Backwater Cove Page 16

  “Crap, I’m tied up with something.” I glanced over at the table and saw a questioning look on Justine’s face. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  I walked back to the table with a plan. “Hey, kiddo, can I talk to your mom for a minute?”

  Allie gave her a questioning look and Jane nodded to her.

  “Hey, I bet there are some tarpon cruising up under the dock. You wanna check them out?” Justine saved the day again.

  The two walked away, leaving me alone with Jane for the first time in over a year. “You look good,” I said. I was going to ask if she needed anything, but I knew she cashed my rather large checks every month. With no expenses, at least for now, I hadn’t fought the alimony and child support payments.

  “Allie wants you in her life. I’m lukewarm, especially after today, but she’s going to be eighteen in a few years and can make her own decisions then. If I’m not reasonable with her wishes, I could lose her.”

  That was classic Jane, always pragmatic. I almost wanted to tell her about Misty, but stopped myself. “I know she should be with you most of the time. She needs a stable place to live and go to school. I respect what you do for her.”

  “That’s good to know. I think a few weekends and some holidays would work,” she said. “I’m willing to try it, but you need to swear that she’s not going to be in any danger.”

  I wanted to tell her what she wanted to hear, but before I could come up with words that would have at least some truth to them, my phone vibrated. I saw Grace’s name and turned it over, but my ex knew me too well.

  “At least try…”

  27

  I still had a sense of euphoria after seeing Allie, but it was time to focus. New waterways make me nervous, especially at night. The red and green placards were easily seen during the day. With the sun down and the moon below the horizon, it was a different story. The tide was running against the river’s current and coupled with the wind blowing in off the water, the waves were stacked at the river’s mouth requiring me to steer each one. Every year several boats capsized in conditions like this and Martinez would not be pleased if one had a park service logo on it.

  Once we reached the main channel, I relaxed, turned to Justine, and put my arm around her. “I don’t know how you did it…you’re amazing.” I kissed her hard on the lips and held it until I heard a horn sound from an oncoming boat.

  Slowly, I watched the green and red navigation lights coming toward us and when there was a gap, I cut the wheel to port and headed toward South Beach. Grace had left a message to meet her at the marina there. I guessed she had sweated Kyler enough to arrest Billie. I looked ahead at the barrage of red and green lights, trying to sort the solid lights of the boat traffic from the blinking navigation markers. Between Justine, the chart plotter, and my own eyes, we had a hard time finding our way through the narrow cut between the mainland and Dodge Island. There was no wonder the port authority required pilots on the large freight ships.

  Finally, I was in familiar territory and steered toward the lights of the marina. I started to relax again and moved closer to Justine, but just as I put my arm around her, a large wake rocked us as a boat blew past. This was supposed to be a no-wake zone and when I turned, I saw the boat heading toward the no-motorized vessel area off Virginia Key. I wasn’t sure if it was something to worry about. This was Miami after all and this kind of behavior was far from unusual. I looked back to the mainland to see if a police vessel was in pursuit, but there were no lights heading our way. There was something familiar about the boat that had just passed and I spun my head hoping to catch a glimpse before it was out of sight.

  I saw the name on the transom at the same time as my phone vibrated. It was Grace and I confirmed that the Temptress had just passed us. Billie must be on the run. There was nothing I could do in the small park service boat. He easily had twenty to thirty knots on me, even in the flat water. From his bio, I remembered he came from Venice, Louisiana. Growing up in the closest town to the mouth of the Mississippi and surrounded by miles of bayou country, he had ben born into a hunting and fishing community. I remembered hearing somewhere that the town had more boats than cars. I had no doubt he could run a boat and had no illusions he would make a mistake. The only thing I could do was turn toward the marina and find Grace. A text came through telling me there was a boat waiting there for me. She was already in pursuit.

