The RX Factor (3 page)

"Does he live on the island?"

She took a sip of her drink. "My aunt and uncle own that sailing yacht out there in the harbor," she said, as though it were nothing special. "I'll be living on it for the next two weeks."

He glanced out over the bay. "You mean that white beauty all lit up like a Christmas tree?"

"That's her. The
Bulls and Bears"

"Your aunt and uncle must be doing well.

I bet they have a whole staff with them on that whale."

"They are doing very well, but they both fancy themselves as sailors with salt in their blood. They maintain the yacht themselves while at sea and hire locals at each port of call to keep her sparkling. It doesn't hurt that the yacht is equipped with the most advanced electronics and instrumentation that money can buy." Jordan smirked before adding, "My uncle is Henry Carver. He's funding our project in Mexico. Perhaps you've come across his name?" This last question came laced with an edge of condescension.

Ryan straightened up in his chair. "The Wall Street Henry Carver?"

"Yes," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Well, then, this must be some clinic you're starting up in Mexico."

"Yes, we are very well funded. Money is not going to be a problem."

"Then maybe I'll come down and apply for a job?"

"I can't imagine you have already run out of the money you received from selling your company, but if you did come down to Mexico, then maybe I would hire you."

Ryan laughed and ordered a couple of shots of tequila. Handing Jordan the shot glass filled with the generous pour from Rosey's hand, Ryan declared, "Then let's celebrate—Mexican style."

It was nine o'clock when the music started playing and Ryan and Jordan realized they were starving. Ryan ordered the conch chowder and a batch of conch fritters and Jordan decided on the fresh grouper with rice and beans. As the food was being prepared they moved to an open table, shopping bags in hand. They enjoyed their freshly caught meal over the jubilating sounds of the usual Thursday night three-piece calypso band that was jamming to its own special blend of Caribbean jazz.

As Ryan and Jordan finished their dinner and their plates were being cleared, the band started in with "Day-O". Jordan immediately jumped to her feet, grabbed Ryan by the hand, and dragged him to the makeshift dance floor that was starting to overflow with Rosey's well-lubricated patrons. As the band and the audience sang the refrain for the seventh time, Ryan shook his head and smiled. He was staring into Jordan's eyes but began to think back to his honeymoon when he and Cindy were here in the same place, dancing to the same song, not a care in the world.

As the last refrain echoed through the bar, Ryan returned to reality and immediately felt uncomfortable when Jordan kissed him on the cheek. It was a fleeting sense of remorse. Ryan quickly rebounded and gave Jordan a twirl as they headed back to the bar to refill their empty glasses.

Most of the patrons had gone home for the night when Jordan's cell phone began to buzz again. This time she did not answer, but jumped up and gave Ryan another kiss on the cheek and said goodnight before stumbling over to where Rosey was sitting to give him a big hug and tell him she would catch up with him again soon.

She was already at the door when Ryan called out to her. "Hey, you forgot your shopping bags." Embarrassed, Jordan returned to the table where they had moved her bags and thanked him before heading back outside.

She was still on the deck when Ryan caught up with her. "How do you plan on getting back to your uncle's yacht? Is someone coming to pick you up?"

"I have a dinghy in the harbor."

"You're in no condition to run a dinghy in the dark," Ryan lectured.

She lowered her gaze, mischievous. "And I suppose you are?"

"This is my natural condition. Besides, I can drive a boat better drunk than you can sober." She started to protest but he had already taken two of the bags from her and was stomping off toward the dinghy mooring. "Let's go! I can bring the dinghy back out to you in the morning."

Jordan directed Ryan to the spot where the dinghy was tied down. He put her shopping bags in the boat and held out his hand for hers. As Jordan stepped aboard, the dinghy lurched suddenly to starboard, but Ryan's firm grip and unwavering balance saved her from a cool night swim.

He started the outboard after a couple of drunkenly overzealous pulls, unmoored the vessel and guided the dinghy out of the docking area. He set a course for the ostentatious yacht rocking slowly on the harbor swells. The full moon hovered over her main mast. Ryan was just thinking how elegant she was when a violent blast shattered the still night, filling the sky with eye-searing light. With mouths agape, Ryan and Jordan watched as the blinding flash of flame and smoke sent the beautiful yacht skyward in thousands of pieces.

