by Desiree Holt
The phone rang again, interrupting him.
Logan yanked the receiver from the cradle. “Yes? What? Oh.” His voice lowered. “Sorry. Just a minute.” He handed the phone to Devon. “Cash Breeland.”
She took the receiver from him. “Cash? What can I do for you?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking that question?” The man spoke in a warm southern drawl. “I hear you ran into some trouble today. Twice.”
“News really travels fast here.”
He chuckled. “Arrowhead Bay is gossip central.”
“Well, I’m okay. And Vigilance is taking care of my security until we know what’s going on.”
“Good, that’s good. Well, Devon, honey, if you need anything at all, you just give me a ring. Your daddy and I are good friends.”
She wanted to ask him if they were such good friends, how come he didn’t know what happened. But she swallowed her words. Cash probably didn’t know any more than she did.
“Thanks for calling.” She handed the phone back to Logan.
“You might want to think about asking Cash Breeland if he knows who your father’s new attorney is,” Logan suggested.
“That’s a thought, but I’d rather not give him the opportunity to ask questions I don’t want to answer. Let’s wait until Avery digs up whatever facts she can and go from there.”
He was about to hang up the phone when it rang again.
Devon threw up her hands. “Oh, my sweet fucking Lord. What is with all the phone calls?”
“I’ll get it,” Logan told her.
“I want to listen,” she insisted, “in case it’s another one of my father’s friends. Maybe, finally, we’ll find out who it is and what they want.”
“Let’s find out.” Logan held the receiver so they both could hear. “Hello?”
“We want to know where he is.” The voice was a monotone, obviously disguised.
“Where who is?” he asked. “Who do you want? Who is this? Who are you looking for?”
“You know. You’d better be prepared to tell us. We’ll do whatever we need to get that information. I’ll get back to you, and this time I want the senorita on the phone.”
“Forget it,” he snapped. “She’s got nothing for you so don’t call again.”
“Too bad.” The line went dead.
Logan stood there, holding the receiver, frowning.
Devon felt chilled again and took another sip of her coffee. “What do they want?”
“I think, like us, they’re looking for your father. The difference is they don’t seem to be quite as friendly. Or have his welfare in mind, any more than the corporate suits do.”
“If I don’t know where he is, what will they do to me?” She cleared her throat to get rid of the little quiver in her voice.
“Nothing,” he assured her. “That’s why you have me.”
Devon picked up the remote for the big flat-screen television on the wall and clicked it on.
“What are you doing?” Logan tried to take the remote from her.
“I want to see what’s being said.”
“It will probably only upset you.”
“Maybe, but I’m already upset and I’d really like to see this for myself.” She looked at her watch. “It’s about time for the local news.”
She selected one of the local channels. She was curious if they thought this was worthy of a cut-in. The picture that came up was of a news commentator in the studio.
“Police in Arrowhead Bay are still looking into the disappearance of wealthy business entrepreneur Graham Cole. His boat was found by the Coast Guard floating offshore of Arrowhead Bay where he lives. It is feared he fell overboard and drowned. Several hours of searching has turned up nothing, but the Coast Guard will continue their search.
“Cole’s catamaran, Princess Devon, was destroyed by fire today. So far the origin is unknown but an investigation is ongoing. Meanwhile, Cole International is still reeling from the death of their vice president for corporate finance, Vincent Pellegrino, in a one-car accident.
“Adding to the situation, we’ve learned that Cole’s daughter, who rushed to Arrowhead Bay from her Tampa home, was run off the road and attacked by two unidentified men. Police are investigating to determine if all the events are connected.
“Stay tuned for further updates.”
Devon felt sick as she watched the report, and not just because she was having to hear about Vince’s death again.
“Logan?” She turned to him. “They showed pictures of me, too. My face is plastered all over the place.”
Logan took the remote from her nerveless fingers and shut off the television.
“Everything is out there on the Internet if you know where to look for it. News outlets have access to just about anything. Come on. You don’t need to see that anymore.”
“What if he’s done something that would send him to jail? God, Logan.” She shivered.
It seemed the most natural thing for Logan to take her hand and tug her in close to him.
“Just keep in mind that anyone who tries to get to you has to go through me,” he reminded her in a fierce tone of voice. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
She absorbed the strength from his body, his clean masculine scent surrounding her. They stood like that for a moment, as if he knew she needed to be grounded. To find her balance in a world gone crazy around her.
“Just so you know,” Logan murmured against her hair, “this is not one of my usual bodyguard duties.”
She smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “I would hope not.”
Maybe, she thought, today would end on a good note after all.
Then Logan’s cell phone rang. He looked at the readout.
“It’s Avery. What’s up?” He listened for a moment. “Yeah, they just left here. And let me tell you, something smells there. Yeah, I know. Uh-huh. Well, I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
Whatever he might have planned to say was cut off by the ringing of the doorbell.
“Fuck,” he said. “What now? If a damn reporter has made his way out here, this may be the last story he’ll ever do. You don’t need that right now.”
