A Dangerous Arrangement
Lee Christine
www.escapepublishing.com.au
A Dangerous Arrangement
Lee Christine
Kicking off a brand new romantic suspense series from Lee Christine: a violinist with a secret, a billionaire with a problem and a race against time set on the beautiful Amalfi Coast.
When violinist Marina Wentworth arrives in Venice en route to a cruise ship for a short working holiday, the last thing she expects is to be confronted by a handsome stranger demanding answers. After going to great lengths to keep her real reasons for the trip a secret, Marina refuses to let her immediate attraction to Dean Logan derail her plans.
Desperate to recover his latest superyacht designs, Dean doesn’t want to believe the lovely violinist is involved in the devastating cyber-attack that threatens to destroy his yacht-building empire. However his growing feelings for Marina fail to extinguish the nagging suspicion that she is hiding something.
Set against the backdrop of Italy’s Amalfi Coast, Dean and Marina must navigate the dangerous waters of secrecy, attraction and the fusion of two very different worlds. Will their lives remain discordant, or will they take the chance at true harmony?
About the Author
As a teenager, Lee had dreams of becoming a singer/songwriter, so her first stories were in songs. When she realised she was never going to write a number one hit, she turned her attention to writing novels. But working and raising a family took up a great deal of her time. In 2009 she decided to treat her writing as a day job, and in 2012 In Safe Hands won the Romance Writers of America Silicon Valley Gotcha Contest, The Romance Writers of America Smoky Mountains Laurie Award and the Romance Writers of America East Texas Southern Heat Contest for Romantic Suspense. It also picked up a commended in the Romance Writers of New Zealand Clendon Award as well as five ‘top five’ placings in other contests in Australia and America.
In late 2012 In Safe Hands was chosen as a launch title by Escape Publishing, Harlequin Enterprises’ digital first imprint in Australia.
Lee’s second novel In Safe Arms was released in January 2014, also with Escape Publishing. A companion novel to In Safe Hands, it can be read as a stand-alone. In Safe Keeping, released in December 2014, can be read as book three in the series or as a stand-alone novel.
Lee’s books are sexy, sophisticated, fast-paced and very contemporary. ‘I do my best to make sure my storylines are relevant to the modern day, something that could happen to any one of us.’
Lee lives on Australia’s eastern seaboard, loves music with a passion, and plays the alto saxophone for fun.
Acknowledgements
A big thank you to Kate Cuthbert and all the team at Escape Publishing.
A special thanks to Peter D’Lore for his excellent knowledge of super yachts and all things nautical, and to my wonderful critique partner, Linda Hills. Your insight and support are always appreciated, as is your enthusiasm to meet over coffee or lunch.
Thank you to my talented writing group, the Hunter Romance Writers. You girls rock!
And finally, to my wonderful family. As always, your enthusiasm and encouragement for what I do knows no bounds. A special thank you to Danielle for enthusiastically reading every word I write. xx
In memory of Douglas
Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
Chapter One
The Mediterranean Sea, 1 kilometre off the coast of France
A Lego figurine appeared in the centre of the computer screen. The ominous character wore glasses, a khaki shirt and a menacing expression. Clutched in his right hand was a rapid-fire assault weapon, complete with multiple-clip magazine cartridge.
Dean Logan closed down the image and tried logging in to the computer network a second time. Again the mocking image of the geek guerrilla warrior materialised on the screen.
Dean blinked in disbelief, but the figure holding centre stage on his screen continued to taunt him. Turning in the captain’s chair, he looked at Hektor Rask.
‘It’s a cyber attack.’
The former detective, now chief of security for Logan Luxury Craft, paced the bridge from port to starboard. Stockily built, Rask was a hard nut, perfectly suited to the job of bodyguard and bouncer. His skill set included investigation, and he’d been hankering to use his expertise for a long while now.
‘We can’t be sure.’ Rask shrugged off his suit coat and tossed it over a chair.
‘I’m sure.’ Dean pushed himself to his feet, widening his stance as the super yacht rose on the swell and fought against the anchor. From where he stood he could see the party taking place on the bow, the first of many in a week of celebrations for the film festival. Minutes ago he’d been among the revelry, his only concern his ability to feign interest in what the actress parked at his elbow had to say.
Dean turned to the computer screen and jabbed a finger at the Lego man wearing the I-fucked-you-over expression. ‘I’m no detective, but that avatar … it’s a calling card, I’m telling you.’
Rask shoved a wireless receiver into his left ear and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirtsleeve. ‘I’ve arranged a conference call with head office. I’ll reserve my judgement until we know more.’
The Icelander’s rare display of tension compounded the pressure building in Dean’s temples. He pulled at his bow tie with impatient fingers. Only yesterday he’d accessed the system after giving Sheikh Ahmad a private tour of the yacht. Afterwards, they’d drunk Cointreau in the saloon while he’d outlined the new features of the upcoming Logan Mach V.