  I understood her quick reaction. The near-full moon had just broken the horizon and its light was already illuminating the water. With just the hint of a breeze, the seas were flat; one of the rare nights where a crossing of the Gulfstream was not only doable, but comfortable. There would be dozens of boats out tonight making the fifty-mile transit to the Bahamas—too many to distinguish one from another on radar. A visual was the only way we were going to identify him.

  I saw the police boat just after I put my phone down. After slowing for the wake, I pushed down the throttle and headed toward the closest pier at the marina. A helicopter buzzed over just as we pulled up to the dock. There was an awkward moment when Kyler’s sister helped us dock, but she passed a quick thank you for helping out her brother before we stepped across to the waiting Contender.

  We introduced ourselves and got a ten-second safety briefing, mostly comprised of sit down and shut up, while one of the deputies tossed the lines onto the dock. The captain pulled away quickly and hit the button for the light bar. I moved next to him. “Wouldn’t it be better to come up on them without them knowing who we are?”

  “Shit, boy, you’re takin’ all the fun outta this.”

  If I thought it couldn’t get worse than Dick Tracy, I was wrong. I studied the captain as he chewed on a toothpick and hit the switch anyway. The two toothpick-chewing deputies with him were smirking and I was sure they would all be smoking cigars if we weren’t aboard.

  He ignored my request and kept the lights on. I had to admit it was effective, at least for the time being. This time of day, the traffic was mixed between recreational boaters enjoying the evening and commercial boats heading in and out. They all moved to the side, respecting the authority of the police boat. Ignoring them, I searched the horizon for the Temptress. The Contender was up on plane and we were about a hundred yards from the end of the breakwater when I saw a likely target.

  Moving closer to the captain, I pointed out a boat ahead. He winked at me and cut the lights as if this were his plan all along. I grabbed a pair of binoculars sitting on top of the console and scanned the water, focusing on the boat until a container ship being towed by two tugs came between us and blocked the horizon. I was so focused on trying to find the Temptress that I hadn’t even noticed it. Now it was becoming relevant very quickly as it approached.

  Our captain hit the siren, blasting several quick warnings to the larger boat, but not moving it out of the way. The pilot boat escorting the ship was just across from us now and I saw the man at the helm wave his hands frantically in our direction. Ships this large were severely limited in maneuverability, especially the ability to stop quickly. Depending on their speed, it could take as much as a half-mile for one to stop. The pilot held a microphone, which he was screaming unheard words into. I looked over at the captain of the police boat and saw only a grin. He was ignoring the pilot’s warning and I thought he was going to flip him off. Finally, at the last minute, he crossed directly behind the boat. I was thrown off balance when we slammed over its wake forcing me to scramble for one of the seats by the transom.

  The captain continued through the cut into open water and after passing the last marker, turned back toward the boat I had indicated. We had lost so much time that its anchor light was just a dot on the horizon. Even with the pair of three-hundred-horsepower engines on her stern, the Contender was no match for the boat ahead of us. The captain thought otherwise, and, once we reached open water, ignoring the mile-long wake of the container ship, we suddenly accelerated. Not trusting the captain, I grabbed for whatever I could and reached the
helm where I grabbed the binoculars again.

  The boat was too far away to read the name and, in any event, it was hidden by the three outboards hanging on her transom. I had never thought of the Contender as underpowered, but here we were. “He’s running for open water,” I yelled over the engine noise.

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  At first I thought Billie had seen the lights of the police boat and was headed for the imaginary three-mile line where the State’s power ended and would then push it for another nine miles to reach International waters. The Bahamas lay only another thirty miles from there. Instead, the cowboy move of playing chicken with the freighter had actually hidden our pursuit. Now that I knew where Billie was headed, I went back to the seat by the transom.

