Abducted in the Keys Read online

  Paying homage to the king, I played my Elvis’s Greatest Hits playlist on the outdoor speakers. We finished eating to “Jailhouse Rock,” relaxed for an hour, then cruised west to Neptune’s Table for a shallower dive.

  We spent the rest of the day out on the water. We taught Scarlett more about diving and how to read currents, charts, and weather patterns. We also taught her basic boat operation and terminology. She was a quick learner. By the time the sun was setting, she was at the helm, bringing us back into Conch Harbor.

  After tying off, we rinsed down all of our gear, then tidied up. Once everything was stowed, I locked up the Baia and we all climbed aboard the Robalo and motored back to the house.

  Even when living in the tropics, there’s nothing better after a day of diving than a long hot shower. Once clean and dressed in fresh clothes, we sat out on the porch and talked enthusiastically about the day.

  “You two have an incredible life,” Scarlett said while petting Atticus and looking out over the water.

  It hadn’t come easy or without risks. But she was right. The life Ange and I shared was better than anything I could’ve possibly imagined.

  Ange glanced at her watch. It was 1930. The mic was scheduled to get hot at Pete’s in half an hour.

  “Who’s hungry?” Ange said.

  We climbed into the Tacoma and drove downtown. Salty Pete’s Bar, Grill, and Museum is one of my favorite places on earth. It’s located just a few blocks from the busy streets of Duval and Whitehead and has been a landmark in Key West ever since the owner, Pete Jameson, opened the doors over thirty years ago.

  I pulled us into the nearly full seashell parking lot. By outward appearance, Pete’s place looks more like an old renovated house than a restaurant. A two-story wooden structure with a balcony out back and a modest porch and front door.

  We entered, welcomed by the ring of a bell and the chorus of various conversations. The main dining area was nearing max capacity and the staff was busy shuffling meals and taking orders. Assorted pictures and maritime memorabilia covered the walls. It was well renovated but still had its classic feel.

  Mia, the lead waitress, welcomed us and said that Pete was up getting things ready on the balcony. We headed up the wooden staircase at the back of the room. The second level is the museum part, filled with rows of various artifacts from around the Keys, most kept in glass cases.

  Ange and I headed for the sliding glass door to the balcony, but we quickly realized that Scarlett had veered off course. She was drawn to the displays like a mosquito to a zapper light. She was particularly interested in the artifacts we’d managed to keep from the Aztec treasure. And the chest we’d found buried last year over at the base of the Key West Lighthouse.

  “The sides of the chest are riddles,” I said. “We had to meet up with a scholarly friend of ours to figure out how to open it.”

  “Who made it?” she asked. “And why?”

  There were a few placards with brief explanations of the adventure, but I told her that we’d give her the full story sometime.

  “Who’s that scary-looking guy?” she asked, pointing at the large image of a pirate as we headed toward the door.

  “A pirate captain named John Shadow,” Ange said. “And that’s a whole other story.”

  She moved slowly, enjoying all the displays. “You think I could ever help you find something like this?” she asked, motioning toward a picture of the excavation of Shadow’s treasure trove on Lignumvitae Key.

  “Sure,” I said. “You keep progressing like you did today and you’ll be an aquanaut in no time.”

  The glass door slid open, allowing the loud outside commotion to take the place of the relative quiet. We looked up and spotted Pete. We left the door open for one of the waitresses, then smiled as he moved toward us.

  Pete is one of the most well-liked people in the islands. He’s as conch as can be, having lived his whole life in the Keys and spent much of it on the water. He’s in his early sixties, with tanned skin from hours spent out under the sun. He’s average height and has a noticeable beer gut and a bald head. But he has a spring and liveliness to his movements that’s uncommon for his age. The most distinguishing characteristic, however, is the shiny hook he has instead of a right hand.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Dodges,” he said with a big smile. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “We saw you a few days ago,” Ange said with a laugh.

