Caribbean Fire Read online

  Caribbean Fire

  By

  RICK MURCER

  Amazon Kindle Ebook EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Murcer Press, LLC

  Edited by

  Janet Fix, www.thewordverve.com

  Interior book design by

  Bob Houston eBook Formatting

  www.rickmurcer.com

  Caribbean Fire © 2014 Rick Murcer All rights reserved

  Amazon Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  For JC, who loves me and keeps me on the path, eternally.

  For Lily. You are a special girl.

  For the late, great, Big Max. Thank you for helping me travel this road.

  CHAPTER-1

  Gazing at the list, his special list, he was hard pressed not to appreciate his own effort. It had taken time to compile, more than he would have guessed. Yet, there it was, jumping from his computer monitor like a gaudy Las Vegas billboard.

  The list.

  Had he done anything of more significance in his life? He believed not.

  Shifting in the seat of his car, he moved the laptop away from the reflecting rays of the rising Mexican sun to get a more pointed look at the second name on the list, running his finger ever so gently back and forth. He truly had no need to read it again. He had it memorized. More important than memorizing the names on the list was the time he devoured to understand and observe the habits, and the families, of the proposed major players.

  His unintentional mentors would be proud of him.

  The exhaustive research to locate the perfect co-stars in his upcoming play had been daunting, but one can rarely evaluate another’s motivation or, as the old saying suggests, walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. If that were possible, another soul might grasp the full gamut of emotions that coursed through his mind and body. Then again, why speculate on such a thing?

  In his line of work, he’d endeavored to be the best. To find ways to accomplish his assignments and goals and become an example. He’d been taught by parents who knew a thing or two about working hard. Added to that, he’d been warned when he took this job to make sure he excelled. An American living in Cozumel had enough problems fitting in without adding “overpaid slacker” to the equation. He’d taken that advice to heart and done well. They both had. The two of them only wanted to live in paradise, raise a family, and live the “exotic-dream” lifestyle. Hard work didn’t seem too much to ask in return.

  Yet others thought differently.

  Clenching his hands together, he felt the heat rise in his face and the thunder boom in his chest. Unquenchable anger and unfathomable frustration bound together to motivate him to take his calling to the next level. The odd thing was, however, that he recognized the taboo emotions for what they were and embraced them anyway. He’d read that people could go through an event that altered one’s sense of reality, of right and wrong.

  No shit.

  Gripping the wheel tighter, he watched the blood trickle to his bare knee. The red blot resembled something he’d seen on a Rorschach test card.

  Dead people. I see dead people in this card.

  He laughed. Then grew silent.

  Perhaps everyone is just one circumstance away from altering whatever moral fiber they once held close. But should beliefs be transformed so easily?

  Another dichotomy his world had embraced since . . . since . . . then.

  So be it.

  The sun rose a bit further and reflected off of the green palms and lush underbrush near the backside of the ruins. It was beautiful, mesmerizing even, and signaled the beginning of the new life he’d chosen.

  Now was the time for the birth of that self-realized evolution. He loved how that felt.

  Opening the door, he stood outside his vehicle, taking in the fresh ocean air as it mingled with the natural scent of the jungle. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt more alive, except with her.

  A philosophical quote suddenly draped his thoughts. Sometimes, they weren’t relevant, those random thoughts, but this one, well, it reeked of truth.

  You are the master of your own destiny . . .

  Indeed he was. From this moment on, that would be true for him. Not like his life before. Not like that at all.

  Exhaling, he walked to the ancient rock slab that served as an altar in the year 1300 and stood over the man lying there. His acquaintance was bound and gagged properly. Yet the man seemed to not appreciate the effort expended. The dark, wide-eyed fear in the man’s green eyes was apparent. He suspected this man was experiencing what all people did when facing the unknown.

  He leaned down. “Do not fear. You are far more than this physical body suggests. We all are.”

  The man tried to talk, then did his best to free himself. His thrashing only bound him tighter.

  Slowly, he reached for the Mayan headdress and carefully placed it on his own head. He then reached into the waistband of the ornate, golden loincloth and withdrew the silver-and-diamond-studded dagger. It dazzled against the sun’s rays.

  His companion’s eyes grew wider.

  Staring at the purple and orange horizon, he raised the dagger to the sky and began chanting an ancient ritual prayer, encouraging the gods he had chosen to hear his words and honor his actions. It was the way of the ancestors, he knew that now.

  He uttered one more prayer and turned toward his sacrifice.

  “It is time. I want you to know that you are performing an irreplaceable task and the gods are appreciative. Your family will be proud as well. You were born for this very purpose.”

  The man on the altar tried to yell but nothing came out, his eyes turning from fear to anger.

  He frowned at his bound guest and felt his own emotion escalate. It would have been easy to give in to the anger, but not now, not this time.

