget.”

  His comment rendered her speechless.

  “What, no comeback?” he asked.

  “It must have taken years of practice to become so adept at telling a woman what she wants to hear.” What woman didn’t want to be unforgettable?

  “I can be Mr. Smooth when the occasion and the woman call for some sweet-talking, but in your case … ”

  “In my case, what? And don’t you dare think I’d believe you if you told me I’m unforgettable. I’m not that naive.”

  Will shrugged. “You really don’t know your own potential as a femme fatale, do you?”

  Before she had a chance to react, Will cursed under his breath, then said, “Look up ahead. It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “What?” She followed his line of vision, toward the vast blue sky-meets-the-sea horizon. “Oh, my God!”

  “Something’s not right here. I need to get another weather update right now.”

  Gwen couldn’t manage to look away, as if the mesmerizing occurrence miles in front of them had hypnotized her. The swirling dark clouds appeared to be rising from the water, from inside the spinning ocean waves. Silent bolts of lightning danced about, shooting not from the heavens to earth, but from the sea into the sky.

  Will tried to radio for a weather update, then muttered a few choice obscenities.

  “What’s wrong?” Gwen asked.

  “Our radio is dead.”

  When Mick McGuire scrambled toward Molly, The Professor blocked his move.

  “Stay away from her. Don’t you think you’ve caused her enough harm?”

  “I didn’t mean to shoot her,” Mick said. “If the stupid bitch hadn’t been trying to save your sorry ass—”

  “Shut up and sit back,” Jordan told Mick, his tone deadly serious.

  Chuckling, Mick glanced over his shoulder and looked at Jordan. “What makes you think you’re giving the orders?”

  “You’re one man,” Jordan told him. “Dr. Arnell and I make it two against one.”

  “Make that three against one,” Cheryl said, her voice unnaturally calm.

  All eyes turned to her. Jordan noted how pale she was, but her dazed expression was gone, replaced with a look of anger and determination.

  “You’re not so brave without your gun are you, Captain McGuire?” Cheryl made her way around Mick and went directly to where Molly lay huddled semiconscious in The Professor’s lap. Cheryl looked at him and asked, “What can I do to help her?”

  “I’m not sure there is anything we can do,” Dr. Arnell said. “I grabbed the first-aid kit before we abandoned ship, but I’m afraid I lost it when I climbed into the raft.” He caressed Molly’s cheek. “She’s lost quite a bit of blood. Unfortunately, the bullet lodged in her side. It needs to be removed, but without the proper equipment.” Tears welled up in The Professor’s dark eyes.

  Cheryl turned on Mick. “This is your fault. All of it. You shot her. You were the captain and you took us right into the middle of a storm.”

&
nbsp; Mick snarled. “I’m not going to listen to your bellyaching, you little—”

  Cheryl reached out and slapped Mick. Reacting instinctively, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him. Screeching, she hit and kicked him repeatedly.

  The raft undulated, tossing about on the waves as if it might go under at any moment. Jordan grabbed Cheryl away from Mick and pulled her against him, her back to his chest, then held her down, all the while talking quietly to her.

  “Calm down. You’re rocking the raft. If you keep kicking, you could capsize us. You don’t want to do that, do you?”

  With each passing second, Cheryl’s frantic movements slowed, her screeching died away, and finally she went limp in Jordan’s arms.

  Holding her, he spoke to everyone on the raft. “We all need to sit low and distribute our weight. No one should sit on the sides and we can’t be moving about or try to stand up.”

  “What difference does it make?” McGuire glared at Jordan. “We’re all going to die, either now or later. We’ll wind up as fish food.”

  Jordan knew the odds were against them. The vicious storm had taken them completely by surprise. Only by sheer luck had he managed to get everyone into the raft. He hadn’t had time to bring water or food on board. Unless by some miracle they were rescued in the next twenty-four hours, Mick’s prediction of them becoming fish food would probably come true.

  “The radio is dead,” Will repeated, as if he couldn’t believe his own words. “I don’t understand. It was working perfectly.”

  “What can we do?” Gwen asked. “We can’t sail into that storm.”

  “I’m going to try to outrun it. We’ll turn around and head toward Nassau. It should be the closest landmass.”

  While Will maneuvered the cruiser, Gwen stared at the approaching storm, puzzled by the unusual clouds and lightning, both seeming to come from the water, as if the ocean and the sky somehow had switched places. Streaks of broad white light shot up from below the ocean’s surface as if dozens of enormous spotlights on the ocean floor had been turned on and were shooting thousand-megawatt beams into the atmosphere.

  “Will, I don’t know anything about ocean travel, but is that—” she pointed to the far horizon “—the way storms look out here at sea?”

  “No way,” he told her. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s freaky.”

  “Do you really think we can outrun it?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m damn well going to try.” He turned to her. “Get the life jackets. We need to put them on now, just in case. And once we do that, go below and put together some supplies—water, nonperishable food, the first-aid kit and—”

  “You don’t think we can outrun the storm, do you?”

  Their gazes met and locked. “Pray, brown eyes. Pray like you’ve never prayed before.”

  With her head resting in Dr. Arnell’s lap, Molly had lapsed into unconsciousness. Jordan noticed Dr. Arnell caressing her face, brushing stray tendrils of damp hair from her cheeks. The rest of them sat quietly. Tense, frightened and praying for help. Hoping to live. The sudden violent storm that had sunk the Sun Dancer died down as quickly as it had sprung to life, leaving them floating along on a calm, tranquil sea. Gradually the dark clouds surrounding them disappeared, leaving behind an azure-blue sky and shimmering sunlight.

  Cheryl sat beside Jordan, her hands resting in her lap.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Huh?” Jordan glanced at her.

  “I’m sorry I got hysterical and nearly capsized us.”

