Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3) by John Cunningham (best manga ereader .txt) 📗

Jaw tight, eyes blazing, she said, “Let’s find these bastards.”

I felt a jolt of electricity pass between us that sat me up straight.

Damn. Suspicion had been an ally when it came to corralling my thoughts about Crystal Thedford. Now I’d need to rely on self-discipline.

Double damn.

I BEGAN A LONG slow circle around western St. John, looking for a good place to land. Great Cruz Bay was filled with boats. We flew over Rendezvous Bay to Fish Bay, where I spotted the compound that belonged to Diego Francis. We continued to bank over the green wilderness of the Virgin Islands National Park, over Cinnamon Bay to Trunk Bay, and continued west.

I followed the shipping lane that led straight into Cruz Bay, added flaps after a few miles, turned onto a base leg and minutes later a final approach. Had Booth contacted the FAA yet?

When we touched down I realized that my headset had been quiet. No air traffic controllers freaking out, no demands that I divert to St. Thomas or Beef Island.

As we taxied on the step toward the beach at Cruz Bay, a small black helicopter rounded the western point from the direction of Caneel Bay. It was headed straight toward us and buzzed past at high-speed, right over the Beast. I could clearly see two men: one was the pilot, the other held binoculars aimed right at us. They didn’t circle around but continued past. I remembered Brass Knuckles’s report of Diego’s compound getting machine-gunned from a helicopter.

I had a feeling I’d seen that chopper or maybe one of the men before but I couldn’t remember where. I’d call Booth and mention it, but the phone was probably disconnected by now, and he didn’t want my help anyway.

The Beach Bar was up ahead on the right corner of the thin sandy strip that separated Cruz Bay from the Caribbean Sea—

What the hell?

The beach was packed with people all the way around the bar, several hundred of them at least.

“What’s going on here?” Crystal said.

I killed the engines and was out of my seat before the props quit turning.

“Let’s find out,” I said.

WITH THE BEAST’S AFT and stern anchors set in the soft sand in front of American Watersports, Crystal and I waded to shore. Billy Hartman, at his usual corner of the patio restaurant, agreed to keep an eye on the plane and said he’d advise security to watch it overnight. He was half in the bag, but he’d been right about the red Cigarette so I figured I could trust him to follow through.

The sound of live music increased in volume as we walked down the beach. Everybody in the crowd seemed to be having a good time

“Who’s playing?” I asked a cute blond in a bikini perched on some lucky guy’s shoulders.

A big smile. “Scott Kirby, Thom Shepherd, and Matt Hoggatt!”

“Shoot, I knew that,” Crystal said. “They told me they were doing a show here on St. John.”

“Are they part of Adoption AID?”

“Matt has a few step-kids and has friends performing, and the others wanted to support the effort.”

We meandered through the crowd and caught a glimpse of Scott, Thom, and Matt set up at the far end of the bar. At the moment they were singing Thom’s song “Texas Girls.” As much as I’d have loved to kick back, have a cold Carib, and enjoy the show, the clock was ticking.

I scanned the crowd. There had to be nearly a thousand people on the beach, packed into the bar and out on the road behind the stage.

Crystal grabbed my arm and pulled me deeper into the crowd, toward the bar—I spotted Ray, wearing a big loopy grin, Lenny next to him chatting it up with three smiling lovelies. Figures. Conch Man was comfortable on either side of the bar.

It took a few moments and a dozen screamed “excuse me’s” to reach them, but when we did, Lenny interrupted whatever spiel he’d been spinning to give us a big smile and a high-five.

“About time you guys showed up!” Ray yelled.

“Brother Buck!” Lenny’s bright white teeth gleamed. “And sister Crystal. Welcome to the party, y’all! If these dudes are rocking the ladies this good, I can’t wait to see what happens at the show. Ha!”

Crystal’s smile was on the tepid side, but her eyes were still sharp.

I leaned in to shout in Ray’s ear. “Did you get a hold of—”

“Right over there.” He pointed across the bar.

It took a moment, but déjà vu struck me when I spotted Brass Knuckles in the same spot I’d seen him a few days ago. He’d cut his dreadlocks off. His eyes were locked on mine and he seemed oblivious to the music and scene playing out around him. There was no sign of Diego Francis.

The song finished and Scott Kirby announced they were taking a break. In the vacuum that followed, I leaned in close to my two friends from Key West. I felt Crystal push up against me.

“Did you talk to that guy?” I nodded toward the other side of the bar, but Brass Knuckles was now pressing through the crowd, glancing at me.

“Yeah, he didn’t say much, only that he wanted to talk to you,” Ray said.

“Bad-looking mother,” Lenny said. “The hell you want with him?”

“More like what he wants from me,” I said.

“You’re late,” Brass Knuckles said. “Diego’s been waiting for you. He don’t like to wait, especially under the circumstances.”

“As you recall, I was held up in Tortola.”

“Diego’s down the beach,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll be right there, just give me a second with these guys.”

Guys like Brass Knuckles don’t respond well to people countering their orders, because they’re under orders themselves. His eyes narrowed to the point I wondered how he could see out of them.

“I said—”

“Look, friend. I’m the one who suggested we meet, got it? So give me a couple minutes and I’ll be right there.” I stood square to him, loose,