Ryan stopped the dinghy dead in the water just before the outer ring of falling debris. Jordan stared in horror at the carnage. She began swaying from side to side, emitting sounds of disbelief, tears coursing down her cheeks. "Oh my god! Oh my god! Auntie! Uncle! This isn't happening."

At that moment, deja vu struck Ryan hard as he relived his own words five years before.
"No, no! This isn't right, can't be. My god, Cindy, Jake, Karly! No!"
He gazed thunderstruck at the roaring, ravenous flames, hypnotized by their beautiful and horrendous power. Yet Ryan did not see the yacht's devastation before his eyes. Instead, the image of a raging, fiery plane wreck was superimposed over what was left of the boat's burning hull.

He was experiencing his nightmare again, but this time he was awake. Horribly awake and abruptly sober. An uncontrollable shuddering overcame him, filling him with a foreboding that his life's course had once again been forever altered.

Ryan and Jordan sat in the bobbing dinghy,
mesmerized by the inferno. The bright, leaping tongues of fire lit up the night, casting an array of dancing shadows over the harbor. Jordan's lamentations had subsided into soundless sobs, her body shaking with grief. The distant crackling of flames was all that could be heard in the otherwise eerie silence.

Speechless, Ryan turned the dinghy back to shore. Jordan protested. "We can't leave them here!" Oblivious to their own safety, she lurched up and reached out her hand as if to grab Ryan, nearly capsizing the launch.

Ryan forced his voice to remain calm. "If they were on the boat, there's nothing anybody can do for them now. We've got to get away from the boat. There could be more explosions."

Jordan sank back to her seat, her grief giving way to anger. "Damn this island," she snarled. "God knows how long it will take for help to get here. Get this thing moving!"

A small crowd had gathered by the time they reached the dock. Stepping off the dinghy with the stern line in hand, Ryan shouted, "Has anybody called BASRA?!"

An onlooker told them that BASRA had been called and within a few minutes, Franklin and two of his Bahamian colleagues arrived in time to see the smoldering hull slip beneath the dark waters. All that remained was a smattering of floating debris and a pall of black smoke rising into the moon-lit sky.

With a tone that implied he knew the answer, Franklin asked the growing crowd, "Did anyone here see what happened?"

The crowd muttered and shook their heads. Ryan motioned to Franklin to come over to where he and Jordan were standing on the dock. Jordan was frozen, staring like a zombie out into the harbor, so Ryan decided to skip the introductions. He put his arm around Franklin's shoulder and led him down the pier away from Jordan.

"Jesus Christ, Franklin, I'm shaking like a leaf on a tree. It was an unbelievably horrible sight."

"What exactly happened and who is dat women you were with? She looks horrified."

"Her name is Jordan Carver. We met tonight at Rosey's. I was giving her a ride on the dinghy back to her uncle's yacht when the damn thing exploded into a million pieces."

"Dat's terrible. Was dere anyone on board at de time?"

"Right now we are assuming both her aunt and uncle were on board when it blew. Jordan is beyond distraught."

"Don't sound like dere's much of a chance dey survived."

"From the force of the explosion, I would say zero chance if they were on board."

"Thanks for the information, Ryan. My boat's pulling up now. I will get in touch as soon as we have scoured the area."

On his way to meet the boat, Franklin stopped to offer his condolences to Jordan.

"Ms. Carver, my name is Franklin Rolle. I'm with Bahamian Air Sea Rescue. Ryan explained what happened. I'm terribly sorry. Me and my men will be going out now and searching the area and I will get in touch with you as soon as I know more."

Jordan had a blank face and did not respond to Franklin's statement. But as Ryan approached and Franklin hurried off to meet up with the BASRA boat, Jordan snapped. "I can't stand here and do nothing. I'm going back out there." She headed for the dinghy.

Knowing the authorities wouldn't let them return to the blast site by themselves, Ryan took hold of her arm and called out to Franklin. "Hold on. We're going with you."

Franklin slowed his stride. Glancing at Jordan's distraught face, he gave in. "I shouldn't, but let's go."

