Her Very Strict Captain, Carpenter, Maggie [top 50 books to read TXT] 📗

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