Vigilant Charity Read online

  Copyright © 2019

  Published by DOWN ISLAND PRESS, LLC, 2019

  Beaufort, SC

  Copyright © 2019 by Wayne Stinnett

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express written permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Library of Congress cataloging-in-publication Data

  Stinnett, Wayne

  Vigilant Charity/Wayne Stinnett

  Vigilant Charity/Kimberli A. Bindschatel

  p. cm. - (A Charity Styles novel)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7322360-9-7

  ISBN-10: 1-7322360-9-7

  Cover photograph by Serge Skiba

  Graphics by Wicked Good Book Covers

  Edited by The Write Touch

  Final Proofreading by Donna Rich

  Interior Design by Ampersand Book Designs

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Most of the locations herein are also fictional or are used fictitiously. However, we take great pains to depict the location and description of the many well-known islands, locales, beaches, reefs, bars, and restaurants throughout the Florida Keys and the Caribbean to the best of our ability.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Foreword

  Dedication

  More Charity Styles

  The Gaspar's Revenge Store is Open

  Maps

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Kim's Afterword

  Other Books by Kimberli A. Bindschatel

  Othere Books by Wayne Stinnett

  From Kimberli

  A big thank you to Wayne for trusting me to step in and further develop this vibrant character he’s created. It’s a great honor. He felt having a woman help with the writing would bring more depth to the character. I have no idea why he chose me; I’m such a tomboy. Ha! But the more I got to know Charity, the more I saw all the things we have in common—mainly, a desire for justice.

  There’s an old rule of storytelling: create a fantastic character, then put her in a position that pushes her to the brink. As Wayne and I shot ideas around, one situation stood out. I knew it was the way to really show how far Charity has come. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as we enjoyed inventing it.

  From Wayne

  I met Kimberli at the annual Novelists, Inc conference last year in Florida. I already knew a little about her and had read a couple of her books. On every one of my books’ pages on Amazon, right at the top was an ad for Kimberli’s Poppy McVie series. I wanted to find out how to do that. She and I talked for a while and I learned that she and her husband were avid sailors on the Great Lakes.

  That’s when an idea popped into my head, and having no filter, I blurted out, “What would happen if Jesse and Poppy met?” Ideas started flying back and forth and I knew instantly that we were on to something.

  Poppy and Jesse did meet in my Rising Charity and Kimberli’s Dolphin Spirit, and that first encounter was hilarious. You’ll have to read that firsthand and put the two books side by side to see what I mean. Even though the action and dialogue is the same in both books, the scene was totally different, due to Jesse’s and Poppy’s differing view points.

  I’d been looking for someone to co-write the Charity series with me for a couple of years. I’d helped Charity evolve as much as I could. But being a man, I found writing from a woman’s perspective one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. The action scenes were no problem but getting inside her head was the difficult part. So, I approached Kimberli about taking on a new project. And now you hold it in your hands. I hope you’ll enjoy reading this new side of Charity. She’s still a force to be reckoned with, no doubt about it. But she is starting to develop in ways I never could have imagined, much less write.

  Many thanks to our team of beta readers, Dana Vilhen, Katy McKnight, Debbie Kocol, Thomas Crisp, Ron Ramey, Torrey Neill, Mike Ramsey, Alan Fader, Charles Höfbauer, John Trainor, David Parsons, Drew Mutch, Deg Priest, Glen Hibbert, and Debbie Cross, for helping to polish up the manuscript. We’d also like to give our appreciation to those who followed: editor Marsha Zinberg, final proofreader Donna Rich, interior designer Colleen Sheehan, cover creator Shayne Rutherford, and audio narrator Nick Sullivan. Without all these people, experts in their fields, this story would be far less entertaining. Thank you.

  This book is dedicated to the 1000+ members of Novelists, Inc. Only through our involvement with NINC, could Kimberli and I have met and talked about “what if” in a setting that really fosters creativity.

  “As long as we remain vigilant at building our internal abundance—an abundance

  of integrity, an abundance of forgiveness, an abundance of service, an abundance

  of love—then external lack is bound to be temporary.”

  - Marianne Williamson

  If you’d like to receive my newsletter, please sign up on my website:

  www.waynestinnett.com.

  Every two weeks, I’ll bring you insights into my private life and writing habits, with updates on what I’m working on, special deals I hear about, and new books by other authors that I’m reading.

  The Charity Styles Caribbean Thriller Series

  Merciless Charity

  Ruthless Charity

  Reckless Charity

  Enduring Charity

  Vigilant Charity

  The Jesse McDermitt Caribbean Adventure Series

  Fallen Out

  Fallen Palm

  Fallen Hunter

  Fallen Pride

  Fallen Mangrove

  Fallen King

  Fallen Honor

  Fallen Tide

  Fallen Angel

  Fallen Hero

  Rising Storm

  Rising Fury

  Rising Force

  Rising Charity

  Rising Water

  The Gaspar’s Revenge Ship’s Store is open.

