Vigilantes and Lovers Read online

  Vigilantes and Lovers

  The J.R. Finn Sailing Mystery Series

  C.L.R. Dougherty

  Copyright © 2019 by C.L.R. Dougherty

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  rev Aug 2019

  Contents

  Vigilantes and Lovers

  Puerto Rico and the Lesser Antilles

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Mailing List

  A Note to the Reader

  About the Author

  Also by C.L.R. Dougherty

  Vigilantes and Lovers

  The J.R. Finn Sailing Mystery Series

  Book 3

  Intrigue and Romance in the Caribbean

  1

  Before my flight left Miami, I decided to kill Nora. Five hours later, I was back in Tortola aboard Island Girl, my sailboat and my home, with Nora on my mind.

  I put my thoughts of her aside long enough to clear out with Her Majesty's Customs for an overnight sail to St. Martin. In St. Martin I could buy things I couldn't find elsewhere, at least not in the islands. Things I would need, given my decision to kill Nora.

  Clearance in hand, I was underway and out in open water. I would sail through the night and make my landfall in Simpson Bay in time for the first drawbridge into St. Martin's lagoon.

  Sailing alone at night is one of my favorite times for thinking and planning. My thoughts returned to Nora.

  Killing Nora wasn't a casual undertaking. She occupied a prominent place in my life — Nora, or Phyllis Greer, or whatever she was calling herself that day. After 20 years, I didn't even know her real name. So I settled on calling her Nora.

  She showed her true nature when Mary came into my life. Nora was about my age; Mary wasn't much older than my daughter.

  Midlife crisis? Not me. Just because an attractive young woman disrupted my comfortable, well-ordered life, I wasn't buying into that cliché. My situation was different.

  When I first took up with Mary, I thought she was just a diversion. A diversion for me, and a red herring for my opponents. When I met her, I was leaving Puerto Rico on a classified mission. Setting sail to St. Vincent and the Grenadines, I had orders to kill a scumbag operating out of a bar in Kingstown, St. Vincent. But that's a whole different story.

  Mary was standing on the dinghy dock in Puerto Real when I went ashore for a little last-minute grocery shopping before leaving Puerto Rico. She offered to buy me a drink, and before I knew what happened, she talked me into taking her along to the Grenadines. That was a four-day sail, just the two of us, alone and out of sight of land.

  What happened between us on the voyage wasn't surprising. Being attacked before we left Puerto Real coupled with what happened when we got to the Grenadines — that was surprising. But as I said about my mission, that's yet another story.

  Nora knew about Mary before Mary found out about Nora. But predictably, they both caught on before it was over. Nora's first reaction was amusement. She even encouraged my pursuit of Mary; Nora wanted to include Mary in our relationship. That wasn't what it sounds like.

  By the time we reached the Grenadines, Mary and I were lovers. Nora and I were not — we never were. Until a few weeks ago, Nora was just a voice on the phone. I didn't even meet her face-to-face until after I took up with Mary.

  Before I retired, Nora was my boss. She ran an obscure little government agency that was completely off the books. When Nora took over, I was one of the newer members of the agency; by the time I retired, Nora and I were the people with the longest tenure.

  Attrition was a problem among assassins, but I was the best they had. I survived to retire, and they gave me contract work after that.

  They found it useful to have a reliable killer living on a sailboat in the Caribbean. A lot of bad characters ended up passing through the islands, along with a bunch of boat bums who looked like me. I was invisible down here — just another middle-aged dropout scratching out a life on a battered old sailboat.

  And that was how I met Mary. Aside from teasing me a little, she was okay when she found out about Nora. Neither of them seemed to feel threatened by the other, and I didn't see why they should.

  Two open-minded women? How lucky could a man get? But things like that never last. Our odd, three-way relationship was unraveling.

  The story of Nora and Mary and me wasn't over yet. Nora was trying to work her way back into my life, but I wasn't going to let that happen.

  I learned some disturbing things about Nora in the last several days. After working for her for nearly 20 years, I found out she was a crook. Not only was Nora a crook, but she betrayed me in a way I couldn't forgive.

  It might end my long relationship with the U.S. government, but I was going to kill her. Nora's death would be the best thing for everyone I cared about. I just needed to work out the details of her demise.

  2

  I was well clear of the Virgin Islands and on course for St. Martin. There wasn't much traffic to keep me awake. That's one of the challenges of single-handed voyaging. Having Mary aboard to stand watches spoiled me over the last few weeks. Too bad she was busy in Florida for a while yet.

