Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3), John Cunningham [top fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

to help Crystal Thedford find her husband and fly her guests around for the concert?”

He nodded to my abductors and turned back up the path. Dreadlocks swung the gun toward me.

“Follow the man.”

I followed.

Inside, the home was spectacular, right out of Architectural Digest, Arms Merchant Edition. I flashed back to my suite at the La Concha in Key West, then allowed my mind to rewind further, to my former home—all right, mansion—in Great Falls, Virginia.

Damn, being broke sucks.

Diego waved his hand in the air and a uniformed maid appeared with a drink tray. Nobody asked what I wanted, but she poured two glasses of soda water with fresh lemon. I could have used a rum but didn’t want one, not knowing what was on Diego’s mind. I didn’t think his voice matched that of my wakeup caller, but he did have an accent. He could have been the one who’d called John Thedford, but why?

He sat down in a plush animal print chair—cheetah, or maybe hyena.

“Do you know anything about what happened to John Thedford?” I said.

“I guess we’re friends now, right?” Diego said. “You asking me questions and all. You must of skirted the law a bit here and there, hmmm?” There came the weird smile. “Shit, bro, you’re no angel.”

“Those days are over,” I said. “Last Resort Charter and Salvage, kind of says it all, doesn’t it?”

“See, I like people who had money and lost it,” he said. “Makes ‘em hungry. I like hungry. I was born fucking voracious and look what it got me.” He held an arm out.

I didn’t like where this was headed, but I had no leverage.

“The Adoption AID concert is a pretty innocent gig—”

“Tell that to those two dudes missing in action.”

“I hope to get the chance,” I said.

He laughed, then sat back in his chair, sipped his bubbly drink, and… smiled?

I glanced over my shoulder. The two goons who’d brought me here lingered in the background, watching us. Dreadlocks still held the gun and Brass Knuckles was spinning a knife.

“I want Last Resort Charter to make a delivery for me,” Diego said.

“I’m booked at the moment—”

“Not any more, bro.”

“But my plane’s on St. Thomas, and I was hoping you could help me—”

His belly laugh cut me short.

“You were hoping I would help you, huh? That’s rich, Buck Reilly. That’s really rich.”

“You got something against adoption?” I said.

He startled me by jumping up out of his chair.

“You fucking crazy, bro?” His eyes burned holes into mine, and his scarred face no longer even hinted at a smile. I heard the two goons behind me shuffle closer.

“You obviously haven’t done your homework, have you? Before going around Cruz Bay asking about me you might of used your head first.”

He pounded his index finger against his own skull.

“I was a fucking orphan, bro. My mumma was a heroin addict. Never knew who my old man was, but then she didn’t live long enough to tell me shit anyway.” His face was now inches from mine. “Adopted? Shit, no such luck here. No insta-family to the rescue, just a kid on the streets, doing whatever he needed to stay alive then thrive.”

Interesting.

“So while you’re making a buck flying that pretty lady around with some fancy singers and movie stars, don’t talk to me about fucking adoption like you give a shit—”

“I was an orphan too.”

Diego gave me a long, measuring look, then nodded.

“Huh, makes sense. Overachiever, pushing the rules, breaking some. Broken relationships, loner.” He smiled without a trace of sneer. “Knew I’d like you, man.”

What the—? Diego had done his homework, and he processed information fast. But what he didn’t know was that my adoptive family was great and that I’d only recently learned I was adopted in the first place.

“If I find those missing men you’ll owe me, right?” he said.

“There’s a reward out for the actor,” I said. “But if John Thedford and Mahoney don’t turn up soon, the charity concert will get cancelled anyway.”

Diego slid his palm down the side of his jaw, which reminded me of the pain in mine. He walked back to his chair and drained the soda. I took in the rest of the room. Latin-themed original art and sculpture, tropical paintings mixed with tribal scenes. But there were also motion sensors in every corner, cameras with red lights aglow, and bars on the closed windows. I’d seen this veneer of culture built on criminal empires in more than one place around the world.

“So you don’t know anything about their disappearances?” I held my breath.

“What’s the range on that old-ass plane of yours?” Diego said.

“About a thousand miles, empty.”

“And full?”

“Depends on the weight.”

“Heavy,” he said.

“Maybe eight hundred miles,” I said.

“Fly better than it looks?”

For the first time I smiled.

“So far.”

“Here’s the deal,” he said. “An opportunity’s arisen that could…well, let’s just say it could take my business global.” His eyes took on a distant look. “I have a vision and I need to be ready to take advantage—fast—in order to capitalize on it. Know what I’m saying? I’d hate to miss that chance when the time comes. I’d really hate it.” His eyes focused—on me. “So when I call, you need to come or it’ll be you that makes me miss my chance.”

An argument percolated in my throat, but I swallowed it. Diego looked past me.

“Yo, Spice, take Mr. Reilly back to where you found him.” Then, to me, “Gimme your phone number.” He pointed to a pad of paper on the side table.

I explained that my phone was new and I didn’t know the number. It was in my bag, back at the Beach Bar.

Dreadlocks, a.k.a. Spice, muttered something and left me alone with Brass Knuckles and Diego until he returned from his car with my backpack. I kept a straight face, wrote the number of Booth’s phone down and shouldered my bag.

“You be ready for my call and I’ll let you know when I find something about your people,” Diego said.

“When you find something?”

The smile-cum-sneer was