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

“Well, there is that,” she admitted. “Just promise me—”

“I’m always careful,” he interjected as he slipped on the glasses, “and did you forget you’ll be watching and whispering in my ear the whole time?”

“Not for a second.”

He sucked in a breath. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting this animal.”

“I would love to be standing next to you when you clamp those steel bracelets around his wrists,” she declared, then suddenly grabbing his hand, she kissed him on the cheek.

Not caring Brad was only a few feet away, he planted his mouth on hers, then shooting her a wink, he climbed into the front of the van and left through the driver’s door.

The night air was surprisingly cool.

Raising his eyes to the sky, he noticed a hazy ring around the moon. The forecast had called for clear skies, but the tropical weather could be unpredictable. Squaring his shoulders and psyching himself up, he marched across the street, approached the gates, and pushed the call button.

“Name, please?”

“Scott Specter.”

“One moment.”

Staring up at the noisy house, he spied multicolored lights flashing from a front room. As he listened to the thumping music and boisterous partygoers, he wondered if the neighbors would call the police, then grimaced at the thought. The boys in blue would be a hindrance, not a help. “Please come in, Mr. Specter,” the perky female voice said invitingly. “Richard Hammond will meet you at the front door.”

The pedestrian gate buzzed. Pushing it open, Scott strode up the driveway, and as he approached the portico, the raucous noise reminded him of the clubs where he once performed in Hollywood, and the rock concerts he and his old bandmates would flock to. Opening the door and stepping inside, he caught sight of a sharply dressed man walking swiftly toward him.

“Mr. Specter?” he shouted over the din.

“That’s me,” Scott shouted back.

“I’m Richard Hammond. Come with me.”

As they walked through the wide foyer, Scott spied half-naked girls laughing and dancing in a large room off to his left. Flashing back to the parties he’d enjoyed high above Sunset Strip, he couldn’t help but grin.

“I’ll take you to my favorite dining room,” Richard said, turning down a hallway. “It’s quiet. We can talk properly.”

“How many are there?” Scott asked as the noise began to fade.

“Three, but I think this one is the best,” he announced, opening a door.

“Does your client have a name?” Scott continued as Richard led him to a table.

“Sonny Conchello, you’ve probably heard of him.”

“It rings a vague bell,” Scott lied, pleased to see two young men sporting the large rings Danny had described, leaning against the wall bleary-eyed and yawning. “Isn’t he in property development?”

“Real estate is one of his businesses. Unfortunately, like many powerful men, he’s subject to unfounded rumors.”

“Hey, I get that too,” Scott exclaimed as Richard sat down, “and I’m just a humble sailing school captain.”

“As you can see, the buffet is against the wall. I’ve already eaten, but help yourself.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

Taking in his surroundings as he headed to the smorgasbord, Scott noticed two additional doors on either side of the room. Lifting a plate and helping himself to a slice of salmon with dill sauce, jasmine rice, and grilled asparagus, he was heading back to the table when he spotted Ewen MacDonald amble in. Scott glanced at his watch. It read 11:22 p.m. Ewen was supposed to have the money and tracker hidden somewhere inside the VIP room by 11:15 p.m.

“Would you like some chardonnay?” Richard offered as Scott sat down, pouring wine into a glass without waiting for a reply.

“No thanks, bottled water will be fine,” Scott replied, still wondering about Ewen. “I have to set sail early in the morning.”

“Speaking of which, tell me about your charters.”

“I see Ewen,” Elizabeth murmured in Scott’s ear. “He left the VIP area a few minutes ago, but we couldn’t see him when he was in there. Brad doesn’t know what’s wrong, but we lost the camera feed from their security network. Not for the rest of the house, just Sonny’s private quarters.”

“What specifically do you want to know, Richard?” Scott asked, praying Ewen had been successful, and the tracker was in place waiting to be turned on.

“Mr. Conchello’s guests will expect fine dining. Can that be arranged?”

“If you want luxury yachts, you should look elsewhere. Our trips are about fun in the sun, not diamonds sparkling under chandeliers in the salon.”

“Ah, here comes Mr. Conchello now,” Richard exclaimed, his eyes darting toward a door at the far end of the room. “You can discuss these things with him personally.”

But as Richard stood up and leaned across the table to wave to Sonny, his elbow caught the glass of wine, knocking it into Scott’s lap.

“I’m so dreadfully sorry,” Richard said with a gasp, hastily grabbing a napkin, but as he frantically wiped down Scott’s jacket, he whispered, “Say no to whatever he offers, and get the fuck out of here while you still can.”

Chapter 33

Startled by Richard’s unexpected warning, Scott realized the lawyer could be another one who wanted out. Quickly turning his eyes to Sonny Conchello, he found the drug lord impeccably dressed in a pair of white leather loafers, a white shirt with rhinestone buttons, and a pale gray linen suit. He was shorter than Scott expected, and though he moved with an imperious swagger, his steps were comically dwarfish. Closely following were two somber, muscled young men dressed in black.

They look like they stepped straight out of central casting.

Pete’s description of the guards behind the house echoed through Scott’s head. Pete had been right.

“Scott Specter, I’m Sonny Conchello,” Sonny declared as he approached. “You must send in the cleaning bill.”

“Yes, you must,” Richard agreed, staring at Scott earnestly.

“Hello, Mr. Conchello. I will if you insist, but I’d rather talk about this proposed charter. From what Richard has just told me, I don’t think Victoria Sailing School is what you’re looking for. My boats aren’t million-dollar luxury yachts with chefs and maid service.”

“My guests