Turtle Soup Read online

  Turtle Soup

  Danielle Thorne

  Published by Danielle Thorne at Smashwords

  Copyright 2010 Danielle Thorne

  ISBN: 978-1-4523-9604-0

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your 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 return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Other Books by Danielle Thorne

  The Privateer

  By Heart and Compass

  Josette

  Death Cheater

  Coming 2014

  Cheated

  Proper Attire

  Dedicated to Stacy Coleman

  You can have your cake and eat it, too. Dream big.

  Chapter One

  Jack Brandon barreled past the senior couple avoiding their stares. If his flight wasn't delayed, he would miss it, and all because of some shuffling old farts. The moving sidewalk carried him across the terminal double time as he fumbled for his phone.

  A woman moving in the opposite direction caught his attention. She whisked past, hair streaming like a kite tail. Her shoulder bag was a bright aqua that stuck out in the crowd. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that she had looked back. For a zinger of a moment they made eye contact then his ride on the moving sidewalk ended as his feet hit solid ground. The rest of him tumbled forward and his cell phone spun off in a wild arc coming to rest several feet away in pieces.

  "You okay?" Humiliation rolled over him as a pair of leather boots, strung up Victorian fashion, nudged his shoulder. He pulled himself up quickly though she offered a hand. Ignoring her, he moved off for his phone.

  "I'm fine."

  "You sure?" The girl with the bag knelt and reached for the battery. Her jeans were fitted, her white blouse tied at the front. "I hope your phone's okay." She gave a little laugh as if she were making fun.

  "I drop it all the time."

  "You don't look that clumsy." She passed him the pieces.

  People stood around looking sympathetic. Jack felt the red rise on his cheeks. She had to have climbed over the handrail to get to him so fast. He grabbed his carry-on and stalked off not bothering to smooth down his chinos or thank her. He could feel her eyes on his back as he practically ran to catch the plane.

  The Delta 757 departed Atlanta and was in the air for over an hour before Jack pulled the seat to the upright position. The border of blue ocean came into view. He tried to push the mental weeds to the back of his head; the late flight, his chafed knee, the girl. It was early and he had a full day ahead. His cell phone chimed.

  "Hello, Jack?" His secretary sounded like she'd fallen into a tin can.

  "Yes?"

  "How's the Caribbean?" She said it care-a-be-an, like the theme park ride.

  "It's wonderful."

  "I wish I was there."

  "What can I do for you?" Jack tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.

  Trudy clucked her tongue into the receiver. "Did you get the fax from Byron?"

  "I'm not home yet."

  "Get it back as soon as you can," she admonished.

  "Done."

  "And notarized."

  "Yes, Trudy," Jack answered with a sigh.

  "We should know something by Monday." The secretary's voice was filled with expectation.

  He agreed. "I'm sure they'll consider us for the exhibit space."

  "It's in the bag, dear."

  Unconsciously, Jack shook his head. "This is just to get into the running."

  "Then why am I sending you a list of buyers' agents?"

  "Because I don't want to spend my life in a hotel."

  "You won't," Trudy declared. "You'll spend six months in an aquatic wonderland educating the public and polluting the atmosphere on your commute."

  "Beautifully said." Jack kept his voice low so his fellow passengers wouldn't sense he was on the defensive. But how could he be? Yes, it was an overcrowded, bustling city, but Atlanta had a world class aquarium and the Brandon Sea Turtle Foundation was a part of it. With luck, they would win the bid for the new exhibit space currently under construction.

  "The fax number is in your planner."

  "I know."

  "Have a lovely trip," Trudy chirped.

  He thanked her and shut the phone. She acted as if he was on some kind of vacation, but the truth was he was going home. The next few weeks were for research purposes only. He'd have to return to the mainland soon.

  St. Thomas came into view, a leafy mound of paradise surrounded by light blue water. As they circled around the island, Jack thought he could see his boat snuggled in the private marina of Charlotte-Amalie. The streets were laid out in snaking lines along the port, where cruise ships anchored like giant dominos. He had a house in St. John his mother had left him, but he preferred sleeping aboard Calliope. When the plane landed, he would make a beeline for the marina. His crew would be waiting.

  ****

  Twenty-five, twenty, fifteen...Jack slowed until he achieved perfect weightlessness then reached for his dive computer to count down the five-minute safety stop. Below, his intern, Scott, waved off a wandering remora, the break in his bubble stream causing Jack to look down. Lost in the green murk, the reef was no longer visible, but Jack was satisfied that their subjects were accounted for.

  Turtle Cove was his quiet place. A small rocky cay wreathed by a series of reefs, he monitored it for the turtles that fed there. Sebastian did a casual fly by as if making sure both men found their way up to the surface. The green sea turtle weighed just over four hundred pounds. He was a mature, strong specimen, the biggest Jack had ever seen. He himself had harmlessly tagged the hind flipper three years before.

