Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3) John Cunningham (psychology books to read TXT) 📖

“Who are you talking about, Buck? I didn’t understand a word of that.”

I sighed. “Let’s just say I’m building a network.”

I debated whether or not to let her know that her husband might have left St. John under his own power. I also considered asking for a description of her assistant, but that would lead to more speculation, not assuage her concerns.

She asked if I was ready to handle the onslaught of arrivals. I crossed my fingers, said yes, and hoped Ray would come through—otherwise, high-rolling celebrities would be stranded at airports scattered around the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico, which would lead to the collapse of Adoption AID assuming it was still standing.

I didn’t need that on my conscience.

“Did the police question you at all, Crystal?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, about John. His disappearance.”

“Yeah, I guess, but they do that to everyone, right? You don’t…you don’t think I had something to do—”

“No! Just trying to figure out what they’re doing.”

She was quiet.

“Have there been any issues caused by the protestors, any more threats?” I said.

“There was a fight today, between a few of them. It’s tense.”

“Don’t give up.” A lump formed in my throat.

“Thanks, Buck…. I wish you were here.”

I closed my eyes and imagined her the first time we met at Louie’s Backyard.

“Be safe,” I said.

I tried Booth’s cell phone. Voicemail.

“It’s Buck Reilly. You have any news for me? And how about permission to land my plane? Call me!”

I shoved everything off the bed with a crash and collapsed, hoping for another couple hours of sleep before things got really crazy.

THE REST OF THE wee hours passed fitfully as I shifted between sleeping and considering what, if anything, I’d learned so far. There were some potential aggressors against adoption, but were any of them motivated enough for kidnappings and bombings? Both Boom-Boom and Diego were charged up over some new opportunity—Mr. Big, as Boom-Boom called him. Could that be a connection? I’d been focused on local possibilities. It was time to view the bigger picture.

From my flight bag I pulled out a wad of paper. Lieutenant White’s card fell out of the pile. I studied it. He was part of the Criminal Investigation Special Operations Bureau Command located at Burns Field. I called the number and found out they were located just north of the airport and adjacent to the University of the Virgin Islands. Perfect.

Time to rattle some cages.

I loaded up my backpack and checked the cell phone for messages, but there was nothing from Booth and nothing yet from Ray.

After a quick shower I made my way through the hotel complex to the dining area to grab a coffee and croissant for the road. The police station was all the way over on the western side of Charlotte Amalie. I’d jump on the ferry to town, then—

“Where are you headed, hotshot?”

Special Agent T. Edward Booth was seated at a table overlooking the harbor, a full breakfast of eggs, bacon, fruit, and muffins spread out before him.

“Perfect timing, too,” he said. “What’s your room number so I can charge this?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Booth?”

“Sit down and let’s catch up.”

He poured me a cup of coffee. For once, I was actually relieved to see him—maybe his presence here meant he was taking this situation seriously.

“I trust you’re here to work and this isn’t some boondoggle vacation on the taxpayer’s nickel,” I said.

“Always the smartass. I didn’t send you that credit card and phone so you could network with felons and whisper late night nothings to married women.” He doused his scrambled eggs in ketchup and shoveled a load into his mouth. “What have you found out—and why’s your cheek purple and yellow? You boxing for gas money again?”

“I’ve got your credit card for that.” I rubbed my still tender cheek. “I’m doing what none of your people seem capable of—trying to find out who’s opposed to Adoption AID—”

“There you go again, junior detective on the wrong trail. Why can’t you ever stick to what I tell you?” The eggs caught in a gap between his teeth distracted me.

“Did you show up here to bust my balls or do you have something to tell me?”

“The FAA sent a letter of authorization to land in U.S. waters here to the hotel, by fax,” he said.

“And the BVI?”

He sighed and took a bite of blueberry muffin.

“They agreed, tentatively, but that’s one of the reasons I’m here.” He reached into his shirt pocket. I realized it was the first time I’d seen him without his blue blazer. He removed a letter, unfolded it, and handed it over.

There was an FBI seal on top. The letter mentioned the Beast’s tail number and referenced a conversation Booth had with Duncan Mather, Commissioner of the Royal Virgin Islands Police Force. It said the amphibious plane with this tail number would be allowed to make water landings in the BVI, once inspected by officials to verify that it did not contain weapons or other illegal substances. Instructions and a phone number on Tortola followed.

I suddenly felt lightheaded.

“What’s the matter, kid? You just turned white as Wonder Bread.”

“This is the best you can do?” I didn’t want to tell him that checking in with the Royal VIPD was the last thing I wanted to do.

“They’re very formal over there. Pain in the ass, really, but once you check in, all should be fine. Unless you’re carrying weapons or dope. You wouldn’t do that, of course.”

“What have you found out about John Thedford?”

“There’ve been no new demands over Stud Mahoney, which is what I’m sure you meant to ask. And by the way, Mahoney’s real name is Mike Kuznewski. That’s what’s on his passport. Guess Polacks don’t make convincing action heroes in Hollywood.” He stopped eating and stared at me. “Anything about Stud Mahoney you want to tell me?”

“I haven’t heard a thing.”

His glare lingered. “Mm-hmm.”

“Tell me the details of his kidnapping. I can’t do