“But why, Scott, why he would do something so despicable? He’s one of the most admired men at the DEA. Nailing the bad guys has been his life’s work.”
“There are any number of reasons good guys turn bad. It’s usually about money.”
“But to have Manny killed and send Dan after me… no… I can’t stand this! I have to talk to him!” she suddenly shouted. “I have to talk to him right now! I want to know how many dollars Manny was worth. How much I’m worth.”
“You can’t confront him,” Scott said vehemently, fighting his own building rage, “not yet anyway, and remember, Conchello gives the orders.”
“I don’t care. It was still Jim who probably tipped off Conchello about that raid,” she exclaimed. “He’s still working for him. This is too much for me, Scott. I can’t handle it.”
“Let’s sit down for a minute,” he suggested, guiding her to the conversation pit and settling her on the couch. “Elizabeth, you have to push aside all that raw emotion. If we’re going to beat these dirt-bags, we need to think clearly and stay focused. Dan has the tracker in his hotel room. That’s not going to end well, and with Jim we have the advantage. He doesn’t know we’re on to him.”
“It’s so hard to wrap my brain around all this, and Jim—what he’s done—who he really is.”
“Believe me, I understand, but listen,” Scott insisted, taking her hands in a firm grip. “Revenge is best served cold. Step back, be determined, and don’t let your emotions cloud your thoughts. We’ll come up with a plan, and execute that plan. Can you do that with me, or do I need to leave you tied up here and do everything by myself?”
“You’d better not,” she retorted, glaring at him, then let out a breath and nodded her head, “but I get what you mean. I’m okay, kind of, almost. I know I have to be. Is that good enough for the moment?”
“That’s good enough for the moment,” he repeated. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Um, those guys on your yacht probably mean Jim and Dan know we’re on this island, so Conchello probably does too.”
“Good, you’re thinking clearly. He wants you here. We just don’t know why.”
“Should we leave?”
“They’re in speedboats, I have a yacht. Think about it.”
“Oh, right.”
“Even if they find this house, which is unlikely, you don’t have to worry, it’s a fortress, and I can call in some serious backup.”
“That’s good to hear,” she said, letting out a relieved sigh.
“Emily has spotted boats coming and going from the beach, and I already have a drone doing surveillance. There’s probably an email waiting for me with information about them already.”
“I wish I knew more about you,” she said softly, narrowing her eyes as she stared at him.
He smiled. “You will, but for the moment, just know I’m on your side.”
“I do, and—”
But his phone buzzed, cutting her off.
“I’m on yours,” she finished quickly.
“Check out the yacht while I answer that,” he said, helping her up.
As he strode across the room and lifted his phone off his desk, she hurried to the telescope and peered through the eyepiece.
“The speedboat’s gone,” she declared, “and the seas are rougher.”
But his yacht was suddenly the last thing on Scott’s mind.
“Elizabeth,” he said solemnly, walking over to her, “prepare yourself. Conchello just stepped off a plane in St. John.”
Chapter 12
St. John played host to the wealthy and celebrated. Flying in on their private jets, they were collected by limousines and whisked away to magnificent homes boasting stunning views of the sparkling Caribbean.
Sonny Conchello considered himself one of them.
Obsessive about his appearance, his suits were tailor made and his shoes handcrafted in Italy. Even his leisure clothes were expensive. Nothing about him fit the stereotypical image of a ruthless drug lord, but those working for him knew his dark soul and stone heart. Ferocious greed drove him. Not a penny was spent without the expectation of a significant return, whether it be in coin or deed.
Those unfamiliar with his barbaric nature thought him charming. At dinner parties he was delightful company, entertaining everyone with amusing anecdotes and witty remarks. They also welcomed the little packets of magic he never failed to offer. Occasionally, he would take his hosts aside and tell them about a marvelous new mind-enhancing product. It was hard to acquire and very costly, but for them, he’d see what he could do.
The ploy rarely failed.
But the warm, sparkling sun didn’t welcome him when he stepped off his jet. Staring up at the dark gray skies, he hoped the heavy clouds weren’t an omen.
The man in charge of his Caribbean operation, Ewen McDonald, hailed from Australia. Though relatively new to the organization, Ewen had proven to be creative, sharp, and reliable. As he stepped from the black SUV with the tinted windows, Sonny watched him hurry forward.
“Glad to see you beat the storm,” Ewen remarked as he approached.
“That makes two of us,” Sonny retorted, marching to the SUV. “Where’s Dan Miller?”
“Still in St. Thomas.”
“What about Scott Specter? Any idea where he’s taken Beth?”
“That’s a good news/bad news situation,” Ewen replied, settling behind the wheel as Sonny climbed into the back.
“I’m listening.”
“David Clark secured the names of the boats owned by Victoria Sailing School and he’s spotted one of them. Hi Ho Silver.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“You won’t like this, boss.”
