made her
way down the wooden planks of the docks with purpose. As a pizza delivery girl, she’d
want a tip. As Ella, she just wanted a damn break. She was due for one. This sort
of thing used to excite the hell out of her but she felt no rush of adrenaline now,
nothing but a confusing mix of duty and dread. She had no idea what was the matter
with her. Catching bad guys had always been so thrilling.
But actually, in truth, she did know what was wrong. It wasn’t the job that amped
her life up and gave her a buzz.
It’d been having love. Having James.
Hell of a time to realize that, since she’d left him a thousand miles away, with a
finality she didn’t want to think about right now.
Couldn’t think about.
She came upon the Valeska. Sleek, shiny, posh, and so expensive she couldn’t imagine planning to destroy it,
insurance money or not. She shielded her eyes from the sun and called out from the
deck. “Hello? Anyone home?”
No response.
It wasn’t too difficult to get on board; she simply hopped the waiting plank and walked
on. She figured if she could just get belowdecks, she could check out the place, look
around, and . . .
And she had no idea. She just hoped to God some sort of evidence leapt out at her.
She ducked beneath the bowline and walked along the bulkhead, heading astern, marveling
at all the glass and flashy gold trim, at the lushness and sophistication.
At the back, on a vast white deck, she came across two wet suits and a pile of diving
gear.
Still wet.
Roped to the back just below the deck was a small motorboat that hadn’t been there
last week. She stared at the diving equipment at her feet and understood. The drugs
had been held on the second yacht, the one that had been purposely sunk, and they’d
just gone back to retrieve the drugs, thinking they were safe because she, with her
questions and interest, was locked up in Mexico.
Now that they had their insurance money from the first boat, and the drugs from the
second boat, they thought they had it all.
She was about to change that perception.
The brass door heading belowdecks wasn’t locked. A strange oversight with a boat as
expensive as this one.
Or, and much more likely, the divers were still on board. As she stepped over the
threshold, she heard the telltale muted voices. Heart kicking into high gear, she
flattened herself against the inside bulkhead, between two large gold-framed paintings
that she recognized as museum quality, but because she’d skipped more art history
classes than she’d actually attended at UCLA, she had no idea what they were other
than pretentious renderings of some fancy gardens.
The voices came from below. Ella kept moving and found herself in the galley, surrounded
by a luxurious crystal and china lunch spread that had been ravished. Leftover lobster,
shrimp, and fancy pasta salads lay around with three empty bottles of champagne.
Seemed someone—several someones—had been celebrating.
Ella reached into the pizza delivery box and flipped on the small tape recorder. No
one in their right mind was going to believe she really was delivering a pizza to
this ship, but it was too late to change her disguise now. And she wanted to hear
what was going on.
What would they do to her if they found her snooping?
Didn’t bear thinking about, she decided. Tiptoeing through the galley, she came out
into a stateroom with plush seating, state-of-the-art entertainment center, and—
Her husband coming in the opposite door, dressed in black jeans, black running shoes,
and a black T-shirt draped over the bulge of his gun, looking fiercely intense as
he met her gaze.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed across the thirty-foot room.
He took in the pizza delivery hat and shook his head. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“This is my case. Get out.”
“Can’t do that, sweetheart. You need backup. Jesus, tell me you’re at least
way down the wooden planks of the docks with purpose. As a pizza delivery girl, she’d
want a tip. As Ella, she just wanted a damn break. She was due for one. This sort
of thing used to excite the hell out of her but she felt no rush of adrenaline now,
nothing but a confusing mix of duty and dread. She had no idea what was the matter
with her. Catching bad guys had always been so thrilling.
But actually, in truth, she did know what was wrong. It wasn’t the job that amped
her life up and gave her a buzz.
It’d been having love. Having James.
Hell of a time to realize that, since she’d left him a thousand miles away, with a
finality she didn’t want to think about right now.
Couldn’t think about.
She came upon the Valeska. Sleek, shiny, posh, and so expensive she couldn’t imagine planning to destroy it,
insurance money or not. She shielded her eyes from the sun and called out from the
deck. “Hello? Anyone home?”
No response.
It wasn’t too difficult to get on board; she simply hopped the waiting plank and walked
on. She figured if she could just get belowdecks, she could check out the place, look
around, and . . .
And she had no idea. She just hoped to God some sort of evidence leapt out at her.
She ducked beneath the bowline and walked along the bulkhead, heading astern, marveling
at all the glass and flashy gold trim, at the lushness and sophistication.
At the back, on a vast white deck, she came across two wet suits and a pile of diving
gear.
Still wet.
Roped to the back just below the deck was a small motorboat that hadn’t been there
last week. She stared at the diving equipment at her feet and understood. The drugs
had been held on the second yacht, the one that had been purposely sunk, and they’d
just gone back to retrieve the drugs, thinking they were safe because she, with her
questions and interest, was locked up in Mexico.
Now that they had their insurance money from the first boat, and the drugs from the
second boat, they thought they had it all.
She was about to change that perception.
The brass door heading belowdecks wasn’t locked. A strange oversight with a boat as
expensive as this one.
Or, and much more likely, the divers were still on board. As she stepped over the
threshold, she heard the telltale muted voices. Heart kicking into high gear, she
flattened herself against the inside bulkhead, between two large gold-framed paintings
that she recognized as museum quality, but because she’d skipped more art history
classes than she’d actually attended at UCLA, she had no idea what they were other
than pretentious renderings of some fancy gardens.
The voices came from below. Ella kept moving and found herself in the galley, surrounded
by a luxurious crystal and china lunch spread that had been ravished. Leftover lobster,
shrimp, and fancy pasta salads lay around with three empty bottles of champagne.
Seemed someone—several someones—had been celebrating.
Ella reached into the pizza delivery box and flipped on the small tape recorder. No
one in their right mind was going to believe she really was delivering a pizza to
this ship, but it was too late to change her disguise now. And she wanted to hear
what was going on.
What would they do to her if they found her snooping?
Didn’t bear thinking about, she decided. Tiptoeing through the galley, she came out
into a stateroom with plush seating, state-of-the-art entertainment center, and—
Her husband coming in the opposite door, dressed in black jeans, black running shoes,
and a black T-shirt draped over the bulge of his gun, looking fiercely intense as
he met her gaze.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed across the thirty-foot room.
He took in the pizza delivery hat and shook his head. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“This is my case. Get out.”
“Can’t do that, sweetheart. You need backup. Jesus, tell me you’re at least
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