Sharon Hartley - Stranded With The Captain

North Bimini reminded her of the chaos of the busy World Orchid Conference on opening day.

“So much for a quiet anchorage,” Cat said.

“Yeah, this place has really changed since they built the resort,” Javi said. “It’s expensive to dock these days, but I have a buddy who’ll let us tie up for the time it’ll take to get clearance.”

“How long will that be?”

“You never know.”

He steered Spree into a dock with four or five fuel pumps. After they’d secured the boat, the captain hurried away with a stack of papers they’d worked on last night to present to Bahamas Customs, including their passports and a Maritime Declaration of Health.

She hoped seasickness wouldn’t count against the occupants of Spree.

When Javi disappeared inside the fuel dock’s office, Cat went below to check on Joan and Debbie. They couldn’t leave the boat until the captain returned with official permission. She creaked open the door to her friends’ cabin, and an unpleasant odor washed over her. She hoped they hadn’t been sick in the room, which understandably wasn’t nearly as neat as when they’d departed.

Neither of her friends reacted to her appearance. Lying on her side, Debbie snored loudly, probably thanks to a bottle of sleeping pills on the table next to the bed. On her back, Joan didn’t stir. Likely she’d been able to keep a sedative down, as well. Probably for the best.

Cat considered waking them, but decided to wait until the captain returned with permission to go ashore.

After tidying up the galley—a task impossible in the dark while sailing—she took a quick shower, which wasn’t as cold as she’d feared, and changed into clean clothes. Refreshed but hungry, she prepared a bowl of cereal and went on deck to eat and watch the world sail by. Another siren howled in the distance.

She was comfortable alone—the way she spent most of her time—but hadn’t expected this vacation with two old friends to be so solitary.

* * *

TWO AND A half hours later, with Bahamian clearance in hand, Javi returned to Spree. His time with customs took longer than it should have, but Sunday morning was the worst possible time for quick service. Plus, his bad luck, there’d been a robbery of high-grade pharmaceuticals last night in Nassau, which had put the Royal Bahamas Defence Force on high alert.

Intrigued, he’d tried to learn details, but the authorities weren’t cooperative other than telling him two cops had taken fire.

Not his problem, anyway. He was on a sail charter, and his FBI badge gave him no jurisdiction in the Bahamas. He’d declared his service weapon, which caused additional complications, more time. The authorities had reluctantly allowed him to retain it, but weren’t happy.

As he hurried down the concrete dock toward the boat, he spotted Irish in the cockpit under a huge straw hat wearing white sunglasses. She had a book on her lap, and raised her head when a Jet Ski raced by rocking Spree. Since he’d been gone so long, he thought she might fall asleep, and couldn’t decide whether it was better or worse that she was awake.

If asleep, she couldn’t put up any arguments.

Much to his surprise, she’d been great last night, and he’d enjoyed working with her. It’d been a hell of an exciting sail, reminding him how much he loved Mother Ocean. He’d bet his shield Irish had enjoyed parts of the crossing, too. Not so much her friends. Once they got out of this busy port, maybe the week would flow more smoothly.

Although who knew how charterers would react when things didn’t go their way.

“Javi.”

He halted when his friend Heathbow Smith hailed him.

“I need that space,” Heathbow said. “Sun’s getting high. Customers need my dock to buy fuel.” Sweat dripped off the Bahamian’s face. “I hope you’re planning to leave soon.”

“Soon as I top off the tank, Heath.”

Heathbow grinned, revealing a gold tooth. “Good.”

“Do you know anything about what happened in Nassau?” Javi asked. If anyone knew details it would be Heath. He’d retired from the defense force, and his brother remained on active duty.

Heathbow’s smile disappeared. “Bad business. Two cops shot, one DOA.”

Javi cursed. No wonder customs had been jumpy. A cop killed in the line of duty was an unusual event in the Bahamas.

“Perps stole a boat. They halfway to Jamaica by now,” Heath continued. “Bad weather coming, though. Tough luck for them.”

“Right. Hey, thanks, buddy. I owe you,” Javi told him, shaking his hand.

“That you do.” Heath’s grin reappeared. “I’ll collect another time.”

Irish looked up with a smile when he tugged on Spree’s dock line. She’d evidently showered and changed clothes, now appearing fresh and relaxed. Good for her. He felt grubby and anything but relaxed. He’d traded on his long-standing friendship with Heathbow too long. No telling how many sales the man had missed with Spree blocking one of his fuel pumps.

“All set?” Irish asked as she rose.

He handed her the clearance papers. “I hope your friends didn’t go ashore,” Javi said.

“They’re asleep in their cabin,” she said with a cursory glance at the paperwork. “I’ll wake them now that you’re back.”

“Don’t. We have to gas up and get out of here pronto.”

Her smiled faded. “What? We can’t stay for a while?”

“No. This is a fuel dock.”

“But I’m sure Joan and Debbie will want to check out this charming town.”

Charming? Unlocking the fuel tank, Javi said, “I thought you wanted a deserted anchorage.”

“True.” She hesitated. “But isn’t dry land the best cure for seasickness?”

“Usually.” Javi paused, trying to ascertain her mood. She appeared worried, or maybe that was frustration. Or fatigue. He still couldn’t read her. Most likely she wanted stable land under her feet, too.

“If you want to stay in Alice Town, dockage will run you several hundred dollars a night,” he said.

She raised her sunglasses onto her head, revealing those startlingly emerald eyes. “That much?”

He nodded. “Marinas charge transients by the foot.”

She looked around the harbor. “What about a mooring?”

“I doubt if there’s one available, but we still need to leave here. My friend is anxious for Spree to vacate this spot so he can make money.”

He watched with interest as she nibbled on her bottom lip. Damn, but she had an intriguing mouth. He definitely needed to catch some shut-eye if he was imagining a charterer’s mouth on various parts of his anatomy.

Apparently out of arguments, she nodded. “Can I help with the fueling?”

“Well, I’ll need a credit card.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, right.”

When she emerged from below and handed him a card, he asked, “Do you want to top off the water tanks? That way you won’t have to be so careful with showering and cleaning.”

“I suppose we have to pay for water, too?”

“You have to pay for everything. Even to dump the trash.”

She sighed. “Fortunately, we don’t have much trash yet. Do it. Deb and Joan are going to want showers when they wake up—even if the water is cold.”

Fifteen minutes later, with Spree’s tanks full of water and fuel, Cat cast off the bow line. Javi placed the engine in Reverse and backed away from the dock. Heath waved as they motored away, obviously glad to see them go.

A sixty-five-foot motor yacht squeezed into their space as soon as they vacated.

“Do you want me to get on the radio and find a place to spend the night?” he asked.

Frowning, Irish looked toward the cabin. “I wish I knew what they’d want to do.”

“Wake them up and ask.”