The perfect dream job, that’s all he wanted. Sailing the Pacific on a luxury yacht, beautiful girls, palm trees, beaches and adventure.
Good, fast read. ...the book is mainly set in Tahiti - and the descriptions are wonderful. Half action novel, half mystery novel - great book for the beach!!
- Anne Evans , reader at GoodReads |
|
What he got was high winds, a questionable crew, and a deadly night at sea.
|
Available at Amazon. Click ---> Here!
Do you think an upright, law-respecting man can kill?
In an instant he decides he has to, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to drown.
At night in the middle of the South Pacific, trying to maintain his balance on a bucking ship deck, men are coming after him and they want him overboard.
Ben Beck joined the questionable crew of a luxury yacht thinking he’d landed his dream job. But before he sets sail toward a new life of island hopping and exotic ports his new companions spin his head in directions that make him questions his decision.
And don’t forget the relationships he has to navigate with the women he meets along the way. The tempting teases of a too smart, in-it-for-herself, hard-ass beauty and the sweet natured, island girl who’s willing arms and culture’s openness have Ben wound tight in every direction.
Are you ready to find out if he can sail to Hawaii and Tahiti without getting his sails shredded? Come join him on the high seas of page turning adventure.
In an instant he decides he has to, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to drown.
At night in the middle of the South Pacific, trying to maintain his balance on a bucking ship deck, men are coming after him and they want him overboard.
Ben Beck joined the questionable crew of a luxury yacht thinking he’d landed his dream job. But before he sets sail toward a new life of island hopping and exotic ports his new companions spin his head in directions that make him questions his decision.
And don’t forget the relationships he has to navigate with the women he meets along the way. The tempting teases of a too smart, in-it-for-herself, hard-ass beauty and the sweet natured, island girl who’s willing arms and culture’s openness have Ben wound tight in every direction.
Are you ready to find out if he can sail to Hawaii and Tahiti without getting his sails shredded? Come join him on the high seas of page turning adventure.
<Keywords>
sailing, adventure, sails shredded,
Tahiti, Hawaii, murder, adventure,
luxury yacht, exotic ports, island hopping,
island living, mystery, crime thriller, contemporary fiction
sailing, adventure, sails shredded,
Tahiti, Hawaii, murder, adventure,
luxury yacht, exotic ports, island hopping,
island living, mystery, crime thriller, contemporary fiction
Excerpt from, Stolen Breeze.
Prologue from
Stolen Breeze
After a day of filthy work at the marina, Ben Beck stopped at the fish-and-chip shop he’d become addicted to. With a six-pack in one grimy hand and an order of halibut and fries with an extra piece of fish in the other, he was all set for his favorite dinner. He’d frequented the shop almost every night since he discovered it on his way to the run-down motel located within walking distance of his new job. The greasy, fish smell that filled his room made him smile, and told him he was as close to a home as he could get right now.
He turned on the black-and-white television set and popped open a can of beer. On the end of the bed he spread the pile of brochures for a local amusement park—he’d taken them from the stand in the motel lobby—pulled the contents of his meal from the bag, and placed the grey cardboard cartons on the brochures. The first bite of fish burned his mouth, forcing him to juggle the meat lightly on his tongue while huffing, mouth wide open, to remove the heat. His urgent attempt to cool his burning tongue created a loud panting noise that prevented him from hearing the doorknob turn. The sudden change in air temperature caused him to turn toward the open door.
A tall, dark-haired man stood blocking the opening.
Ben forgot about the tongue-burning fish in his mouth and stared at the odd but familiar-looking man. When he realized who stared back at him, he spat the fish out onto the brown, grunge-stained carpet. “Oh shit. Carl?”
Carl stepped into the room as another man rolled around the wall into the room and sidestepped to Carl’s left.
“Duane?” Ben said.
Duane pointed a gun at Ben as Carl slowly reached for the edge of the door and closed it. Both men wore dark, baggy clothing.
“How did you guys find me here?” Ben asked.
“We never lost you, Ben. We just couldn’t approach you until the FBI agents decided to leave.”
“FBI agents?”
“Don’t worry, they’re gone now.” Carl smiled his big white smile, looking more like the happy, confident man Ben remembered. “You took something from me, Ben.”
“I didn’t mean to knock him overboard. I didn’t even know I’d hit him,” Ben said.
“Not Rudy… Fuck him. He can soak in the cold watery hell you sunk him in. That prick was blackmailing me anyway.” The smile still glowed. “Where’s Miss Malloy?”
“That I truly don’t know. I left her outside the airport in Tahiti.”
Carl said, “Duane told me you spent her last night onboard in her cabin. He also told me the two of you got a little greedy. You stole all my money, then you took the little bit Duane and Rudy had stashed as well. Not very nice, Ben. The two of you have really pissed me off.”
“I gave her Rudy’s, Duane’s, and my money. I don’t know anything about your money.”
Carl stepped back and leaned against the door. He tilted his head forward and stared at the floor, working the muscles in his lips. When he finally looked up again he said, “I need them both back, Ben. You got one chance. Tell me now; help me out. You know I’m going to find her anyway, so if you help me, you keep on living.”
