Julie Tanaka's husband takes a job for a boatyard in Trinidad, delivering a yacht to California. The boat goes down, his body is washed up on the beach with pounds of cocaine and the DEA sends Bill Broxton to investigate. Julie is in Trinidad, living on board her own boat, when a process server representing the boatyard confronts her. They want to seize her sixty-foot sailboat for bills her husband had supposedly not paid, but she doesn't believe them and sneaks the boat out of the country. Unknown to Julie, the owner of the boatyard has secreted hundreds of thousands of dollars of cocaine and cash in Julie's boat, fiberglassing it into the hull and between the bulkheads. He wants the boat back with Julie dead and the only thing standing in his way is Bill Broxton. From the Publisher If it's the time of the year when Hurricanes blow you can usually find Jack at a sailor's bar in either Grenada or Trinidad, during the other half of the year he lives at anchor in the French West Indies, usually Martinique or the Saints, or maybe St. Martin. So when he writes about Caribbean Hurricanes, sailboats or the Caribbean Sea, he's writing from experience and it shows. In Hurricane, Mr. Stewart has written a thriller about two women in trouble. They are not experienced sailors, but circumstances have them at sea, fleeing from drug smugglers as they race toward St. Martin while Hurricane Darlene charges across the Atlantic, blowing in the same direction. You can almost hear the thrashing sea, feel the sting of the howling wind, see the darkening sky as your fingers burn through the pages. Hurricane is a thriller of the first order and we believe if you give it a chance, you'll enjoy it, however you'll probably miss a night's sleep. Don't say we didn't warn you. Sincerely, Bootleg Press My name is Jack Stewart. I live on a sailboat in the Caribbean. I'm what they call a single-hander, an odd ball, a guy that sails alone. It's not that I don't like women, I do. I just like a different one in every port. Wait! does that sound sexist, I didn't mean it to sound that way. It's just that I was married to the finest woman that ever lived for twenty-three years. She's gone now, cancer. I could never deal with all that pain again, so now all my relationships are like ships passing in the night. I didn't start writing till the love of my life passed. It seems like all of a sudden I had an urge to entertain, you know to take my mind and the mind of others off the daily grind of ordinary living. I'm no Hemingway, no Mailer. I don't write because I've got something important to say, or to educate, or to influence. I write to entertain, only to entertain. It's enough. And if I help a person here or there to escape his pain or sorrow, or even if I just help someone wile away a boring afternoon, I'll feel like I've done my job. If you like one of my stories, feel free to email me at: jackstewart@bootlegpress.com and let me know. If, on the other hand, you don't, well, e-mail me anyway. I answer all my messages. Best wishes and fair winds, Jack Stewart Julie Tanaka s husband takes a job for a boatyard in Trinidad, delivering a yacht to California. The boat goes down, his body is washed up on the beach with pounds of cocaine and the DEA sends Bill Broxton to investigate. Julie is in Trinidad, living on board her own boat, when a process server representing the boatyard confronts her. They want to seize her sixty-foot sailboat for bills her husband had supposedly not paid, but she doesn t believe them and sneaks the boat out of the country. Unknown to Julie, the owner of the boatyard has secreted hundreds of thousands of dollars of cocaine and cash in Julie s boat, fiberglassing it into the hull and between the bulkheads. He wants the boat back with Julie dead and the only thing standing in his way is Bill Broxton.