INVITING FIRE (A Sydney Rye Novel, #6) (15 page)

Reaching the balcony moments later I climbed onto the rail and peeked in the window. The office was lit by up lights along the ceiling, which cast a warm yellow glow onto the interior. The room looked like someone’s fantasy of a gentleman’s study in an English manor, transported to a gangster’s yacht in Central America. The seating area was made up of leather furniture, but instead of looking worn and cozy it shone with newness. As if no one had ever sat and read one of the many handsome books that lined the shelves behind the desk.

After scanning the room slowly, making sure that the door was closed and no one was inside, I climbed off the rail and down onto the balcony. Then I leaned back over to grab my suction cups and place them into my pack. I removed the packet of papers, wrapped in plastic with the Joyful Justice seal printed on it. It gave me a thrill to hold its weight. One little mistake and he was mine.

T
he balcony door was unlocked and slid easily in its tracks. The wind traveling along the streamlined sides of the ship dipped into the newly opened space and made a ‘whoosh’ sound as I entered. Closing the door behind me I moved quickly to the desk. The space seemed large as I was hurrying through it in my form-fitting all-black outfit, seriously looking like an old-fashioned cat burglar. My ears strained to hear anyone approaching.

I paused at the desk, carefully placing the packet at the center of its forest green leather blotter. Gold pens rested in a jade cup. The polished wood surface gleamed a deep brown. A classic library light with its domed green glass shade was turned off, its gold chain swaying gently with the ship’s rocking. I heard the door handle turn.

My eyes jumped to the entrance, and then I dropped to my knees taking the packet with me. I heard voices, male voices, entering the room. Scooting forward I squeezed around the chair and fit myself under the desk. Pulling both guns from their holsters, I got my back against the front board and pulled my knees up, keeping my legs shoulder width apart, the document on the floor between them.

How many voices? There was just one talking now, speaking in Spanish. I heard ice in glasses. A woman asked a question, another man, not the one talking, answered in the affirmative. A third man said something. I heard the sound of the couch as someone sat on the stiff leather. Steps, I thought someone had taken the chair by the balcony. More ice clinking, settling of bodies into furniture. I smelled cigar smoke.

The woman said something. Sounded like one of the men dismissed her. I assumed that must be Juan Carlos's voice. Despite all my time living and working in countries where it was the native tongue, my Spanish was still sadly lacking.

I lowered my guns to the floor, resting my arms. My fingers were hot in the gloves. I thought about removing them, allowing access to my blades. The men's conversation continued, raising and falling. Words I knew jumped out at me but they were all too basic. Thank you, yes, no, you’re welcome, dog. As time wore on and my initial fear of being discovered faded, I began to admonish myself more fully for my lack of language skills.

They got another round of drinks, the sound of ice, liquid splashing, their voices growing louder the more alcohol they consumed. I stared out from under the desk, my view of the bejeweled dagger that hung on the wall between the bookshelves.

"Fortress Global Investigations," one of them said. A chill ran up my spine, I tried to concentrate on what they were saying. Commit it to memory so that later someone could translate it for me but they were going so fast. Maxim, I heard. And then Juan Carlos said something about Joyful Justice. The other men laughed. Maxim again. What were they saying?

Their conversation shifted and turned back into a blur. I leaned against the desk, slowly pumping my legs so that they would not fall asleep. Time passed and my body began to ache. The massive amount of strain I put onto it was not meant to be followed by curling up under a desk for 45 minutes.

Then I heard the conversation shift again—they were leaving I thought. I heard one stand, then another. Steps towards the door, it opened as they said their goodnights. Closed. I listened as a single set of footfalls headed back over to the bar. Juan Carlos, I assumed. I picked up my guns again hoping that he wouldn't decide to do any late night work. Begging him in my mind to just go to bed. I needed to get out of there. Lenox would be worried.
Satisfaction
would have to sail without me if I didn't leave soon. And that dagger was calling my name.

I heard Juan Carlos settle back into the leather. I thought he was in the armchair nearest the balcony but couldn't be sure. I heard the clink of the ice. He smacked his lips. There was a small knock on the door, timid and quiet. "Pasa!," he called, his words just beginning to slur.

Light footsteps over to him. Whispers, the unzipping of pants. Shuffling as someone lowered to their knees. I put down my guns again as the slurping sound started. It was over quickly. I heard a woman's voice offering more rum. Juan Carlos accepted. The ice, the splash. And then she left.

I listened to the clink, swirl, sip of Juan Carlos enjoying his drink. I heard the glass come to rest on wood, probably the side table next to the chair. There was total silence. I hardly dare breathe thinking he would hear me. I stopped pumping my legs and just listened with my whole body, ignoring the voice in my head urging me to just finish him! To grab the knife from the wall, leap over the desk, dash across the room, straddle the bastard and plunge the blade between his ribs, directly into his heart.