  Much like Jack, Pete lived on island time.

  “Who’s this?” he said.

  “Scarlett,” I said, then introduced them. “She’s staying with us until tomorrow.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, giving her a hug. “Any friend of Logan and Ange is a friend of mine. I heard about what happened. It was a good thing you stumbled upon them, Logan.”

  The Coconut Telegraph strikes again.

  He led us to an empty table off to the side. The karaoke was just about to start up when Mia came over with a stack of menus.

  “What’s your favorite thing here?” Scarlett asked while looking over the menu.

  “That’s like asking what’s the best Tom Hanks movie,” I said. “There are too many great ones to decide. What do you like?”

  We ordered the works and shared buffet style. A blackened grouper sandwich. Shrimp cocktail. Conch fritters. A dozen raw oysters on the half shell. A plate of their famous sweet potato fries. In essence, pure bliss. Scarlett approved, loving everything she tasted.

  Jack and Lauren joined the group just as the music started.

  As is the case at most every karaoke night around the world, the singing started off pretty good. Then, as the drinks tallied up and the confidence levels rose, things got ugly. It’s like watching American Idol. There are the good ones, and then there are the ones who should never attempt a note outside of their shower under normal circumstances. But that’s what makes karaoke so fun. There’s no pressure, and it’s all just about having a good time.

  As we finished eating, Cal Brooks stumbled up to the stage. He hadn’t lied earlier about changing it up. Instead of his usual song choice, he decided on a personal rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion. I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time, and by the end of it, half the people were on their feet and holding their arms out like Rose on Titanic’s bow.

  He finished to roaring applause. I took my last bite of food and stared in awe as Scarlett downed the rest of her second plate.

  “I don’t know where you put it all,” I said.

  It really was incredible, considering I estimated that she couldn’t weigh more than a buck ten.

  “You were right,” she said. “It’s all just so good.”

  A few songs later, she asked where the bathroom was, and Ange and Lauren stood up to go with her. As the three of them headed toward the door, I spotted a guy I’d never seen before. He looked young, probably early twenties, with sunburned skin and a skinny frame. He was wearing big goofy sunglasses, even though the sun had been down for a few hours. He also wore a strange silver chain, a mostly unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, jeans, and sandals. He stood out, which isn’t easy to do in the ultra-liberal Key West.

  His look didn’t bother me. What bothered me was that he was staring at the three girls when they passed by him. Not a friendly or even just a quick checking-them-out look either. His mouth opened, and he lowered his sunglasses for a better look.

  I was used to guys checking out Ange. When you have a wife as beautiful as she is, it comes with the territory. But this guy made no attempt at being discreet, or respectful.

  I watched him after they walked past. Sure enough, he stared at them until they disappeared from view. Then he grabbed his phone. He had all the makings of a real pervert. If he aimed the camera of his phone anywhere near them when they came back, I’d have no choice but to walk over and introduce myself.

  “You alright, bro?” Jack said.

  I looked away from the mysterious guy and faced Jack
and Pete.

  “You recognize that guy?” I asked, motioning toward the stranger.

  They both looked then shook their heads.

  Suddenly, my phone vibrated to life in my pocket. I slid it out and saw a new message. It was from Scott. He told me that they had a lead. A crewmember from the freighter last night wanted to meet with me. He claimed to have seen what had happened to the lost boat. He was back at his home in Tampa, and Scott wanted to fly me out there in the morning. Why he couldn’t just tell everything on the phone, I didn’t know, but I figured he wanted to keep things confidential. Maybe he didn’t want to lose his job.

  I texted back, saying I was able to go. Then I got another message a minute later saying Scott would have his helicopter pick me up at Key West International the following morning. It sounded like a good lead. Maybe it could help us put a stop to the entire operation.

  After replying, I lowered my phone.

