Читать книгу Stranded With The Captain - Sharon Hartley - Страница 11
ОглавлениеJAVI JERKED AWAKE at the sound of laughter drifting through the open hatch. He reached for his service weapon, senses instantly on alert.
He released the gun when he realized where he was and that a group of obviously inebriated people were making their way down Spree’s dock. Illuminating his watch in the dark, he cursed. 1:00 a.m. Damned inconsiderate of these jerks to make so much noise this late on a dock full of live-aboards, some with families.
He gazed through the hatch at stars twinkling in the dark sky. Could these drunken revelers be his charterers? He heard male voices, but maybe the ladies had hooked up and invited new lovers to spend the night on Spree.
Why not? They were on holiday.
“There she is,” a woman said with a touch of admiration. “That’s our Spree.”
“She’s got beautiful lines,” said a male voice.
“Shh!” another woman said, trying to whisper but utterly failing.
Laughter. More whispers and ineffective shushes. Javi resisted the urge to go up top and see what was going on. After several minutes of conversation and a mention of someone needing to get to bed, he heard goodbyes.
A clumsy thud sounded overhead in Spree’s cockpit, followed by giggles and more shushing. Footsteps clomped down the companionway steps as his charterers descended into the main saloon. Fortunately, he’d already closed the door to his quarter-berth cabin. They spoke in subdued tones, at least making an attempt to be quiet, although the occasional laugh broke through.
Reminding himself these women were on vacation and that he’d given them permission to stay aboard tonight, he waited for them to settle in their bunks.
As their hushed conversation continued, he caught mention of an ex-husband they all considered the devil incarnate. Javi wondered which one the ex belonged to, but doors closed, indicating they’d entered their cabins. Faint voices reached him from the master suite shared by Joan and Debbie. Irish, the redhead with the porcelain skin, had opted for the smaller cabin with bunk beds.
The ache in his thigh jerked him back to the present. He’d done what strengthening exercises he could do without a gym, and maybe he’d overdone the reps to compensate. He was seriously pissed about how long his recovery was taking. Two months in from the shooting, and he still wasn’t a hundred percent.
The worst thing wasn’t the pain. The worst thing was the boredom. But he only had four more weeks before he’d be cleared to return to active duty. Four never-ending weeks. God, he missed the job.
Although boredom wasn’t what he anticipated for the next week. Frustration from these clueless women sounded about right.
Spree rocked gently at the dock as he stared through the hatch at a dark sky full of millions of stars. That subtle motion brought back memories of the many happy years aboard Ganesh, a forty-five-foot wooden yawl, his home until college. He and his brother, Roberto, been homeschooled by his mom and dad as they cruised around the world, often hooking up with Marlin at foreign ports. It’d been a hell of an education from far more than textbooks.
Until it all came crashing down on their heads. Javi closed his mind to history that wasn’t quite ancient enough.
This charter had gotten off to a rocky start, and it was his fault because he didn’t like change. Mandatory visits to the Bureau shrink after the shooting had revealed that lovely quirk. Dr. Moonface claimed it was because he had a controlling personality. Maybe she was right. As a result of his irritation, the charterers considered him an evil troll, no doubt on a par with the evil ex.
One of the reasons he’d allowed them to sleep aboard tonight was to enable an early start. The channel in this marina was tricky at low tide, and he wanted to take advantage of the morning high tide. But considering their late night of partying, he doubted any of the ladies would be up before noon. More change.
He’d do better tomorrow, work hard to control his reactions and make them feel welcome. He was supposed to be a gracious host, not a pain in the ass. Marlin depended on repeat business.
As he drifted off, soothed by the rhythm of the boat, Javi decided to fix the women brunch for their first day. Pancakes and bacon. That ought to work. The aroma of frying bacon would rouse the dead. The contract specified they did their own cooking, but in his experience women appreciated a food offering.
* * *
JAVI WOKE TO the shrieks of seagulls greeting a boat returning to port. He heard the quiet rumble of a motor, and Spree rocked from the wake. He suspected this was the Growler, who came in from her night of fishing around 6:00 a.m. Through the overhead hatch, he watched coral-tinged clouds drift, reflecting the sunrise.
