Screw him, and screw all this shit too.
I spin on my heel, grabbing for my laptop, ready to leave the whole damn thing alone. Fight him? About her? Or his ever-growing agitation about new organisations pushing in? No way. She’s not worth my time any more than the five-hundred grand that shit Devlin owes us, and Yakuza aren’t relevant to us anymore either. We’re out of it all. Legitimate. Because that’s what he damn well wanted.
“You need to calm down, Quinn.” I stride away from him, barely containing my need to give him some home truths about who the hell he thinks he is and turn out of the office. “You’re not pushing me into a fight. You never could.”
I’m near the back entrance before I hear him coming for me, feet pounding as if he owns me and I should bow down to his every whim. Not this time. Not anymore. I’m at my damn tether’s end with this crap. Day after day, week after week. Asshole. He doesn’t even need to do business anymore. I run it, have been doing for God knows how long while he’s been living the dream. He only comes to cause more tension between us. Christ knows what for.
My hand pushes the door open, and a sudden downpour of rain comes crashing into my face. It winds me up more than he has done. I hate it. I want some damn sun for a change, a chance to breathe rather than stay on top of everything while he plays happy families and spends his time fucking the woman who killed my brother.
“Still running away, Nate?” I shake my head and carry on towards the car. I’ve never run from a damn thing. I just think before I act. Weigh up the problem, which is currently Quinn’s ever-changing mood. “You always have done. Too fucking scared to stand and fight me. At least Josh had some damn bite to him.” The fuck?
I stop and swing back to look at him, head tilted.
“What?”
“You fucking heard.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
“You are. And she is. And all this.” He waves his hand at the area around us. “Fucking safety. We couldn’t be more damn vulnerable if we tried.” I stare some more, still unsure what he’s talking about. “Where’s the fear Nate, huh? Where?” He moves towards me again, hands in his pockets. “No one gives a fuck about us. You know that, right?” He sneers. “We’re dwindling to nothing but small fry in the middle of the sharks we used to be.” Which he wanted. I keep staring, trying to find out where the hell he’s going. “I took away the damn stains and now we’re paying for it.”
“Paying for what?” He walks past me, rounding my back just like he does when he’s trying to intimidate.
“At least the old cunt’s not here to see us fail,” he mutters, arriving back in my eye-line. “Took that damned stain away, too.” My brow twitches at the remark, eyes narrowing further. “Safety and all that.” The deep breath I’m trying for gets lost in the sight of his widening smile. He did, didn’t he? He fucking killed him. Every instinct in me that tells me to calm evaporates. First my brother, and then my father? It’s too much for me to contend with. Too damned much. “How’s that for painful, Nate, huh?”
Something snaps inside me, launching me at him before another word comes from his arrogant mouth. Fuck knows what it is, but twenty years of frustration pours out of me straight into his torso, knocking both of us to the ground. We both land heavily, suits rolling about in the gutter like a pair of degenerates. He grunts at my efforts, a slight chuckle coming from him as he heaves me onto my back and braces himself above me, fist ready.
I cough out, a twinge coming from my ribs as he digs a knee in. “Fuck you, Quinn.” He snorts at me, disdain coming with the sound. “Get off me.” I squirm beneath him, trying to find a way out. I’m damn well done with this, whatever the hell it is. “Let me the hell up. I’m done.”
“You’ve never been anything but fucking done.”
My arm arcs up to his face, knuckles connecting with his jaw before I’ve given the move thought. It knocks him sideways, his weight nudging off me enough for me to roll away from him and get to my feet.
“Your bitch kills my brother, and you kill our father, and I’m the one who’s useless? Look at the fucking state of you.” I glare down at him, watching him crick his jaw around, and frown. “I’m not fucking useless. It’s me who’s run everything here for years.” He curves his body upwards and twists his face to me, rage filling his features. “Without me, this whole fucking thing would have imploded, and you damn well know it.” He sneers at that, more ire shaking his frame as he steps towards me and readies himself for a revenge swing. Screw that. This is over. I’m fucking tired of it. I’ve done everything for this family, for him. “If you weren’t drunk half the damn time, you might think clearer.” Another step, one that has me clenching my teeth and tightening my fist. “You try it again, Quinn, and I’m done. You get me? You can do whatever the fuck you want without me by your side.”