  Pulling out my phone, I pecked out a message to Grace. It would have been easier to call, but the engine noise forced me to text and ask her for her position. They were miles to the south. There were too many options out here. North would take you up the coast to Palm Beach where it was a quick shot to Grand Bahama. Straight ahead lay Bimini and to the south were the Keys—a hundred islands that a boat could get lost in. I updated her on our position and asked if she had seen anything. The answer came back negative. Watching the anchor light ahead, I wondered how far offshore Miami-Dade would chase the boat. We were probably at or close to the three-mile state limit and the federal waters only extended another six miles. If he was running for the Gulfstream and the Bahamas, we would need a faster boat.

  I slid back to the bench seat by the transom and sat next to Justine thinking about my options. Johnny Wells came to mind, and I pecked out a quick text to my friend at ICE. Using the premise that the Temptress was making a run for it, I asked for his help. ICE had the authority that Miami-Dade lacked—and their thirty-nine-foot Interceptor with its four three-hundred-horsepower engines was one step higher on the bad-ass boat ladder.

  My phone vibrated and I looked down at the screen. My Hail Mary had worked. He had found us on radar and was close by and happy to assist. Working my way back to the helm, I yelled to the captain that ICE was on their way. Instead of dropping power, he looked away and pushed the throttles to their max. The boat, already cruising at close to forty knots, edged closer to fifty.

  “Not in our county,” he yelled back.

  A pissing contest was not going to stop Billie and I tried to think of a way to persuade him. As it turned out, I didn’t need to. Coming straight at our starboard side was the Interceptor. The captain cursed, but knew he was outgunned, both in engine power and authority. He backed off on the throttle and glared at me. I was making more enemies than friends. Before I could respond, the Interceptor had fenders out and pulled to our side.

  Both Johnny Wells and the captain of the Miami-Dade boat were trained in off-loading passengers and cargo at sea and the exchange started smoothly. Justine jumped nimbly across, and I started after her until the last second when I heard the pitch of the Contender’s engine rise just slightly. The boats shifted. I had braced myself, having expected some kind of ploy by the captain and had been ready. In the split second between when I heard the engine and the propeller bit the water, I jumped across. Before I could catch his eye, the Miami-Dade boat had turned and seconds later was up on plane, heading back to port.

  “Appreciate it,” I said to Johnny.

  “No worries. I know that ass. Figured even if you were full of it about chasing down the boat, I could at least save you from him.”

  I searched the open water ahead of us. In the time needed to make the exchange, we had lost visual on the Temptress. Johnny didn’t panic, instead he looked down at his instruments and I followed his gaze to the radar screen.

  “There she is.”

  28

  Johnny Wells and his guys were pros. I had originally met the ICE crew during a drug bust down near the southern boundary of the park and, unlike my relationship with Miami-Dade, ours was comfortable.

  Johnny had the dot on the radar locked into the autopilot and we discussed how to take down the boat. Although I was included in the conversation, he wasn’t looking for advice, but rather wanted to know about our adversary—what he had for boating experience and weapons. I gave him some background on Billie. Growing up in bayou country, he was likely to be proficient with firearms and we had already seen him run a boat. His emotional condition might be unstable and I gave Johnny a quick character sketch from what I had seen of him at the party and on the field. Orders were passed to the three other members of the crew, then Justine and I were issued bulletproof vests. After sliding mine over my head, and checking Justine’s, I looked ahead to see the faint white glow of the Temptress’s mast light ahead.

  I added the horsepower in my head. The Temptress had three two-hundred horsepower engines hanging from her transom. Alex and Rosen had hung them there to lure recruits, not outrun the Interceptor with four, two-twenty-fives. I was pretty sure the narrow beam of the Interceptor as well as the skill of the captain and crew would add to our advantage. Billie, not suspecting that we were this close, was also in cruise mode. Thinking he had evaded the pursuit, if he were running to the Bahamas, he would be throttled back to conserve fuel. We came up on him fast.

