Jewel of Solana Page 4

  “So now we’re in the business of taking over countries? To what, better the lives of ultra-wealthy moguls?”

  The yacht’s engines roared to life, just as thunder clapped overhead.

  “I don’t give a shit about the people. All I want is the airport, marina, and the mines. The rest is for Bendetto. What do I care if he wants to rule on a broken throne over a stupid childhood grudge? When I have the resources and operations we need to expand our empire, he can do whatever the hell he wants.”

  Dark clouds gathered and his men moved faster to get everything on board before the rain started. This weekend’s trip into the city was supposed to be a celebration of a new cash cow under his belt, but all of that depended on whether his general, Bendetto, could keep his word.

  And not fuck up again.

  “What do you want me to tell Raul?” Ricardo asked.

  “Have him keep a close eye on Bendetto, and that bulldog assassin of his, Vasco.”

  “And the necklace?”

  The sky opened, and a deluge of rain covered the pristine grounds. One of the guards moved forward with an umbrella over Lozano’s head. Ricardo moved under it while the others stood in the rain and waited on their leader.

  “You handle that personally. Track Princess Alanna and bring her to me. She’ll have the jewels and we can use her as leverage if Bendetto lets Prince André escape, too. Use your connections with the authorities. A privileged, naïve girl like her will stick to what she knows—big cities and planes. Which requires a passport and money. Find her. How hard could that be, even for you?”

  A heavy-set man in an oversized suit came through the mansion’s lanai doors and walked through the rain to stand beside Lozano. Tiburón had been with Lozano since the beginning. His key enforcer loved the dirty jobs, and no one completed them with more detail, viciousness, and pleasure than the Shark. But he lacked the international finesse needed for this particular job.

  Oblivious to the downpour, Tiburón removed his sunglasses and clasped his hands over his round belly. “We’ve found the package,” he began in his rough, deep voice. “Waiting for your word.”

  Lozano’s mouth twitched. The occasional snitch was always dealt with swiftly. Tiburón never made a move without him or brought anything incriminating to his doorstep. There was usually nothing left to bring. “Any witnesses?”

  “No, sir. He was alone. Sitting on the shitter.”

  Lozano nodded. “Put him in a drawer. Today.”

  His favorite method of eliminating witnesses or snitches. Stuffing them in a laundry bag with a concrete block tied to their feet, and then tossing them in the ocean.

  “Air bubbles?”

  Lozano considered for a moment and looked at his son. One day he needed to learn not to give people a chance to fuck him over. “Sure. But no chance for an encore by our loose-lipped friend.”

  Meaning cut out his tongue first, but leave him alive when he was dumped over.

  “Any trophies?”

  Lozano grunted. “Not from that weasel. Feel free to have fun with him first, if you wish.”

  Tiburón nodded and walked away.

  Lozano stared hard into his son’s face. “That’s how you handle wrenches in the wheel. You don’t let it fix itself. You toss it away and get a new fucking wheel.”

  Ricardo swallowed and glanced in the direction Tiburón left, shifting his weight away. “What’s your fascination with the drawer?”

  Lozano looked over the water. In a lower voice, he replied, “It’s the worst way to die. Crushed. In the dark.”

  THE GIRL HAD CLEARLY NEVER polished a thing in her life. Except maybe her nails. No matter how much she scrubbed the stainless-steel parts, she huffed at the remaining spots, oblivious that she was using a too-damp rag. Then she’d start scrubbing all over again. After the second attempt, Flynn tossed her a dry rag.

  “Use this one.”

  When the spots vanished with a few scrubs, she smiled at him and continued with gusto. It was hard for him to focus on checking the engine. For once, there was something more interesting.

  She was a hard worker, learned quick and didn’t complain. Things Flynn appreciated, almost as much as the way she kept blowing the hair out of her eyes. But with only a twist-tie holding her braid together, it would unravel soon.