  Just as I lifted my eyes from the screen of my phone, I saw the girls walking back toward us. They weaved through a few standing people. Scarlett, who was taking up the rear, waited as a busboy moved past with a gray tub of dirty dishes. The guy I’d noticed before was sitting just a table away from her. He was staring at her intently, eyeing her up and down. It was a look I’d seen many times before. A harmless, natural look most of the time. Just not when it’s a grown man checking out a fifteen-year-old girl.

  As Scarlett headed our way and closer to the guy, I slid my chair back a foot. I was ready to rise from my seat and pounce. I could be over there in a few seconds.

  The guy released his grip on his beer and moved his arm back. He didn’t take her picture. As Scarlet strode by his table, he shifted his body, leaned forward, and slapped her butt with his right hand.

  TWELVE

  I was up from my seat in an instant. Before the young punk’s hand struck. My legs lifted me and moved the rest of my body toward the incident uncontrollably.

  I couldn’t hear anything over the singing, but I’d seen it. As clear as day. I’d seen it, and it was time to teach the guy a lesson.

  But I was beaten to it.

  Mere seconds after the guy made contact, Scarlett spun around and snatched his wrist with her right hand. Faster than a blink, she jerked him down, pressed her left hand onto the top of his neck, and slammed his head into the corner of his table. The glasses and plates shook as his skull hit the pointed edge with a thud. He yelled, then toppled over. Not unconscious, but dazed from the blow.

  Unrelenting, Scarlett jammed her right foot onto his chest, pinning him to the deck. Ange reached her first, with me right on her heels.

  “What the fuck was that for?” the guy shouted as best he could in between groans of pain.

  There was a gash in his forehead. Blood dripped down the side of his face. The guy singing had seen the commotion and stopped, leaving only the background instrumental as all eyes gravitated toward the scene.

  “Touch me again and it’ll only get worse,” Scarlett snapped.

  The guy tried to force her foot off, but she only pressed harder. I wanted to close in and give the guy a piece of my mind, but Ange stopped me.

  “Shit, I was just showing some affection,” the guy barked. “You should be flattered.”

  Now I’d had enough.

  “She’s fifteen, jackass,” I said, sliding a table to move beside Scarlett. “You show her affection again and you’ll be spending the next month in a hospital bed.”

  He eyed me with intense rage. One of the lenses of his big goofy sunglasses had shattered. Somehow they’d managed to stay on his face. He looked like an idiot, and he’d just gotten his butt handed to him by a teenaged girl.

  “Hey,” he said, finally able to come up with a reply. “Who the hell do you—”

  Scarlett shifted her foot down over his neck to shut him up.

  “It’s time for you to leave,” she said.

  His face went from angry as hell to stoic in a second. He nodded slowly.

  “I’m very sorry,” he said calmly. “I’ll leave.”

  His tone shifted as well, from angry to more pleasant. As pleasant as I pegged him capable of anyway. It was like the guy suffered from multiple personality disorder or something.

  Scarlett kept the pressure on him for a few seconds, then let off. He staggered to his feet and wiped the blood from his face with a napkin. I watched him like a hawk. If he made so much as a move toward her, I’d have him laid out and begging for mercy.

  “You have a pleasant evening,” he said, bowing to her.

  There was something very off about his behavior. Something deeply sinister. The entire crowd was watching by that point. By all outward appearances, he’d gotten spooked and decided it best to shape up and leave. But I sensed a desire for revenge and expected him to snap at any second.

  He didn’t.

  He set the napkin on the table, turned around, and walked casually away. He moved through the sliding glass door and soon disappeared from view.

  A few people in the crowd began to clap. Then more joined in. Within seconds there were loud cheers thrown into the mix.

  Pete patted Scarlett on the back.

  “An impressive display,” he said. Then he turned to look at Ange and me and added, “You sure she’s not related to you?”

  “A good move,” Ange said. “Nicely done.”

  I couldn’t stop staring at the glass door, couldn’t get the punk out of my mind.

  Something about him wasn’t right. I’d seen a lot of bar fights in my time. Never had I seen someone get hit, then brush themselves off and walk away cordially.

