Chapter 1 #3
When he’d leased rights to the Russians, he’d known they weren’t mining for sulfite inside the volcano like they claimed, but rather for obsidite. A rare mineral found only on Mariposa, a superconductor of electricity, and the hottest commodity in the terrorist market.
To get to the obsidite, the Russians decided to destroy the tunnels that ran through Cumbre de Luz like Swiss cheese. Which, as it turned out, caused the entire mountain to tremble, break free...
And slide down into the village.
The mining, the landslide—it was all his fault. And he had to do something about it. Especially now that they’d mined enough to create their first shipment off the island.
Declan blew out a breath, hung a hand on the back of his neck. “You sure they won’t know we switched the boat crews?”
Zeus set down the remote control. “I hired our crew. One of the captains is Russian—he can do the talking. He can be trusted.”
“And then?”
He turned. “Then we play a little game. We send out two more ships, one equipped with the AIS they expect?—”
“Which will be the route they expect?”
“Cuba.”
Of course, Cuba. The closest communist country and still in cahoots, apparently.
“Right. And our ship?”
“Two of them, using the same AIS?—”
“They’ll have different positions and speeds and courses but will offer the same basic signature.”
“Yes,” Zeus said. “They’ll go two different directions, so even if the Russians do manage to find out the AIS, they won’t know which one it is. I named them the Nina , the Pinta , and the Santa Maria .”
“And the mining company?”
“Rigged, sir. Most of the workers will be leaving the island for R&R. Just a few security, but we’ll escort them away before the mine is destroyed.”
“Very good.” Declan glanced again out the window, at the nearby orphanage, also positioned above the village.
The slide had, providentially, narrowly missed taking out the centuries-old former monastery.
A few of the kids played outside in the soccer field.
Probably Rosa was making some of her delicious jerk chicken.
Maybe he’d have enough time to head over there after he picked up Doyle and Tia...
He stood up. “I’m leaving this with you, Zeus.” He held out his hand.
“Very good, sir. I’ll be in touch.” Zeus shook his hand, then headed for the door.
Declan locked his office, then headed to his bedroom.
The thick stone walls of his home collected the cool breezes off the ocean, the doors to his expansive terrace open to the lush tropical smells and salty breeze.
Shanice had just finished changing his sheets, and now she gestured to his packed suitcase. “According to your list, sir.”
“I appreciate that. You can tell Javier that he can take it to the yacht when he’s ready. I’ll take the Alfa and leave it at the dock garage.”
She left him and he stepped out onto the balcony jutting out over the pool deck, white travertine tile bright against the sunlight. Sometimes the view still stopped him—the expansive blue water of the Caribbean, the endless unfettered sky.
“You’d like this, Mom,” he said, leaning on the glass railing, and he couldn’t deny the smallest thickening of his throat. This place was so very different from the tiny bungalow in New Hope, Minnesota, where he’d grown up.
A buzz in the air turned him toward the harbor, and he spotted the small seaplane descending, its red-and-white body an albatross gliding to a landing.
He headed downstairs, then outside to the steps, and finally out to his four-stall garage. Keying in the code, he entered, grabbed his keys, and slid into his restored 1969 Alfa Romeo Spider, a tiny Italian car that barely fit his body. But he liked it.
Had restored it himself, back when he’d had time for things like that.
He should restore something else, probably. Air out his head from the tangle of intrigue woven by his we’re-the-good-guys contact—a guy who went by the code name Texas. Texas had been the one to first suggest he sell to the Russians. Keep your enemies close.
Yeah, too close. Now Declan had to fix the mess.
The air cut through his hair, his linen shirt, the shocks terrible as he drove down the rutted dirt road into town.
In the two months since the devastating landslide, they’d bulldozed the rubble, reconstructed a road through town, and now as he entered the outskirts, new construction evidenced the rebirth and resilience of the town.
And soon there would be a new trauma center, thanks to Tia Pepper and Doyle Kingston, his new secret weapons. Last he’d seen them, a month ago when he’d returned to Minnesota, they were finally dating too.
About time.
He’d tried to track down Steinbeck, his former bodyguard, who’d left him for the States after being shot a couple months ago. But he hadn’t yet been able to connect with him. Which felt weird.
He had a plan to fix that too.
He slowed as he motored through town, past the new bank and the street vendors, hardy folks who still sold doubles—delicious flatbread filled with chickpeas—patties, and of course, conch fritters.
His stomach growled. But he’d have a decent dinner on the yacht, and Camille would murder him if he filled up.
That’s what he got for hiring a French chef. But he wanted this voyage... Well, he wanted so much out of this voyage. Nothing could go wrong.
He pulled up to his private dock, waved at the camera, and the gate opened. Driving in, he parked at the small dock house and dropped the keys into the hands of Diego, his chauffeur. “Park her in the garage. They’ll take the Jeep to the orphanage.”