But when he opened the front door, they got an unpleasant surprise. Craig Alford was standing there, reaching for the doorbell again, an angry glint in his eyes.
“What now?” Logan growled. “I thought I made it plain I wanted you both to leave.”
“I’m sorry, but we have one last thing.” He looked at Devon, a hard, almost angry look that made her nerves jangle. “We want to remind Miss Cole not to say a word to any of the press. We’re releasing our official statement. I’ll fax you a copy.” He looked at Logan. “You have my card if you have any questions, but we’ll be controlling the situation from here on out.”
He climbed into the passenger seat of a Lexus and the car pulled down the driveway.
Devon looked at Logan.
“What could possibly happen next?”
He grunted. “Don’t ask. That’s when shit comes out of the corner. Come on, let’s see what we can fix for dinner. That soup will only hold you so long. Meanwhile, let’s see if we can even the odds a little.” He pulled out his cell phone and pressed a speed dial number. “Hey, Avery? Since you guys aren’t doing all that much around there, add this to your laundry list. Get me everything you can find on Wilson Bodine and Craig Alford, attorneys with Cole International. And throw in Vincent Pellegrino. Yeah. I know.” He chuckled. “I owe you everything. But you love me, right? Thanks.”
“Wow.” Devon grinned at him,
“Let’s see if we can level the playing field a little.”
Chapter 6
Graham Cole stood at the front of the fishing boat, watching as the captain, Dan Mulroney, skillfully guided it from the waters of the Atlantic Ocean into the
harbor at Sentinel Island, Maine. The desperate flight from his house at Arrowhead Bay, the business with the Princess Devon, then the disjointed journey from Florida to Maine, broken up to avoid leaving a trace, had been both physically and mentally exhausting. After all the hours on the boat he was sure he carried the aroma of fish with him, but he didn’t care. His journey was almost over.
He stood now on the deck of this boat wearing new clothes that suited his new personality and new name. If he had set out to deliberately find a place as his safe haven, this would have been his perfect choice. The island was a tiny spit of land in the Atlantic Ocean within throwing distance of Eastport, the northernmost port on the East Coast, settled by a family from England more than three hundred years ago who had originally thought they’d reached the mainland. When they discovered they were a few casting reels short of their destination, they decided to call the place Sentinel Island, standing guard over those ports actually part of the mainland.
The population of just over one thousand souls had been static for the past one hundred years. There was always someone from one of the families who stayed to fish the waters of the North Atlantic or guide the tourists who came to whale watch or ferry a batch of half-drunk fishermen out for the big catch.
Most of the men wore their hair a little shaggy, hugging their shirt collars, and a beard of some kind, to keep their faces warm in the chilly weather of winter, which seemed to stretch for ten months. A tourist, taking pictures, had once said if you lined all the men up side by side you’d never be able to tell who was who or which was which. That was exactly what Graham wanted.
When his corporation had begun to bleed red ink after his wife’s death, Graham hadn’t known what to do. It was accounting whiz Vince who’d suggested Cole International get an investor. On a Saturday sail, he’d shown Graham all the benefits and how it could save the corporation. And suggested he quietly look around, maybe with someone he trusted, to find such a person.
When Graham had discovered the true source of the money and wanted to pull out, Vince had convinced him that was too dangerous. He’d reminded him of news stories detailing the way cartels dealt with people who crossed or displeased them.
He didn’t fool himself into thinking his problem was solved this easily. Moreno would never stop looking for him. His only recourse was to use what he had to take the man and his cartel down. Even then there would always be people looking for him. He just hoped that between now and then he’d buried his old identity so deeply they could not trace it.
With a steady hand, Mulroney eased the boat up to the dock at Darling’s Marina, one in a line of four that hugged the little harbor, and into the skip he rented. Graham was no stranger to marinas. He’d kept both his boats at the one in Arrowhead Bay and had been both a sailor and a fastboat owner for a good portion of his adult life. Darling’s could have been Bayside Marina moved north, with its floating docks, the mixed bag of boats in their slips, and the parking lot where the docks hit land.
Beyond it he could see the town itself, the flat streets of the commercial area rising to the hills where the residential area was. The sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Graham took that as a good omen. For the first time since he’d started on this trip from Arrowhead Bay first by speedboat, then helicopter, and finally the trawler, he drew in a deep breath and released it.
He had stuffed the external hard drive from his computer into his bag, dumping the internal one, along with his laptop, overboard when they were well at sea. Every bit of information on Cole International and on the Moreno cartel was stored on it. Whatever happened, whatever ammunition he needed, whether it was to get Moreno or anyone else off his back, he had it stored there.
He also had several burner phones along with pay-as-you go cards so he didn’t need to subscribe to a service. He’d acquired the phones from a variety of far-flung locations. On the off chance someone was ever able to find and trace them, none of them tracked back to him. Plus they had the ability for him to change numbers frequently.
