Page 17 of Wild Tempest

I shrugged.

“I'm not sure what I can do for you. But if there's anything you need from me, let me know. You've got my full permission to search that island and do whatever you need to do.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” I handed him a card.

He responded in kind. "That's my direct cell number. Call me anytime if you need anything.”

We thanked him for his cooperation, then left the office and made our way back down to the parking lot.

JD and I climbed into the Porsche and drove back to the Avventura.

Buddy waited for us at the salon door, wagging his tail. I took him for a walk, then I got on my laptop and started doing a little research into the Witch of Whistler Cay.

Doña Elena de la Cruz was a Spanish noblewoman in the late 1600s, traveling back to Spain aboard a galleon to rejoin her fiancé. The ship was attacked and boarded by the infamous pirate John “Ironhook” Morgan. The crew was slaughtered, and Ironhook took Elena for himself. Captivated by her legendary beauty, he became obsessed.

But once aboard the Midnight Phantom, misfortune befell the crew. A series of bad weather, sickness, and casualties spurred rumors. In those days, a female aboard a ship was considered bad luck, and it wasn’t long before the crew began to suspect Elena was a witch. Convinced she had cast a spell on them, things took a sinister turn.

Under threat of mutiny, the crew demanded that Ironhook get rid of the beauty. To break the spell, they dropped her at Whistler Cay and burned her at the stake. As legend has it, with her dying breath, she cursed the crew, their descendants, and the island itself.

According to the legend, the Midnight Phantom sank that same year, and the crew was lost at sea. Ironhook’s treasure has never been found.

My phone buzzed with a call from the sheriff. "I need you and that nitwit to meet me at the hospital.”

"What's going on now?"

The sheriff sighed in frustration. "It just keeps getting weirder and weirder."

I ended the call, and we hustled to the hospital.

JD and I rushed into the emergency room and joined the sheriff. The place was packed with the walking wounded. The overhead fluorescents flickered, casting a green glow.

There were plenty of broken bones, scuffs and scrapes, and sniffling noses. A few elderly folks sucked on oxygen masks. A 24-hour news channel played on the flatscreen mounted to the wall.

"Fishermen pulled a guy out of the water with a gunshot wound," the sheriff said. "He was still alive and clinging to a square grouper."

I lifted a surprised brow.

The sheriff continued. "The fishing boat crew said the guy was rambling on, but not making a lot of sense. He’s in surgery now. The wound’s infected. He was pretty dehydrated and burned to a crisp from the sun. I’m not sure how long he was out there. I want you to talk to him when he’s able and figure out who put that bullet in him.”

"Any idea where he came from?”

"No ID on the guy. But he told the fishing crew he’d found the RV Almaz Morya.”

That hung there for a moment.

JD and I shared a look, and his face wrinkled with confusion.

"That's not possible," Jack said.

"I told you this one was strange," Daniels said. "Odds are, he's just talking out of his ass. But when he comes to—if he comes to—figure out what happened."

11

Dr. Parker finally emerged from surgery. He pushed through the double doors and stepped into the waiting room. His teal scrubs were stained with blood, and his surgical mask dangled around his neck.

JD and I stood up to greet him.

After we shook hands, Parker said, "He’s stable now and in recovery. You can see him, but he's doped up on pain meds and he’s kind of out of it. He was in bad shape. High fever, delirious. I was able to pull a slug from his shoulder and will send that over to the lab for ballistics. It’s a miracle he survived that long out there.”