“Obviously not if it’s bad news!” Conchello barked. “Just fucking tell me.”
“The yacht is anchored off our new island.”
“There are ninety fucking islands down here! What the fuck? Why did Specter end up going there?”
“It has to be coincidence. David and Jorge sped by the yacht when they first spotted it. There didn’t seem to be any signs of life, but when they went back a couple of hours later to unload some more crates it was still there. They drew alongside, didn’t see anyone, so they boarded and did a quick search. They didn’t find anything.”
“I need to think about this,” Sonny grunted, pulling out his phone. “When is this storm supposed to pass?”
“It should be gone by morning.”
“Make sure my launch is ready, and I need a girl tonight. You know what I like, tits and ass. No skinny model types.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“The shipment coming in from Puerto Rico has been delayed because of the storm.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sonny muttered, but he’d already shifted his focus.
The tracker he’d placed in the wad of bills hadn’t moved in hours. Tapping the red dot, an image of the Lost Resort Hotel appeared on the screen. It was where Dan Miller had been staying. Conchello paused, thought for a moment, then called him.
“Hey, boss,” Dan exclaimed as he answered. “Have you landed?”
“Yeah, where are you?”
“In my room. Have you spoken to Ewen? I just found out he spotted the boat Specter probably used to get Elizabeth away.”
“I heard,” Sonny said brusquely. “What’s the latest on my money?”
“Nothing since we last spoke. I have those rolled-up bills, but that’s it. I assume Elizabeth still has the rest, or Beth, whatever name you want to use.”
“Beth.”
“Okay, Beth. She must have it with her. She’ll be somewhere on that island. Do you want me to—”
“What’s your room number?” Sonny snapped, cutting him off.
“207.”
“Stay exactly where you are until I knock on your door.”
Sonny heard Dan’s quick intake of breath.
The detective was worried.
He had reason to be.
“Okay, boss, whatever you say,” Dan said earnestly.
Ending the conversation with a grunt, Sonny called David Clark. He lived at the encampment, ran the day to day activities, and was supervising the move.
“Hello?”
“David, get over to Dan Miller’s room at the Lost Resort Hotel in St. Thomas.”
“But, uh, I’m on the new island and the storm is—”
“Fuck the storm,” Sonny snapped, cutting him off as the SUV drove up the private road to his majestic estate. “Get to his hotel and make sure that asshole doesn’t go anywhere.”
* * *
Sitting in front of the large computer, Scott and Elizabeth had watched Dan Miller anxiously pace as he’d spoken to Sonny Conchello. Though they couldn’t hear Conchello’s side of the conversation, they didn’t need to. It was obvious Dan had been questioned about the missing cash, and with no idea the wad of bills with the tracker was in his room, Dan had fallen into Scott’s trap.
“Look at him, he’s freaking out,” Elizabeth remarked as Dan threw his phone on the bed and poured himself a glass of whiskey.
“He knows he’s in deep shit,” Scott said solemnly. “He just doesn’t know why.”
“I wish Jim Parker was in deep shit with him,” she muttered. “How will we ever expose him?”
“I’ve been giving that some thought. We need to get him out of Los Angeles.”
“What we need is to take pictures of him with Conchello, preferably taking a shitload of money,” Elizabeth interjected. “Hard evidence. We’re nowhere without it.”
An idea coming to mind, Scott rose to his feet, walked across to the window, and studied the conditions.
He’d sailed through worse.
Much worse.
“I know how to get Jim down here,” he suddenly declared, turning around to face her, “but it means going back to St. Thomas.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Scott, you can’t! There’s a storm out there and it’s getting stronger every minute.”
“Now is the only chance I’ll get, and I can kill two birds with one stone.”
“I hate that expression.”
“Be that as it may,” Scott said patiently, “not only will I get Jim down here, but I’ll come back on Jack’s yacht and use the dock on the other side of the island. Conchello’s boys will think we’ve left.”
“But look at the fucking weather!” she exclaimed, marching across the room and joining him at the window. “You can’t go sailing off into that. We have to come up with something else.”
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he leaned forward and looked directly into her eyes.
“Elizabeth, do you think I’d be going if I thought for one minute I couldn’t handle it?”
“Uh… no… but…”
“Have you ever heard of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race?”
“I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know much about it.”
“It’s one of the most difficult races in the world. Storms called Southerly Busters wreak havoc. Many yachts resign before they’re even halfway through.”
“What’s your point?”
“I’ve sailed that race more than once, and fought through those Southerly Busters. They make the winds out there look like a gentle breeze, and the waves like ripples coming off a calm lake. Believe me, taking Hi Ho Silver back to St. Thomas isn’t an issue.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” she said softly, moving her arms around his neck. “We’ll battle the elements and whatever else together.”
“Absolutely not! If you’re seen we’re both screwed.”
“I suppose,” she admitted with a heavy sigh, “but you still haven’t told me what you’ll be doing.”