Morning had always been his favorite time of day. The world remained calm, the day ahead unknown and the temperature cool. At home, he’d be lacing up his shoes for an early run. But a return to jogging was still weeks away.
He rolled out of his bunk and pulled on khaki shorts and the light blue T-shirt with Spree’s logo he’d wear for the next week, determined to be a welcoming, proper captain today. When he entered the main saloon, as he suspected, none of his charterers were yet awake. Working quietly, he fired up the butane stove and prepared a pot of coffee.
He poured himself a cup and he set out three unbreakable coffee mugs for the women. Grabbing a towel, he hurried up the stairs. He’d take a hot shower in the facilities provided by the marina—the last good shower for a week. He’d check with the Growler, too. If she had a good night, the captain might share extra mahimahi, which would provide a fresh fish dinner for the charterers.
Javi came to a startled halt in the cockpit where he discovered the redhead fast asleep, her long hair loose and splayed out along the fiberglass bench. She wore shorts and a T-shirt that read Green Gully Orchids. He enjoyed a long look at how her shirt strained against what appeared to be perfect breasts. His gaze drifted appreciatively down her long, toned body. Nice legs, too.
Under different circumstances, no question he’d make a play to get this one in his bed.
But Irish was a charterer, which made her totally off-limits, a hard rule no charter captain dared break or risk disaster. His role for the next week had to be the friendly yet distant professional.
Besides, these women already hated him.
She lay with her knees curled to her chest, her body language indicating she was chilled, so he placed his towel over her body and went below to grab another one for his shower. He’d thought all three had gone to their bunks, but maybe she’d been too drunk to make it to her cabin last night.
On his return, when halfway up the stairs, he spotted Irish sitting up and yawning, the towel around her shoulders.
She nodded at his cup. “Is that coffee?”
“Absolutely.” Perfect opportunity to play the good captain. “How do you take it?”
She smiled sleepily. “Just a little cream, please.”
He returned and handed her a fresh mug.
“Thanks,” she said, and took a cautious sip.
“You’re welcome.” Javi sat across from her. “Something amiss with your cabin?”
“My cabin is fine. I came up to look at all the stars, and I guess I fell asleep.” She shot him a pointed look. “Was that against the rules, too?”
“Not at all. But if I’d known you were up here asleep, I’d have been quieter.”
“Oh.” Her pale cheeks flushed a delightful pink. “I’m sorry about last night. We had a little too much to drink.”
Javi mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to bring up the noisy arrival. So much for getting on better terms with my charterers.
“That happens sometimes on vacation,” he said.
She nodded, still appearing embarrassed. “Did you give me this towel?”
“You looked cold.”
“Thanks.” She broke eye contact and took another sip of coffee.
“Not a problem.” When she didn’t speak again, Javi decided Irish wasn’t the friendly type. Or maybe she wasn’t a morning person. He stood. “I’m going to grab a shower at the marina.”
“We can’t shower on board?”
“You can,” he said. “But I didn’t want to wake your friends. Plus, we have a limited fresh water supply, and none of it is hot.”
Her eyes widened. “No hot water?”
“At anchor, I can rig a sun shower and use solar heating to get some water warm. Have you ever chartered before?”
“No,” she admitted. “Joanie is the sailor.”
And apparently Joanie didn’t tell her friends the truth about life aboard a chartered sailboat, or at least this one. “When your friends wake up, I’ll give you the full orientation and a safety drill.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Cat said.
Javi couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or serious. The woman was hard to read, something he wasn’t used to, which annoyed him.
This was going to be one miserable week.
* * *
CAT RELEASED A relieved sigh when the captain jumped onto the pier and moved out of sight. The man made her nervous. He was too damned tall, too damned fit and way too gorgeous. The best strategy would be to ignore him as much as possible for the rest of the week. That’s the way she handled men who made her nervous, which was most men.
She found it so much easier to talk to her orchids. They didn’t talk back, expecting her to say something witty or intelligent.
