Page 52

CHAPTER 52

COLE

“ A nother drink, ma’am?”

“I’ll have a Sex on the Beach, please. And my name is Bella, not ‘ma’am.’”

The waitress was young, and her accent said she’d come from the Bahamas along with the yacht.

“And for you, uh…”

“Cole. A beer would be great.”

Cole was used to boats. He wasn’t used to boats that came with a crew, unless that crew was him.

By some twist of fate, the yacht they were relaxing on was named the Black Diamond , and she came fully staffed and fully loaded. Two RIBs, a quartet of jet skis, watersports equipment, even a mini submersible, although hers was a commercial model rather than the research-oriented vessel Dr. Blaylock had designed. Apparently, the man they called Priest, whose wardrobe consisted of Hawaiian shirts, board shorts, flip-flops, and not a lot else, had borrowed her from a friend. Cole needed those kinds of friends.

So far, he wasn’t sure what to make of the guy—Priest had acted like a laid-back surfer dude until after dinner last night. They’d ridden ashore on one of the RIBs because Tulsa said there was a good rib shack near the beach, which was true, but it wasn’t like any rib shack Cole had ever been to. The wine list ran to three pages, and the ribs cost the same as a sirloin back home. Cole wasn’t sure who’d picked up the tab, but it hadn’t been him, and as they headed back to the yacht, he was feeling guilty about that when suddenly the energy in the group changed. A man up ahead, more of a boy really, was dragging a girl by the arm, ignoring her protests as she tried to dig her heels in.

The group moved as one, quickly and quietly. They closed the gap between the couple, sweeping Cole along with them, and Priest tore the teenager away with a ferocity Cole hadn’t expected of him. The crack as Priest slammed the kid against a wall made Cole wince. The women formed a circle around the girl and hustled her away.

What was he supposed to do? Pretend not to notice what was going on? Jog after the girls’ team? Wait, were there teams? He felt as if he should do something more than stand around like a spare part, so he folded his arms and tried to look intimidating.

“That’s not how we treat women, son. Or men, if that’s your thing.” Priest had the kid pinned to the wall now, arms above his head.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Nobody important.” The kid spit in Priest’s face, but Priest didn’t flinch. “What did she do?”

“Fuck you.”

“What did she do?”

“She was talking to another guy, okay?”

“And do you think dragging her along by the arm will make her more or less likely to talk to other guys?”

“Bitch needed to be taught a lesson.”

“Yes, she did. And the lesson is that she’s better off with a different man.” Priest shifted his grip, freeing a hand. He casually used the kid’s shirt to wipe the spit off his face. “If you go after her, those women will fuck you up worse than I ever could.”

“That’s the truth,” Cole muttered.

“And just in case you consider acting inappropriately toward the girl again, she’ll have their numbers. If you like your genitals where they are, I suggest you think very, very carefully about this conversation and learn a little chivalry.”

Priest released the kid and gave him a shove that sent him stumbling along the sidewalk. The man seemed utterly unperturbed by events as he set off for the Black Diamond again.

“Should we wait for the others?” Cole asked.

“They can take care of themselves. How do you feel about a game of golf?”

“With you?”

“Not much of a game if you play alone.”

“I haven’t played for years.” Gretchen had enjoyed golf, which meant Cole had played to please her. He’d left his clubs behind in the apartment they’d once shared. “You play much?”

“Not if I can help it. But a significant number of important people frequent golf courses, so it pays to have a grasp on the game. The course near here is owned by a fellow named Jesus Betancourt. When he isn’t hitting his balls into the rough, he has some unpalatable hobbies. I like to keep an eye on him.”

“Is it dangerous?”

Priest laughed. “Not unless you drink too much at the nineteenth hole and fall down the clubhouse steps.”

That was how Cole had ended up sharing a jovial lunch with a questionable Puerto Rican who definitely cheated at golf, several of his friends, and Priest, who Betancourt called Richard. The two were clearly acquainted, and if Priest hadn’t said what he said, Cole would have assumed the two men were friends. Priest introduced Cole as “a hotel guy from Vegas,” and Cole bluffed his way through a conversation about produce costs and profit margins.

This new life was really fucking weird, but at least lunch was free.

Back on board the Black Diamond , Cole ordered his beer and settled beside Bella on the sundeck.

“How was lunch?” she asked.

“Strange.”

“Welcome to my world. It’s good that you’re getting along with Priest, especially since you’ll be spending time at the Cathouse when we get back.”

“The Cathouse?” Wasn’t a cathouse another name for a brothel?

“Our home. Casa del Gato. Before we moved in, it belonged to Dick Steele.”

“The Prince of Porn?” Shit. “I’m not sure I should have admitted I know who that is.”