  Jordan nodded.

  “Is Captain McGuire right—Are we going to die?”

  “No, my dear young lady, we are not going to die,” Dr. Arnell told her. “We survived, all five of us. It’s only a matter of time before we come upon my island. And when we do, the natives will provide us with all that we need.” He laid his withered old hand over Molly’s bloody wound. “They will be able to save my Molly. You wait and see. This is just as it was fifty years ago when I lost my parents, right before I discovered the island.”

  “I wish you’d shut the hell up, old man,” Mick said. “I’m sick to death of hearing about that island.”

  “You never believed in my island, did you?” The Professor looked at Mick quizzically. “I don’t understand why you agreed to back this expedition, why you—”

  Mick laughed gruffly. “You’re a gullible old fool. All we had to do was play along with your foolish idea of a scientific exploration and we had the perfect front.”

  “A front for what?” Cheryl asked.

  “For our drop-offs,” Mick said. “In Kingston and San Juan and St. Mallon and Baccara.”

  “Illegal drugs.” Jordan didn’t know why he hadn’t figured it out sooner. Because he’d had his head in the clouds, just as Dr. Arnell had.

  “Yeah.” Mick snorted. “You and the old man aren’t so smart, are you? Book smart maybe, but dumb as dirt out in the real world.”

  “You said we.” Dr. Arnell stared at Mick. “Who do you mean by we?”

  “Who do you think I mean? Molly and me. As soon as she met up with you at the Yellow Parrot back in Puerto Nuevo, she came up with the idea of our pretending to believe in your theory about that stupid island.”

  “I don’t believe you. Molly cares for me. I care for her. We’re going to be married after I bring the miracle plant back to the world.”

  Mick laughed and laughed.

  Cheryl reached over and patted Dr. Arnell’s hand. “Don’t listen to him. Whatever her original motives were, isn’t it obvious that Molly does care about you? She took a bullet for you, didn’t she?”

  With tears streaming down his face, Dr. Arnell stroked his bony fingers through Molly’s short, dark hair and cupped her head tenderly.

  “Oh, my God!” Cheryl shouted.

  “What is it?” Jordan’s gaze followed hers. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “Land,” Cheryl cried out gleefully. “I see land.”

  “There is no land out here,” Mick said. “We’re in the middle of the Triangle. There’s nothing out here but ocean and more ocean.”

  “No, you’re wrong.” The Professor gazed at the horizon, a smile of pure bliss on his tired, old face. “It’s my island. I knew it would come to me again. Fifty years to the day that I landed here as a young man.”

  “What’s wrong?” Gwen asked when she realized the Footloose wasn’t moving, that the engines were quiet.

  “The engines just died,” Will told her.

  “What? How is that possible?”

  “Hell if I know. First the radio goes out, now the engines die.”

  Gwen glanced over her shoulder at the approaching storm, the storm rising from the ocean’s depth. “Oh … Will … Will … it’s nearly on us.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Within seconds, dark, menacing clouds surrounded them. High waves attacked the cruiser, tossing it about, as rain pelted them and lightning struck the starboard side of the boat.

  Gwen screamed. Will grabbed her and held her.

  We’re going to die. Dear God, we’re going to die.

  Chapter 10

  Gwen had no idea how much time had passed—if it had been minutes or hours—since the Footloose had been engulfed by a raging storm. She had clung to hope, had prayed with every breath she took, had tried to prepare herself for death. And as suddenly as the bizarre storm had descended upon them, it disappeared, as if it had been a merciless mirage, leaving behind utter calm and deadly quiet.

  Will grasped her shoulders and shook her. “Gwen? Gwen, snap out of it.”

  “Huh? What?” From where she huddled on the double seat behind the helm, she gazed up into Will’s blue eyes. Suddenly she realized that his knees straddled either side of her legs, that he hovered over her, concern in his stern expression.

  He helped her into a sitting position, then rested beside her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I think so. What about you
?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “What happened?”

  Will rose to his feet, held out his hand and, when she accepted it, dragged her up alongside him. The deck of the Footloose appeared undamaged, just thoroughly soaked, with water standing a couple of inches deep beneath their feet. Overhead, white fluffy clouds floated along dreamily in the clear blue sky. Beneath the cruiser, the ocean lulled softly, but within seconds she sensed something odd was happening. Will sensed it, too. With her hand in his, she felt him tense.

  “We’re moving,” he told her.

  Gwen glanced in every direction. “We’re drifting due north.”

  “No, we’re not drifting. We’re being pulled.”

  “How is that possible? There’s nothing out there to pull us.”

  “I don’t know. It’s some kind of current in the ocean and it’s dragging us slowly along with it.”

  “Is that normal?”

  He looked right at her, and what she saw in his eyes unnerved her. Not exactly fear, but apprehension. If a man like Will was concerned about their situation.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Tell me.”

  “There was nothing normal about that freak storm we encountered. There’s nothing normal about a late-model cruiser in tip-top shape having sudden engine trouble and losing radio function. Nothing works. None of the navigation instruments, compasses, our cell phones. Not a damn thing.”

  “Do you think what happened is because we’re in the Bermuda Triangle?”

  He grunted. “I don’t believe in superstitious nonsense, but it’s possible some type of magnetic field is wreaking havoc on the engines and the radio and other equipment. Whatever caused the storm and the cruiser’s problems is what’s probably creating the current that is pulling us along.”

  “If it continues moving us due north, it could take us closer to Bermuda.”

  “Or it could simply take us farther into the Atlantic and leave us stranded.”

  “If that happens …”

  “We have water and supplies to last a few weeks, but without being able to radio for help—”

  “I’m not ready for the we’re-going-to-die scenario,” she told him. “Not quite yet. Give me a best-case scenario.”