  What had amazed him most was her terrified look when he said it was time to start working. Or maybe it was because he called her princess, he wasn’t sure. Maybe she’d interpreted the moniker as an insult. But when he didn’t say anything else, she had eventually stood from the patio chair and followed him downstairs.

  The intercom buzzed overhead and Dean’s voice poured into the engine room. “Flynn to the bridge.”

  Alanna wiped her brow. The engine room always ran a little hot, especially in this climate. But after nearly a decade of working on engines, Flynn didn’t notice it as much.

  “Good job. The new owner will appreciate the clean look. Get a drink and cool off if you’d like. This might take a while with Dean.”

  “I’m almost done. I’ll see you up there.”

  Flynn glanced around the room and grimaced. “Um…don’t touch any buttons or switches.”

  Alanna smirked. “Relax. I’m not going to sabotage anything.”

  As Flynn retreated upstairs, he heard her mutter something in Spanish. Not that he could translate, but she was a fiery thing.

  Dean’s feet were propped on the ledge of the navigation system while he cleaned his sunglasses. A few tiny islands, no bigger than a half mile across, passed along the starboard side: a common sight in these waters. No doubt the next big storm would wipe out the few palm trees that grew on the uninhabited land, or swallow them into the sea entirely.

  “Thought you might need a break from our stowaway. I know how you are with strangers.”

  “I’m good. She’s green, but works hard.”

  “And is nice to look at,” Dean added.

  Flynn rolled his eyes. “She’s too young for you.”

  “Obviously. But what really has my attention,” Dean continued, setting his sunglasses on the counter, “is that you can’t keep your eyes off her.”

  “So?”

  “Oh, come on.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “It took you ten years to look me in the eye. Even now, our conversations don’t last more than two minutes, unless you’re talking about the engine or other boat mechanics.”

  “You’re not as interesting.”

  “Not everyone is an Einstein like you,” Dean scoffed. “But seriously, Flynn. What is it about her? With her you’re almost…normal.”

  Flynn ground his teeth. Normal. What’s so great about fucking normal? “I heard enough of that psycho-babble-shit from Navy psychiatrists. I don’t need it from you.”

  “I’m not criticizing, man. The difference is blatant. You’re overly attentive and sympathetic. Not to mention calmer and not as fixated on things.”

  “Do you really want to make this little chat about flaws? Because yours could fill a phone book.”

  “You’re so damn defensive.” Dean removed his feet from the counter and swiveled his chair to the controls. “Sorry for the compliment. Go cool off.”

  “Switch in two hours, got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Dean waved him away.

  Flynn huffed into the kitchen, counting each step in his mind as he went, and scrounged around the cupboards for something to eat. No matter how many doors he slammed or how many times he opened the fridge, it didn’t ease the frustration. Dean had never criticized his quirks before, at least not like his father. It was one of the main reasons he liked sea trials with the aging captain, because Flynn didn’t have to worry about social conventions or being looked at like a medical experiment. Or infuriatingly corrected every five seconds. He could just do his job and be left alone.

  The truth was he didn’t know why Alanna made his behavior change. His instant ease with the brown-eyed Polynesian baffled him as much as it did Dean.
Working with her in the engine room for the last hour without obsessing over her mistakes was a damn miracle. Maybe it was because she was quieter than other strangers he’d met, or just reluctant to talk about herself. She focused on the work, not filling the silence between them with mindless chatter.

  Flynn finally settled on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, swiping the knife across the bread five times, when Alanna turned the corner. Her gaze met his and he felt himself smile.

  “I’m starving.” She wiped the sweat off the back of her neck. “Is there any fruit?”

  “There’s a bowl of cut bananas and mangos in the fridge, and a pineapple in the pantry. Want a PB&J?”

  “No thank you. I don’t care for peanut butter. Just toast, please.”

  Flynn stared at her. “You’re starving, and all you want is fruit and toast?”

  “Is that a problem?” Alanna grabbed the bag of bread for two slices. She spun the bread bag closed counterclockwise, and it didn’t bug him in the least.

