Squall Line (The Inland Seas Series Book 1)

by Gwyn McNamee

  Rion grabs the stuff from the table and not so gently re-covers the stitches. “There.”

  I tug my shirt on with gritted teeth. “We have a lot to figure out. When I spoke with Arturo last night and told him we weren’t going to make the delivery under his deadline, he wasn’t very happy. And he sure as hell won’t be when we show up with half the shipment today.”

  They all nod in agreement.

  E sits next to Preacher.

  Preacher points to the SAT phone. “He’s already called three times on the SAT phone this morning. He’s definitely not happy.”

  He probably wants to nail down what time we’ll arrive today. I was intentionally vague last night during our call.

  Cutter drops down into a chair at the table and sips his coffee with one hand while he pets Milo with the other. “Is there anything else we need to know about last night? Did the guards get a good enough look at you? Did you get caught on any cameras?”

  I shake my head and shove my good arm back through my hair. “No. The first guard, I choked him out from behind so he didn’t see me at all, and the second one well…his head took a pounding, so I doubt he’ll remember much clearly. Plus, he only saw me from up on the boat. It wasn’t close, and it was fairly dark.”

  They all nod.

  I point to Preacher. “But keep monitoring the police bands for anything, obviously.”

  “Of course. There was some radio traffic about a break-in at the port and the guards being taken to the hospital, but nothing about descriptions of perpetrators. So, what are we going to do about Arturo and the missing drugs?”

  Good fucking question.

  “Well, unless one of you knows where to get twenty kilos of heroin in the next hour, I’d say we’re pretty much fucked.”

  Silence descends over us. The very real threat staring us down weighs heavily on everyone, but especially me.

  I’m the leader. I’m the one who roped them into this gig. This is all my doing and all my failure.

  “That’s what I thought. So, I’m going to go talk to Arturo in person.”

  Cutter’s head snaps up. “What? You can’t go down there. It’s like walking into the line of fire intentionally.”

  E nods his agreement. “Walking into the lion’s den.”

  “You think I don’t know that? What else can we do? We have to get him half the delivery that we do have, and I’ll deal with the fallout of the other missing half.”

  He snarls. “And by fallout you mean you’re going to die? No way. We’re all going with you.”

  I slam my palm on the table. “That won’t solve anything. You’re all in danger as it is. You don’t need to be with me. You’ll have time to get out of here or at least be prepared for them coming if I can’t save our asses. It’s only a matter of time before they find this place and you. Me, all I can do is beg. I don’t have anything else to offer.”

  “What if you did have something to offer?” Grace’s soft, hesitant voice floats across the warehouse.

  All five of our heads turn her direction.

  Fuck.

  That’s the second or potentially third time she was eavesdropping without us knowing it. This makes me look really fucking bad, like I have even less control than I’ve managed to fake.

  I glare at her. “What the hell are you doing down here? Go back upstairs.”

  She winces slightly and pauses before continuing toward us. “You said you don’t have anything to offer him, but what if you had something to offer him?”

  Shock. She’s ignoring my order to go back upstairs.

  Preacher raises an eyebrow at her. “Like what? We can’t get the drugs, and we don’t have anywhere near the amount of money it would take to reimburse him for the missing ones. We’re talking millions of dollars’ worth of heroin.”

  She nods and takes another hesitant step. “I understand that, and that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Then get to the point.” Rion’s order is sharp and clear. He’s reached the end of his patience with Grace, and I’m sure the other guys are close too.

  “What if you offered him a ship?”

  “A ship?” I look over at the two docked in the warehouse and then back at her. “I’m not following. What the hell is Arturo going to want with our old trawler and the yacht when he already has access to them plus my entire fishing fleet?”

  She shakes her head, sending her wild mane of auburn hair flying around her. “Not your ships. My ship.”

  Cutter sucks in a breath. Rion whistles, E eats his sandwich with an icy calm, and Preacher just stares at her with his arms crossed over his chest.

  I don’t understand what she’s getting at here. “What do you mean, your ship?”

  She closes the distance between us and steps up to the table. “What I mean is…he already owns you for all intents and purposes, but what he doesn’t have access to is his own cargo ship. We can offer him that. Imagine what he could do if he had unfettered access to a ship like mine plus a crew we hire.”

  Jesus, she’s serious about this.

  “Obviously, I’d have to get rid of my current crew. There’s no way they’d work with you. We hire people willing to keep their mouths shut for a certain price. People who won’t ask questions.”

  “You have to be fucking kidding me.” I hadn’t intended that menacing tone, but it’s the way it came out.

  Grace isn’t a criminal, and we’ve already made her an accomplice by letting her help us last night.

  She recoils slightly. “No, I’m serious. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because why the hell would you want to tangle yourself up anymore with what’s happening here? Why would you want to drag your father’s business into this world? Why do you want to drag yourself into this? You’re free. You can go now. There’s nothing more you can do for us. Your crew hasn’t reported anything, and you said you’re confident they won’t, so you’re free to just walk out of here and pretend none of this ever happened. Go back to your life, Grace.”