  The hum of a motor grazed his awareness and Jack froze. Ignoring the Diver Down flag, the intruder raced across the surface, inverted wake zooming impossibly close. Both Jack and Scott hit their dump valves to drop quickly out of harm's way, but the instinctive habit was not necessary. With heads still attached, they shot up the last few feet and ripped down their masks.

  "Conner!" Jack screamed. The beefy man aboard Calliope quit shaking his fist long enough to see if corpses were bobbing in the turquoise foam. "Did you see that?" he shouted.

  Beside him, Scott cried, "Jack, where's Sebastian? I saw him right before they passed over."

  Jack heaved himself onto the boat's dive platform and tore off his buoyancy compensator. Conner followed to the top deck and the three of them scanned the water before surrendering to the logic that the turtle, too, had survived.

  "We should go after them," Jack said angrily. Conner wasn't moved.

  "And do what?" his best friend asked.

  "Come on!"

  "Man, you know I'd love to."

  Conner searched the horizon and finding everything quiet motioned for Scott to start the engine. "We can run them down and report them, or we can cut out of here and go get something to eat."

  Diver Down flags were ignored occasionally, but little was ever done about it. "Who was it?" Jack demanded.

  "Not sure, but I'll keep an eye out."

  Jack leaned over the rail as the indigo water sped past Calliope's bow. His pride seethed, but more from Conner's reaction than the ignorant charter boat. He knew he'd jumped the gun. Sometimes he reacted like he was still thirty years old and invincible, with a beautiful, ambitious fiancée beside him.

  They cruised into the marina, and Jack grabbed his bag. "I've got to fax some forms to Trudy. Where are you heading?"
<
br />   Conner pointed up the palm-dappled slope where a winding road led to their favorite grill. Jack turned his duffle inside out. "Where's my planner?" He picked through his clothes and shower bag. "What'd I do with it?" He went to his cabin below and brought up his briefcase.

  "Why don't you get a Blackberry?" Conner asked.

  "Like you're more organized than me?" Jack riffled through the contents. "I'm old-fashioned."

  "Maybe you left it in the City of Peaches."

  A horrible thought struck Jack. He had dropped his bag in the airport, not just his phone. Now he would have to call Trudy or miss the opportunity to apply for the new exhibit space.

  "I'm going to have to call my secretary."

  "She hot?"

  "She's eighty."

  Conner made a face.

  "Don't worry I'll introduce you when you come up."

  "Better hope she doesn't have your little black book," Conner warned with a grin.

  Chapter Two

  Sara Hart caught the shuttle bus to long-term parking. She collapsed into a seat and took from her bag a small notebook the man had dropped. A tab fell open to the B's. It was a planner for numbers and addresses.

  She noted the entry Benton, Mark, and realized it was a little black book with notes in the margins. Bloomberg, Marie, of New York, was blocked from his cell phone. Campbell, Pumpkin -- could there really be a grown woman named Pumpkin? -- had a scratched out cell number and a gratuitous phrase describing her assets.

  Sara giggled in spite of herself and looked up. No one on the bus seemed to be interested in what she was doing. The windows were down, letting in the fresh breeze. Peach and tulip trees waved pompom blossoms from sidewalks. The sun shined from rooftops, and the metal, glass, and mixed concrete superstructures glowed. In the springtime, Atlanta became an urban garden.

  By the time she reached home in her door-dinged Blazer, she had a good handle on what kind of man she'd bumped into. The front page had a box that J.B. had filled in with nothing more than his initials and a 1-800 number. She dog-eared a few pages to show her sister once she unpacked.

  ****

  "I can't believe you finally let Carly go to a slumber party."

  "I needed a break."

  "From your own daughter?"

  "She's not a daughter anymore." Sara's sister, Ellen, threw a pair of shoes into an open closet. Her bobbed hair swung with vehemence. "She's a woman trapped in a child's body and if we don't start spending a little more time apart she will never see fifteen."

  Sara laughed. Pulling the curtains back, she examined the view outside of their second story apartment. "I'm just glad she got invited."

  "She was beside herself."

  "Cary's a good girl," said Sara defensively. Her niece was also smart and a heck of a cook.

  "I'm glad you took the trip. You needed a break, you're driving everyone crazy worrying about the lease."

  "The lease! Don't bring up the lease!" Sara pictured the deli she was opening down the street from the Georgia Aquarium. "I'm expecting things to go right through the roof. Do you think I'm being unrealistic?"

  Ellen gave her a reassuring smile. "Nobody can bake like you. Have you decided on a name? I'm still for Jellyfish Junction."

  Sara groaned. "Terrible and tacky."

  "You'll never sell anything with a name like that."

  "Speaking of tacky--" Sara pulled the planner out.

  Ellen flipped through it, gasped at some of the entries then examined the contact number. "Where'd you get this?"

  She told her. "Why would someone put a toll free number in their address book?"

  "Maybe he runs an escort business."

  "I could see that."

  "Good looking?"

  "Very. Short black hair, olive-complexion, broad in the shoulders."

  "Rude, but hot."

  Sara nodded.

  Ellen dialed the number from her cell. She listened for a moment then clicked the phone shut as if avoiding someone's answer.

