Page 7 of Wayward (Wrecked #4)

When in Rome

Haley

I ’m not going to fall apart. I want to.

I so very want to break apart and fall down on the deck crying in a sobbing mess.

But if they’re going to shoot me, I don’t want to make it easy.

I want them to have to look me in the face.

Thayer told me he had no problem killing a man.

But not a woman. That’s why he doesn’t have any on his crew.

That, and his father sounds like a real womanizing asshole.

If he won’t shoot me, I might be able to save the guys.

Thayer stares at Zane. Mist from the engines sprays over our backs.

It’s colder here than on the beach. But I’d give anything to go back.

For it to be New Year’s Day again. To watch the sun rise over our beautiful beach.

To eat nothing but fish and pomelos for another year.

I don’t want to die. But I don’t want my guys to die, either.

“You can read it?” Thayer narrows his eyes at Zane.

“Yeah. It took me fucking forever, but I’ve recently had a lot of time on my hands.

” Zane cracks a smile. It’s not his real smile but one I’m sure he uses with hard-to-handle guests.

Thayer’s not a hard-to-handle guest. He’s something all on its own.

One minute I think he’s a reasonable guy, and the next, I’m standing on a swim platform waiting to have a bullet sunk into my head.

Thayer laughs. And I have a moment of hope. “Why should I care?” he growls.

“Because it says things. About Rocky, his partner, and someone else. I had problems figuring it out ― I even asked Easton if he knew of an Ed. But Rocky didn’t mean Ed, did he?

He meant Zed, as in Z. There’s more, though.

About a Swiss bank account. He was stealing money from the man he was helping launder the money.

But there’s more. And it took me months to figure out the code. ”

Thayer flinches. He’s so polished it’s hard to tell if he knows he flinched. But there was definitely a moment when something Zane said struck a chord with him. Thayer shakes it off quickly and nods. “Without a computer, it took you what? Five months? I’ll be able to do it in no time.”

“You’re a cryptographic code breaker?” Zane’s got his arms crossed over his chest, his head cocked sideways like this is a normal afternoon chat.

“You’re a bosun.” There’s a bit of disbelief in Thayer’s tone.

And I want to smack Thayer. Dante grabs my wrist like he can read my mind. “Sassy,” he whispers.

“And a damn good one. But my hobby is solving cryptograms and puzzles. I can get you the information you need. I know things already that no one but the older Rockwell knows.”

My eyes flick over the guys. Sam leans in hopefully. Calvin and Dante are stone-faced, probably planning how to kill everyone. And Easton? Easton’s doing his best to conceal his anger and confusion.

“Get me the book,” Thayer says to Holloway.

“Yes, sir.” Holloway picks up the radio.

“No, you get me the book,” Thayer barks. “No one but you goes into the room.”

The room. What room?

Now I want to go into the room.

“Do you want a second guard?” Holloway lingers in the doorway between the grand salon and the back deck.

“No.” Thayer waves him off and stares at us. The six of us and one guard. Calvin taught me a lot. All of us, really. I’m waiting for him to give a signal. I’m not the only one. Sam and Dante are watching him too.

Calvin’s jaw twitches. “You can relax, Z. You’re in charge. You and your firepower can rule the world, or at least this corner of the South Pacific.”

“You’re really something, Green. You would have made one hell of a CEO.”

“I make one hell of an engineer. But again, you didn’t bring us on board out of charity. You want something.”

“Green,” Sam growls.

“Shut the fuck up, Green,” Dante adds.

Thayer’s hazel eyes sparkle in the afternoon light.

Calvin’s right. There’s something there.

Thayer’s rich and arrogant, but he’s also wounded.

And maybe not all that bad? No . . . no, he’s all that bad.

He was about to kill us. Have us lined up and shot off the end of the boat.

Because he doesn’t have women on his boat for his dad to sexually assault, and he doesn’t like killing women employees, but he’s still willing to kill the men who work for him.

Ones that don’t do what he wants them to. And Calvin’s pushing him.

I’ve spent a year thinking that Calvin could fix anything. That he’d save us from ourselves and starvation. He did, though. The fish weir provided for us. But he’s a man too. Not a god. Not infallible.

“Please,” I say. The word has power with my guys. So much so that I try not to use it. I don’t want to beg Thayer. Not for my life. But for the guys? Yes, I’ll beg as much as I have to.

“What will you do for me, Hal? With your please?”

There’s an echo of noes behind me.

Boisterous laughter rolls from Z. The tension’s cut, so much so that the guard behind him squints in confusion.

And I have to agree. “You and your family, Hal. It’s beyond interesting.

I would never have thought of something like this .

. . that something like this could work.

You know . . . Fuck. Take them back to their room.

All of them but the bosun and Hal, here.

I’m going to have a fireside chat with them,” Z throws over his shoulder to the guard as he walks away.

The lounge doors open, and two other guards walk out as Z walks in.

So much for being able to overpower the remaining guard and take down our host. I glance at Dante, and he smiles.