  “No wonder you’re so tiny.”

  She pursed her lips, but ignored him as she dug around the cupboards for a plate. Flynn pulled the toaster out from below the cabinet, set it on the counter, and went back to making his sandwich. Halfway through spreading the jelly, he realized she was just staring at the toaster. “Problem?” he asked.

  “I’m not…familiar with toasters.” The red on her cheeks spread all the way to her ears.

  “You’ve never used a toaster?”

  “I’ve never had to before.”

  Flynn’s brow furrowed, but he stuck the slices in the slots for her and pressed the lever. At least she knew how to plug it in. The blush deepened and crept down her neck.

  “Now you know,” he said and continued to watch her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. Hiding her face, she turned and grabbed two bowls from the counter. The woman was greener than he thought, and twice as prideful. Clearly, asking for help was not her forte, or at least looking like a fool hit harder than a bag of bricks. How does someone not know how to make toast?

  “Why don’t you have an accent?” she asked while waiting for the bread to pop up.

  “An accent?”

  “You’re from Australia, but have an American accent.”

  “Because I’m an American. Raised in Los Angeles.”

  “Oh.” The bread popped up and she didn’t say anything more.

  When she finished spreading jelly on her borderline burnt toast, she carried both of their plates to the patio without a word. Her hips swayed as she walked, almost like a runway model with infinitely more grace. Shoulders back and chin high.

  On the counter were two bowls of fruit. Flynn hadn’t asked for any, but she was thoughtful enough to make one for him as well. He smiled. Taking the bowls, he followed her outside to find the table methodically set, the plates next to each other facing the stern of the boat.

  Alanna probably hadn’t cooked or cleaned a day in her life, but certainly knew her way around a table. And boats.

  They ate much of the meal in silence, absorbing the welcome breeze and view. Nothing in sight except crystal ocean, blue sky, and the occasional island.

  And another boat.

  In the distance, one headed straight for them. Its speed and something funny shaped on its bow made Flynn stop chewing. “Wait here.” He stood, went inside and grabbed the binoculars from the helm.

  When he returned, Alanna was at the railing looking at the boat, her hand shading her eyes. “Is it another yacht?”

  Flynn took an extra long look. “Not with a mounted machine gun on the bow.”

  “A what?” She grabbed the binoculars from his hands and looked. “Maybe a deep-sea fisher?”

  Flynn didn’t answer. He hurried to the front for Dean. “Boat on our six, about three miles out. You’ll wanna see this.”

  Dean shot out of the chair and followed him to the stern. Face pale, Alanna handed him the binoculars.

  “How long has it been following us?” Dean asked with a tight jaw.

  “Not sure. I didn’t notice it this morning.”

  “It could just be a fishing boat.” Alanna held her arms against her abdomen.

  “Not with the automatic machine gun up front,” Dean answered. “That can’t be Coast Guard either, not in International waters.”

  “Pirates,” Flynn growled.

  “Probably. Though what they’re doing all the way out here makes no sense.” Dean’s grip on the binoculars tightened.

  “Pirates?” Alanna croaked. “In these waters? Is it those terrorists from Solana?”

  “You want me to pull over and ask them?” Dean handed the binoculars to Flynn, and marched inside. Flynn took another look at the mystery follower. They were at full speed, with at least three men at the helm.

  The yacht surged forward, quickly reaching thirty-five knots. The plates shifted on the table, but Alanna caught them before they fell off. Every part of her was shaking, and her eyes had gone wide.

  “Let’s carry these inside.” Flynn used his calmest voice. They collected the dishes and he held the door open.

  “Is this a normal thing for you? Running from pirates?”

  “Pirates are never normal, especially outside commercial traffic routes. But Dean’s been doing this a long time. It’s not his first run-in with them.”

  They set the dishes in the sink, and Flynn grabbed the liquor bottles from the cabinet. Along with a bunch of rags.