Dean braced a hand against the teak panelling and stared at the lights of Cannes delineating the French coastline. The Arab had been impressed, enough to schedule a second meeting despite Dean’s flat refusal to haggle over price. Why should he haggle? His inclusion in Australia’s ‘Young Rich List’ had raised his global profile to the point where high rollers were salivating over his next piece of naval architecture. If the sheikh from Doha didn’t commission Logan’s to build him the finest ocean-going super yacht in the world, the American hip-hop producer certainly would.
‘Who phoned?’ he asked.
‘The GM. They couldn’t log in this morning.’
The screen flickered and the Lego man disappeared.
‘Rask!’ Dean leaned closer to the screen, holding his breath as an unfamiliar red background appeared with the word ‘Cryptoca
ge’ in the top left corner and a message in the middle.
‘Shit.’ Dean closed his eyes for a beat. ‘It’s ransomware.’
He’d known the risks involved with storing intellectual property on computers connected to the internet, but what choice did he have? He spent months away from Australia every year, separated from his design team while he commissioned the sale of his next yacht over the European summer. Files needed to be shared, and storing information on stand-alones was unworkable, not to mention bloody inconvenient.
Beside him, Rask began reading the message aloud.
‘Your files are now encrypted!
To decrypt files you will need to obtain a private key. A single copy of this key is located on a secret internet server.
At the expiration of the time shown below, this server will destroy the key, after which files are unable to be restored.
To obtain the private key you need to pay $1,000.
Click ‘Next’ to select method of payment and currency.’
In the bottom right corner, a digital countdown showed the time remaining as 119:53:44.
‘A thousand bucks—that’s peanuts.’ Dean yanked the black silk tie out from under his collar, undid his top button and eased the constriction around his throat. ‘Why not five million?’
‘The low amount keeps them off Interpol’s radar. This happens to thousands, maybe millions of people around the globe every year. The ransom’s low enough for companies to just pay up to get their files back.’
‘I’m not doing that. Not with five days to go.’
‘I didn’t think you would.’
‘It’s not the money, Rask, you know that. It’s the principle. Get Emerald IT to run recovery software. The last time I looked I was paying them a bomb for their remote server backup.’
Rask nodded. ‘We’re waiting for their office to open. It’s only eight-forty in Sydney.’
The soulful notes of Alicia Keys’s ‘Empire State of Mind’ rang out over the water. Laughter rose from the bow where things were getting a bit loose in the jacuzzi.
‘I thought our procedures were best practice. How the hell did the hacker get in?’
Rask shook his head. ‘It’s not hard. An email slips through, looking legit. All it takes is one unfocused staff member to click on a link.’
‘Shit!’ Dean turned away from the screen. ‘Get head office to contact every client and let them know our system’s been compromised. They’ll need to take precautions, change passwords and the like.’
‘Right, boss.’
Working his heart rate down, one deep breath at a time, Dean walked into the saloon and fixed two scotches—neat.
Back on the bridge he handed a glass to Rask. ‘He’s a smart arse, whoever he is. Signing off with a Lego figure is the geek’s equivalent of flipping me the bird. And if there’s one thing I hate more than a smart-arse, Rask, it’s a smart-arse who tries to steal from me.’
‘The GM’s already been in touch with the cybercrime squad.’ Rask paused. ‘You okay with that, considering …’
‘Considering my distrust of the police?’ Dean raised an eyebrow at the former detective. ‘That was twenty years ago, Rask. I’m not fifteen anymore.’
‘Just thought I’d check.’
Imagining the chaos in head office, Dean turned to stare at the guests dancing on the forward deck. The shock was beginning to ease, making way for the strengthening resolve he recognised and relied on.
‘Have Alain launch the tender.’ He raised the heavy-bottomed glass to his lips. ‘Party’s over, Rask.’
***
An hour later, grateful for the stiff wind buffeting the Côte d’Azur, Dean stood on the stern and farewelled the last few disembarking partygoers. The worsening weather had worked in his favour, and no-one questioned his decision to ferry them back to shore. Now, the tender dipped and rose on the growing swell while he waited for just the right moment to transfer the British film director from the yacht to the fibreglass tender.
He resisted the temptation to rush, concentrating on the safety of his guests. For all he knew the next Beyoncé or Jay Z could be among the elite mix of sportsmen, businessmen, actors and rock stars. And if they decided to buy a yacht in the future, he wanted them to come to him.
Finally, it was the actress’s turn. She teetered towards him in five-inch heels, strands of hair stuck in her lip gloss, adorned with enough bling to sink the vessel. The guests already seated in the tender laughed as it rose in the water and banged against the stern.
Ignoring the invitation in the woman’s bloodshot eyes, Dean clasped her hand and kissed both cheeks, aware she’d hung back until last.
‘Thank you for coming, Cherie.’
