Page 14

Jack

The back of my hand swipes the strands of vomit from my mouth. My stomach curls in on itself as I wipe the nasty on my shorts. An older woman near the water line scowls my way. Two children, likely her grandchildren, pay me no mind as they scurry around seeking seashells.

Fuck, I’m a mess. My head throbs and sweat oozes from my pores.

I reek. A filthy, disgusting, hungover drunk.

Jesus, I haven’t vomited on my morning run since my twenties.

My Oakleys are doing a piss-poor job of minimizing the sun’s glare, and I ache everywhere.

But I’ve got about a quarter mile to go, so I raise one thigh, my standing ankle sinks into the sand, and I push forward.

There was a time when I could have finished the entire bottle and not paid this much of a price.

Back at the house, the arid, cool air conditioning chills my sweaty skin.

After downing a bottle of water and four aspirin, I pad down the hallway to Sophia’s room.

Her door remains closed. She’s slept late this whole summer.

I’ve no idea if that’s just normal fifteen-year-old behavior, or if it’s a sign of depression.

My brother, Liam, says my nephew never wakes before noon and that sleeping late started at thirteen.

But my nephew is hardly a shining example.

I hear he’s regularly in the tabloids and a favorite among celebrity gossip sites.

Liam says he seeks the limelight to bolster his fledgling acting career.

For my part, I keep Sophia away from her cousin.

On the way to shower, I stop by my office. I scan the subject lines in my email for anything requiring immediate attention. One subject line catches my eye: Yachts for Sale.

The email is from a sales rep with a Miami dealer. Victor must have referred him. The man is serious about getting his distribution line back up and running. He mentioned five yachts. Are they his? Are there more partners?

It’s almost eleven in the morning on the east coast, so I shoot off a response, asking the dealer about new options.

The ones in his list appear to be in good condition, but I have no desire to fly to Miami.

My preference is for a new model to be delivered to San Diego.

And since I’m not in the yacht business, I email my brother to ask if he knows how crews work.

Will this mean more people on my payroll?

I assume so. Janet, my house manager, might be knowledgeable.

One thing I can count on is if she’s not aware, she’ll get me the information.

Of course, if I need a crew, I should probably have Morales refer them. If I’m using this vessel strictly to transport contraband, I’ll need a crew that won’t turn me in to the feds. And there’s no reason to involve innocent people.

I slowly spin the chair like Ava did last night, thinking about Morales putting his cards on the table.

He had little to lose. He didn’t give me enough information to prosecute him.

I already know our books are clean. I’ve had the FBI pouring through our finances searching for ways to prosecute Wayne Killington, our CMO and Interim CEO of Sullivan Arms, and they have found nothing.

I stare out the window overlooking the Pacific.

It’ll be another gorgeous day. Blue skies, chance of a passing storm in the afternoon, but the system will likely blow on by.

A swarm of seagulls circle over the waves.

One gull dips, disappears, and reappears.

The school of fish below the waves gets taken out, one by one.

Here I am, in a similar position. Trusted by a criminal organization.

Why do they trust me? The only reason I can surmise is they find it too unbelievable that as the leader of our company, I didn’t know what was going on.

Which is fine. With the resources of the CIA, I can dig in and see exactly what kind of operation is occurring, and one by one, I can pick out the players.

I won’t even have to act as the predator picking them out of the sea, because the CIA, ATF, or DEA will capture them.

All I need to do is play the game and funnel information back to the good guys.

I need to alert Ryan. He can handle informing those who need to know within Arrow Tactical. On every undercover operation, there’s a need-to-know basis for sharing information, but those men are in charge of Sophia’s safety. They’ll need to be aware.

Arrow completes a background check on every person who enters this house—house cleaners, pool cleaners, gardening and kitchen staff.

They keep an eye out for any weaknesses that might be exploited.

They look for connections between visitors and employees.

I just added a new circle for Arrow to monitor.

Footfalls break me out of my thoughts. I glimpse a flowing black dress. Ava Amara.

Fuck. I owe her an apology. Or do I? She’s already here because I’m paying her. I shouldn’t have asked about nipple piercings. I was definitely out of line, but she brings it out in me.

Ryan sent me her background check. She’s got a sordid past. I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned tricks for drugs or cash. The arresting officer noted on her arrest report that she was a suspected prostitute. But they charged her with possession of heroin. A long time ago.