“I’m going to see Dan Miller, and make him an offer he can’t refuse,” Scott replied, the hint of a smile curling his lips. “If things go the way I believe they will, your former boss will be on the next plane down here, on his way to meet Conchello.”
* * *
With foul weather gear already on board the yacht, Scott needed only a few minutes to pack a small bag.
“I still wish you weren’t going,” Elizabeth muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Don’t forget, you can watch me the whole time, but I need to explain a few things to you before I leave.”
Zipping up the bag, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, then walked to the security room and stopped at the door.
“The code is 2664,” he continued, punching it in. “Got it?”
“2664. Got it.”
“If you push a wrong button, you’ll hear beeps. You’ll have five seconds to do it correctly before a toxic gas is released and knocks you out.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“The code for the front door is 3775,” he declared, quickly leading her inside and marching to a metal box on the wall and opening the cover. “One number up for each of the digits for this room. The same rules apply. I’ve shown you how to view the security cameras from the computer. If you see anyone lurking around and feel threatened, this purple button will lower metal screens over the windows and a generator will kick in. That’s a backup in case someone tries to cut the power or bad weather knocks it out.”
“I know this is a safehouse, but just how—?”
“Sorry, Elizabeth, your questions have to wait. I’m also texting you the login information for the cameras on the yacht,” he continued, retrieving his phone and tapping the screen. “You can watch me take off through the telescope, and virtually travel with me to St. Thomas. Does that make you feel better?”
“Yes, thank you, that’s fantastic, but you’d better come back in one piece or I’ll be really pissed.”
“Hey, this is a walk in the park,” he said confidently, placing his phone in a zippered pocket, then holding her face between his hands, he lowered his lips on hers in a soft, leisurely kiss.
“I know what I’m doing,” he murmured. “You don’t have to worry.”
Abruptly turning and walking out the door, he heard it click closed behind him. He was confident, but like most missions, he knew anything could happen.
* * *
Dan Miller knew he was a dead man.
He just didn’t know why.
For over an hour he had paced, racking his brain trying to figure out the crime he’d committed.
Regardless of the sin, there were only two options open to him.
Stay put and try to talk his way out of whatever it was, or take off.
The night was dark and the weather bad.
Conditions that made escape easier.
But if he was caught he wouldn’t even see Conchello.
A bullet would blast through his skull.
Unless he was dragged back to be mercilessly tortured.
A knock on his door made him jump.
“Who is it?”
“It’s David, let me in.”
Worried he was about to be prematurely executed, Dan moved nervously to the door and cracked it open.
“Fuck, what happened to you?” he asked, staring at the drenched man. “It’s not raining that hard.”
“I had to bring a cigarette boat through that fucking storm,” David growled, pushing past him.
“What’s a cigarette boat?”
“It’s a long, loud, fast jet boat, and it has no canopy. Grab me some clean clothes. I’m taking a shower.”
“Why are you here?”
“Why do you think?” David snapped, striding to the bathroom. “To make sure you don’t go anywhere. Now get me some clean fucking clothes.”
Breaking out in a sweat, Dan looked across at the door.
Next to it, his gun waited in the closet.
But David was tougher, meaner, and much stronger.
Defeated and scared, Dan opened his sock drawer.
Staring down at the hidden money, temptation beckoned.
> If he managed to get away, he’d disappear in New Guinea.
The wild west of the South Pacific.
He heard the shower turn off.
He’d waited too long.
“Hey! Clothes!” David demanded as he marched back in the room, a towel wrapped around his waist.
All hope lost, Dan picked up a pair of socks, tossed them on the bed, then opened another drawer and found a clean pair of briefs, sweatpants, and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
A loud knock pounded the door.
“Police. Open up.”
“What the fuck?” David asked in a hushed whisper. “Why are they here? What have you done?”
“I have no idea.”
“I don’t want them to see me. I’ll be in the bathroom, but I’m warning you, don’t do anything stupid.”
Chapter 13
Dan’s eyes darted back to the sock drawer.
“Detective Miller, we need to speak with you!” the police shouted, banging a second time. “Open up.”
Stepping quickly to the door and cracking it open, he stared innocently at the two uniformed men.
“Is there a problem?”
“Yes,” a tall, brawny officer replied as they walked past him and into the room. “Where’s your friend?”
“Friend?”
“We received reports of shouting,” the shorter officer interjected.
“Oh, him, he left. Problem solved.”
“You have to come with us. Complaints have been made against you, and now this. The chief has had enough.”
“What complaints?”
“Breaking into a boat and ongoing harassment,” the taller cop continued, stepping forward. “As my partner just stated, you need to come with us.”
“That was a misunderstanding,” Dan protested. “Hey, fellas, we’re on the same side. I’m down here chasing a murder suspect. I can’t always be—”
Her Very Strict Captain Page 10