He urged the woman closer to the edge and gave a firm signal to his first mate balanced in the tender. Another wave rolled in, bringing the tender level with the yacht. In one synchronised movement, Dean propelled the woman forward while Alain grasped her under the arms and half lifted her in.
Doing his best not to speculate on what Rask had learned in the past hour, Dean tossed the bow rope to Alain and raised his hand in an informal salute. Only when the tender was swallowed up by the sea mist did he turn and join Rask upstairs.
‘What have you got?’ Too wired to sit, Dean leaned over the desk and rested on his palms.
‘Emerald IT have also been hacked. They can’t restore the files.’ Rask’s Old Norse accent sounded more guttural than usual. ‘And there’s more bad news. IT suspect the backup tapes have been wiped.’
Dean felt his heart palpitate and the blood drain all the way to his soles. ‘It’s in-house?’
The faces of his Sydney staff flicked across his mind like photos on a smart phone. Most had been with him from the beginning, working alongside him as he sketched designs in the back room of his father’s house. Many were friends, like-minded people from his sailing days on Pittwater, bound together by a love of the ocean.
He turned to Rask. ‘Who hasn’t turned up for work?’
‘Victor Yu’s the only one.’
A chill rolled down Dean’s spine. ‘The Taiwanese IT guy?’
Rask nodded. ‘Cleared out save for a Lego figure standing in the centre of his desk. Identical to the Cryptocage one.’
‘The bastard!’ Dean banged his palm against the panelled wall, felt the sting in the heel of his hand.
‘The cops have swung into action, thanks to my contacts and a favour called in by your in-house lawyer. Yu’s cleared out of his apartment too. Not so his flatmate …’ Rask consulted his scribbled notes. ‘Marina Wentworth. Violin teacher. According to an itinerary found on a desktop computer, she left Sydney on an Emirates flight at ten on Friday night.’
‘Three days ago?’
Rask nodded. ‘Yu was the last person to leave the office late on Friday.’
‘If Yu’s his real name.’ Anger boiled in Dean’s chest. He’d given Yu a chance, handed him a golden opportunity, and the guy had kicked him in the teeth. ‘It’s likely his whole résumé was fake.’
Both men turned to look at the computer again, as if the machine might cough up more answers. But the ominous message on the menacing red background remained unchanged.
Rask huffed out a noisy breath and pointed to the digital countdown. ‘Often the files stay locked, even after the ransom’s been paid. Depends a lot on the hacker.’
‘Christ.’ Dean ran a hand around the back of his neck as the sky lit up and rain splattered on the window beside him. ‘This is more than me handing over a measly thousand bucks to unlock encrypted files. That’s a game for anonymous online hackers. Yu worked in our midst, had the balls to show us his face. He has to be after a bigger prize.’
‘It’s looking that way. He knows what those designs are worth to a competitor.’
An image of the yacht flashed in Dean’s mind. The graceful lines and flared bow of the Mach V was his most innovative work to date. The improved stabilisers, greater fuel efficiency and decreased emiss
ions would help him maintain the edge on his competitors. An edge he had no intention of relinquishing.
‘The thing is,’ Rask went on, ‘we have no way of knowing if he’s a lone wolf or a hacker for hire.’
Dean’s heart pumped cold fury through his veins as he watched Rask open the desk drawer and take out the keys to the chopper. Victor Yu had made one huge cock-up the day he decided to mess with a Logan. Yu didn’t know Dean was at his best when down and dirty and fighting in the trenches, or that he’d dug himself out of deeper shitholes than this in the past.
‘So, tell me something we do know.’
The detective tossed him the keys and Dean caught them deftly in his right hand.
‘Marina Wentworth booked two tickets in her name. We’re assuming the second seat was for Yu. There’s a lot of confusion. I have the airline checking its flight manifest.’
Dean jangled the keys impatiently in his hand. ‘So—where are they headed?’
‘I’ll fill you in as we go up top. Weather’s getting worse—and you need to fly to Venice.’
Chapter Two
Venice
Marina Wentworth’s violin bow hit the strings in the centre of the vibrating zone as the concerto ended in a flurry of blistering staccato notes. She stilled, bow poised as she waited for Vlad’s signal to lower their instruments.
At the cellist’s faint nod, the string quartet released a collective breath. Marina lowered her violin.
Vlad half-turned, catching her eye as he placed his cello on its stand. ‘How was that?’
She nodded. ‘Tighter than yesterday.’
‘I thought so too.’
Marina took a deep breath and looked around at the impressive interior of the Conservatorio di Musica Benedetto Marcello. A former palace, towering columns supported an ornate ceiling adorned with six enormous crystal chandeliers. On her left, two carved statues stood at the bottom of a curving staircase, while to her right a grand pipe organ was set into the wall.
‘I think Marina’s G string needs tightening,’ Harmon said with a grin.
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