  Justine and I were on either side of Johnny at the helm as we approached. I thought it was going to happen quickly, but Billie must have seen us coming and I saw the white wash behind the Temptress flare up as his boat accelerated. Now we would see who had the faster vessel. The race was short-lived when I saw the muzzle flash from the Temptress and a second later, fiberglass shards flew from the bow of the Interceptor. Johnny’s face tightened and he swerved to starboard in an evasive maneuver. Without having to call out an order, the crew immediately took defensive positions. He hit a switch, which activated the light bar. There was no doubt now that Billie knew who was behind him. Shots continued to come from the Temptress though there was no indication that any more had hit.

  “Get the RPG out,” Johnny called to one of his men and turned to me. “Show and tell time.” He picked up the microphone. “Vessel on our port side. This is ICE. Heave to and prepare to be boarded.” He turned the volume up awaiting a reply. There was nothing but static and the boat’s course and speed remained unchanged. “Bastard,” Johnny cursed under his breath.

  The water changed and I knew we had crossed the invisible line into the Gulfstream. The six-knot river running offshore through the Atlantic Ocean was pushing against the wind, creating standing waves where the two currents collided. We crossed into the Stream and Johnny, knowing the waters, used the swells to our advantage. Instead of following behind the Temptress, he ran alongside. I wondered how long this was going to go on. A glance at the chartplotter showed the several small islands ahead. Bimini, was only miles away. If the chase carried us into Bahamian waters, we would have no authority.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked, knowing he already had an answer.

  “Watch this,” he said, calling to the man on the bow to fire.

  An orange stream flashed from the weapon as the RPG flew toward the Temptress. I worried for a second that there would be no arrest.

  “First one’s over the bow,” Johnny said. He waited until the projectile crossed in front of the other boat and picked up the microphone again. “Vessel to our port. This is your last warning.”

  There was a hesitation aboard the other boat now that he knew he was outgunned. It slowed and the chase was over.

  “Had to wait until we were in international waters to use that one. Too much paperwork in federal waters.”

  It seemed the bureaucracy continued through Homeland Security. “As long as we get him.”

  The Temptress was dead in the water and the ICE agents worked like a well-oiled machine to take the boat. Within a few minutes we were tied up alongside and Billie was face down on the deck straddled by an agent who quickly had him in cuffs. The other men cleared the cabins.

  29

  Grace met us on the docks and took Billie int
o custody. “Billie is your arrest. You’ll need to come down to the station.”

  Justine was beside me now. “You go do what you need to. I’ll hang outside,” she kissed me on the cheek.

  Without a vehicle, I rode with Grace to the station where Billie was run through processing. It turned out that he was eighteen and would have to face the charges as an adult. I wasn’t wanting to judge the merits of our justice system, deciding if on a certain day, someone should face trial as a child or adult, but after what Billie had done, there had to be some punishment.

  Alex and Rosen were both in the waiting room and came toward me when I exited the locked door. Rosen was more concerned about the boat than Billie or his victims. Alex was slightly humbled. I wasn’t sure if he understood he was part of the process of destroying young men and marginalizing young women. He had to know the NCAA would be called in and his party would be over.

  The lawyers and reporters filed in just as I was leaving. Martinez would be here soon, making sure he was front and center at the podium. I walked out the doors of the station and saw Justine parked at the curb.

  “Hey! Need a lift?”

  I smiled and got into her car. We sat in silence for a moment while I tried to let the events of the last few days fall off me. Some said that a case was over as soon as the cell door slammed. It wasn’t that way for me. It took me a while to process what happened to the victims and people like Misty, whose lives, some for the better, and others for the worse, had been changed by the crime. I thought of Misty and hoped this would be a wake up call and get her on a better path.

  “Breakfast?” Justine asked.

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Works for me,” she said, and pulled away from the curb.

  We had breakfast in bed several hours later and decided to move out to Adams Key for a few days. I’m sure Martinez would approve my request for a few days off if I didn’t run the overtime for the past week through the system, and Justine had sick days accumulated.