She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift to her shade house full of phalaenopsis. She knew what to do there, how to nurture her plants into awe-inspiring blooms. Why was it so hard for her to interact with real, breathing, talking human beings? Her mother and father had built Green Gully Orchids by making friends all over the world at shows and conferences, while she preferred to hide in the background and hope no one paid her the slightest attention. Why couldn’t she be more like her parents?
Javi had a body that belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine, but he was also the captain of this boat. She couldn’t snub him all week because she was tongue-tied. She had to interact with him, especially if she wanted to learn how to sail. The brochure hadn’t mentioned the lack of running hot water, but it had most definitely promised sailing lessons.
Cat took a swallow of delicious coffee. The captain might be prickly about his precious rules, but he could brew an excellent cup of caffeine.
She was on vacation, for goodness’ sake. They hadn’t even left the dock, and she’d already started thinking about her business. How ridiculous. Joan was right. She needed to relax. She needed to forget about one bad night ten years ago.
So why not go below and crawl into her bunk? She hadn’t meant to fall asleep on deck last night, but the rock of the boat had acted like a narcotic. The tequila probably didn’t hurt, either. Joan and Debbie wouldn’t be up for hours, particularly Deb, who’d imbibed an incredible amount of liquor.
Cat sighed and took another swallow of coffee. How would her friends feel this morning? Probably not so great. And how much fun would this trip be if Deb stayed drunk the whole time?
Cat stood, intending to make her way to her cabin, when a group of pelicans flew overhead in a perfect V-formation. She watched them glide out of sight and became caught by the beauty of the early morning, how the water reflected blurred profiles of the boats and their masts similar to an impressionist painting. A soft breeze ruffled her hair, and she took a deep breath of salt-laden air.
No, she wouldn’t go back to bed. She was wide-awake. Why not grab her camera and explore the area around the marina?
She slid on her boat shoes and hurried below. The door to Deb and Joan’s cabin remained closed, so she quietly entered her own and found her camera. On her return trip, she noticed the captain had laid out cups for her friends. He’d also poured the brewed coffee into a thermos to keep it warm.
So he wasn’t a total jerk. Joan’s ploy to finagle a free night on the boat had contributed to their initial problems. Hopefully things would flow more smoothly from now on.
She stuck her tiny digital camera into the pocket of her shorts, pulled on the line to get Spree closer to the dock and hopped off the boat. She’d noticed an interesting landscaping arrangement outside the restaurant, and she was always on the hunt for new ideas for show displays.
Halfway down the dock, Cat encountered a pelican with plastic fishing line wrapped around his huge pouch. She startled the bird into an ungainly waddle, so she stopped, staring in horror at his beak.
No way could he open his mouth to fish. Which meant he—or she—couldn’t eat and would soon starve to death. The pitiful thing already looked thin and weak.
Would he let her untangle the snare? As she moved toward the bird, he hurried away from her, flapping his wings.
Cat nibbled on her bottom lip, thinking. What could she do to help? She had to do something.
She fished out her camera and snapped a photo. Yeah, that’ll help him eat.
She glanced to the end of the long dock. What she needed was assistance, someone with expertise, but it was too early for the marina store to be open. She didn’t see anyone on the deck of any of the other boats close by.
The door to the one-story building where the captain had disappeared opened, and he emerged wearing shorts with dozens of pockets and a towel draped around his bare chest. His hair was wet, slicked back from his high forehead. As he grew nearer, she noted he hadn’t shaved but had trimmed his beard. He still reminded her of a pirate.
Javi grinned at her as he approached, and she again felt that delicious tug of attraction. What was it about this guy? No question he had a killer body, but so did a lot of men. Of course, normally when she met a man, he wore a little more clothing. The captain always seemed to be in a state of partial undress.
She pointed at the pelican. “Is there anything we can do to help that guy?”
The captain’s grin faded when he saw the bird. He cursed softly.
“Could we catch it and remove the line?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
The large brown bird, seeming to know he was being discussed, turned his back on Cat and Javi.
The captain reached into one of his many pockets and removed an instrument that looked like pliers. He handed them to Cat. She looked down at the metal device, which was warm from his body heat.
