Stolen by Jordan Gray Page A

that ran alongside the boat. Farther out, the pier stretched uneasily, more at the mercy of the sea as it swayed atop shifting pilings.
    â€œHello?” Molly gazed up at the yacht.
    A man in dress whites sauntered over to the side in a rolling gait that offered mute testimony that he’d spent years at sea. He looked like he was in his late thirties or early forties, handsome and clean cut.
    â€œGood morning,” he called down from the railing.
    â€œMy name is Molly Graham. I’m here to talk with Simon Wineguard, if he’s available.”
    â€œWhat business do you have with Mr. Wineguard?” The smile remained in place and the man maintained his polite demeanor.
    â€œJust give him my name, please.”
    â€œAye, ma’am. I’ll see if Mr. Wineguard is aboard.”
    â€œIf you were any kind of ship’s crew, I’d think you’d know that without having to check.”
    For a moment she feared the man had taken offense at her words, then his smile spread. “Aye, ma’am. I suppose you’re right.” He slipped a cell phone from his pocket and made a call. After a brief conversation, he put the phone away and returned his focus to Molly. “If you’ll move over a bit, I’ll run out a gangplank and we’ll pipe you up. As it happens, we do have a Mr. Wineguard aboard. Perhaps it’s your Mr. Wineguard.”
    â€œWouldn’t that be fortuitous?” Molly didn’t bother to curb her sarcasm. She took a couple steps away.
    The man maneuvered a metal gangplank onto the pier,bridging the expanse of sea between the berth wall and the boat’s hull. Black friction patches on the gangplank provided a more sure-footed passage.
    Molly walked up, conscious of her heels.
    â€œMr. Wineguard and Miss Roderick are downstairs in the salon,” the man said as she stepped on board. He pulled the gangplank back up and put it away.
    â€œYou told them I was here?”
    â€œAye, ma’am.” The sailor tugged on his short-billed cap. “I’m Hugh Dorrance, captain of this vessel. Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to Mr. Wineguard and Miss Roderick.”
    Â 
    â€œM OLLY ?” S IMON SAT ON A PLUSH white couch across from an attractive young woman who Molly judged to be in her mid to late twenties.
    The cabin was as elegant and fully outfitted as a living room in a house. Only the stainless-steel galley and numerous windows on the wall gave away its true nature. The couch formed a horseshoe around an equally white low table.
    â€œGood morning, Simon.” Molly focused on the woman seated across from the director. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I wanted to speak with you as soon as possible. You weren’t returning my calls or Miss Abernathy’s. I thought something might have happened to your mobile.”
    The woman spoke. “It’s no interruption, Mrs. Graham.” She was beautiful and self-assured. Bone-white hair cascaded across her bare shoulders. Pale blue eyes held a rounded innocence that Molly just couldn’t bring herself to believe in. Her body was long and lithe, that of an athlete, and she wore designer jeans tucked into chocolate calf-high boots, and a chocolate scoopneck blouse. A silverand sapphire-clustered necklace looped in the hollow of her throat.
    â€œThank you.”
    Flowing to her feet effortlessly, the woman offered a hand. “Evidently Simon has lost all sense of manners. I’m Synthia Roderick. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Graham. Simon has told me a lot about you.”
    â€œYou have a very lovely boat, Miss Roderick.”
    â€œCall me Syn. Everyone does. Please sit. Would you like some tea to take the chill off?”
    â€œThank you. And you can call me Molly.” Stepping into the sunken living room area, Molly sunk into one end of the horseshoe-shaped couch, across from Syn Roderick.
    Syn nodded and sat back down, curling her