  Saying those words shatters me, but they need to be said.

  She needs to go before she gets even more tangled in this madness.

  “I’ll have Rion, Cutter, E, or Preacher drive you anywhere you want to go.”

  Her bottom lip quivers.

  Aw, hell. Don’t cry.

  She sighs and throws her hands up. “This will sound crazy, but I want to help because I like you.”

  Wow.

  She whips around and points to the other guys crowded around the table. “Not these four. These four I don’t trust within a damn foot of me. You,” she turns back to me, “I do trust you. You’ve proven to me over the last several days that you would never hurt me. You’re only doing what you need to survive, and I can’t sit back and let you walk into what might very well be certain death when there’s something I can do to help.”

  Rion’s chuckle fills the void of dead air while I contemplate her words. “Well, well, well, Red’s got some balls on her.”

  That she does.

  From the moment she pulled that gun on me, I knew she had spunk. And her incessant questions and nosing her way into things that aren’t any of her business demonstrated her real tenacity over and over again.

  And she’s right about Arturo wanting what she’s offering. In fact, I’m sure he’d jump at the opportunity to not only get us on the hook for longer to make up for the lost drugs but also to have better access to the waterways and more flexibility with what we can carry and pick up.

  But I can’t let Grace put herself or her business on the line like this. It’s just wrong.

  “No.”

  Cutter leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. “Maybe we should listen to her and consider this more.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Of all of them, Cutter is the last I thought would actually consider this.

  He nods. “Do we have any other options right now?”

  “Yeah, the original plan. Me going in and
beg for our fucking lives and indebt ourselves to them for another ten, or twenty, or thirty years.”

  Cutter snorts. “Right, because that’s a great plan.”

  “I’m the one who got us into this mess. You four can walk away from it anytime. I’m not about to drag a fifth innocent person into this.”

  “Am I really innocent anymore?”

  Her question has me turning slowly back to her.

  She raises her eyebrows. “I mean, I did scout out a robbery for you last night and act as a lookout. Doesn’t that make me an accomplice of some sort? Can’t I go to jail for that?”

  A disgruntled noise rumbles low in my chest. “I would never let that happen. If the police ever found out, we would say we coerced you and threatened you with physical harm or death if you didn’t help us. They would never charge you.”

  There’s no way I’d let her go down for anything she’s done while in my hands. I forced her here. I forced her to do the things she’s done. She was under duress or some misguided Stockholm Syndrome that made her believe she had to help.

  She shrugs. “And I could just tell them the truth. That I offered to help.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “Because it seems like if I don’t threaten to do that, you’re going to walk into the lion’s den with nothing more than a goddamn slingshot to defend yourself.”

  Rion snorts out a laugh at her biblical analogy. “I think you’re mixing your Bible references, sweetheart. David went up against Goliath with a slingshot, and Daniel went into the lion’s den weaponless.”

  She swats her hand in the air in his direction. “Whatever.”

  The corners of my mouth turn up at that. She’s not intimidated by him in the least.

  “I’m just saying when you go in there, have the best ammunition you can—my ship. You wouldn’t own it or anything. I maintain the business and everything in my name. My mom has nothing to do with the business, and my brother is deployed overseas and wouldn’t want to know what’s going on anyway. He’s never had any interest, and as far as I know, the business isn’t on anybody’s radar and is squeaky clean. This is exactly what a family like the Marconis looks for, isn’t it?”

  Goddamn, she’s smart.

  And her willingness to walk right down here in the middle of our meeting and lay all of this on the line makes her even fucking sexier than when she had her hands all over me last night kissing me.

  Which is exactly why she can’t do this.

  “No.”

  20

  Grace

  Warwick storms past me after his declaration and toward the kitchen.

  Does he really think he can say that and then just walk away from me?

  Hell no.

  “What do you mean no? Where are you going?” I turn to follow him into the room where we shared our gourmet bowl of Cap'n Crunch only a few days ago.

  He growls over his shoulder. “I’m getting some goddamn coffee to hopefully help with a pounding headache you’re giving me.”

  Coffee actually sounds good. The exhaustion—physical and emotional—of the last few days is catching up with me.

  I slept more last night than I have since they took me, but it wasn’t deep and I kept waking up to check on Warwick. Him sleeping next to me last night might have something to do with my inability to stay asleep, or maybe it was just concern over his wound. Either way, it makes caffeine a necessity this morning.

  It’s too damn early to be arguing with Warwick. But, yet again, the man won’t accept my offer. He can’t look past the complicated layers of the situation to see what really needs to happen. This isn’t the time to be proud or to reject potential solutions. This is the time to do whatever it takes to save his life and potentially the lives of all those men out there.

  I step into the kitchen behind him. “Why did you say no? Why won’t you let me help you?”

  He walks around the metal island and over to the counter. “Because this is none of your fucking business. Because I don’t want to drag you down into the quagmire my life has become. Things with the Marconis are only going to get worse, and you don’t need to be involved in this clusterfuck.”