“Snips,” he said in explanation. “I’m seldom without them on Spree.”
Because something is always in need of repair? Great. “Do you have a plan?”
“Stay there,” Javi said. “Don’t make any loud noise or sudden movements.”
“So you’ve done this before?” Cat asked.
“Way too often. Fishermen all over the world cut and release that damned monofilament line, never thinking about the harm it does when tangled up with sea life.” He shook his head. “The ocean can be a scary place.”
Removing the towel from his shoulders, the captain moved to the other side of the bird. The pelican nervously eyed them, but Javi took slow, steady steps, almost in slow motion.
Just as the bird lifted his wings to fly away, Javi grasped him by his bill and held the bird against his body with the towel.
“You’re okay, boy,” the captain said in a soothing voice. “You’re okay.”
The pelican squirmed, but Javi kept him under control, never removing his hand from the bill.
“I didn’t see a hook,” he said. “Can you see one?”
Cat studied how the line looped around the bird’s bill. “No. I think he’s just all tangled up.”
“Good. Or else we’d have to call the rescue station.”
“Can he breathe with you holding him like that?” she asked.
“I’m not holding him that tightly. Are you the nervous type?”
“What?” Cat looked at Javi rather than the bird. Actually, she was. Was it that obvious?
“I need you to cut the line while I’ve got him restrained. Can you do that? Like maybe now.”
Cat took a deep breath, her gaze back on the struggling animal. “As long as you hold him so he doesn’t bite me.”
“Trust me. I’ve got him.”
Trust him? Not in a million years, but she stepped closer, searching where to make the first snip. Years of repotting had taught her how to use cutting tools and that she had to choose wisely. Once cuts were made, there were no do-overs.
But orchid plants didn’t squirm and glare at her with huge, terrified eyes.
“Careful not to poke the bird,” Javi said.
“Yeah, I get that,” Cat said. “The line is dug in deep in some places.”
“I can’t hold him all day.”
Her decision made, Cat made two quick snips, and most of the line fell away. The pelican eyed her with wild-eyed suspicion as she snipped two more times. As she gently plucked away the remaining line, the bird thrashed harder in Javi’s arms.
With the bill now free, the captain released the bird, who flapped away with an outraged guttural squawk.
“You’re welcome,” Javi yelled at the fleeing pelican.
“Will he be okay?” Cat asked.
Javi shrugged. “Should be. I don’t think he was hung up too long.” He looked down at himself, brushed dirt—or maybe poop—and a brown feather from his stomach and made a face. “I guess I need another shower.”
“Sorry,” Cat said, her focus on the captain’s tight abs, which no question were filthy from his contact with the bird. Lucky bird.
“Thanks for helping,” she said.
The captain executed a crisp salute. “At least someone is grateful. See you on Spree.”
Cat watched him move back toward the shower, but he turned and said, “Good job, Irish. You saved that bird’s life.”
Her face grew warm with pleasure. She knew her cheeks were beet red, but she didn’t care. Praise was something she seldom heard, and it felt good even if the appreciation came from a sail-bum pirate.
A totally hot sail-bum pirate.
Humming to herself, she reversed course and returned to Spree. She needed to celebrate with another cup of the captain’s coffee. Plus, saving Parky the Pelican had worked up an appetite. She’d whip up some breakfast and see if that woke up her friends.
She was on vacation. She wanted to go sailing.
* * *
WHEN JAVI RETURNED to Spree, he carried a large fileted mahimahi donated by the crew of Growler that would make an excellent dinner tonight for his charterers. As he pulled on the dock line, he sniffed the enticing aroma of bacon and suspected Irish had beaten him to the task of making breakfast. Maybe helping with the injured bird had earned him a few points.
Once on deck he heard voices, so at least one of the other women was awake. Good. The tide had already begun to change, and he wanted to be out of the channel before dead low tide at noon.
Reminding himself to behave like a professional boat captain, he descended into the main cabin and found all three women at the table. In the center was an open bottle of champagne, a container of orange juice and three of Spree’s plastic wine flutes filled with mimosas.