  Grabbing the man by the hair, taking in the fragrance of his perspiring body, he bowed closer. “Anger is unbecoming. I should think you’d want to leave this world in a more placid state of mind. It will bode better for you.”

  With that, he raised the dagger and quickly drew the incredibly sharp edge deeply across the man’s ribcage just below his heart, making a seven-inch incision. The blood from the wound spurted once and then began to flow like a lazy river.

  Another muffled scream reached his ears. This time, the man’s eyes were filled with a different reality. He was pleading to be spared his fate, to live.

  But it was no longer his life. It now belonged to a higher purpose.

  Searching the heavens, he raised his arms toward the cloudless sky again. “I do this for you and beg your blessing.”

  With one swift move, he reached deep into the gushing wound. The hot blood and the warmth of visceral organs e
ncased his hand as he searched. A moment later, he found what he sought and closed his hand around it, the heat of the object growing ever so intense.

  The victim’s body jerked as he gasped, seeking a breath that would never come.

  He smiled. It was as it should be.

  Gripping harder, he pulled with all of his strength and felt the man’s heart join with his hand. He guided it through the cavity and stood still, looking at it. So small, yet so vital. Wasn’t that the way with all forms of the heart real or imagined?

  The feeling of power and elation was life changing. He’d done it. He’d completed his task, as it had been mandated.

  Glancing at the man who’d just left this world, he nodded his appreciation. The man’s blank, lifeless eyes told him that he hadn’t seen the final gesture of gratitude. But there were far more ways to see than with one’s eyes.

  Perhaps in the next life, he and the man would have a conversation regarding this instant and what the moment had truly meant. He looked forward to that when the appropriate time arrived.

  Lifting the crimson heart toward the north, he closed his eyes and reveled in his accomplishment. Not so much in the idea of the sacrifice, but in the reality of his change from one life to the next. It had been a requirement for him to continue.

  Bringing the organ to his nose, he inhaled. The aroma of blood was overwhelming. Not simply with the coppery fragrance, but with the mystique surrounding life—and death.

  Thirty seconds later, he placed the heart into the wide and ageless bronze bowl, reached for the small jar of gasoline he’d set on the opposite side of the altar, and doused the heart with the petrol, the bittersweet fumes finding his nose. He then reached into his waistband and pulled out a book of matches. Without hesitation, he struck one and tossed it onto the heart.

  The organ was engulfed in flames instantly. He watched it burn and discovered a sense of poetic justice. His heart had been on fire these last six months, and the sight of flaming flesh helped ease his pain, for now.

  Reaching into the other side of the loincloth, he removed another dagger wrapped in a small cloth. This one possessed an ancient emerald handle and was two inches shorter than the other. It had been used hundreds of years prior in ceremonies such as this.

  Still watching the burning heart, he ran the blade over his index finger. He barely felt it, his eyes fixated on the last remnants of the once-beating heart.

  Finally, he looked down at the blood slowly dripping from his finger, swabbed it with the knife’s cloth, and then placed the cloth over the dead man’s eyes.

  Stepping back, he bowed toward the altar. His sense of elation had dissipated somewhat but would never leave entirely. How could it?

  Turning back to his vehicle, he removed the feathered headdress, opened the trunk, and placed it carefully on the left side.

  Away from the dark-haired woman with the large, dark eyes.

  It wouldn’t do to have his sacred dress touched by the less important.

  It wouldn’t do at all.

  He stroked her hair. “Tomorrow, my flower, it will be your turn to appease the gods of right and wrong. I can hardly wait.”

  He laughed as he closed the trunk, got into the front seat, and drove toward his home.

  CHAPTER-2

  “Come on Williams, ya need to finish getting your arse packed. I’ll hate being alone, but I’m not missing this trip, even for you.”

  FBI Special Agent Manny Williams glanced up from the bundle in his arms and grinned at Chloe, his wife. He hadn’t seen her this excited since she set eyes on their new son five months ago.

  “I’m packed. Some of us don’t need two suitcases, a carry-on, and a pack mule to haul them.”

  Smiling that smile that always made his pulse quicken, she walked over to him. She was as beautiful as ever. Her red hair had grown a bit longer, her green eyes had grown a bit brighter, and her curves had grown a bit more pronounced. And her apprehension regarding motherhood had become a distant memory.

  Becoming a mother suited her in ways he’d never quite understand.

  He’d read that most women feel more complete, more grounded, after giving birth. It seemed their sense of purpose changed and provided a more practical approach to living.

  Good God, had it ever. Furthermore, he loved Chloe’s take on this new life.

  His first child, Jen, had been born to his now-deceased first wife, Louise, almost eighteen years prior, and he’d thought nothing could match that experience. In many ways, he was right. But he suspected that, at age forty, he had learned a thing or two about family and fatherhood—making this child a special gift. Not to mention, what man didn’t want a son to carry on after he’d checked out?