  “What are we going to do?”

  Dean came around the corner and handed a rifle to Flynn. Flynn cocked it and looked into Alanna’s glassy eyes. “Defend the ship.”

  DEFEND THE SHIP. THE WAY Flynn said it, so casual and obvious, made Alanna feel three inches tall. The ease with which he handled the gun made her even more nervous.

  How many more gunfights will I have to live through before this is all over?

  These could be more Lozano cartel men chasing them from Solana. If it was, then they knew she was on board. And wouldn’t stop until she was captured or killed.

  Shivers spasmed through her legs, and she grabbed the counter to steady herself. Focusing on Flynn’s smooth movements helped her settle, just slightly.

  He unscrewed several liquor bottles and ripped the seals off a few more. With each bottle, he shoved the end of a rag in the top and set them in a cooler by the fridge.

  “What are these for?” Alanna forced herself to ask.

  “Makeshift fire bombs.” He shoved a rag into another bottle. “Just in case.”

  “Part of Navy basic training?”

  Flynn chuckled darkly. “No. The Navy has a lot better weapons. This is from the internet.”

  “Aren’t those for your client?”

  “You think he’ll prefer a full liquor cabinet at the bottom of the Pacific?”

  “Fair enough. What do I do?”

  Dean returned, holding a shotgun. “Take the helm while we handle this. Listen to my directions from the starboard beam.”

  Alanna gulped and nodded. Handle the boat. I can do that.

  “How far are we from Palau?” Flynn strapped the rifle over his shoulder.

  “At this speed, still over two hours.” Dean grabbed a small bullhorn from a lower cabinet. “At least the engines are getting a good run-in.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Dean groaned. “You didn’t? After the last catastrophe and your father’s strict orders, you still altered the engine?”

  “They won’t blow out. I made adjustments from the last time.”

  “You’re as thickheaded as your father, and twice as reckless.”

  “It’s working, isn’t it?” Flynn handed him a bottle of whiskey. “Last chance for a swig.”

  Dean grabbed it and chugged.

  “Care for any coconut rum?” Flynn offered a clear bottle. The intense look in his emerald eyes steadied her, drove everything else out until the panic eased. She’d had wine and champagne at royal dinner parties, yet never ha
rd liquor. And certainly never straight from the bottle. But if men drank this to settle their nerves, it would work for her, too.

  Princess protocol be damned.

  She grasped the bottle and tipped it back, the liquid burning her throat and pooling in her stomach. Eyes watering, she held up a hand when he reached for the bottle. The liquor’s fire settled into a relaxing simmer. Not so bad. Her muscles loosened a touch, but her nerves could use another shot.

  Flynn held out his hand.

  She smiled and took another generous sip. Then grabbed a rag and shoved the end in the bottle. His eyes sparked. He placed his hand over hers and squeezed. The warmth of his skin was stronger than the alcohol permeating her body.

  “We’ll be fine,” he assured with the same silky voice that ensnared her on the docks. He was so sure and solid, she believed him.

  She had to.

  Dean set his bottle on the counter and stared out the windows. “They’ve gained on us.”

  Sure enough, the boat was closer, enough to make out four men moving around the bow. Two of them readied the mounted weapon, and Alanna’s heart kicked into full-fledged panic.

  Flynn took her by the elbow and guided her to the helm. He pointed out the navigation system and a single dot as their target—Palau. The wheel and throttle were self explanatory, as was the fuel gauge. As he pointed out each feature, she focused on his steady voice, her nerves fizzling at his trust with her at the helm of this behemoth. Her fingers curled around the wheel.

  This was her vessel. Her power. This was her home.

  “Keep the ship at full steam toward that dot, unless Dean says otherwise. Do not slow down, even if they cut across our bow. And keep your head low.”

  When he turned to leave, she grabbed his wrist. His pulse was racing as fast as hers, yet the green gaze of her savior held her frozen in place. “What are you going to do?”