His gaze went immediately to Irish, who nibbled on her lower lip, looking worried. When their eyes met, a faint flush stained her cheeks and she smiled. The brunette, Joan—he needed to remember their names—sat across from her, staring at the blonde, Debbie, slumped against the seat next to Irish. The plate of eggs in front of Debbie had barely been touched. The other two plates were empty.
“Good morning, ladies,” Javi said, forcing a smile. Morning mimosas weren’t so unusual. And it wasn’t his job to judge how much liquor his charterers drank. Or how early they started.
Debbie raised her mimosa in greeting. “Hail the return of the conquering hero.”
“I told them about the injured pelican,” Irish said quickly. With a glare at Deb, Irish held up a camera. “I showed them a photo I took of the poor guy before you untangled him.”
“That was nice of you,” Joan said. “Thanks.”
“Irish helped,” Javi said. “Definitely a two-person job.”
“Irish?” Joan asked. “Who’s Irish?”
Javi nodded at Cat. “Don’t you think the lassie looks like she’s from the Emerald Isle?” he asked, faking an Irish brogue. He tried to catch her eye and wink, but she looked down, fussing with her camera.
“What’s that?” Debbie said, sniffing the air. She pointed at the wrapped package.
“Fresh fish for dinner.” Javi stashed the mahimahi in the cooler. “I’ll grill it when we’re at anchor tonight.”
“Oh, please don’t mention food,” Debbie said with a groan. “Cat tried to make me puke with her bacon and eggs at the crack of dawn.”
“Are you sick?” Javi asked.
“Nothing that a little hair of the dog won’t cure.” Debbie downed the rest of the pale yellow liquid in her glass, and poured more champagne from the bottle.
“We’ve got aspirin on board if you need it,” Javi offered.
“I’m fine,” Debbie said, settling back against the seat with her flute.
“Would you like some champagne?” Joan asked.
“No thanks,” Javi said.
“There’s plenty of food left if you’d like something to eat,” Irish said, indicating a covered skillet on the stove.
“Thanks,” Javi said. “That would be great.”
He scooped scrambled eggs, a couple of slices of bacon and a piece of cold toast onto a plastic plate, then leaned against the counter to eat, watching the women, who fell silent with furtive glances at each other.
Something was definitely going on with the three of them. They’d been in a heated discussion, but immediately clammed up when he’d entered the galley. Maybe the other two were concerned about the blonde’s drinking and didn’t want him to know. The glasses in front of Joan and Cat were still half-full.
Not his problem.
When finished with breakfast, Javi cleaned his plate and put it back in the cupboard. The contract stipulated the charterers keep the galley clean. Should he say something or wait and see what happened? He’d wait. These were grown women, and he wasn’t their father.
“Are you ladies ready to go sailing?” he asked.
“Yes,” Irish and Joan said simultaneously.
Debbie shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
Javi nodded. “Good. I want to get started while the tide is still high. Let me go over a few safety procedures first.”
“We have a request,” Debbie said.
Something in the blonde’s tone lit up Javi’s radar. Sensing trouble, he said, “We aim to please. What’s up?”
“We want to go to Bimini.”
“Bimini?” Javi repeated, emphasizing each syllable.
Gazing expectantly at him, all three women nodded in agreement.
Of all the things he’d feared, he never expected a request for a trip to the Bahamas. Doable, of course, but not on a charter with two novices.
“Bad idea,” Javi said. “Bimini is a fifteen-hour sail.”
“We heard about a great anchorage called Gun Cay,” Irish said. “Do you know it?”
“Yes,” Javi said. “Where did you hear about Gun Cay?”
“Some guys we met last night,” Joan said. “They raved about how beautiful and serene it is.”
“Is it as wonderful as they said?” Cat asked.
Javi nodded. “Definitely a primo anchorage, but you’ll use up a lot of your time on the boat getting there and back instead of relaxing. Is that what you want?”
“Sounds perfect,” Debbie said. “Cat wants to learn to sail. She and Joan can help you while I lay out on deck and drink.”
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.