  I missed her, and not just because she was good crew. Despite the difference in our ages, Mary and I thought alike. We shared the same profession.

  She didn't work for the government, though, and that was a critical difference, at least in my mind. She was a hired killer. Mary recently took out several high-level mobsters.

  Everybody has a boss — even high-level mobsters. The mobsters' bosses weren't pleased with Mary. She became a target in her own right, which was why she hitched a ride with me to begin with. She was on the run when we left Puerto Rico, although I didn't know it then.

  And the people chasing her wanted more than revenge. Two of the mobsters she killed were laundering money. Mary stole their files.

  The files went beyond simple bookkeeping; they included long, detailed lists of corrupt politicians and government employees. The files were encrypted, so nobody except the guilty ones knew whose names were on the list.

  Those guilty ones wanted Mary dead, but not until they recovered the files from her. And because I was keeping company with her, they came after me, too.

  One of their minions, a corrupt FBI agent named Kelley, almost disrupted my last mission for Nora. I asked Nora to check him out.

  The backlash from her research was swift. Nora told me she was fired as the resu
lt of her asking questions about Kelley.

  After Nora supposedly lost her job over the questions about Kelley, she arranged to meet me in St. Thomas. She wanted to recruit me and Mary to work with her in a new venture to clean up the corruption we uncovered.

  The St. Thomas meeting was a setup. The intent was to make me turn over Mary and the files. It backfired on Nora, and people died.

  When they didn't get what they wanted from the St. Thomas meeting, the crooks kidnapped my daughter, Abby. That pissed me off and cemented my relationship with Mary.

  She and I set out to avenge Abby, and we did. Our retribution was deadly. They wouldn't underestimate us again.

  In the aftermath, Nora called me, which was a big surprise. Until her phone call, I thought she was killed as part of the setup.

  She was feigning innocence when she called, but the call reminded me she could track me using a special satellite phone she gave me. I destroyed the phone.

  For 20 years, Nora never misled me, but now there wasn't much doubt about her taking direction from the people trying to kill me and Mary. Nora was a rogue agent.

  As a result of Mary's help freeing my daughter, I learned that Mary was connected with a shadowy, powerful man. In response to a call from her, he helped us rescue Abby.

  So far, Mary wasn't willing to talk about him, not that I could blame her. We weren't sharing all our professional secrets yet. Maybe we never would.

  For the moment, Mary and I were on the same side, but I couldn't help worrying about her relationship with that mysterious man. Phorcys, she called him. And he called her Medusa. She said those were passcodes, not pseudonyms.

  I wondered, though. Phorcys and his sister Ceto were figures from Greek mythology. In some versions of their story, Medusa was their daughter. When I asked her if Phorcys was her father, Mary evaded the question.

  I wouldn't read anything into that. Both of us were evasive from habit; it was a survival skill in our business. Still, she did have a tattoo of Medusa on her hip.

  When we were last together, Mary let me listen in on her phone calls with Phorcys. Their exchanges were businesslike; there was no personal innuendo.

  Phorcys was indebted to her; that was clear. She said it was because she handled some sensitive work for him. I probed a little, fishing for a personal connection, but she didn't take the bait.

  As far as I could tell, she didn't let him know I was in on the calls. That meant something important, either for me, or for him. I wasn't sure which, yet.

  It wasn't that I didn't trust Mary; we were past that. I trusted her as much as I trusted anybody, which wasn't much.

  That was part of what kept me alive. But I didn't think Mary meant me harm, at least not right now.

  Nevertheless, I wanted to know more about Phorcys. He might be indebted to Mary, but he owed me nothing, and he knew at least something about me from Mary. That could make him dangerous to me.

  In the past, I would have asked Nora to check out Phorcys for me. Now, I didn't have a source of information about Mary's mysterious friend.

  I knew a few people who supported Nora's agency, though. One was an old Army buddy named Aaron Sanchez. He could probably get answers to my questions about Phorcys.

  I trusted Aaron more than anybody else I knew; the bond from our Army days was strong, even after all these years. He was loyal to me because of our old connection, though I wouldn't take that for granted.

  I needed to test the waters with Aaron. I would buy a throwaway cellphone while I was in St. Martin. I could call Aaron at his office number. I would ask him to call me back; we couldn't talk freely until he was away from his government office.

  3

  "Hello, is Elena Howard there?" I asked, when my call was answered by a man giving an extension number. I recognized Aaron's voice.

