Free Baja Florida by Bob Morris Page A

the idea of starting at the top of the Bahamas and working our way down. So Walker’s Cay would be our first stop.
    This is not to say my brilliant plan didn’t have plenty of holes in it.
    According to Helen Miller’s snooping around, Jen Ryser had bought Chasin’ Molly only a few months earlier. Chances were this was her first significant outing in the boat. No matter how seasoned a sailor she might be, maybe she wasn’t comfortable with the notion of immediately setting out on a four-hundred-mile open-water crossing. Maybe she had taken a  more prudent route, stuck close to shore, run all the way down to Miami, made the fifty-mile crossing to Bimini and cleared customs there. That would put her closer to Exuma and Mickey Ryser’s place on Lady Cut Cay.
    The previous few weeks had brought some rough weather. Late-season blows out of the northeast. Maybe Jen and her crew had stuck to the safe confines of the Intracoastal Waterway, or The Ditch as it’s popularly known. A boring haul, but it comes with one redeeming factor—numerous rowdy watering holes along the way, from Savannah down to Lauderdale. These were kids not long out of college. Maybe the idea of leisurely barhopping their way south appealed to them more than dealing with heavy seas.
    Or maybe, after so many years of not knowing her father, Jen Ryser had decided against paying him a visit. Maybe she still bore him a grudge. Maybe she had just said to hell with it. Maybe she had bypassed the Bahamas altogether and was now cruising the Virgin Islands, heading for more distant ports.
    So many maybes.
    So little time to find Jen Ryser before her father’s ship set sail.

 
    They both came in and fed her breakfast. After that, they left and closed the hatch behind them, and she could hear them talking from up above, on the deck.
    â€œWhere should I go to?”
    â€œI saw a Scotia Bank near the dock. Try it.”
    Moments later she heard him call out: “Straight there and back, you got that?”
    Jen waited a few minutes. No more talking. It was just him and her on the boat now. How to make that work to her advantage?
    She yelled up to him: “Hey, down here. I need some help.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œI have to use the head.”
    He took his sweet time getting there. Finally, the hatch slid open.
    He said, “You just went a little while ago.”
    â€œYeah, but I started my period.”
    A groan of disgust.
    â€œSo what do you want me to do about it?”
    â€œMy backpack,” she said. “There’s a little purse in a side pocket. Cloth with a paisley print. It’s got some tampons. Just open it and get me one.”
    Another groan.
    Guys. They could be so squeamish about this kind of thing. Exactly what Jen was counting on.
    â€œHere,” he said, putting the backpack on her lap. “You get it.”
    â€œYou need to untie my hands.”
    He paused, thinking about it.
    â€œOK, but no funny stuff. You understand?”
    â€œUh-huh,” she said. “How about the blindfold, too?”
    â€œNo, that’s staying on.”
    After her hands were free, Jen rummaged around in the backpack and felt the cloth purse. She felt the other thing she was looking for, too. But she knew he was standing right there, watching her.
    â€œCan you get me some water?”
    She heard him step away, and she quickly stuck her Leatherman into the little cloth purse. The only time she had ever really used it was for the corkscrew. But it was like one of those Transformer robots. It could turn into almost any kind of tool—chisel, file, needle-nose pliers. Eighty-seven different uses. Or some such thing.
    He came back with the water. She drank from the cup.
    He said, “You get what you need?”
    Jen held up the paisley purse so he could see it.
    â€œRight here,” she said.
    He pulled her up from the bed, loosened the rope around her feet just enough so she