Page 57 of Storm over the Caribbean (Storm and Silence Saga #8)

All the others instantly took a step away from him. The huge bodyguard slowly turned around, his slightly reddened and swollen nose becoming visible.

“What. Did. You. Say?”

“I, um…asked if this was a good idea?” the sailor mumbled, taking a step back. “I mean, we went out to catch pirates, and all we caught was a cold, right? We—”

“I did not catch a cold!” Karim growled. “And I most certainly did not—achoo!”

Poignant silence descended over the pier.

The bodyguard slowly pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his nose, put the handkerchief away, and fixed the sailor with a glare that could make milk curdle.

“We will set sail again. And we will find both the pirates and Ambrose Sahib and the Sahiba .”

“But, Mr Karim, Sir…we’ve combed this part of the ocean for days upon days now, and haven’t found a single thing!”

“Of course we’re combing the ocean! Where else are we supposed to look? On land?” Karim’s fist slammed against the side of the nearest ship and a snarl erupted from his throat. “Do you think pirates would suddenly beach their ship and become bank robbers?”

The sailors cowered under his glare.

“Of course not, Sir!”

“You’re quite right, Sir!”

Karim gave a grim nod. “Good. Now get moving!”

“Aye aye, Sir! Right away, Sir!”

***

The very next morning, Mr Ambrose ordered the ship to be turned around. When the pirates asked why, all my dear husband said in response was: “Heading back to the bank.”

Needless to say, all the pirates were quite impressed with their captain’s guts. Robbing the same place twice in a week? Now that was pirating with style!

Thus, only a few hours later, our ship was anchored in a hidden, natural harbour not far away from the city of Hamilton, and I found myself climbing down into a dinghy that was to take us ashore. Something that would have been a lot easier without a bulging belly, let me tell you.

“Remember,” Mr Ambrose instructed, his cold eyes boring into the first mate, who stood at the railing above. “If we have not returned within the hour, you are to implement the plan.”

“Aye aye, Sir!” The first mate nodded solemnly.

“Oomph!” With a thud , I let myself slide from the last rung of the rope ladder, landing in the dinghy. It probably said something about my current state that, even with Mr Ambrose in the other half, this made the boat tilt noticeably in my direction.

Mr Ambrose cocked his head, gazing at me.

“Not a word!” I raised a single finger. “Not. A. Word. Especially not the f-word!”

His gaze lowered, focusing on my belly.

Goddammit! How does he do it? How is that son of a bachelor able to insinuate I’m fat without saying a word?

And the worst thing? Without him saying anything, I couldn’t even complain about it!

Reaching out to steady me, he gazed into my eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay behind?”

I opened my mouth to shoot back a biting retort—then met his eyes, and the words caught in my throat. Such deep, dark, unfathomable eyes. Sea-coloured orbs akin to pools of icy water, filled with ferocity and…concern?

I swallowed.

“We’re just going to visit the bank,” I told him. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

He sent me a look. “Mr Linton?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know one reason why I speak so seldom?”

“Err…no?”

“It is a simple way to avoid famous last words.”

One corner of my mouth quirked. “As well as any others. Let’s go, shall we? I’d like to have time to stop at the market on the way back. Maybe I’ll be lucky and find some stall that sells ice cream and mustard on toast.”

“Unlikely.”

“Hey! Don’t crush my hopes and dreams!”

He didn’t deign to dignify that with a response, so we spent the rest of the journey in silence. It didn’t take long for our dinghy to reach the shore. With a grinding sound, the prow met the sand, and Mr Ambrose leapt onto land. Reaching out, he extended his hand to me.

“Oh?” I cocked an eyebrow. “What if your crew sees us holding hands?”

“Then,” Mr Ambrose said in a completely neutral, not at all teasing voice, “my crew will think Freddy the Fatty is too voluminous to get out of a boat alone.”

“You…!”

Needless to say, I got out of the boat very quickly, nearly as quickly as I aimed a kick at Mr Ambrose’s shin. Unfortunately, he moved out of the way in a blink and, a moment later, was already halfway across the beach.