  "What?"

  "Have you ever heard of the Brandon Sea Turtle Foundation?"

  "The sea turtle rescue group. He must work for them."

  "Probably at the aquarium," Ellen suggested.

  "So J.B. would be his initials. Why didn't he put down his own number?"

  "With a book like this?" Ellen thumbed through the pages and with doe eyes serious, handed it back to Sara. In thick letters, someone had penciled STALKER beside a woman's name.

  When Sara woke up the next day, she tried to ignore the book beside her computer. After a phone call to the bank, she took a hot shower then lathered herself in moisturizer. Her hair still in a towel, she hit the search engine for information about the BSTF and its staff. The About Us link gave her nothing more than a brief history, but it did provide the founder's name: Jack Brandon.

  "No way," she said to no one in particular. She browsed until she found a staff page that listed personnel. The research staff included marine biologists, divers, and a couple of interns. None of them had the initials she was looking for. The chairman was listed again as Jack Brandon.

  Sara clicked on his biography. She scrolled down to a head shot. Jack was in fact, J.B. She studied his expression: confident but aloof, a man who knew how to get the job done. She sat quietly gazing at the profile then with a chuckle went back to the bathroom to comb out her hair.

  Her blue eyes watched back from the mirror. Once a fair blond, time had darkened it, so she'd had it highlighted to satisfy her ego. She still called herself a natural, but it was pushing it.

  Maybe tomorrow she would take a field trip. Perhaps she would run into Jack Brandon and his sea turtles. She decided to call first, to see if he was in. After a nerve-wracking transfer and two brisk rings later, a kind voice answered. "He's not in town," his secretary told her. Sara's heart pounded like a jackhammer. "Can I help you?"

  "No," Sara stumbled in reply, "I'll call back."

  "He should be in the last week of the month."

  "Thanks." She hung up, wondering what the woman on the other side of the line looked like. He seemed the type that would have a beautiful woman to do his bidding. She curled her lip. It would be easy to put the book in the mail but dropping it off in person would be more polite. At the very least he could show a little appreciation. He'd been the one to run off.

  ****

  The next three weeks were hectic. The chairs arrived for the deli and Sara opened on time, albeit without a sign or much publicity. Carly came in to help after school and before long they organized a six day routine. Sunday was her only day to relax, but the planner beside her computer got in the way. It made its way to her bag, and eventually the car. Finally business was so slow one afternoon, she took a detour home after closing early.

  The Georgia Aquarium loomed, ironically, over Baker Street. A modern glass and steel structure, it looked like the bow to a futuristic Titanic jutting up from the city streets.

  Jack's secretary, Sara discovered, was beautiful after all. Trudy, as she introduced herself, had thick white hair coiled into a bun and owlish eyes shining behind silver frames. She seemed delighted to meet Sara who got lost wandering through the maze of administrative tunnels on the second floor.

  Sara handed the book over with an explanation and accepted a bottled water. They were talking about her previous catering career when a tall man walked by in shorts and flipflops. He did an about face.

  "Conner!" Trudy greeted him. She motioned toward Sara. "Look who found Jack's planner."

  His yellow hair was damp and he smelled faintly of fish. Sara saw amusement in his eyes. "You found the book?" Sara nodded. "You didn't read it, did you?" he teased. She blushed and tried to think of something to say. He gave her a knowing grin.

  Sara tried to cover her laugh with a choked, "The pages fell open," but it faded off as Conner's face dropped and he waved to someone behind her.

  Jack Brandon strode up. "Your book," Trudy said with pleasure. She passed it to him and he lo
oked at Sara in surprise. She saw vague recognition and heard once more the cool voice.

  "Where did you get this?" He fanned the pages as if reacquainting himself.

  "You dropped it at the airport."

  "You couldn't call me?"

  "I tried," said Sara.

  Jack raised a brow as if he didn't quite believe her. "You found me, how?"

  Sara reared back as if he'd stepped on her toe. "I called the number, didn't leave a message, looked up your website, and thought I'd be kind enough to drop it off."

  "I see," said Jack, who didn't bother to introduce himself or ask her name. Her retort had turned his cool demeanor to ice. "What do you want for it?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Do I need to pay you for the trouble?"

  "It was no trouble. I just thought it would be easier to drop off."

  "Uh-huh," he said as if she were making up excuses he could see through. "A month later." Trudy decided to answer a phone that hadn't rung and Conner disappeared.

  Sara bristled, pushed her purse strap up over her shoulder and looked past him. "I was busy." She had never been treated so boorishly. Her legs took her quickly out the door.

  "Wait a minute." Jack caught up with her. "Here." He thrust a pair of tickets into her hand.

  "What's this?"

  "Passes."

  "I don't need any passes."

  She pushed them over, accidentally brushing his hand. The warmth of it caught her off guard. He gave a little chuckle under his breath. "I'd take you to lunch but I'm afraid my schedule's full."

  The nerve of the man confounded her. Angry at the flush that plumed up her neck she gave him a locked-jaw gaze. "I'd starve before eating with you."