скачать книгу бесплатно
Javi smiled at Debbie. You just think that’s what will happen. “It will be an uncomfortable passage. The wind is out of the north, the leading edge of a front, so it’ll kick up the Gulf Stream and we’ll have to beat the whole trip.” He looked to Joan for confirmation.
“Beat?” Cat asked.
“Sail into the wind,” Javi answered. “Because of that, we’ll be heeled over, and it’ll get rough in the ’Stream.”
“Heeled over?” Joan asked.
Javi stared at her. “I thought you were the sailor.”
“Hobie Cats,” Joan said. “Sailing a Hobie is such a rush.”
“No question,” Javi agreed.
So Joan sailed a small, two-hulled catamaran built for speed, fun and short day sails with no cabin. She knew the basics of sailing, but had no clue about life on a monohulled charter boat.
Great. Make that three novices.
“You know how Hobies sail up on one pontoon?” Javi asked.
Joan nodded. “That’s when it’s really exciting. It’s like you’re flying.”
“Same idea. Imagine we’re under sail and this cabin is tipped over at a thirty-degree angle.” Javi demonstrated by holding his hand level, then slanting it one side. “The heeling is because of the action of the wind on the sails.”
“But we won’t flip over?” Irish asked.
“No. There’s a several ton keel below the hull that acts as a counterbalance, but it’s hard to move around without falling, much less use the head—the bathroom. Plus, Bimini is in a foreign country, so we need to clear customs. That means we have to wait to leave so we arrive during daylight. You’ll lose today.”
“Fine by me,” Debbie said. “I can go back to bed. Joan and Cat can go shopping.”
Irish nibbled on her bottom lip, looking doubtful.
“Or we could go out for a sail this afternoon,” Joan said. “You know, like a shakedown cruise.”
“Do you have your passports?” Javi asked.
“We brought them just in case,” Debbie said.
Of course you did. Javi scowled. He’d hoped a lack of passports would end the discussion. “There’s also an arrival fee that you’ll have to cover.”
“The guys mentioned that last night,” Joan said. “We’ll pay it.”
“And remember we’ll be sailing for fifteen hours, most of the time in the dark.”
Debbie lifted her chin. “Sounds like fun.”
Javi knew that tone of voice. Stubborn. She wanted to go, and no amount of common sense persuasion would talk her out of it.
“The sail over might not be such fun,” he said, nodding at Irish, who seemed the most cautious of the three.
She glanced at Debbie, and then back to him. “Is it safe? I mean, we wouldn’t be in any danger of getting lost at sea, would we?”
“I can’t make any guarantees,” Javi said, needing to talk these three sirens out of this idea. “Something could always go wrong—equipment failure, unexpected weather. That’s in the contract that you signed. And there’s always the possibility of getting sick in rough seas.” Or make that the likelihood.
“I never get seasick,” Joan proclaimed. “And something could break even if we stay in the Keys.”
“Repairs are easy when we’re close to land.”
“Is there something wrong with the boat?” Debbie demanded.
“Not at all,” Javi said. “Spree is totally sound.”
“Aren’t the Bahamas an option on the website?” Joan asked.
“Yes,” Javi admitted.
“Have you made the sail before?” Irish asked.
“I think our hero is afraid of making the trip,” Debbie said before he could answer.
Javi sighed. “What I’m afraid of is it won’t be an enjoyable vacation. I’ve crossed the ’Stream against a norther many times, and can handle the sail.” Single-handed if necessary, which it practically will be.
“Experienced cruisers usually wait for the wind to shift to make the crossing. You don’t have that kind of time.”
“I still say it sounds like fun,” Debbie said. “And I need some fun.”
“Are you sure?” Irish asked.
“Come on, guys,” Debbie said. “You bullied me into this holiday to cheer me up, to do something different.” She raised her flute into the air. “So let’s do something different.”
“What do you say, Joan?” Irish asked.
Joan shrugged. “If it’s as thrilling as flying a Hobie, I say we definitely go for it.”
“I can’t talk you out of it?” Javi asked.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Irish said.
Javi nodded, knowing he’d lost the battle, that he hadn’t painted an ugly enough picture of what they’d be up against.
He could refuse to take them, but that would make the coming week more than miserable for all four of them, plus result in a bad review online. And Marlin did list the Bahamas as an option in his charter brochure. They were within their rights to ask for Gun Cay even if he thought it was a horrible idea.
And maybe he secretly wanted to make the sail, which would be exciting, a definite challenge to sail against the wind in Spree while pushed by the Gulf Stream. He’d been bored since the FBI placed him on medical leave and needed a distraction. Wasn’t that one reason he’d agreed to help Marlin?
“I need to file a new float plan with the marina,” Javi said. “While I’m gone, stow everything that’s out so it can’t bang around the cabin when we leave the dock.”
“Um, you mentioned the possibility of some aspirin?” Debbie said.
Smothering a grin, Javi pointed. “In the first aid kit under the nav station. Remember, put everything back in its place. You ladies also might want to grab a hot shower at the marina.”
“I already took a shower,” Debbie said. “A cold one.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, Javi said, “Then I’ll need to top off the water tanks again. When I get back, we’ll check off a few safety issues and go for a sailing lesson.”
He heard someone mutter, “Captain Bligh,” as he climbed the companionway.
Javi shook his head. If his charterers disliked him now, they’d hate him in twelve hours.