The last thing I see is his fist coming at me.
Chapter Three
There’s only one more check, and then I’m clear.
A yawn from sheer exhaustion is impossible to hide, so I turn my face away to try to stifle it. No such luck. It’s been over thirty hours. I was dead on my feet before we hit Tokyo. More so now.
I present my fake passport to the man in the kiosk, waiting for him to pass judgement on me. My eyes keep steady contact, and I force a slight smile at him as he scans my documents.
They’re solid. I’ve travelled on this passport for the last few years, and it’s held up in and out of the States. Of course, that doesn’t help my nerves and the spike of adrenaline that runs through my body while I walk the line between right and wrong.
“What are your plans in Tahiti?”
“I’m heading to Bora Bora, to one of the resorts. I’m in need of some serious relaxation, and it looks like paradise.” It’s no lie. I pull my bag a little tighter against my back while stifling another yawn. The gentleman flicks his eyes between mine and the passport in his hands, causing the beat of my heart to start racing as time slows around me. I clench my fists together and focus on slowing my breathing. This shouldn’t shake me, but I’ve struggled to calm myself.
Entering countries with stolen diamonds in my possession is nothing new. I’ve always been careful, ensuring there’s a minimum number of stones ready in my go-bag. If—and it is a big if—I’m searched and the gems found, I’m able to produce flawless documents to backup what’s in my possession.
Not this time, though.
There was no part of the plan I worked on prior to the drop that should have left me with a bag of cut diamonds, fleeing for my life. They were the payment my brother needed to gain a place at the table with a larger cartel, secure his business expansion across the west coast. My job was to source, vet, and hand the diamonds over, not smuggle them out of the country. Now I have half the payment. Ten million pounds worth of diamonds burning a hole in the titanium thread compartment in my jewellery case, and no idea what’s happened to Andreas or the rest of his team. They ran. I ran.
The bastard ran without me.
The man standing between my freedom and I—for the next few weeks at least—smiles and hands me back my passport. “Welcome, Miss. Enjoy your stay. It really is paradise.”
“Thank you.”
My relief is clear as crystal, but I don’t care. After travelling for over a day, I still have a plane to book to Bora Bora and then a sea taxi before I can relax. And even then, there’s no way I’ll be forgetting the protocols I’ve lived my life by for years. I quicken my pace and take a small detour, watching for anyone familiar or anyone who seems like they’re looking for someone. Half an hour later and I think it’s safe, so I look for a tourist desk about booking my next flight.
A painful wait for the next plane out finally ends, and although it’s dark when the sea taxi finally pulls up to the jetty of the Four Seasons, I can’t miss the beauty of the island. It’s enough for me to be distracted for a moment.
Stepping onto the wooden promenade, I make sure to slip the taxi driver a
few of the only local currency notes I have on me. There’s no one else around, but it doesn’t stop me from checking. Every noise, every sudden move brings me right back to that warehouse where the ambush occurred.
“Merci, mademoiselle.”
Despite the lateness of my arrival, a steward is ready to help me to my water bungalow as soon as I’ve checked in. The last-minute reservation meant that the two-bedroom overwater bungalow was the only option open to me. No matter. Spending all my time alone, travelling from place to place and dealing in stolen gemstones affords me every luxury I can wish for. It’s a shame I don’t allow myself the time to indulge, but that isn’t my style. Not when I don’t need it to be, anyway.
The young lady, dressed in a pristine white uniform with a spray of tropical flowers in her hair, waits to lead the way.
“Excuse me. Do you have a boutique I could stop in first?” My go-bag doesn’t include anything even close to holiday attire.