Bella laughed. “You can try out our dick-shaped water slide.”

“Is that a joke?”

“You’ll just have to come over and find out.”

Living arrangements were a discussion for another day. Cole had a place, and Bella had a place, and where they slept didn’t make much difference as long as they were together. There were times when she’d be away for work, and there were times when he’d travel to San Gallicano, but that was okay. They’d find their way back together. He liked her independence. Last night as they lay in bed, she’d confided that she was glad he had other interests because it took some of the pressure off her.

“No need, I think I saw the slide in a video once.”

Bella rolled onto her side. “Is that a joke?”

“I’m sure your hacker friend can find out.”

Another laugh. She smiled more these days. “If you were lunching with an arms dealer, I don’t suppose you saw the news?”

An arms dealer? Well, fuck. “What’s on the news?”

“A massive pile of drugs and a police chief praising the brave actions of the San Gallicano Department of Emergency Services.”

Bella handed over her phone with a replay cued up, and Cole watched the piece as the crew member returned with their drinks, put them on the low tables on either side of the double sun lounger, and retreated.

“The chief took the credit for everything you did.”

“Yes, and that’s perfect. I don’t want my name anywhere near the media.”

“How about the gold? They didn’t mention it.”

“No, but that’s to be expected. Firstly, they prefer to spoon out the good news when it works best for them—to distract from a scandal or whatever—and secondly, they’ll want to recover everything before they breathe a word to the public about treasure. There’s already been one idiot from the coastguard agency who took a diving trip with his brother and a buddy.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yup, and when he got caught by a boatload of his colleagues, he tried to bribe them into keeping their mouths shut.”

“Damn. Then I guess that makes sense to stay quiet about the discovery.”

“And don’t forget that in the San Gallician Treasure Trove Act, it’s forbidden to search for treasure, but if you stumble over it accidentally and turn it over to the government, you get a finder’s fee. Only a small percentage, but there’s a lot of gold down there.”

“Technically, we didn’t find it; Witt, Clint, and Jon did.”

“We’re the ones who reported it. Anyhow, it’s being talked about. Maybe we’ll get something, but because of the circumstances, they might just donate it to charity.”

“That’s…” There was a lot of gold down there, and even a small percentage would be a life-changing sum. Cole sure needed the cash, but it would feel like blood money. A man had died for it. “Do you think they’ll let us pick the charities?”

“Probably.”

“I’d split mine between conservation and domestic violence.”

“Domestic violence?”

“My father wasn’t a nice man. He beat my mom, and when she found out she was pregnant, she left to save me. That’s why I have her surname and not his. Uncle Mike paid our rent until I turned eighteen, but I only met him a handful of times. We had to stay away from Vegas. When my father died three years ago, I was living in San Gallicano, and Uncle Mike told me about the funeral, but I didn’t go. Maybe I should have? Not for my father, but for my uncle.” The guilt would always eat at Cole. He should have made more effort to see the man who’d supported his mom. “We spoke from time to time, but I had no idea I was in his will.”

“I’m sure he was proud of you.”

“I hope he was.” Cole took a moment to compose himself. “Dr. Blaylock emailed me today.”

His phone had pinged at lunch, but he hadn’t been able to read the message until he was in a car with Priest. Not a cab or an Uber—Priest was playing the part of a rich businessman with too much time on his hands, so they’d ridden in a black Mercedes with a uniformed driver. How big was the Choir’s budget? Or was Priest independently wealthy?

“How’s he doing?” Bella asked. “Wonder how his ex-wife took the news? ”

“He didn’t mention her. Just apologised and asked if there was any way he could make things right.”

“It wasn’t his fault. Echo took a look at the ex, and it seems she was a bit of a gold-digger. Guess Clint took after her, quite literally.”

“I think I’m going to offer to do the survey with him next year—if he wants to, that is. Do you think that’s crazy?”

“No. But if he takes you up on the offer, I’m bringing more ammo next time.”

“You’d come?”

“I’d need plenty of notice, but the big boss is always telling me I need a better work-life balance.”

Cole dragged Bella into his arms and reached for the tie behind her neck. The bikini had to go, and the bulwarks protected them from any prying eyes. The other girls had taken the car to go shopping—Barbie, Tulsa, and Storm by choice, Dice under duress by the look of things. Priest said he had a call to make.

Cole tossed Bella’s top aside, but before he could make a start on the bottoms, she shook her head and pointed at the sky.

“Unless you want my colleagues scoring your performance, we should head below decks.” She arched her back and stretched like a cat. “You’re definitely a ten, by the way.”

Cole scooped her up and headed for the stairs. Hey, Uncle Mike’s shamrock had turned out to be lucky after all.

“You’re an eleven, Jezebel.”