the status of his vessel. It was full-on dark, the moon not yet up. The bow rose as it crested a trough, and then crashed back into the Gulf Stream, making him release a pleased laugh. Nothing like pitching a man and a well-designed boat against the elements to make that man feel alive. Almost as good as catching criminals.
On a thirty-degree heel, Spree raced toward Bimini like a champion thoroughbred. He could put up more sail, but why take a chance? NOAA weather predicted a storm behind this north wind, although they’d be safely across before it hit. Still, no sense in beating the hell out of his boat with novices on board. With the two-to three-knot push from the Gulf Stream, they’d make good time to Gun Cay even without the jib.
If they continued on to Gun Cay.
Satisfied that Spree was operating perfectly, Javi turned his focus to the condition of his charterers. Matters weren’t so rosy on that front.
Debbie had been violently ill over the side of the boat even before they hit the worst of the conditions. Definitely too much “bubbly.” Joan, the purported sailor, held out a little longer, but had insisted on going below to pee and as a result had also puked her guts out.
Wearing their bulky life jackets, the two of them lay curled up in misery on opposite sides of the cockpit. Debbie, on the low side, had the best of it. Joan, on the high side, clutched a winch to keep from rolling into the floor.
Irish, because she took his advice and kept control of the helm most of the time, had so far remained upright. She’d even managed to go below to relieve herself without getting sick. Since he’d taken control, she’d developed a worried crease between her green eyes, and he suspected she’d gotten a little queasy herself. But she needed a break, and he wanted to get the feel of the helm in these conditions.
No worries there. Spree was going to be fine.
So would the women once they got back on dry land.
Maybe it was time to offer to take them back to the Keys. Their decision. He bet he knew what they were going to want.
“You want to take over?” he asked Irish, who sat beside Joan, eyeing her with sympathy.
Cat jumped up. “Yes. For some reason I feel better when I have the wheel.”
“That’s the way it always works. The wind is strong and the rudder will fight you, but you can manage.”
Irish squeezed in front of him, placed her hands on the wheel and spread her legs wide. Nothing about her motions should be sexy, but damned if they weren’t, even in a life jacket. And the woman felt good pressed against him.
Inappropriate, Rivas. Javi stepped away, giving her the helm. “You got it?”
She nodded, a small smile playing with her lips, which intrigued him. Irish was one of those natural sailors who just “got” how to handle a boat. It would be fun to race against her when she got a little more experience.
“Do you think your friends would like to go back to the Keys?” he asked.
She glanced at him in surprise, but quickly refocused on the main, her gaze worriedly assessing the telltales flowing over the sail.
Good girl. She really does learn fast.
“Is that an option?” she asked.
“Totally up to the three of you, but I don’t think Joan or Debbie are having much fun right now.”
She bit her bottom lip, he suspected to stifle a laugh.
“Maybe not,” she agreed.
While Irish concentrated on getting the feel of the boat, and probably thinking about a return to Florida, Javi took the opportunity to check her out. She wore shorts and T-shirt. Before she’d put on the life preserver, he’d tried, without success, not to notice how her shirt strained against her generous breasts. The wind had pulled much of her long auburn hair loose from the ponytail, and she constantly tucked a stray lock behind an ear.
“Ask them,” she said.
“What?”
She shot him a quick look, and a slight smile told him she’d caught him eyeing her. No harm in looking.
“Ask them if they want to go back,” she said.
“Do you?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Not really, but this vacation was all about Debbie. We wanted to cheer her up.”
“Is she the recent divorcée?”
“Yes.”
“I figured.”
Irish’s cheeks, already flushed from the wind, reddened. “You heard us, huh?”
“Hard not to.”
“So,” Cat said, “I’ll do whatever Deb wants.”
Javi turned to ask the question, and found Debbie sitting up.
“I have to pee,” she said.
“I don’t recommend going below,” Javi said. “Remember what happened to Joan. You’ll really feel the motion of the ocean down there.”
“Sorry,” Deb said. “No choice.”
“Wait. Do you want to turn around?” Javi asked.
“What?” Deb halted her awkward progress toward the companionway. “You mean, go back to Marathon?”
“Only if you want to,” Irish said.
“But aren’t we closer to Bimini than Florida by now?”
“No,” Javi said. “Not really.”
He watched Debbie raise her chin, a surprisingly stubborn look in her eyes. Still, he was surprised when she shook her head.
“I’m not giving up.”
“We wouldn’t be giving up, Debbie,” Irish said. “We’re getting you back to dry land where you won’t be sick.”
“No,” Debbie insisted. “I want to go to Gun Cay.”
“You’re sure?” Irish asked.
“Yeah.”
When Debbie descended into the cabin below, Javi said, “We won’t see her again until we arrive at shore.”
Irish shrugged. “Part of the trouble between her and Brad was he said she was a quitter.”
“Doesn’t appear that way to me,” Javi said.
“So we keep going?” Irish asked.
Javi glanced to Joan, who had also sat up. “Unless you and Joan want to outvote her.”
Joan looked to port, but there was no longer any land visible. She sighed in a way that told Javi she’d