Diego nodded. Good kid. He was one of the oldest orphans rescued out of the terrible aftermath of the hurricane five years ago. Now he had a wife, a kid on the way, a home, and a job. Declan patted him on the shoulder, then headed out to the dock.
The seaplane sat secured, the pilot gassing up, the passengers already out, helping unload their gear.
“Doyle!”
The dark-haired man, dressed in a T-shirt and cargo shorts, loafers, turned and raised a hand. Doyle sported a hint of a beard too.
The woman with him, Tia, also turned. Dark hair pulled back into a messy bun, hazel-green eyes, and a tan, the woman smiled, waved. “Declan!” She picked up a satchel, put it on her shoulder, and reached for a rolling bag, but Doyle grabbed it from her.
Huh. So maybe she wasn’t the boss of him anymore.
Declan came up to her, gave her a kiss on one cheek, then the other. “You look fantastic.”
“All that time on Conrad’s sailboat.” She glanced at Doyle. “And Doyle just had to volunteer as a soccer coach for the last month, so I sat in the sun a lot.”
“Oh no, that’s on her. She’s the one who hooked me up with EmPowerPlay, her family’s charity. I had no choice.” He glanced at Tia, grinning.
Oh yes, definitely together.
“Glad to have you both back.” He reached for one of the rolling bags.
“Just in time for Jamal and Kemar to have their court hearing?” Doyle asked as he followed.
“In a couple weeks. I’m heading up to the Keys to pick up the Jamesons. Hunter and Elise are excited. And by the way, I heard from the Scotts. They finished their home study, so I think we’ll be scheduling Lucia’s court date soon too.” He glanced back at Doyle. “Three down, forty to go.”
“And I’ve landed a couple scholarships for Gabriella and others who might want to go on to college,” Tia said, looking back at them. “But the biggest project is the trauma center. We got Compassion Corp to put up the initial payment—enough to get the plans drawn up and break ground.”
“I knew hiring you two was a brilliant move.” He reached the end of the dock, where Diego waited.
“Ranger is on his way, sir,” Diego said.
“Ranger is still here?” Doyle said, carrying his suitcase to the Jeep, now pulled up in the gravel drive.
“He goes back and forth, but yes, he’s been instrumental in helping organize all the cleanup.
” Declan spotted the man now, headed toward the truck.
Tall, with dark-brown hair, he dressed in a T-shirt with Jones, Inc .
written across the chest, a pair of lightweight pants, boots, and he still bore the swagger and build of the SEAL he’d once been.
Declan had gotten to know him and his story over a few dinners and late-night street grub.
“Hey, cuz,” Doyle said and greeted Ranger with a shake-slash-man-hug. “How’s the baby?”
“Good. Although not a baby anymore. Walking. Terrorizing his mother. The other day he found a jar of peanut butter, took the top off, and managed to lather his hair with it.”
“Nice,” Doyle said. “So, trouble, just like his old man.”
“Oh no, I wasn’t trouble. That was my brother, Colt.” He winked, then pointed to the plane. “That for me?”
“Yep. Thanks again, Ranger.” Declan held out his hand. “Safe travels.”
Ranger clamped him on the back and threw his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed out to the plane.
“You’re not going with him?” This from Tia as Diego put her bag in the back of the Jeep.
“No, the Jamesons aren’t big fans of flying, so I’m taking the Invictus to pick them up in Key West.” He pointed to the yacht. A hundred twenty feet, all white, three decks, five staterooms, and a crew of seven.
“Oh, my dad would be jealous,” Tia said, turning toward it, lowering her sunglasses. “He has a sailboat, but he’s definitely thought of adding a yacht to his fleet.”
“That’s a beautiful yacht, Dec,” Doyle said.
“Thanks.” And he suddenly felt like a sixth grader showing off his new bike to his friends, hoping that...
Well, hoping he might impress the girl, Austen Kingston, once he found her.
Wow. He was that guy. The nerd who wanted the prettiest girl he’d ever seen to notice him.
Please let him not be reading the sparks between them wrong. He’d made his big mistake last time by hiring her. He could hardly have asked her out while she worked for him without it getting weird.
Although, showing up in Key West in his hundred-and-twenty-foot yacht, asking if she’d like to have dinner with him might be equally weird.
Hopefully, impressively weird.
Oh brother.
“Key West, huh?” Doyle grinned.
“C’mon, Doyle,” Tia said, taking his hand, smiling. “Give the man some breathing room. He’s just a guy, standing on a yacht, asking a girl to like him.”
Declan’s mouth opened.
“Good luck, boss,” Tia said and pulled a smirking Doyle away.
They got in the Jeep, and Diego pulled out.
Declan turned, his hands in his pockets. Watched Ranger climb aboard. Then the pilot waved, and a few moments later, the plane pulled away from the dock, motored out into the harbor, then kicked up water and took to the air.
Right. Well then, everything seemed buttoned up.
This could work. It could really work.
He took a breath and headed toward the yacht.
Here went nothing.