  I was in a waterfront café on the Dutch side of St. Martin, having just finished breakfast. I made the first drawbridge opening and got Island Girl anchored on the Dutch side of the lagoon. Once I inflated the dinghy, I cleared in with Dutch customs. A block down Airport Road, I found a shop selling prepaid phones. And by then, I was starving for breakfast.

  "Elena Howard? Nobody like that here. What number were you calling?"

  "Sorry. I mis-dialed."

  "Okay. No problem. I thought I rec — "

  "Yeah, thanks," I mumbled. "I'm using a strange phone. Gotta look up the number. Try again."

  "Sure. Hasta luego," he said.

  Standing and picking up my check, I disconnected the call and turned off the phone. With a fingernail, I popped the back off and removed the SIM card.

  I put the phone and the SIM in my pocket and walked to the cash register. After paying for my meal, I crossed the street to another coffee shop. I took a table that gave me a view of the place I just left.

  My phone call to Aaron was risky. He was a good guy; I've known him since we went through jump school at Fort Benning right after I got out of college. I didn't know what Nora might have told him and the rest of her troops about me, though.

  We've done this before, Aaron and I. Elena Howard was a girl we knew back when we were young and foolish. Her name ensured that he would recognize my voice. From our brief exchange, he would know I was worried about being tracked.

  He decoded my request for him to "get the number" I was calling from and "try again later." His "Hasta luego" comment told me he knew I wanted him to call me back. Despite his name, Aaron didn't normally lapse into Spanish without a reason. Hasta luego — until later — was a signal that he understood me. An eavesdropper would take it as a throwaway comment, but Aaron meant it literally.

  When he called back, he would use a burner phone of his own. My worry was what might happen between now and then. My inbound call to his office number would have been logged automatically. Depending on how the algorithms were set up that day, it might have been flagged for a trace, or even recorded.

  Once I got my coffee in the second café, I watched the entrance to the place across the road, the one where I ate breakfast and called Aaron. In the worst case, I would soon see the cops show up, looking for me. If Nora knew about my call to Aaron, it would only be a matter of a few minutes before they came.

  If Aaron returned my call while my phone was off the network, he would leave a message. He wouldn't return the call if Nora set the hounds on my trail. Or if he did, he would call from his office phone. Seeing the caller ID from his office would tell me I needed to stay clear of him.

  I left my coffee on the table long enough to go to the cash register and buy a newspaper. Then I settled in for a couple of hours of surveillance. After I finished the paper and several more cups of coffee, I decided the coast was clear. I put the SIM back in the phone and powered it on to discover a voicemail from an unknown number in the 703 area code — Northern Virginia.

  That was from Aaron; his home and his office were both in Northern Virginia. I retrieved the voicemail. It was short and to the point.

  "This is a clean number. Call me on it anytime outside office hours."

  After I removed the SIM, I put the phone back in my pocket. Aaron at least thought he was clean, but I wasn't taking any chances.

  I would spend the rest of the day taking care of my errands in St. Martin. Before I sailed for Puerto Rico that evening, I would call Aaron while I could get a cellphone signal. Once I was offshore, there would be no service.

  4

  Island Girl was rolling in the swell that worked its way around Pelican Point and into Simpson Bay. With the wind from the southeast, the anchorage was uncomfortable, but I wasn't planning to stay long. My business in St. Martin was wrapped up in time for me to make the last drawbridge opening out of the lagoon. I anchored just outside the channel to the drawbridge to make my cellphone calls.

  I cleared out for departure with customs and immigration, declaring my destination as Fajardo, Puerto Rico. I put Fajardo on the paperwork to offer a little misdirection. I actually planned to clear into Puerto Ri
co at Culebra. If people with access to the customs databases were looking for me, they would be waiting in Fajardo.

  When I didn't show up in a reasonable time, they would check inbound clearances for other ports. Then they would discover I was in Puerto Rico, but I would have a little head start on them. I wouldn't be in Culebra for long before I headed for Bahia Guánica, where I expected to meet Mary. There would be no paper trail after I cleared in at Culebra.

  Mary was one reason I dropped the anchor after I came out from the lagoon. The other was my friend Aaron Sanchez. Once I was a few miles from St. Martin, I wouldn't have cellphone service, and I wanted to check in with both of them.

  At Island Girl's chart table, I opened my laptop and went online using a satellite hotspot, one of my day's purchases. With the hotspot, I would have internet access even when far offshore. I logged on and navigated to the blind email drop Mary and I shared.

  I left a message there for her before I departed from Miami the other day. That was a few minutes after I spoke with Nora via our dedicated encrypted satellite phones. I was shocked to hear from Nora then, after her "execution" in St. Thomas a few days earlier.