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

drunk, and we both said things that cut to the bone.” I caught her shudder out of the corner of my eye. “That night he said it was over—the charity, that is, but we both knew the failure could drag our relationship down with it. He slept out in the cockpit, and I was awake all night in the cabin. The next morning was our last day, and all we had to do was sail around to Soper’s Hole to drop the boat.”

She smiled, and even through her distant gaze her eyes sparkled.

“I‘d been talking all along about stopping off at a tiny little island called Sandy Spit, northwest of Tortola. John must have been feeling guilty, because even though we were supposed to be back with the boat by noon, he steered us there. Turned out to be the loveliest little thatch of sand and palm trees, surrounded by the most cerulean blue water you’ve ever seen.”

I’d been to Sandy Spit. An acre square, with a deep-water anchorage out front and the softest pink sand in the Virgin Islands. I recalled the feel of my feet sinking into that sand as if the island were swallowing me.

“We laughed and lounged on that beach, watched our catamaran lift in the gentle surf, and when John glanced at the boat, he remembered he’d promised to bring his former law partner a t-shirt from Foxy’s on the next island over. So we swam back to the boat, took an aggressive course to Foxy’s, and when we got there, the harbor was packed. Foxy’s was bursting with people partying and having the times of their lives.”

“The old Silver Fox can do that to you,” I said.

She explained that there had been a reggae festival going on in Foxy’s open-air pavilion. That was the spark for their idea. Voila! The vision they had changed their lives to pursue was resurrected.

“After that, everything snowballed. We added a diverse all-star board of directors that includes a famous movie director, politicians, and even Viktor Galey, a billionaire industrialist, so the connections we needed gelled, and here we are.”

A shiver passed up my spine. I glanced over and Crystal still stared straight ahead, smiling at the memory. On the brink of failure, they’d powered through it and were now set to achieve what they had considered impossible. I’d felt equal joy at the start of e-Antiquity. Boy, had I been wrong.

A tear dripped from Crystal’s cheek onto her purple blouse.

Why had the ISA event been derailed? Why had these people been targeted? There was either something going on that I didn’t know about yet, or Crystal was holding out on me, or both.

I concentrated on flying, pushing aside my admiration for Crystal along with my attraction to her. Not a sexual attraction but more of an intellectual connection, something that’s been rare in my life. Flying in a small airplane is an intimate experience, whether you intend it to be or not. And when there’s an emotionally charged discussion with a woman like Crystal…

I checked our position on my chart, adjusted our airspeed to preserve fuel, which was getting low, and vectored toward Grand Turk.

“We’ll be landing to refuel in about fifteen minutes,” I said.

“That was fast.” She checked her watch.

It had been three hours since we left Key West. I’d learned a lot about Crystal but had yet to learn a thing about why their event had produced threats, why she’d been attacked, or why her husband was missing.

I’d dig deeper on our next leg.

THE TURKS AND CAICOS possess some of the most beautiful waters I’ve ever seen anywhere. The fifty-plus island chain became very popular after the mid-1970’s, and as a result, Providenciales enjoyed a high-rise condo boom that quadrupled lodging opportunities on the island, marred the beautiful white beaches, and lasted until the market crash that killed e-Antiquity. At least Provo had a great airport and FBO.

We had just enough time to refuel, use the restroom, grab a coffee, and get back in the air. Crystal didn’t seem to notice the clear water, the coconut-laden palm trees, the singsong voice of the fuel jockey. But the brilliance of the light brought out the colors in her hair and made her amber eyes sparkle.

“So tell me more about the event,” I said once we were in the air.

She turned toward me but her gaze seemed far away.

“I’m the guy who doesn’t watch TV, remember?” I smiled. She tried to conjure one herself but didn’t quite succeed.

“We’re expecting about twenty celebrities to participate in the concert—if they haven’t started dropping out because John’s missing. We’re calling it Adoption AID.”

“Are they people you met while living in L.A.?”

“Some. But every one of them has a direct connection to adoption, either as adoptees, birth parents, adoptive parents, or relatives.” She shifted in her seat and glanced out the side window. “We haven’t announced the complete line-up yet, but the network that’s televising the concert is supposed to start a heavy promotional campaign today.”

“Anyone I’d recognize?”

“Faith Hill, Tim McGraw, Steven Spielberg, President Clinton, Jamie Foxx, Debbie Harry—”

“Blondie?”

“She was adopted. Also Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, Madonna, David Crosby—”

“Impressive.”

She smiled. “Oh, there’s plenty more. Senator McCain, country star Avery Rose, the rapper D.M.C., Jesse Jackson, Joni Mitchell, Stud Mahoney, Mike Dirnt of Green Day, Ray Liotta, Roseanne Barr, Rosie McDonnell, Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman, Candy McKenzie, Chief Justice Roberts, Lilli Taylor, Susie Coelho, Justin Bigges… the list keeps going.” She took a breath. “They’re all connected to adoption, one way or another.”

“Are they all showing up at your event?”

She laughed out loud. “I wish. But several will be there, and others too.”

We talked about the precedent for concerts as vehicles to raise attention and money for important issues, swapping examples like Farm Aid, Live Earth, No Nukes, Live Aid, The Concert for New York City after 9/11, Hurricane Sandy Relief.

“I didn’t realize adoption needed that kind of attention,” I said.

Crystal smiled. “Fifty percent of