WHITE KNIGHT: A Buck Reilly Adventure by John H. Cunningham

Author:John H. Cunningham [Cunningham, John H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Greene Street, LLC
Published: 2019-09-22T22:00:00+00:00

27

“MY FRIEND SAID YOU COULD USE THE HOUSE ON THE POINT AS LONG as you need to,” Kelly said.

The Silver Fox hovered in neutral, a hundred yards off the shore near Peter Bay.

“Can’t thank you guys enough,” I said.

Giselle hugged Foxy and kissed him on each cheek. When she stepped back, I saw him smiling widely. “We owe you and won’t forget,” she said.

“Together in good times, together in need. I know you’ll be here to help us when we need you, too,” he said.

“Count on it,” I said.

Kelly gave us each a hug, and then Nick loaded us into the dinghy and took us to the beach below Peter Bay Estates.

“There’s a key in the conch shell by the front door,” he said.

We thanked him, agreed to connect when—if—we got back to Key West, and the moment Giselle and I were off the dinghy, Nick put the engine in reverse, swung around, and headed back to the Silver Fox. Giselle took me by the arm, and rather than rushing up the rocky path toward the West Indian-styled home built into the boulders above the shore, she spun me back to face the water and blackness of night.

“Have you ever seen so many stars?”

Her ability to enjoy the moment amid all she’d been through and still faced continued to amaze me. She was more able to live in the moment than anyone I’d ever known. That reality tugged at my heart and I put my arm around her waist.

She leaned her head against my shoulder.

I turned and kissed her slowly. The sound of waves lapping onto the beach was mixed with the breeze that rustled palm fronds behind us. Our kiss lingered and she squeezed me closer.

I no longer thought of who she’d been—I was now lost in who she was.

She pushed me back. “Did you see that?”

“My eyes were closed.”

Her giggle gave me a tingle down my spine.

“I like to watch you when we kiss,” she said. “There was a huge shooting star!”

There was a light on in the home on the bluff, and it beckoned as a place of refuge. “Come on, let’s go.”

Steps were carved into the gray coral pathway that curved fifty feet above the beach. A gate blocked our entry to the walkway beyond it, but it wasn’t locked. Another hundred feet up the landscaped path was the front door to a beautiful cut-stone two-story home. Giselle tried the handle.

“It’s locked.”

Among the planters with red firecracker bushes and red crotons was a large conch shell, and as Nick had said, there was a key tucked inside. Once the door was open, we stepped in and walked around the house. Giselle marveled at the furnishings while I checked to make sure the windows and doors were locked.

“Simple yet elegant,” she said.

“And secure.”

There were three bedrooms—two on the first floor and one on the second, where we dropped our bags on a chair. A lot of Caribbean homes have separate freestanding bedrooms with a central kitchen/great room, but this one was more self-contained.

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