  There, you can purchase all kinds of swag related to my books. You can find it at:

  WWW.GASPARS-REVENGE.COM

  There, you can purchase all kinds of swag related to my books. You can find it at

  www.gaspars-revenge.com

  As it knifed through the waves, the steady swish of the boat’s bow wave whispered like a lullaby. It was the only sound that could be heard. Even the sails were silent; filled by the consistent southeasterly trade winds, there was no luff or chatter. The sun was bright, warm, and welcoming, like the embrace of a dear friend.

  Returning to the tranquil waters of The Bahamas was bittersweet for Charity. It had
been a long time since Victor had been killed in Nassau, but the memories of their time together still lingered as if they had just happened yesterday. He’d been the only man Charity had truly loved.

  She and Victor had spent months anchored in secluded coves all up and down the vast island chain. She hadn’t been sure how she would feel sailing these waters again, but now that she’d returned, in some ways, it felt like coming home.

  Of all the places she’d sailed, nothing compared to the crystal blue waters of The Bahamas. She felt as if she were floating on liquid gemstones—sapphires, aquamarines, deep, dark green emeralds. Charity didn’t much care for jewelry. The idea of adorning herself with dangling, shiny baubles denoting wealth seemed ridiculous to her, but here, as Wind Dancer glided along the surface, she considered herself as rich and comfortable as any queen.

  Except for around Nassau. She wasn’t ready to go near there. Too much heartache. She raised her face toward the sun and closed her eyes, drawing in a breath of the warm, salt air, and tried not to think about Victor and how he’d died. That was in the past. She couldn’t bring him back.

  Somehow, amid the pain, fate had given her Moana and Fiona, two captives of a diabolical couple who used them as pawns in their schemes of robbery and murder. Being able to give them new lives had helped to heal the sorrow of losing Victor. The moment Moana had reunited with her family in French Polynesia—to see her eyes come alive, as if she were able to breathe again—had brought Charity a joy she’d never experienced before. And then again, when Fiona had confided, under a moonlit sky as she and Charity gazed at the stars from Wind Dancer’s cockpit, that she’d fallen in love, that she was ready to settle down. Charity had gladly spun the wheel to starboard, turned the boat around, back to Brisbane, Australia, and dropped her at the young man’s doorstep.

  To see those young women blossom, to let go of the anger and fear they’d carried with them for so long, to finally move on to live normal lives, was inspiring. From the moment she’d met them, she knew she had to help. And she had. Charity’s loss and need to mend had brought happy endings for both of those young women. Something good had come of Victor’s death. Of all the jobs she’d done, none were as satisfying. She’d hang on to that. In the end, she’d made a difference. Victor would be proud.

  She knew Jesse was. He’d joined her aboard Wind Dancer for the three-month cruise from California to the Caribbean. Sure, she could have sailed Dancer on her own, but she and Jesse both had a lot to sort out, and over the years they’d become confidantes to one another.

  Jesse McDermitt, her best friend, had just come off of a fourteen-month bender when they’d started the cruise. His behavior was either some kind of mid-life crisis, or a juvenile reaction to finding and losing Savannah again, she wasn’t sure which. He’d conveniently glossed over those painful months in their conversations. But she’d heard the stories over the nets. Perhaps he was ashamed. He’d needed the time to think, to refresh.

  Charity had some demons of her own to exorcise. Sometimes they came to her, late at night as she slept under the stars. On those nights, her sleep was anything but peaceful, as she battled them back into submission. It had been a while since their last visit, but she knew she was still a work in progress.

  As she and Jesse had sat in the cockpit, sharing experiences and sunsets along the way, Charity learned a new perspective. At first, she’d worried that maybe they’d lapse into a fling. Deep down, she could admit to herself that she loved Jesse. But their friendship meant so much more to her.

  Upon setting foot onto Wind Dancer’s deck, he’d declared himself celibate. A self-induced dry spell, he’d called it. A good thing, because, on at least three different nights, she’d been tempted to throw her own vow to the wind. But she knew that everything would be different then, and she felt sure he thought that as well. It was difficult to ignore physical attraction, she knew that. Any notion of yanking his shorts down and blowing his mind would simply have to remain a private fantasy.

  Their conversations had mostly centered around the new chapter in their lives. Charity was convinced she had to find a different purpose and was relieved to find that Jesse had come to the same realization. When he’d admitted to her that he needed a new direction, something to believe in, she’d told him of her similar thoughts. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Together, they’d accepted contract employment with Armstrong Research’s new Mobile Expeditionary Division.

  Right now, Jesse was aboard Ambrosia, Armstrong’s primary research vessel. He was training to dive the submersible and getting his requisite sea time for an Unlimited Master’s license. That would enable him to captain the 199-foot mega-yacht turned research vessel, as a backup to the current captain.

