Chapter Twenty-Three
Phoenix
Leading her back to my table like an errant adolescent, I issued another order. “Sit.”
Her heels making her four inches taller, she still had to look up at me.
“I see you haven’t changed. Except for the clothes.
” Her gaze dragged the length of me with calculated slowness.
“Decent threads.” She dished up a smile that was all provocation.
“The dress shoes are a nice touch. It almost throws off the fact that you’re a belligerent asshole. ” She sat.
I shoved her chair in.
Then I took my seat, and pushed Maila’s wine glass away from her. “Start talking.”
Glancing at the appetizers as she set her drink and purse down, she then leaned back and rested her arms on the chair. “I don’t get to wash down my forced seating arrangement and raw seafood that’s been sitting out for who knows how long with alcohol?”
I signaled a passing busser.
He immediately came to the table. “Yes, sir?”
“We’re done with the appetizers.”
“Of course, sir.” He picked up the plates, then retreated.
I called her bluff. “You don’t drink.” Whatever was in her glass, I’d bet my bank accounts it wasn’t alcohol.
She crossed her legs. “You don’t know that.”
The cabin on the ship had a mini bar, the galley had been stocked, and the main saloon had a full bar. She hadn’t touched any of them.
I shoved Maila’s untouched wine back toward her. “Drink.”
“No, thank you.” She pushed the glass away and smiled sweetly.
“I don’t consume alcohol. But you already knew that.
In fact, you seemed to know a lot about me the last time we met.
Which is funny, because I don’t remember having a conversation with you about…
well, anything. Maybe we should start. I’ll go first. So, how’s the yacht? ”
“Anchored.”
“That’s surprising. Did your wanderlust wear out?”
I wasn’t the aimless squatter. “Why is my ship anchored a surprise?”
“You don’t seem the type.” She sipped at whatever she was drinking. “Is Miami home for you?”
“Is it a stopover for you?” I’d already put it together that she’d stayed on that containership until it’d docked here. The only questions were how she’d avoided surveillance footage disembarking and what the fuck she was doing at this hotel.
The side of her mouth curled up. “Are you asking because you need another hostage?”
“Hostage implies ransom.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not worth a payoff?”
I didn’t know what the fuck she was worth. A headache. “Did you get enough conversation?”
Her bark of laughter was quick and unexpected. “You are predictable but entertaining, I’ll give you that.”
Another time and place, I’d give her a hell of a lot more.
In a calculated move, I glanced at my watch. Then I angled forward, lowered my voice, and deliberately outed myself.
“Petty Officer Second Class William ‘Bravo’ Nilsen. SEAL. KIA.” Holding her gaze and suddenly undivided attention, I pulled out my wallet and flipped it open to the driver’s license. “Now I’m Nix ‘Phoenix’ Erikson.” With a dozen other full ID setups if I needed them. “Civilian. Contractor.”
She eyed me as she leaned in, then peered at the license. “Are you really thirty-eight?”
“Yes.”
“Is that your real address?”
“No.” But it was a property I owned through a shell corporation.
She looked up. “When did you die?”
“Ten years ago.”
Nodding slowly like she understood the circumstances surrounding my past, she leaned back in her seat. “Why are you telling me all this?”
To give her a false sense of security. “Establishing trust.” I pocketed my wallet.
She let out a small laugh void of humor. “Is that how it works?”
It was a useful interrogation tactic. “How did you find my property in Cap d’Antibes?”
Color heated her cheeks, and her gaze dropped to her lap.
“I was on a catamaran. One of those larger ones, but nothing like your yacht. A couple had offered me a day out on the water, and they’d seemed nice.
But once we were underway, the husband turned handsy.
We were passing Le Sentier du Littoral when I saw your place.
It looked unoccupied.” She shrugged. “I went for a swim.”
“How far out were you?”
“I don’t know. Mile or so.”
I once again reassessed the woman. “Rough waters, strong currents. That’s a hard swim.”
“I handled it.”
She’d more than handled it. “You had your pack with you?”
Half her mouth tipped up, and she winked. “Always.”
She didn’t have it with her now. “Did the couple follow you? Wait to see if you made it to shore?”
Her laugh was genuine but ironic. “No, definitely not. Let’s just say the wife was less than impressed with the scene I made, and her husband even less so with my hiza geri.”
Knee strike. “You know karate.” And she laughed more on land than she had at sea.
“I know the fundamentals of a few martial arts.”
I couldn’t tell if she was telling the truth or greatly understating her knowledge base. “Who trained you?”
Her expression temporarily darkened before she covered it. “I think I’ve established enough trust for one evening.”
I didn’t trust a damn thing about the woman, and tonight was all she was getting from me.
“Almost. When did you see the security cameras on the Cap d’Antibes property?
” Because of her, I’d added extra security to that estate and adjusted the field of view on the cameras angled toward the dock and pool deck.
“When I swam up.” She absently ran her fingers up and down the condensation on her glass. “I looked for them before I got all the way to the dock ladder.” She took a sip of her drink. “You have a lot of security on that place.”
I had a lot of security at every one of my properties. “Did you use the dock ladder?”
“Not at first. I climbed up the rocks just north of the pool area.” She took another swallow, then set her glass down. “Do you like midnight swims?”
“No.” Not the kind she was asking about. “But you do.”
The slight tip of her lips was all self-satisfaction. “Too many night swims as a SEAL to be appealing anymore? Maybe you should try it for pleasure.” Her inhale was a tell. “Then again, you don’t do much for pleasure, do you?”
The waiter appeared with the entrées.