“Certainly, mademoiselle. This way.”
The air-conditioned lodge a few hundred metres from the main reception has several glass-fronted stores. I dip inside and grab an assortment of clothing—everything from bikinis, skirts and dresses to more casual tops and flip-flops—and finally charge it to my room with a deep sigh. I’m so tired my eyes can barely see.
My guide carries a burning torch, which looks like something out of Indiana Jones rather than a five-star resort, but it lights the way. She unlocks the door and throws the lights on, illuminating the spacious open plan villa.
“The main bedroom is in the centre of the—”
“Thank you, thank you.” Going through the polite intro is a step too far. I shove the last of my currency into her hand and usher her back out of the room as quickly as I can. Every muscle in my body is ready to shut down from sheer exhaustion, and my eyes are barely open, but I can’t relax or sleep.
Not yet.
The windows and doors are open to my terrace, outdoor seating and plunge pool, all waiting for me to indulge. These touches mean I won’t need to go anywhere but the bungalow for the next few weeks. It also gives me the perfect exit point.
I strip out of the clothes that now cling to my skin for their life, tossing them onto the seating. The cool air against my heated skin is welcome and needed, but there won’t be any sleep for me until I find a suitable place to store the diamonds.
My gut tells me to keep them in my room, where I can lay eyes on them at a moment’s notice. But I also know that if I’ve been followed, my room will be the first place they search.
I scan the rooms to look for options to hide them away. A series of glass vases with pebbles and bamboo decorate the side table running along a wall next to the kitchen area. I pull out the jewellery case from my go-bag and untie the leather case.
A brilliant cut diamond necklace nestled safely inside the material. The camouflage, if you will. If the bespoke titanium thread polymer the hidden pouch is made from allows for the gems inside to be detected, there will be a genuine diamond necklace and other pieces ready to be shown to whoever demands it.
The necklace is one of my own, legitimate only in as far as I stole it for myself rather than someone else. It wasn’t a job or a play. The Hennell necklace is a work of art, something I took for the sheer beauty of it. A smile from the memory of when I first laid eyes on the piece lifts my mood.
I slide my earrings out of the velvet pouch tucked in the case and then pick open the seam of the case. A fine mesh encases the cut diamonds, and I pour the stones out onto the small table in front of me. Carefully, I place each stone inside the small pouch and seal them in by knotting the ties.
Next, I tear open the bags and grab the first bikini I find. I slip my legs into the briefs and tie the barely-there material around my chest. My case is prepped with some seemingly usual items to carry in hand luggage. Hairpins, a mini manicure set, complete with nail file, the end of which doubles as a very useful lockpick. I grab it. It won’t help get me into an actual safe, but if a door is locked, it won’t stand in my way.
With the small pouch tightly in my hand, I take the steps from the terrace down into the water.
The ocean laps at my ankles as I dip further into the sea. The warmth of the sea is invigorating. Either that or what I’m about to do is. I let the ripples still around me as I submerge my body up to my shoulders and my senses adjust to my surroundings. The sky isn’t nearly as close to midnight blue as I first thought. Outlines and shadows stand out against the sky and the sea.
I listen for voices, but it’s silent. I dip under the surface, submerging my body, and swim out towards the adjacent branch of bungalows. The moonlight glistens on the water as I pull my body through the current. The only sound is the gentle swoosh my body makes. With a few strokes left between me and the neighbouring bungalow, I ease up and wait, hidden next to the steps leading to the terrace. No movement from inside. The lights are off, and I guess that they are either asleep or, my more optimistic option, it’s empty.
As the ripples settle around my body, I slowly ease my foot onto the first step and rise out of the sea, waiting and listening. Still nothing. I move forward, climbing one by one until I’m on the terrace. I shrink my body back against the outside seating and creep up to the door. The fine organza drapes prevent me from seeing anything inside the bungalow, but I’ve heard nothing and seen no sign of life.