  Maybe he was a nutjob. He certainly looked the part.

  As the music started back up, I walked over to Mia.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t teach that guy a lesson,” she said when she locked eyes on me.

  She unfolded a wooden tray stand, then set a platter of food on top of it.

  “She beat me to it,” I replied with a smile. “Hey, I noticed that punk was drinking. You didn’t happen to card him, did you?”

  She set a few full plates in front of happy patrons.

  “His last name was Duke,” she said, already knowing what my next question was going to be. “That’s all I remember.”

  I thanked her, gave her a hand with the remaining plates, then moved back to my table.

  After the excitement wore off, we spent another hour listening to the songs and enjoying some drinks and Key lime pie. I couldn’t get over how well Scarlett had handled herself. That guy had been much bigger and stronger than her, and yet she’d managed to take him down. She was even more like Ange than I thought.

  THIRTEEN

  We drove home at half past ten. It had been another long day and we were all looking forward to a good night’s sleep.

  “You did good today,” I told Scarlett as we stepped into the living room. “And not just with the drunk guy. I mean with everything. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you. I can feel it.”

  She stared at me for a few seconds. Frozen solid. Then she took two steps, wrapped her arms around me, and pressed herself into my chest. I smiled as I hugged her back. She sniffled a few times. I glanced over at Ange, who was getting teary-eyed as well.

  Without a word, she released her grip. Stepping back, she wiped her face with her hand, then turned and moved toward the spare bedroom. She petted a sleepy Atticus, then stopped when she reached the doorway and looked back over her shoulder.

  “I wish I didn’t have to leave,” she said.

  Then she entered and shut the door behind her.

  Ange and I stood quiet for a moment. When I tilted my head and our eyes met, she had a faint smile on her face. A knowing smile.

  “What?” I said.

  “Nothing,” she lied.

  We crawled into bed and switched off the lights. Atticus nestled into his bed on the floor. Our curtains were shut but rippled slightly from the breeze entering the partly open window. A few cracks of distant
glowing moonlight snuck through and allowed me to see a few dark swaying palms.

  I lay on my back and wrapped my arm around Ange. Instead of snuggling up with her head on my chest, she sat up.

  “What if,” she said, finally letting out all the thoughts I knew were bouncing around in her mind, “she didn’t have to leave?”

  Now it was my turn to sit up.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I mean what if we adopt her?”

  I flipped on my bedside lamp. I wanted to look her in the eyes.

  Had she had a little too much to drink? Was she joking or something?

  The light flicked on. She was looking right at me. Serious.

  “Ange, we—”

  “I called her case manager,” she cut me off. “While on the boat. I used the sat phone. I was just curious how the process works.”

  It was something I’d honestly never even thought about. Maybe because it was so sudden and so far out of left field.

  Left field? More like the parking garage two blocks from the stadium.

  “Ange, I like her too, but we barely know her. And you want to become legally responsible for her?”

  “Look, I know it’s more than a little crazy. But she doesn’t have anyone.” She paused a moment, biting her lip. “I just think we can help her. In a few years she’ll be an adult. I think maybe we can help steer her in the right direction.”

  I fell silent, lost in thought. Ange wasn’t just describing Scarlett, she was describing herself. Having lost both her parents at a young age, Ange had been left to the foster system as well. A different country. A different time. But still similar. She knew as well as anyone how much of an influence we could have, even in just a few years’ time.

  I took in a deep breath and let it out.

  “What did she say?” I finally asked. When she tilted her head, I added, “Scarlett’s case manager.”

  She smiled, then told me about the conversation they’d had. Adoption wouldn’t be a difficult process given the circumstances. To begin the process, we of course needed to start by filling out an application and submitting to background checks. From there, the case manager said it could take anywhere from eight months to well over a year. In the meantime, Scarlett would still be picked up the following day and taken back to their group home in Miami.