When I enter the kitchen, she’s pouring herself coffee. She glances over her shoulder at me and asks, “Would you like some?”

Her tone is friendly. The dress I glimpsed is a long, sheer, black swim coverup. The outline of a black two-piece bathing suit shows through the fabric, as does the curve of her waist and alluring backside.

Jesus. I need a shower. “No, thank you.”

Those enormous eyes scan me, questioning. Perhaps expecting an apology for my behavior.

“As you’re aware, I had too much to drink last night. Caffeine the morning after an overindulgence doesn’t sit well with me.”

“More of the hair of the dog kind of guy?” One thick, lush eyebrow lifts and disappears beneath her bangs. She’s mocking me. Or maybe she is truly inquisitive. She might wonder what kind of living environment I provide for my daughter. It’s a fair question.

“No,” I answer. Silence fills the space between us. I turn to leave, to get that shower. I am such an ass. Past experience aside, I owe this woman an apology for my behavior, so I stop and just get it out. “Last night, I may have been out of line.”

I should probably face her so I appear apologetic, but I don’t. I glance over my shoulder to see if she heard me.

“No worries. I’m not one to judge someone for their actions when inebriated.”

Right . If she’s willing to say that in front of me, she must know I’m aware of her past. Which makes sense, given most would assume Uncle Mark wouldn’t send someone into my home without updating me.

Of course, he didn’t tell me as much as one would expect.

He said she’d struggled with addiction and trauma.

But he only offered the top line, whitewashed summary.

I discovered the gritty details from Ryan’s research.

“Dad?” Sophia enters, clearly surprised to see me, based on her tone, although why, I’m not sure. For all she knows, I always hang out in the kitchen in the morning. She’s normally locked in her bedroom. She’s wearing a navy one-piece bathing suit and flip-flops.

“Morning,” I say to her. “Can I fix you breakfast?”

She steps closer to me and her nose crinkles.

“You stink.”

“Haven’t showered since my run.”

“I’m good.” She opens the refrigerator and takes out two bottles of water. “You about ready to go down?”

She directs her question to Ava. This is what I wanted. For Sophia to grow to trust Ava. To spend time with her, and when she feels like it, to share what happened with someone who has the experience and wherewithal to know how best to respond.

“Sure.” Ava thrusts her mug out. “Can I take this down to the beach? Or is there a to-go cup I should use?”

“You can take it,” Sophia and I answer simultaneously. Sophia smiles at me. It’s not one of her full-on, bright, radiant smiles, but it’s undeniably a smile. “You need to go shower. I can smell you from here.”

Right .

“But if I were you, I’d grab a different cup with a top,” Sophia says to Ava. “We’re going to haul chairs and boards out…you might need to set it in the sand.”

“You’re going paddleboarding?” I like that she’ll be going with someone.

I never worried much before, but when she went missing, there was a period of time that we feared she’d gone out on the water by herself and something had happened.

That’s obviously not what happened, but now an ocean mishap is just one more fear on top of all the others I harbor.

“Yeah. I’m going to teach Ava.” She glances at Ava, who is gulping her coffee. “We could maybe give your coverup to the security guy on the beach.”

“That’s not what they’re there for,” I interject.

Ava’s mug clinks the marble countertop. The black fabric rises up her body, revealing first her calves, then her thighs, that shapely ass, the curve of her hips and waist, the band of her bikini top, her shoulders, and then it’s over her head.

She hangs the garment over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

“Let’s go.” Sophia has already passed me, headed to the stairs that will take her down to the lower level and the side door. “Dad. Go shower,” she demands before disappearing.

Ava glances over her shoulder with a soft smirk. There’s a sway to her full hips as she leaves that floods me with a vision of my hands clamped on her, holding her in place as I drive into her. I step to the window and watch as she and Sophia disappear down the side path.

My uncle claims she’s a reliable therapist. A close friend of his I can trust. A woman who will be good for Sophia. Yet I wonder if my uncle realizes she’s also divine temptation. My bet is the woman is all kinds of naughty. An absolute joy to fuck. And she didn’t hold my comment against me.

What the hell is wrong with me? I should go get a shower. I should get my day started. But no, I stand by the window and watch Ava in a bikini that leaves little to the imagination wade into the water. It’s not until she looks back at the house that I break away.