Still, I wait. The drops of water start to cease and the footprints from my feet start to dry so I won’t leave a trail when I enter.
A coolness descends over me as I breathe through the rising anxiety that always hits right before crunch point. The brass handle is cool against my palm as I hold it, nail file ready for action, before my wrist twists.
Chica con suerte. Luckily for me, it’s unlocked.
The click is soft, and I hold the door for a moment before slipping inside and pulling it shut. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, but there’s even less light in the room.
It’s immaculate. Nothing is out of place, no luggage or signs of it being in use. The balls of my feet dance across the floor to the identical bamboo shoot decoration.
My stomach lurches at the thought of what could go wrong if I lose these gems, but my rational head forces logic into play. Nobody will be looking for cut diamonds amongst the pebbles in their holiday bungalow.
I loosen the knot of the drawstring and tip the little fragments of beauty into the palm of my hand, then place the stones in the middle vase. Without wanting to put any lights on, I use the light from the face of my digital watch to check if the diamonds are visible. They’ve disappeared in the water. Hidden in plain sight.
Without wanting to outstay my welcome, I turn and exit the way I came in. I’ve managed to maintain my heart rate until the stones are safe. Now, all the tension and strain from the last few days hits me like a wall of ice.
My lungs pull in deep breaths as I try to regulate my pounding heart. The steady hands that I rely on time and time again shake as I reach for the handle of the door that leads to my escape.
The air hits me, and I taste relief on the salty wind as I sink into the water and let it embrace me like the comforting arms of a mother. At least, it’s what I always think a mother’s embrace would feel like.
My arms pull against the tide, propelling me back to the safety and isolation of my villa. Tomorrow, I’ll scope out the island and investigate just who my neighbours are or will be.
But for now—sleep.
I slip out of the bikini, letting it fall onto the deck before I even make it back inside the bungalow. The soft lighting I enter to isn’t enough to disturb me, and I collapse onto the bed. My eyes close and darkness sinks me into unconsciousness before I can even pull the sheet over me.
A noise stirs me from slumber. I spin over on the bed, twisting my body amongst the sheets before bolting upright to come face to face with the steward who showed me to the villa last night.
“I’m sorry, mademoiselle, breakfast.” She raises
a tray before setting it on the wooden coffee table in the sitting area. Beyond it lies a perfect view of the water in front of me.
I yank the sheet higher to cover my chest. “Thank you. I’m sorry. You startled me.”
“Breakfast is included in your package. You can phone reception to change the times or request something different.”
“It’s fine. I expected to have to find it myself, that’s all.”
“Oh no. You don’t need to lift a finger here. We are here to ensure a blissful stay.” She makes a little bow before scurrying out. My body gives out and flops back onto the bed. I can only have had six, maybe seven hours sleep, and coming off of what felt like a week of action, I’m still exhausted.
But I’m awake. And a cup of coffee would be delicious. After grabbing the dressing gown hanging in the bathroom, I throw open the shutter doors to the terrace and breathe in the mild air. A sense of peace and tranquillity falls over me as I gaze out at the cerulean sea. Paranoia creeps up on me and I scan the horizon and the water around me. Nobody. Everything is still and quiet, but that doesn’t stop me from looking.
The smell of coffee breaks my thoughts, and I pour a cup, grab the bowl of exotic fruits, and take both out into the fresh air. I sit on the deck and dangle my feet below. The crystal, clear water twinkles back at me like it’s personally inviting me to come and play. I raise my eyes and search out the bungalow across the lagoon where my brother’s payment hides.
I nibble the sweet fruit, which my stomach thanks me for. Finding time to eat while you’re running between countries isn’t top of the priority list.
My bungalow is the last on this branch of the complex. Nothing is in front of me, and it offers perfect isolation. But I need to ensure I have all the exit and entry points mapped in my head. And I need to walk the rest of the resort and familiarise myself with it.
Devious Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 2) Page 2