  Chloe kissed him on the cheek. “Do you have a clue how hot it makes me to see you holdin’ Ian like that?”

  “Maybe, but you can show me when we get to Cozumel . . . or on the plane. Something about that mile-high club sounds kind of cool,” he said, winking.

  “Careful, Manny. It could happen, and it might be embarrassing, don’t ya know.”

  Ian laughed, right on cue. The boy’s big blue eyes danced, causing Manny’s pride to swell as he was reminded how much Ian resembled his old man. A shock of blond hair helped, but Ian’s hair also held a red tint resembling his mother’s.

  “Oh, what do you know?” he asked softly.

  Ian laughed again.

  Was there anything better than the sound of a baby’s laughter?

  “Okay, you two. You’d better get going. Your flight takes off in three hours. Wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

  In the living room entranceway, Haley Rose Franson, Chloe’s mother, who had been staying with them since she moved from Galway, Ireland, stood shoulder to shoulder with his eighteen-year-old daughter Jen. Both wore their special versions of get your butt moving looks. The two of them had become as thick as thieves over the last year. They spoke the same, walked the same, and even spouted the same sense of pleasant sarcasm that he’d learned to appreciate, if not enjoy. If there was such a thing as family in a long-past life, those two could make a case for the theory.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Chloe murmured.

  Manny walked over and handed Ian to his daughter. “We’ll only be gone five days. Take good care of him.”

  “We promise not to leave him at the casino when we leave,” said Jen, grinning.

  “We’d appreciate that.” Manny kissed his daughter and son one more time.

  Chloe watched his every move. He, in turn, noticed as she shifted her feet then kissed Haley Rose, Jen, and Ian. His wife hesitated, looking at her feet, before she stood beside him. Her excitement for the trip was fading as reality began to set in; she was going to leave her son for five full days.

  He took Chloe’s hand.

  His time as a profiler for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit had honed his natural ability to get into people’s minds and motivations, which were both a curse and a blessing. He could feel the conflict raging inside of Chloe at leaving her son for a few days. He felt some of that conflict himself, but he also knew nothing most men experienced in that line would compare to the mysterious maternal instinct women possessed. Nothing.

  It had been tough enough for Chloe going back to work part-time as a detective for the Lansing Police Department. Five days away, even in the Caribbean, was a different story.

  “We can still cancel, Chloe. He’s in great hands with his Nana and big sister, but if you’re not ready, I get it.”

  She gazed at Ian and made eye contact with Jen and then her mother. Haley Rose gave her a subtle nod.

  “No, I’m good,” she said quietly, determination filtering into her voice. “We’ve never had a honeymoon, and we both need one. Besides, we can use Skype six or seven times a day to see him, right?”

  “He’ll be fine. He’s as healthy as a horse, and getting about that size. He’ll have two of the most protective women on the planet watching over him. Only God could do it
better. And, in case you don’t recall, girl, I’ve done this before,” said Haley Rose, grinning.

  “Yeah. And we promise only to take him clubbing just a couple of times,” added Jen, straight-faced.

  Chloe’s look went momentarily blank, then she laughed out loud.

  “Okay, I get it. The healthcare cards are on the microwave, just in case. There’s more formula in the pantry if the breast milk runs out, and—”

  “Okay. That’s it, we got this covered. Get your arses out the door,” said Haley Rose, shooing them away with both hands.

  After kissing each family member one last time and giving his huge black Lab a quick ear rub, Manny picked up two suitcases. Chloe grabbed the other. He reached for the doorknob, but had to step back. Sophie Lee, his ex-partner at the Lansing Police Department and current member of the BAU, burst through the door. She was followed by Dean Mikus, one of the BAU’s forensic experts and Sophie’s new husband. Dean looked nervous as he adjusted his purple-paisley driver’s cap. Nervous wasn’t normal for the bearded CSI.

  Sophie, a Lucy Liu lookalike, wore a mischievous grin.

  “Hey, Sophie, sorry to be rude, but we’re heading to the airport and can’t chat,” said Manny.

  “Damn, Williams. You always think shit is about you? We’re here to see my boy—sort of—and then to tell you something.”

  “Sophie. I don’t think—”

  “Relax. It’ll only take a minute. I’m not leaving until I give Ian a kiss, then I’ll be ready to go,” she answered with far too much enthusiasm.

  “Go where?” asked Manny, his suspicion rising.

  Ignoring him, Sophie marched over, swept Ian from Jen’s arms, and rained butterfly kisses on his son’s face. Manny shook his head and grinned. This woman, who never before harbored a true thought of motherhood, was sure acting like one.

  “Okay, boy. Take care of the womenfolk while we’re gone.” She kissed Ian one more time, handed him back to Jen, and strolled to the door, pulling it open. “Come on, we’ll be late.”