Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Jaz scanned their empty containers, wishing he’d ordered a second breakfast sandwich. He almost said something about it, not to complain but because he figured Kenzie would smile and tease him about his endless appetite.
He loved it when she teased him.
They sat together in the hotel’s shaded courtyard at a small wrought-iron table, papers spread between them. Her rich brown hair fell forward as she bent over her notes, and she tucked it behind her ear with one hand while her other traced routes on the map displayed on his laptop.
“I think that’s all of them.” She sat back and gestured to the screen.
Jaz studied the map where she’d placed markers on each pickup and delivery location for the clients she’d connected with through yacht management companies. The pickups were scattered across the Caribbean. Though…he enlarged the map. “Nothing in the Virgin Islands.”
“Right. British or American.”
“Most went to Miami?”
“About half. The others were scattered across the Gulf and East Coast.”
He focused on each marker. Miami, Houston, and New Orleans were the biggest ports. But she’d made deliveries in Newport, Rhode Island, and Chesapeake Bay. “No real pattern.”
“None that I can see. What concerns me are the ports of origin. I’ve been looking up the marinas, and most aren’t owned by Sterling.”
“Really?” That surprised him. He’d spent the last hour trying to find more information on Richard Sterling, so far coming up with nothing that showed he was anything but exactly what he claimed to be—the owner of a bunch of marinas.
“Maybe he didn’t want to make it obvious or easy to track.
” Jaz zoomed out on the map, taking in the full scope.
Twenty-plus routes spanning two years. The only commonality was that she’d been hired through yacht management companies by people who’d claimed to choose her because of Edwin’s recommendation.
Three of the management companies indicated Sterling’s address as their own, but Jaz hadn’t been able to find any other link to Sterling himself.
Kenzie’s phone sat silent on the table between them. He checked the screen. Nothing from Wentz. He’d called twice that morning, left detailed voicemails.
“No word?” Kenzie asked.
“No.” He set the phone down, careful to keep the frustration out of his voice.
“Is that normal?”
“For Wentz? Unfortunately, yes.” He attempted a smile. “I’m not high on his priority list. He checks in when he needs something, not when I do.”
Her expression softened. “Must be lonely.”
The observation caught him off guard. She’d picked up on a truth he’d been living with for five years.
“It…was.” He felt anything but lonely sitting beside Kenzie. They’d fought the night before—and made up. But there was still distance between them. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “It’s nice having you—”
Movement in his peripheral vision had him leaning back. The door from the hotel opened, and a man stepped into the courtyard.
Jaz’s fingers found the grip of his gun, but he didn’t pull it out.
The man was in his late fifties, tanned skin.
Five-eleven but built like a boxer who’d kept training long after retirement.
Broad shoulders, barrel chest. Simple khakis and a pale blue polo.
He carried an aura of power that made Jaz’s instincts ping warnings.
The man’s eyes swept the courtyard, and Jaz had the impression he was looking for threats.
An operative of some kind, though he wasn’t wielding a weapon, just carrying a weathered messenger bag.
Jaz put it together when Kenzie twisted to see who’d arrived and stood.
He stood as well.
“Dad.” Her single word held relief and exasperation and love all tangled together.
Her father was Gavin Wright?
The guy Jaz had seen on the Sunday talk shows discussing everything from the politics of the Middle East to the personality traits of Vladimir Putin?
Kenzie took a step toward her father, but he closed the distance in three long strides and wrapped her in an embrace.
“Thank God you’re safe.” Wright held her for a long time. When he finally released her, his eyes were bright. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” He held her at arm’s length and studied her as if the trauma she’d suffered over the last few days might show on her skin.
“I’m okay, Dad. Really.”
He didn’t acknowledge it, just kept looking as if he needed to memorize every detail of her face.
Then, he shifted his gaze.
Jaz felt the man’s assessment and didn’t flinch. He was used to being judged and found wanting. Why should this man be any different?
The silence stretched until it was uncomfortable, but Jaz wasn’t going to break it.
Wright was powerful, dangerous, and connected.
He was also Kenzie’s father, and if Jaz ever hoped to have a relationship with her—and yeah, a million things had to happen before there’d even be a chance—but if those things happened, he needed this man to, if not like him, then not work against him.
“You’re the one who’s been keeping my daughter safe.” Wright’s voice was measured.
“She’s pretty good at keeping herself safe. I’ve just been watching her back.”