Drat!

Just you wait until I get my hands on you, Mr Rikkard Ambrose!

“You…are…going to…pay…for…this!” I panted, trying as hard as I could to catch up with him and failing. “Just as soon…as I catch up…with you!”

“Some exercise is quite healthy for pregnant women, I’ve heard.”

“And getting hard kicks in the bollocks can be quite healthy for men, I’ve heard,” I told him sweetly.

In answer came a moment of silence. Then…

“Let’s forget about the subject of health for the moment and take care of the matter at hand.” He held out his hand. “Agreed?”

I grinned and shook his hand. Yay! Victory!

“Agreed, Captain Rockface, Sir.”

And, together, we set out up the path towards Hamilton. And if our hands stayed intertwined, that surely was pure coincidence, right?

By the time the sun had risen to its zenith, we reached the outskirts of Hamilton and stepped into town, heading straight to the square where the bank was to be found. As we reached the front door, he cast a glance my way. “Follow my lead.”

Then, without another word, he flung open the door and strode inside. The bank was much busier than last time. Judging by the calendar on the wall, it was the end of the week, and all sorts of people had come to deposit their week’s wages. Seems like we would have to wait in line for a while.

…

Hah! Yeah, right!

Mr Rikkard Ambrose strode straight past the queue, completely ignoring the scandalized looks and exclamations from the other customers. Rapping on the hardwood counter, he fixed his gaze on the frozen clerk.

“I’m here for the package.”

“Ah, um…yes, of course, Sir! The package! One moment, please!”

I would never have thought a bank clerk could move that fast without a gun pointed at his head. In a jiffy, he was back, carrying a thin folder held together by string. My eyes landed on the package with ravenous intensity, and I could hardly keep myself from snatching it.

Wait just a bit. Just a bit longer.

“Here you go, Sir!” Without daring to waste another instant, the clerk handed over the folder. “Here you go!”

Mr Ambrose gave a curt nod. Then, without another word, he turned and strode back towards the exit.

“Well?” I hissed the moment he reached my side. “Open it!”

“Not now.” He gave a minute shake of the head. “Later, on the ship.”

With great effort, I exercised patience. He was right. It was a bad idea to look at sensitive information out in the open. Besides, it wouldn’t be long now. It wouldn’t be long until I finally got my hands on the bastard who’d tried to introduce my family to full-time deepsea diving.

It was amazing what proper motivation did for one’s exhaustion. Where, before, I’d had difficulties keeping up with Mr Rikkard Ambrose, now, I was easily keeping stride. We quickly left Hamilton and once more found ourselves on the path down to the beach.

Close! So close! Soon, I’ll know, and they shall pay!

Marshalling the rest of my strength, I sped up even more, approaching the beach at a fast pace—that is, until we reached a narrow bend in the path, and a dark-clad figure with a military haircut and pitch dark eyes stepped out from behind a rock, blocking our way.

Mr Ambrose stopped in his tracks.

“Lachance.”

“Rockface.” The Frenchman sneered. “If that truly is your name, Monsieur .”

My husband’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally. He shifted ever so slightly, positioning himself between the other man and myself. Something I would normally have taken issue with—but not now. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

The Frenchman’s sneer twisted even further. “Not just mine.” And he snapped his fingers.

In a blink, figures appeared from behind the trees on both sides of the path. Men with guns and dangerous looks in their eyes.

Mr Ambrose’s eyes narrowed another fraction of an inch. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“It is an amusing little story, really, mon ami .” Striding over to an oak tree, Lachance leaned against it, leisurely crossing his legs. “I believe I hired you to protect my employer’s ships, non ?”

“Indeed.”

“In fact I paid you quite a bit of money for the task, n'est-ce pas ?”

“A sufficient amount.”

“Then why, pray, when a man was washed ashore on this island a few days ago, did he claim to be part of the crew of a merchant ship belonging to my employer? A ship that, according to him, you personally sank ?”