CHAPTER THREE (#u111365f0-1232-504d-b1b6-159caa4e1bf5)
STANDING ON THE bow of Spree, Cat waited for instructions from the captain. The fiberglass beneath her feet rumbled with the vibration of Spree’s engine. The smell of diesel fuel floated on the steady north wind, which tossed her ponytail, tickling her neck.
It was almost 5:00 p.m. and they were finally beginning their journey.
Her job was to release the dock line and throw it onto the dock. Joan stood on the back of the boat ready to cast off the stern line.
Debbie, hungover and tipsy from a second bottle of champagne, sat in the cockpit. Her task was to stay out of everyone’s way. During the safety instructions, she’d complained about queasiness, so the captain sent her up on deck for fresh air. Instead, she went to her cabin and fell asleep. Joan didn’t have the heart to wake her, so they never went out for that sailing lesson.
Cat refused to let Debbie’s resentment of the entire known world spoil her excitement. She was about to embark on an adventure, something that even sounded a little daunting. Who’d have thought that she, Cattleya Sidran, the biggest coward in the known world, would actually look forward to something scary? For sure her mom and dad wouldn’t believe it.
“Release the stern line,” Javi yelled to Joan.
When Javi instructed her to release the bow line, Cat heaved the rope onto the dock. He gave Spree some fuel, motored out of their slip toward the channel that led out of the marina.
“That noisy motor isn’t helping my headache,” Deb muttered when Cat scrambled back to the cockpit and sat beside her.
Cat shrugged. She didn’t much like the motor, either, but they couldn’t raise the sails until they were out in the ocean and had room to maneuver.
His jaw set, the captain alternated his focus between the water ahead and a depth finder mounted on the cockpit. Spree had to stay dead in the center of the channel that led out of the marina. The instrument “pinged” every so often, indicating they were close to running out of water beneath the keel—running aground, Javi called it, quite obviously not a good thing.
He was fully dressed now, wearing khaki shorts, a blue T-shirt and matching visor. Polarized sunglasses covered his dark eyes, but the shirt couldn’t hide the biceps in the arms that gripped the wheel. The earring glinted in the setting sun, again reminding her of a pirate.
But he wasn’t a pirate. Just a sail bum she found mysteriously attractive.
The depth finder pinged several times. Javi cursed, then muttered, “Pardon me, ladies.”
“Have you ever run aground?” Cat asked.
He grinned. “More times than I care to remember.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Debbie said, one hand holding a huge straw hat in place on her head.
Joan caught Cat’s eye and shook her head. Even Joanie was running out of patience with Debbie’s negativity.
Other marinas and businesses concerned with boating interests streamed by Spree on the right—or starboard, Javi said it was called at sea. On the left, or port, was a natural area full of mangroves, their long spidery trunks covered with roosting pelicans and a nasty odor. The narrow channel widened into a harbor, and Spree passed a large group of sailboats, their bows all pointed the same direction.
“Are those boats anchored?” Joan asked.
“They’ve picked up a mooring, which is more permanent, but there’s a fee,” Javi said. “Dropping an anchor is free.”
The wind steadily increased the farther they got from the marina. The commercial area gradually turned residential and some amazing homes appeared.
Javi nodded at Deb. “We’re about to clear the shelter of land. Trust me, you’re going to lose that hat.”
Debbie removed her hat and tossed it through the opening into the cabin below.
When they got offshore, the wind plastered Cat’s T-shirt against her body. The stiff breeze also chopped up the ocean, causing Spree to wallow through the waves.
Cat glanced at Deb, but she didn’t complain about the rough ride.
“Ready for your first lesson, Cat?” Javi asked.
She jumped to her feet. “Sure.”
“Take the wheel.”
When Cat placed her hands on the smooth metal, it was warm, either from Javi’s body heat or the sun, and she felt the rumble of the engine in her fingers. He stayed behind her, his tanned arms around her and his hands also on the wheel. She took a deep breath, got a whiff of his spicy aftershave and forced herself to concentrate on the captain’s instructions.
“Turn the wheel to starboard, like you’re driving a car, and get the feel of how the helm reacts,” he said.
“Easy enough,” Cat said, and within a few minutes got the hang of how the boat maneuvered. Not hard at all.
Then Javi stepped away, leaving her to steer alone. After a brief moment of panic, she enjoyed the sensation of being in command of the sleek boat. It was like driving a car. Sort of. She swallowed and stared at the whitecaps in the ocean.
Joan gave her a thumbs-up.
“You’re doing great, Cat,” Debbie said.
“You okay?” Javi asked.
“I’m fine,” Cat said.
“So are you ladies ready to go sailing?” Javi asked.
“Definitely,” Joan said.
“Anything to stop that noise,” Debbie said.
“I’m going to raise the mainsail,” Javi said, and moved the engine lever to Neutral. “Cat, steer the boat to port and put the bow directly into the wind.”
“How do I know when I’m directly into the wind?” Cat asked.
“See these ribbons?” Javi flicked a ribbon attached to a wire supporting the mast. “These are called telltales. When they’re streaming directly to stern, you’re in the eye of the wind.”
“Got it.”
She turned the wheel to the left until the telltales flowed toward the back of the boat where the dinghy hung off davits. Javi went forward on the deck, did some magic with lines, and a huge white sail rose on the mast, flapping so loudly she could barely hear the engine.
“Now slowly fall off the wind,” Javi yelled.