“You’re developing a violent streak, Sassy?”

“When in Rome . . .”

“I love Rome. Have you spent much time there?” Dante moves as a guard points at the stairs with his gun.

I’m nowhere near as good at pretending I’m not scared to the point of passing out as Dante is.

My heart is still slamming out a questioning beat.

Like it’s asking me what the hell is going on.

Honestly, I have no idea. “No, Dante, I haven’t spent much time in Rome.

It’s on my list. I’ve been to Portofino, Sardinia, and Genoa. ”

“Ah, don’t get me started on pesto alla genovese. So good. I’ll make it for you. You have to try it ― it’s this silky, vibrant green sauce made from the freshest basil, garlic, pine nuts, Parmesan, and olive oil, and it tastes like the heart of Liguria in every bite.”

“Fuck, I want that,” the guard standing next to me says.

Dante and I both glare at him, and Dante’s smile turns to a smirk.

I hope the guard doesn’t see it for what I do: Dante’s pushing in.

A crack to manipulate. “You’d love it. I’m not sure if I made it for the Russian, but you should ask Harris about my lasagna.

Homemade pasta and homemade ricotta make it out of this world. ”

“Rosewood chef uses canned sauce for us.”

“That’s not right.”

“Exactly what I said.” The guard cocks his head to the doors. In the lounge, Holloway is back and has Zane, Sam, and Calvin next to him already.

“You done chatting?” Holloway’s eyebrow pops up.

“Yes, sir.” He drops back, his shoulders square.

“Good, now take the guests back to their cabin before I tell Chef what you think about his food.”

The guard gives a sharp nod. That’s something the canned-sauce-giving chef has in common with Dante ― with all yacht chefs. They are a little unhinged and vastly protective of the reputation of their food.

“Be good, Sassy. You know we love you.”

The other guys each give me their version of I love you.

And Dante, Calvin, Easton, and Sam vanish down the hall with three guards, leaving Zane and me standing behind the sofa.

Z has Rocky’s journal in his hand. He slaps the back of it three times.

My brain is spinning. I’m completely overwhelmed.

But then, I’m not here for my brain. I’m here to motivate Zane.

And I hate it. I absolutely hate it. All of it, all of this. But what can we do?

“Come on, sit down.” Thayer motions to the sofa across from him.

Zane holds out his hand to me, and I take it. He pulls me close to him.

“Go,” Thayer barks at Holloway, who stands in the corner. “I’ll be fine, won’t I?” He looks to Zane for confirmation.

“Sure, I’m sure I can keep Little Bird from taking out her aggression on you.”

“Little Bird, Sassy ― you certainly have a lot of names, Hal.”

I nod.

He leans forward as if he’s about to say something, but stands instead.

“Where are my manners?” He steps behind the bar.

I expect him to fumble around, unsure of where anything is, but he moves with practiced ease, pulling out three short glasses.

He pours two fingers of expensive Macallan scotch into each one, expertly dropping ice into two.

With two resting in his left palm and the iceless one in his right hand, he crosses the room.

He holds out one to Zane and the other to me.

I’m not a scotch person. It’s too strong for me.

Though I’ve taken classes. Three years ago, a primary’s grandfather wanted me to try some of his Macallan, a twenty-five-year-old aged sherry cask.

But my captain got me out of it, saying I couldn’t have any.

“I’m not much of a drinker. But thank you.

” I take a small sip, the smooth warmth of the scotch spreading across my tongue, its rich notes of dried fruit and spice lingering as I swallow.

It’s not as horrible as I remember scotch being, but I’d rather have the two thousand dollars in my bank account and have a glass of water. I hold it gingerly on my lap.

“I’m not either.” Zane puts his down on the sofa table. “Let’s get down to business.”

“Right, see, I told you. You’re meant for more than being a bosun.”

“Don’t diminish my career. It’s important. The safety of the boat and the passengers on her is important. And like I said, I’m a damn good bosun. And cryptogram and puzzle wiz.”

Z flips open Rocky’s book and thumbs through the pages. “All right, then tell me what you know.”

“When we’re back on land. And away from the Rosewood.” Zane glares. “Not until then.”

“No.” Thayer shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. A man of puzzles has to understand that.”

“The information about the Swiss bank account isn’t in one spot. It’s spread out over a number of pages. Mixed in with actual words and thoughts. That’s one of the reasons it took me so long to decipher it. One of the many reasons it took so long.”

Somehow, we all sort of let the code slip away.

One day Zane was working at it for hours on end, and then it was gone.

That must be when he figured it the rest of the way out.

I wish he’d told me. Or maybe I don’t. I’d like to think I wouldn’t have spilled all the details.

But it’s certainly easier not knowing them.

“You want a sample of the goods?”

“More than a sample. You made some strong claims. That Ed is running money through Rockwell-Harding.”

“Ed.” Zane nods. “So, not Zed?”

“Ed to his friends.”