A few minutes later, they were bobbing over the grave of the
Bulls and Bears,
surrounded by wreckage. Spars, ropes, and shards of teak decking littered the sea in an ever-expanding field of debris. They cruised back and forth through the floating remnants for over an hour. Jordan's eyes scanned the water with desperation.

Finally, Franklin announced, "There's nothing else we can do tonight. At first light I'll have divers in the water."

Jordan glared at him. "Why can't they get started now?"

Franklin shook his head. "Can't see nothing down there, Ms. Carver." He peered at Jordan before shooting a glance at Ryan. "I think it would be best if we meet here tomorrow, first light."

Jordan was unresponsive. Returning to shore, they disembarked before Ryan turned to her and said, "Look, it's too late for you to find a hotel. You can stay at my place. We'll come back out together in the morning."

Jordan's face was blank, and he wondered if she had heard him. He gave her a gentle shake. "Is that okay?"

Almost in a whisper, she said, "You're too kind," before turning one last time toward the harbor.

It wasn't until he opened his front door, switched on the lights, and led Jordan inside that Ryan realized how out of control his life had become. Clothes and other detritus covered almost every flat surface, dirty dishes were piled high in the sink, and two bags of trash lingered in the kitchen. As Jordan stood blinking in the light, Ryan swept through the room and snatched up as much as he could, carrying it off to the laundry room.

Back in the living room, he found Jordan rooted to the same spot. Pointing down the hallway, he said, "The second door on the left is the guest bedroom. You can bunk there. I'll get you a bathrobe." As he moved off, he assured her, "It's a clean one."

When Ryan returned, he handed her the robe and a folded towel, and pointed out the bathroom. "First door on the left." He noticed she had some soot on her face. "You got some, uh . . . ," he brushed at his face as if to mirror her own. "I mean, there's a shower in there if you want one."

She moved without a word, robe and towel in arm, to the bathroom. Ryan heard the shower running and decided to prepare her a nightcap— nothing heavy on booze but something soothing to help her sleep. He settled on an Irish coffee. He found a crumpled bag marked
decaf
on a shelf hidden under a stack of assorted coffee filters that didn't fit his machine. The beans were stale, but it wouldn't matter. Hot coffee with a dash of whiskey, a splash of cream, and a generous spoonful of sugar would help Jordan take the first step on the path to restoring her sanity.
A path I know all too well.

When she emerged in the bathrobe, her hair damp, he handed her the drink. "A little something to calm your nerves."

She seemed grateful. They both sat, him in his favorite chair, she with her knees clamped together on the sofa, eyes distant.

As they sipped the coffee, Ryan said, "I'll set the alarm for five thirty to make sure we make it to the harbor by daybreak. Okay?"

She nodded. He looked into her eyes, but after a few seconds, she dropped her gaze.

She needs some time. A lot of time,
he thought.
Best to leave it alone for now.
He rose from his chair, leaned down, and hugged her. "You need anything, just yell."

She managed a weak smile that never quite made it to her eyes.

In the gray of predawn, Ryan awoke to the rattle of tambourines reverberating from his clock radio. He jumped out of bed and slammed down the off button, slipping into swim trunks and a T-shirt before staggering into the bathroom to splash water on his face.

In the living room, he found Jordan up and dressed. As she handed him a fresh cup of coffee, Ryan noticed she had changed into tan shorts and a black tank top, items evidently purchased on her shopping trip the day before. He noted her glazed expression. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Not much. I think I finally dozed off around three a.m."

He sipped the coffee while she paced. When she stopped, she raised a quizzical eyebrow. "It looks like you're going swimming," she said, gesturing toward his bright blue swim trunks.

"I'm a licensed diver," he explained. "I sometimes help Franklin out when extra divers are needed. I'm sure he'll have no objections." He threw back the last gulp. "I'll get my gear."

Ten minutes later, they were in his jeep and heading for the harbor. The sky was flushing out in a pink dawn. The blazing tropical sun wouldn't be far behind.

It was light when they got to the dock. Franklin and two divers were drinking orange juice from paper cups and chewing on buttery croissants.

"Morning, folks," Franklin said. "We made another surface sweep of da area about an hour ago." His tone told them they had found nothing.