Fallen Angel: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 9) by Wayne Stinnett Page A

“I have friends at ICE.”
    “Definitely appreciate it,” I said. “And for your coming out here.”
    “My last official act,” Parsons said with a smile. “Retirement is tomorrow.”
    “So you’ll be staying on here in the Melbourne area?”
    “Nope,” he replied, still grinning. “You remember that operations officer at CephaloTech? We’re sort of moving in together. I already have the townhouse sold and everything packed. I’ll be in Miami before the sun goes down.”
    I did remember Delores Juarez. A no-nonsense business woman, she’d been very helpful in finding out the whereabouts of her employers. “Nice lady. Congratulations.”
    “Thanks,” Parsons said. “And if you don’t need me for anything more, I’ll just head on back home.”
    Tony was reeling in the hose, both tanks and both bladders full once more. “Doesn’t look like it, Dave. Thanks again.”
    Twenty minutes later, we were accelerating out of the inlet and turning northeast, the bow of the Revenge seeking out the Gulf Stream like a hound on a deer trail.
    Tony and Art took over again once we were in deep water and headed to the Stream. I managed to sleep until just before sunrise. A change in the pitch of the engines woke me only minutes before my alarm would go off.
    I quickly slipped on my boat shoes, leaving Chyrel to sleep a little longer in the Pullman. In the galley, I flipped the switch for the intercom and leaned in close to it, so as not to wake the others. “Why are we slowing?”
    “Better get up here, Jesse,” Andrew replied. “There’s foul weather ahead.”
    “Gimme a minute to secure things down here,” I replied. “How bad’s it look?”
    “Probably ought to get all hands on deck.”
    I quickly woke Tony and Art and had them get busy readying the boat for rough seas, then went forward and got Chyrel up, asking her to wake the girl and bring her up to the bridge. The coffeemaker was full once more, so I emptied it, refilling the empty thermoses. Grabbing my mug, I made my way out into the cockpit.
    Seas were a little high, three to five feet maybe, but the well-spaced rollers were barely noticeable as we climbed the back of each, then rolled slightly to port as we went down the other side. I handed the thermoses to Pat and climbed up. Andrew vacated the helm and moved forward to roll down the clear curtains that surround three sides of the bridge. I switched the NOAA offshore radio report to broadcast boatwide so the others would know what lay ahead.
    “Is there anything I can do to help?” Pat asked.
    “Thanks,” I replied. “Tony and Art are taking care of things below and Andrew has everything in hand here. The ride’s gonna get a little bumpy, though. Under that bench, you’ll find a stack of life vests. Will you get seven of them out, please?”
    “Really?” she asked, a worried look on her face.
    “Just a precaution, nothing to worry about.”
    She rose and lifted the seat cushion. “These don’t look like the Mae Wests I’m familiar with.”
    “Those are for worst case,” I said, watching the sky ahead. Heat lightning was building over the mainland to port, and long, arcing flashes illuminated the storm clouds ahead. “They’re designed to keep an unconscious person’s face out of the water. Not worth a nickel for swimming in, though.”
    Pat handed me one and I stood to put it on, letting out the side straps a little first. Once Pat had her own on, she sat back down on the bench, watching Andrew for a moment, then got up to help him with the final curtain.
    As the others came up, Pat handed them each a life vest. Andrew directed Pat and Chrissy to the forward-facing bench seat, explaining that it had grab rails on either side. “When it gets rough,” he told them, “just hang on to the grab rails. This boat can take a lot more than what we’ll be going through, but it might be kinda scary if you’re not used to it. Art will be right next to you on the other bench, okay?”