She’d been sick for days despite calm seas and the relative stability of the two hundred thirty foot yacht. His private physician was waiting to come aboard as soon as they docked in San Diego, but it was slow going, maneuvering such a large vessel into its berth. “West!” he shouted, “you tell that inept bastard who calls himself a captain to dock this boat now or his ass is fired.” “Yes, sir,” West said and hurried up to the third story bridge, although he knew that docking the huge craft would take as long as it took and there was no rushing it. The doctor stepped aboard as soon as they were safely moored, and Bly took him to Charlotte’s bed. “Let’s see young lady, you’re a bit under the weather it seems,” the doctor spoke directly to Charlotte whose unfocused eyes stared vacantly past him. “Start an IV, please,” he said curtly to the nurse who accompanied him.