  Charity was between assignments at the moment, having spent several months aboard Ambrosia with other new operators, learning more about how Armstrong’s operation worked and who the major players were. Many members of the board of directors had made personal visits to meet the new crew members. Interacting with all those people had felt like a sort of culture shock. So, she’d decided to continue on to The Bahamas, to see if she could make peace with Victor’s ghost.

  After hours upon hours of talking with Jesse, time she’d cherished, Charity enjoyed the silence. She’d always imagined the soothing sounds of the sea, the gentle waves lapping against the hull, were like those a baby hears in the womb—a slow, gentle whoosh…whoosh…whoosh that comforted the soul. They were the sounds of home, love, security.

  Maybe that’s why she loved sailing so much. She needed it. The swish of the bow wave, the tink-tink of the spare halyard lightly tapping the mast—slackened ever so slightly by the wind-loaded curve of the mast, the subtle twang of the rigging as the bow cut through the waves, the gentle rise and fall of the stern in a rhythm as ancient as the Earth herself. These were the sounds and motions Charity’s soul required.

  It was no wonder sailors became addicted to the sea. The feel of the wheel in her hands, steady on the rudder as Wind Dancer moved through the water at a pace set by the wind and the waves, was all she needed for her to understand what really mattered. Living in the moment, in tune with nature, was the way to truly find peace. And that was what she intended to do. At least until she got a message from her new employer.

  With the warm sun on her face, she decided to head north, into the Sea of Abaco. She had nowhere in particular to go and all the time to get there, but something drew her in that direction.

  She’d find a nice spot to anchor for a week or two or maybe three, and just do whatever she felt like doing. The teak rails needed to be oiled and the sails checked. But she could do that whenever she wanted to.

  Maybe she’d find a place to do some free diving. Or not. After years of military service, working for the Miami-Dade P.D., and then Homeland Security, she had no commitments. Even though she wouldn’t trade the time she had with Victor for anything, they’d made her feel tied down. Now, her time was finally her own. She was free as a bird.

  So why did she feel restless?

  Perhaps once she found a place to anchor for a while, she’d feel more settled, and the Sea of Abaco was a world-class sailing destination. Because the barrier islands took the brunt of what the Atlantic served up, they created calm, protected waters, with hundreds of little coves to anchor in, and coral heads teeming with life.

  Fortunately, it wasn’t high cruising season; most of the yachties had gone back home to jobs and school, so finding a nice, private spot all to herself wouldn’t be impossible. She’d heard about an anchorage on the northeast side of Nunjack Cay, a two-day sail from her present location, where sharks and rays swarmed around swimmers, begging for food. She didn’t think feeding wildlife was a good idea, but why not check it out? That was as good a destination as any. And with a fifteen-knot southeasterly, it would be a nice, easy run.

  At lunchtime, five miles south of Little Harbor,
Charity flipped on the autopilot settings and headed down below to make a tuna sandwich. She glanced at her chart plotter. She’d need to find a spot to drop the hook to spend the night. As she scanned the options, a blip on the Automatic Identification System caught her eye. In a cove off Lynyard Cay, just to the north of her current position, the AIS identified Sea Biscuit, lying at anchor. It was Savannah Richmond and her daughter, Florence.

  The thought of seeing them again, especially Flo, made Charity smile. She climbed back up to the cockpit, reset her course, and an unexpected excitement came over her. The last time they’d met up, they’d spent the day talking, enjoying a leisurely outing together, and Charity had felt like she’d finally made a friend.

  Then those men had come, with their threats. Charity had taken care of them; what was left of the turd-fondlers was now at the bottom of a 600-foot blue hole, crabs picking at their bones. They’d never bother another soul and she hadn’t given the incident another thought.

  Now, she wondered how Savannah had handled what had happened. And Flo. A little girl shouldn’t have to experience something like that.

  Flo had been playing all day, diving off the rock cliff, looking for treasure, all smiles and exuberant innocence—the things a little girl is supposed to be doing, not fending off creepy men.

  A knot started to form in Charity’s gut. When did it happen? When was innocence lost? For her, it had been when, already motherless, her father had died unexpectedly while she was away at college and she had to face the truth—that she was on her own.

  The world had come crashing down around her again, just a few years later, when the towers in New York had fallen. She was at the top of her game, coming off a bronze medal in the Sydney Olympics. Then everything changed. Nothing would ever be the same after that. The funny thing was, she knew it in an instant. Despite all those sayings about slowly growing older and wiser, for Charity, it had happened in a matter of seconds. She’d gone from being a young lady with a promising career in competitive swimming to a patriot bent on vengeance. From that moment on, her entire adult life had been an adrenaline-pumped, full-throttle rush, like a never-ending scream ride at an amusement park.