“Dad, this is Jasper Aylett.” Kenzie either didn’t pick up on her father’s attitude or didn’t care. “Jaz, my father, Gavin Wright.”
Wright’s expression didn’t change. “You’re Noah’s brother.”
Oh, good. Getting all the unpleasantries out in the open. “Yes. Charlotte’s father.”
“Not anymore, I understand.”
A nice little gut-punch, just for giggles. “You’re all caught up then.” Maybe it wasn’t worth trying to make nice with this guy.
Except Kenzie was worth it. Jaz groped for some way to explain what had happened that didn’t sound like excuses but came up empty.
“There’s a story, Dad. A reason.”
“Hmm.”
“Jaz saved my life,” Kenzie added. “Multiple times.”
Wright’s eyes narrowed.
Jaz felt like a bug flattened for study, and Kenzie’s father was wielding the microscope.
Then his expression softened. “Thank you.” He extended his hand. “I’m indebted.”
Jaz tried not to let his relief show as he shook the man’s hand. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
Wright studied him for another moment, then seemed to come to some internal conclusion. He turned to the table, eyed the papers and laptop screen, then settled into Jaz’s chair.
Whatever.
Kenzie caught his eye over her dad’s head, obviously trying to communicate an apology.
He smiled and grabbed a chair from a nearby table. Kenzie shifted hers to make room.
“How’d you find us?” Jaz asked.
“Tracked Kenzie’s phone to the hotel, then took a chance you might be in the lobby or out here before asking the desk.” Wright leaned forward, studying the map. “Explain what you’re looking at.”
Kenzie glanced at Jaz as if he might argue, but they needed help, and Gavin was on her side, if not his.
“Go ahead,” Jaz said. “That’s your story.”
“These are pickup and delivery ports.”
Wright adjusted the laptop so he could see better.
“We’ve been trying to find patterns,” Jaz explained. “Connections. Anything that might tell us how the smuggling operation works.”
Wright’s eyes tracked across the screen, taking in the pins, the lines connecting them. “What do you know?”
Kenzie explained about the yacht management companies and how they had different addresses that were all the same office. “Jaz found out last night that the office belongs to a man named Richard Sterling.”
Wright barely spared him a glance. “He doesn’t own the companies, though.”
“Not that we can tell,” Kenzie said. “Alyssa’s trying to find a connection between them and Sterling.”
“Sterling owns several marinas in the Caribbean,” Jaz added.
Wright pulled a stack of photos from the messenger bag at his feet. “I looked into Richard Sterling like you asked.” He laid the stack down. “Had these printed this morning.”
Talk about old school, printing photographs.
Jaz didn’t know anybody did that anymore.
He leaned in to study the one on top. It was a surveillance photo of a party, it looked like, taken with a telephoto lens.
A Hispanic man in an expensive suit stood in an outdoor courtyard talking to a few suited men and a woman.
Their postures were stiff, unlike those of other people in the shot, who seemed to be relaxed and having fun.
Most men wore suits, the women wore dresses or dressy slacks, and almost everyone held a drink.
“That’s Rios,” Jaz said.
Wright looked up from the photos, one eyebrow lifted, maybe surprised at Jaz’s information. “Look at the other faces.”
Sterling was there, talking to Rios. The photo was from the side, but it was definitely him.
“This was taken six months ago in Caracas.” Wright tapped a face, then looked at Kenzie. “Miguel Lucumí Rios. He runs one of the largest cocaine operations in Venezuela.”
“He doesn’t run it,” Jaz said. “He’s the public face, but he’s not pulling the strings.”
Again, Wright looked surprised. It was easy to impress someone with such low expectations. “Even so,” the man said.
“What’s Sterling doing there?” Jaz asked the obvious question.
Wright set that photo aside and indicated the next. Again, the focus of the photo wasn’t Sterling, but he was in the background getting into a luxury car. Another showed him at a commercial port, stacks of shipping containers behind him.
“Three documented trips to Venezuela in the last eighteen months,” Wright said. “Sterling wasn’t being surveilled, just happened to be photographed with someone who was.”
“That’s the connection.” Kenzie’s voice was tight with excitement. “That proves he’s involved.”
“It proves he’s met with people involved in drug trafficking,” Wright corrected gently. “But we don’t know his role.” He shifted to Jaz. “What are you looking for exactly?”
“The actual leader of El Consorcio del Orinoco—that cartel. Rumor has it he took over after Sebastián Salcedo was murdered.”
Wright sat up straight, surprise replaced by genuine shock. “Did you say Salcedo?”