CHAPTER 7 #3
“I told you everything,” he rasped. “I swear—”
“I know,” I said. “That’s why this next part isn’t personal.”
His breathing grew even more frantic. “Then why?” he cried.
Maddox answered for me. “Because you still made the choice. And because choices like that need consequences that people can remember.”
Lawson shut his laptop and stood, stretching his shoulders as if he was clocking out of a long meeting. “Also,” he added mildly, “you’re now a liability. And we’re very particular about loose ends.”
The captain’s sobs continued. “Please,” he said. “I have kids.”
“So do a lot of men who don’t take bribes,” Maddox replied.
I stepped closer, meeting the captain’s gaze one last time. “You should’ve told us before we had to drag it out of you.”
The captain started begging in earnest, his words tumbling over one another, and more snot was bubbling from his nose as his tears streamed. I let him talk . . . I let the fear build until it filled every corner of him, and then I nodded to Maddox.
Maddox moved behind the chair and wrapped a thick plastic zip tie around the captain’s throat, letting him feel the cold bite of it against his skin.
The captain’s eyes bulged, and he jerked and rocked the chair, strangled sounds escaping as Maddox pulled tighter.
I watched the color drain and then surge back, his face darkening as veins rose along his forehead.
His tongue pushed forward uselessly, and a thick, choking sound bubbled up from his throat.
Maddox kept pulling until the captain’s struggles slowed. His body jerked once more in a final, reflexive spasm, then went limp. The tie loosened abruptly, and he collapsed forward in the chair, his chin dropping to his chest and his eyes wide and unfocused as they fixed on nothing at all.
Silence settled in the warehouse again, broken only by the distant groan of cranes outside and the slap of water against the pilings beneath the dock doors.
Lawson exhaled slowly. “I assume you’re going to make sure this travels.”
I brushed nonexistent dust from my sleeve. “Naturally.”
Maddox already had the body halfway off the chair, one arm hooked under his shoulder like he was helping a drunk friend instead of handling a liability.
Two of my men moved toward the open loading bay at the far end of the warehouse.
Beyond the concrete lip, the water shifted black beneath the structure, and the tide rolled in and out.
One of my men looped the chain around the captain’s ankles while another secured the weight at his waist, the metal clinking softly against concrete. The body sagged between them as they worked with practiced efficiency.
Only when everything was tight did they haul him the rest of the way to the edge.
There was a brief shift of balance, and then they tipped him forward.
The splash was low and contained, more displacement than spectacle, and I stepped closer to the open bay for a moment, watching the surface settle back into its natural rhythm.
“Find me the men who boarded that ship,” I ordered. “Every name. Every connection. I want to know who thought this was worth the risk. I’d probably start with the Irish, obviously.”
Lawson’s laptop was open again, and he grinned without looking away. “Already in progress.”
“Atta boy,” I muttered, pulling out my phone. “Now to get the helicopter.”
That got their attention.
Maddox looked up first, one brow lifting slowly. “We just disposed of a body.”
“Yes,” I said. “And I’m very proud of us.”
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Back to the city,” I replied. “I’ve had enough of this zip code for one morning.”
Lawson’s fingers slowed as his gaze flicked up from the screen. “Funny timing,” he said lightly. “Your girl’s working tonight.”
I paused just long enough for Maddox to catch it.
“‘Your girl’?” Maddox echoed, amusement slipping into his voice.
I shot Lawson a look. “She is not my—”
“She’s the cocktail waitress at Paradise,” Lawson continued. “Green eyes. Bus pass. Questionable husband. Ring any bells?”
Maddox’s grin was even more annoying than usual. “Oh. That girl.”
“You both have entirely too much time on your hands,” I growled as I slid my phone back into my pocket.
Lawson snorted, brushing that persistent blond streak out of his eyes. “We absolutely do not,” he said. “But this is significantly more entertaining than tracking maritime theft.”
Maddox clapped me once on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Go handle your . . . business. We’ll clean this up.”
I shook my head and started toward the helipad, the low thrum of the rotors already building in the distance. Behind me, Lawson’s voice carried easily over the concrete. “Text us if she throws a drink in your face,” he called out. “I want the footage. Strictly for operational analysis, of course.”
I sighed and ignored him.
But as the helicopter blades tore through the night and the dock lights fell away beneath me, I was having trouble thinking about who had stolen from us . . . because all I could think of were the color of Eden’s eyes.