“What?” At the sound of a threat Ben began to think about how he was going to get out of the room.
“Normally Rudy would do this sort of thing, but thanks to you he’s not available. And, with the kind of heat you’ve placed on me, none of my other contacts are taking my calls. You’ve forced me to do this myself. Where is she, Ben?” Carl’s voice stayed calm.
“Carl, I don’t…” In mid-sentence Ben swiped backhand at the food that lay in front of him, sending it in the direction of Duane, who was holding the gun. The large fish chunks flew off level with the bed and landed on the floor, but the fries got airborne and shot toward Duane. He stood his ground, letting two or three of them hit him in the chest, but otherwise didn’t react to the attempted distraction.
Ben rolled across the bed away from them and landed on the floor. He listened to see which direction they had moved.
“Get up, you idiot,” Carl said.
Ben looked around for something else to throw but found nothing. Slowly he stood, to see Carl and Duane standing in the same place. He moved nearer the table bolted to the wall next to the bed. His hand shot out and grabbed the phone and he threw it at Duane. The phone’s cord stopped it halfway to the target; the receiver continued on its trajectory, missed its mark and landed with a thud. It scraped along the floor as the outstretched cord drew in its coils.
Carl and Duane stood staring at Ben. “This is ridiculous. Are you done?” Carl said.
“No.” Ben turned his back and sat down on the bed. As soon as his haunches touched the mattress, he grabbed the square, brown glass ashtray, turned and sent it spinning at Duane’s head. Duane saw it coming and turned to his left, but too late. A corner of the ashtray struck the cartilage near the back of his right ear, cutting through it. His own momentum, the impact of the ashtray, and the immediate burning sensation caused him to hit the wall and drop to his knees. Ben followed the ashtray over the bed. As Duane reached up to protect his ear with his empty hand, Ben hit him in the jaw, crashing his head hard into the wall. Duane fell unconscious to the floor. Ben reached for the gun as Carl landed on his back and together they landed on top of Duane. Ignoring Carl’s grasping hands, Ben concentrated on getting a firm grip on the pistol. When he felt his hand close tight around its grip, he tensed his shoulders and neck, then labored to stand under the tall man’s weight. Carl’s fingers dug into Ben’s shoulder; his other arm stretched across Ben’s face, twisting his head back and to the side. Ben pushed back hard toward the wall, slamming Carl into the thermostat box. He heard Carl’s breath jet from his lungs with a deep grunt. He took a quick step away from the wall, braced his leg, and slammed back again. When he heard Carl gasping to refill his lungs, he jabbed back with his elbow and struck him in the soft flesh just below his ribs. Carl slid off his back, landing on his side when he hit the floor. He rolled to look up wild-eyed at Ben, his mouth open but unable to draw in air.
Carl slapped the floor and pulled his knees into his abdomen while making short sucking noises. Ben offered no help.
“You have to believe me, Carl, I don’t know where she is and I don’t know anything about your money. There’s nothing I can help you with.” He opened the door, ran down the metal stairs to the parking lot and turned toward the street.
When he arrived at the sidewalk he stopped and looked both ways. The marina and other places he was familiar with were to the left, so he turned right and ran as fast as he could. When his lungs started to burn, he hid in a dark corner at the side of a building.
He realized he had been running with the gun still in his hand. He tucked it into his pants and bent over to catch his breath, but the gun poked at his stomach. He pulled it out and decided to get rid of it, knowing he would never use it. He fumbled to get the clip out, then went to the back of the building and threw the gun in a trash bin. He removed the bullets from the clip, then threw them and the clip over the fence into an open lot.
He had nowhere to go, so he climbed the fence and rested against the wall. Tall grass and a stack of torn mattresses shielded him from the street. He felt he should keep moving, but he stayed there until morning
Stolen Breeze
After a day of filthy work at the marina, Ben Beck stopped at the fish-and-chip shop he’d become addicted to. With a six-pack in one grimy hand and an order of halibut and fries with an extra piece of fish in the other, he was all set for his favorite dinner. He’d frequented the shop almost every night since he discovered it on his way to the run-down motel located within walking distance of his new job. The greasy, fish smell that filled his room made him smile, and told him he was as close to a home as he could get right now.
He turned on the black-and-white television set and popped open a can of beer. On the end of the bed he spread the pile of brochures for a local amusement park—he’d taken them from the stand in the motel lobby—pulled the contents of his meal from the bag, and placed the grey cardboard cartons on the brochures. The first bite of fish burned his mouth, forcing him to juggle the meat lightly on his tongue while huffing, mouth wide open, to remove the heat. His urgent attempt to cool his burning tongue created a loud panting noise that prevented him from hearing the doorknob turn. The sudden change in air temperature caused him to turn toward the open door.
A tall, dark-haired man stood blocking the opening.
Ben forgot about the tongue-burning fish in his mouth and stared at the odd but familiar-looking man. When he realized who stared back at him, he spat the fish out onto the brown, grunge-stained carpet. “Oh shit. Carl?”
Carl stepped into the room as another man rolled around the wall into the room and sidestepped to Carl’s left.