Now he was ready for the town…and the person who waited there for him.
The engines slowed, then stopped altogether. The two men who worked the boat with the captain jumped onto the dock, grabbed thick, heavy ropes, and began the process of tying down.
“Hey, Dan.” A medium height, thickset man in jeans and a plaid shirt jogged slowly down the dock. “Get a good haul, did you?”
Mulroney shook his head. “I think they were hiding today.”
“Must be your aftershave,” the man joked.
But Graham knew the real reason was the boat had done no fishing at all. Their work today was to pick up Graham and deliver him to the owner of the marina. They’d worked their way down the coast to the tiny town where the helicopter had dropped him off. Then they headed straight back to Sentinel Island. Dan had greeted him with a mug of hot coffee, then left him to his own devices, a man obviously not given much to conversation. Graham was just as happy not to have to answer any questions. He was having enough trouble trying to sort everything out in his mind.
Had he gotten clean away? Had he left any trace at all that someone could follow? Had he stripped the house of anything that either the police or Moreno could use to find him? Although it was Vince’s death that propelled his quick departure, he had been planning it for weeks.
For a moment sadness bit him as he thought about Devon. His one regret was the fallout that she would have to deal with. Now she’d be in the middle of this mess and probably end up hating him. No more than he deserved. The main reason he’d been distancing himself from her for the past few years was to keep her isolated from his situation. He just hoped one day he might be able to make amends, although that wasn’t too likely. He just prayed that Moreno would leave her alone. But just in case, once he got settled, he’d make sure Moreno knew what would happen if he harmed Devon at all.
Two days after he’d left the Princess Devon drifting in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, Graham Cole had disappeared. It was Grey Callahan who walked down the dock to the little office at the end.
He gave one brief thought to that boat, to the name. From the day she was born he’d seen Devon as his princess. How sad that when he had the money to buy the boat he named for her, his life had turned upside down and he’d had to cut her out of it.
When he opened the door the woman behind the desk let out a little squeak, jumped up, and threw her arms around him.
“You made it.” Leslie smoothed her hands over his hair and his two-day scruff of beard in gentle strokes, as if she’d never get enough of touching him. “I’ve been checking the clock and watching the horizon since I got here this morning.”
He chuffed a laugh. “It was a little touch and go, but yes, I made it. I’m here.”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to his body, his anchor in the storm that his life had become. God, it felt so good just to hold her. Her rich auburn hair was like silk against his cheek, her skin as smooth as satin, and the scent she always wore, like cinnamon and jasmine, pricked pleasantly at his senses. At five foot six she fit nicely against him, her head coming to just past his chin, her soft breasts pressing into his hard chest. If he hadn’t been afraid someone would walk in on them, he’d have run his hands over every familiar curve of her body.
What a blessing she was. This whole thing hadn’t been easy, and he wondered what he would have done, where he would have gone, if he hadn’t spilled his drink on Leslie Moore that night in the bar of a Philadelphia hotel. It still amazed him that even after he’d made a full confession to her she still wanted him.
“You got away from the Princess Devon without any trouble?” She tilted her head back to look up at him, worry lines creasing her forehead.
He nodded. He had no intention of telling her how he almost hadn’t made it out of his house.
“Josh showed up right on time with the cr
uiser, the helicopter picked me up at the right spot, and the fishing boat was waiting for me where you said it would be.” He cupped her cheeks in his large palms. “I should probably be killed for getting you involved in this.”
“It was my choice, remember?”
He had told her everything, the good, the bad, and the ugly. And even knowing all the things he’d done, she was still willing to accept him into her life. Did he love her? He wasn’t sure he even knew what love was anymore. But he did know that he and Leslie had clicked at once. That they had met two or three times a year at remote locations and formed a lasting bond. And that he was sure there wasn’t another woman in the world who would open up her life to him under these circumstances and help him rebuild with a new persona.
“Your laptop came,” she told him. “It’s up at the house.”
“Great. After I get settled I’ll need to set it up. Thanks for doing this.”
The last time they’d been together he’d given her cash and asked her to order a laptop with one of her credit cards.
“So there will be no trace to me,” he’d explained.
“No problem. I got exactly what you wanted. But, Grey?”
“Yeah?” He’d asked her to practice using his new name so there wouldn’t be any slipups.
“It’s a very expensive, very fancy laptop. Are you sure you wanted to spend that kind of money?”
“It was necessary for what I need.” He cupped her chin. “And money will not be a problem. As soon as I get things set up I’ll be able to show an income that looks like it’s coming from a retirement fund.”
She studied his face. “You’ve been planning this for a long time, haven’t you?”
He nodded. “I knew I’d have to get out and I needed to prepare. I must have been crazy to get involved with that maniac in the first place.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” She patted his cheek. “But here you are. At last.”
“Anyone asking you too many questions?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “My friends were so excited I was finally interested in someone again you could probably have three heads and they wouldn’t care. When I told them you were retiring and coming here to live with me they wanted to throw a party.”