  His frustration and anger radiate off him, and the tension between us fills the room.

  He doesn’t get it.

  “But that’s just it, I am involved. Whether you want to admit it or not, I became involved the second you took me hostage.”

  He glowers at me and grabs a mug from a cabinet.

  Okay, maybe not the best word to use.

  Hostage makes it seem so…sinister.

  And I guess it was…but like so many things…it’s not so black-and-white. Not anymore.

  He slams the mug down on the counter, pours coffee into it, and shoves it in my direction then repeats the process before returning the coffee decanter to the machine.

  “Still, the answer is no.”

  His shoulder bumps into mine as he shoves past me and back out into the warehouse.

  Asshole.

  I’m trying to help, and he’s acting like I’m just in the way. I sip at the scalding coffee and follow him.

  “Why don’t you want my help?”

  Rion, Preacher, E, and Cutter all turn to look at us as we make our way back toward them. Milo lifts his head up from Cutter’s foot and tilts it sideways, trying to assess the situation.

  “It’s not that I don’t want your help, Grace. It’s that your offer of help puts you at risk, and it’s one we just can’t take.”

  My heart aches to believe it’s because he cares about me, and it’s not just about the risk of them being exposed. But that’s just stupid.

  Isn’t it?

  It’s just another symptom of Stockholm Syndrome—believing your captor gives a shit about you.

  But he’s not my captor anymore.

  That makes this entire thing so much more complicated.

  Cutter rises to his feet. His glasses reflect the overhead lights, and he glances between me and Warwick. “I hate to say this, War, but she does have a point.”

  He steps up to me, putting mere inches between us. Milo leans against my leg at our feet. This dog is so sweet and docile—so different from his owner who seems to constantly be in a state of simmering rage.

  I hold my ground. I will not let this guy intimidate me.

  He looks down at me, and all I see is my reflection in his glasses and the hard set of his jaw.

  “I think her plan will work, but if you betray us, little girl, remember what I told you.”

  The words are ice cold and cut through all the bravado I’m pushing out while trying to maintain my cool.

  Do. Not. Look. Away.

  Do. Not. Flinch.

  This man feeds on weakness.

  Preacher clears his throat. “I agree with Cutter. We don’t have any other options. This is the best chance of getting out of this alive.”

  Cutter finally steps away, back toward the table, and I glance around at all of them.

  E nods. “Yep.”

  Warwick sets his jaw and looks to all the guys before returning his attention to me. “So, it’s five against one, huh? It doesn’t matter that I’m the boss here, or that this is my debt to pay?”

  Rion chuckles. “Apparently not, dude.”

  Color rises into Warwick’s cheeks as anger floods him. He hates being out of control, and he’s been nothing but out of control since the moment we met.

  A woman like me stepping up to him with a plan to actually save them all seems to be a little too much for him to handle.

  I don’t think it’s a sexism thing, though, as much as it may seem like it. Warwick is the captain, the one who makes decisions and handles any situation that comes their way. He’s the man who carries the burden of caring for his crew, just like I do. He doesn’t want someone else stepping into that role, and my idea is just one more opportunity for me to stick my nose where he thinks it doesn’t belong.

  He scowls at each of his men,
staring them down one by one, giving each of them a chance to crack under his assessment and change their minds.

  No one speaks. No one moves.

  Goose bumps pebble my skin. We wait.

  Seconds.

  Minutes.

  Milo whimpers.

  Warwick throws his hands up. “Shit. Since it appears I no longer have any say in anything that goes on around here, I’ll offer the Marconis your ship.”

  I try my damnedest to fight the smile tugging at the corner of my lips, but I know I fail by the glare he shoots my way.

  Shit.

  I can’t help it. Pride swells in my chest. I’m the one who found a way out of this for them.

  Maybe with the use of my ship, he’ll be able to get out from under his debt to the Marconis faster and leave all this behind.

  Stop it, Grace.

  That’s just stupid, wishful thinking from a naïve girl, and despite what Warwick says, you are not naïve.

  They’ll never stop doing this. Even if he somehow manages to work off the original debt, plus whatever they claim from the loss of this shipment, what else will Warwick do? Go back to commercial fishing for the rest of his life? What can Preacher, Cutter, E, and Rion do? Though their histories are mysterious at this point, it’s obvious something brought them here. Something they’re running from. Something they have no plans to go back to.

  They’re committed to him and are inseparable. They’re a team, an alliance, a brotherhood. That won’t break just because they’re no longer paying off Warwick’s debt. And I’d be a fool to believe they’ll go on the straight and narrow. Even with all the ways things have gone wrong, they’re too good at this to just stop.

  But at least he’s taking my offer. That gives some hope of things changing down the line. At least it keeps them alive for the time being.

  Hopefully.

  Preacher grins and looks to each of the guys. “Good, let’s get going.”

  Warwick downs the last of his coffee and slams his mug on the table. “I’m going alone.”