Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3), John Cunningham [top fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

photos of happy moms with kids…all straightforward. I clicked the “In the News” tab and found several links to stories about adoption from newspapers all over the world. More statistics, stories of new adoption laws… If there had been threats, I couldn’t imagine why. Adoption was a choice, yes, but not a controversial one.

I sat up, stretched, ran my fingers through my shaggy hair and looked out the window over Duval Street.

I was just the charter pilot. Just deliver the woman to St. Thomas, see what else she needs, and find some time to relax. John Thedford will probably turn up before morning and be waiting for us at the seaplane base in Charlotte Amalie.

With that thought I closed my laptop, shut off the lights, and fell asleep to scattered recollections of the gin-clear waters, powdery white beaches, and colorful buildings of the Virgin Islands… and a glimpse of the cell where I’d spent a hellish few weeks in Hole Town, Tortola.

OF COURSE WHEN YOU have a long day planned with an early start, you sleep like crap the night before. At least I did. After grabbing a café con leche at Cuban Coffee Queen on Caroline, I climbed back in my Rover and drove down Palm Avenue. I was early, but there was little traffic and the morning was bright, the sky a clear metallic blue, so I took my time and pondered last night’s sudden change in course. Hell, we hadn’t even ordered dinner before the dream charter went south.

I took a sip of the hot café con leche—“Damn!” I’d burned my tongue.

The parking lot at the Casa Marina was quiet. I checked my watch—fifteen minutes early. I parked in a handicap spot and sat with a clear view of the main entrance across the entry circle. The hotel had changed hands a few times over the years but I remembered my father saying it had been an abandoned husk in the early seventies. Hard to imagine it as dilapidated given its current grandeur, but then Key West’s history of boom to bust to boom had been as cyclical as Halley’s comet.

A man in black slacks, white polo shirt, and dark glasses stood near the hotel entrance. He sucked hard on a cigarette and glanced back behind him toward the parking lot. Tall, muscular, hair slicked back. Having a smoke while his girlfriend slept?

I didn’t think so.

I followed his gaze toward a black van parked in the passenger off-loading area, but from my angle I couldn’t see if anyone was—

Crystal walked out of the hotel, two bags in tow. She had on tropical-weight khakis and a purple polo shirt that accentuated her glossy auburn hair, which was up in a ponytail. Smart dress for travel. I reached for the door handle, but what happened next stopped me cold. The guy with slicked-back hair flicked his cigarette and approached Crystal at a trot.

He said something to her and reached for her bags.

Crystal pulled the bags back. Slicked-back grabbed her arm.

I flew out of the Rover, jumped a hedge, and sprinted across the lot. The man now had hold of both Crystal’s arms and was trying to pull her toward the van.

I rocketed toward them, lowered my shoulder, and speared him from his blind side. All three of us fell to the ground, Crystal screaming.

Slicked-back grunted but was on his feet, faster than me, hand in his pocket. I shoved Crystal behind me and rolled to my feet, crouched, as he popped open a switchblade.

“Help!” Crystal yelled.

The man lunged toward me, the knife slashed toward my neck—

I ducked, spun to my left, continued in a full circle and caught him with a clean uppercut to the kidney, which bent him over. He grunted something unintelligible, straightened, jumped back, and raised the knife again.

Damn!

Crystal screamed again, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed the side door slide open on the black van.

“What’s going on!” a voice yelled from the hotel entry. “You men there—hey!”

Slicked-back waved the knife, glanced toward the hotel, back at me, his crooked teeth gritted—

“Buck! No!” Crystal said.

“Call 9-1-1!” came the voice from the entry. Slicked-back suddenly turned and jumped into the van, which sped off with him glaring back at us from the open door.

Crystal ran up behind me, along with an older, round-bellied bellman.

“Are you okay, Buck?” she said. “Oh my gosh, what was that?”

“The police are on their way, sir.” The bellman was panting. “Are you all right?”

With my hands on my knees, I sucked air. My shirt was damp—had he cut me?

I rubbed my hand across my stomach—café con leche.

“Was he trying to steal my bags?” Crystal said. “If you hadn’t come when you did—Buck, are you all right?”

I finally looked up and saw the concern on her face. I stood but spotted something on the ground. A handkerchief?

“I’m fine.”

She was shaking, so I put my arm around her and she squeezed my shoulder. “That was crazy! I’ve never—what did he want?”

I bent down and picked up the cloth. It was moist. I smelled it and my eyes blurred—chloroform.

To her credit, Crystal wasn’t crying or a puddle of nerves, just concerned and confused. Could this be connected to her husband’s disappearance on St. Thomas? I heard sirens coming from White Street and in a moment of clarity stuffed the handkerchief in my pocket. We needed to get out of Key West and to the Virgin Islands to find out what was going on, not get held up here indefinitely.

Crystal stood close to me, quiet now, and I guessed she too had connected the dots. I took a deep breath, almost back to normal, and leaned close to her.

“We need to get going, so let’s keep this simple.” I nodded toward the police car that flew into the parking area, lights flashing and siren blaring.

She gave me a quick nod.

“I’m so sorry, folks!” A man in a suit had come from the hotel, the