“Duane?” Ben said.
Duane pointed a gun at Ben as Carl slowly reached for the edge of the door and closed it. Both men wore dark, baggy clothing.
“How did you guys find me here?” Ben asked.
“We never lost you, Ben. We just couldn’t approach you until the FBI agents decided to leave.”
“FBI agents?”
“Don’t worry, they’re gone now.” Carl smiled his big white smile, looking more like the happy, confident man Ben remembered. “You took something from me, Ben.”
“I didn’t mean to knock him overboard. I didn’t even know I’d hit him,” Ben said.
“Not Rudy… Fuck him. He can soak in the cold watery hell you sunk him in. That prick was blackmailing me anyway.” The smile still glowed. “Where’s Miss Malloy?”
“That I truly don’t know. I left her outside the airport in Tahiti.”
Carl said, “Duane told me you spent her last night onboard in her cabin. He also told me the two of you got a little greedy. You stole all my money, then you took the little bit Duane and Rudy had stashed as well. Not very nice, Ben. The two of you have really pissed me off.”
“I gave her Rudy’s, Duane’s, and my money. I don’t know anything about your money.”
Carl stepped back and leaned against the door. He tilted his head forward and stared at the floor, working the muscles in his lips. When he finally looked up again he said, “I need them both back, Ben. You got one chance. Tell me now; help me out. You know I’m going to find her anyway, so if you help me, you keep on living.”
“What?” At the sound of a threat Ben began to think about how he was going to get out of the room.
“Normally Rudy would do this sort of thing, but thanks to you he’s not available. And, with the kind of heat you’ve placed on me, none of my other contacts are taking my calls. You’ve forced me to do this myself. Where is she, Ben?” Carl’s voice stayed calm.
“Carl, I don’t…” In mid-sentence Ben swiped backhand at the food that lay in front of him, sending it in the direction of Duane, who was holding the gun. The large fish chunks flew off level with the bed and landed on the floor, but the fries got airborne and shot toward Duane. He stood his ground, letting two or three of them hit him in the chest, but otherwise didn’t react to the attempted distraction.
Ben rolled across the bed away from them and landed on the floor. He listened to see which direction they had moved.
“Get up, you idiot,” Carl said.
Ben looked around for something else to throw but found nothing. Slowly he stood, to see Carl and Duane standing in the same place. He moved nearer the table bolted to the wall next to the bed. His hand shot out and grabbed the phone and he threw it at Duane. The phone’s cord stopped it halfway to the target; the receiver continued on its trajectory, missed its mark and landed with a thud. It scraped along the floor as the outstretched cord drew in its coils.
Carl and Duane stood staring at Ben. “This is ridiculous. Are you done?” Carl said.
“No.” Ben turned his back and sat down on the bed. As soon as his haunches touched the mattress, he grabbed the square, brown glass ashtray, turned and sent it spinning at Duane’s head. Duane saw it coming and turned to his left, but too late. A corner of the ashtray struck the cartilage near the back of his right ear, cutting through it. His own momentum, the impact of the ashtray, and the immediate burning sensation caused him to hit the wall and drop to his knees. Ben followed the ashtray over the bed. As Duane reached up to protect his ear with his empty hand, Ben hit him in the jaw, crashing his head hard into the wall. Duane fell unconscious to the floor. Ben reached for the gun as Carl landed on his back and together they landed on top of Duane. Ignoring Carl’s grasping hands, Ben concentrated on getting a firm grip on the pistol. When he felt his hand close tight around its grip, he tensed his shoulders and neck, then labored to stand under the tall man’s weight. Carl’s fingers dug into Ben’s shoulder; his other arm stretched across Ben’s face, twisting his head back and to the side. Ben pushed back hard toward the wall, slamming Carl into the thermostat box. He heard Carl’s breath jet from his lungs with a deep grunt. He took a quick step away from the wall, braced his leg, and slammed back again. When he heard Carl gasping to refill his lungs, he jabbed back with his elbow and struck him in the soft flesh just below his ribs. Carl slid off his back, landing on his side when he hit the floor. He rolled to look up wild-eyed at Ben, his mouth open but unable to draw in air.
Carl slapped the floor and pulled his knees into his abdomen while making short sucking noises. Ben offered no help.
“You have to believe me, Carl, I don’t know where she is and I don’t know anything about your money. There’s nothing I can help you with.” He opened the door, ran down the metal stairs to the parking lot and turned toward the street.
When he arrived at the sidewalk he stopped and looked both ways. The marina and other places he was familiar with were to the left, so he turned right and ran as fast as he could. When his lungs started to burn, he hid in a dark corner at the side of a building.
He realized he had been running with the gun still in his hand. He tucked it into his pants and bent over to catch his breath, but the gun poked at his stomach. He pulled it out and decided to get rid of it, knowing he would never use it. He fumbled to get the clip out, then went to the back of the building and threw the gun in a trash bin. He removed the bullets from the clip, then threw them and the clip over the fence into an open lot.
He had nowhere to go, so he climbed the fence and rested against the wall. Tall grass and a stack of torn mattresses shielded him from the street. He felt he should keep moving, but he stayed there until morning