Juan Carlos's breathing became heavier. He's falling asleep, I thought as I felt tingles from inactivity travel through my feet. I started pumping again, my heels resting on the carpeting, pushing my toes forward and back, not making a sound.

Finally, I heard snoring. Would someone now come and get him? One of his servants? Should I go or should I wait? At least two hours had passed since I'd left
Satisfaction
. That meant I had an hour to get back before the ship weighed anchor. Meaning I needed to leave. But what if someone came for him?

I wrestled with indecision for a few moments until my back began to spasm. Okay, I thought, time to get out. But how? I needed to get my legs under me but was afraid of waking him with the noise. It was a risk I was going to have to take. I shifted my feet forward, placing them quietly out from under the desk. Then I put my guns down and placed my hands flat on the carpet and lifted my butt, bringing it forward and my head almost out from under the desk. I paused to listen, then hearing the snoring continue, picked up my guns and moved them out from under the desk along with the packet of demands. I holstered one of my guns and keeping the other in my free hand, pushed myself up into a crouch.

Juan Carlos was asleep in the chair by the balcony, as I had suspected, an empty glass on the table next to him. His chest rose and fell with each breath, snoring on the exhale. The man was very different from the ship he inhabited. The boat was all sleek lines, meant for facing the sea's wrath, to power through storms and glide into port looking expensive, important, and powerful. Its master looked like a bag of blubber. His jowls were loose in sleep and his eyelids fluttered.

I picked up the packet of papers and was about to place it on the desk when I looked back over at his chest, his stomach protruding like a shelf. Should I leave it on him? I wondered. Wouldn't that make it even more terrifying? I could almost hear Merl's voice in my head telling me to be satisfied with leaving it on the desk.

But I kept the packet in my hand as I walked silently over to the sleeping Juan Carlos. I looked at his empty glass again and recalled that he had had at least three drinks. His snore caught and he stopped breathing, his face began to turn red as I stood over him. I drew a gun, ready to knock him out again if need be. But then he started to breathe again with a cough. His arms jerked a little but came back to rest at his side, his face relaxed back into a deep sleep.

I glanced around the office and my eyes fell again on the dagger above the desk again. My fingers itched to take it down, stand behind Juan Carlos and let him wake with the blade against his neck. No! I reminded myself. Instead, I reached out with the packet, keeping it steady in my fatigued hand, and set it to rest on Juan Carlos's belly. It rose and fell with his next breath.

Turning quickly I slid open the door and then took a glance back. He was slumped down in the chair so that I could only see the top of his head and the right hand gently cupping the armrest. The breeze came in and toyed with his hair but Juan Carlos did not stir.

I
closed the door behind me and watched Juan Carlos for just a moment through the glass, feeling almost that I was looking into a diorama, that none of it was real. The deck below was empty. I had no way of knowing when the guard last passed but I had to go. Dropping my pack off my shoulder I pulled out my harness and rope. Doubling the line over the railing I lowered myself down, dangling in the air, until I reached the deck below. I pulled the rope down after me and doubled it over the next railing.

All the lights in the windows were off except for the study. Looking down I could not see my Jet Ski because of the shape of the ship but I had faith it was still there.

I rested into the harness and began to swing out from the ship, passing the line through my hands as the weight of my body carried me down. My rubber toes made just the slightest sound as I bounced on and off the side of the boat.

I didn't look down until I was almost to the water. I saw my Jet Ski had drifted from the yacht but not far. I lowered myself into the water and then released the rope and pulled it down to me. The splash was loud but I knew no one could see me above, even if they looked over the railing. The Jet Ski was only about ten feet away. I swam toward it, my harness and shoes slowing me down but hardly stopping me. I grabbed onto the edge of the Jet Ski and climbed aboard. When I started the engine it began to purr. My new favorite sound, I thought to myself with a smile.

I pulled in the climbing rope and shoved it into the seat of the Jet Ski. Then I reeled in the anchor line, feeling the anchor give and begin to rise through the water. It seemed to take an eternity. A light came on in the crew quarters and I looked up at the glowing square in the dark hull of the ship.

The anchor clunked into place and I turned back to the open ocean, desperate to be away. The Jet Ski powered ahead silent except for the slapping of water against it.

I
sat on my balcony, a small space overlooking the bow of the yacht. The
Satisfaction
cut through the waves like they were nothing. Blue sat next to me and I played with one of his ears while he made appreciative noises deep in his throat. It was still cloudy, the ocean and sky meeting in the darkness beyond the lights of the ship. Laughter and chatter rose up to us, but it felt like we were far above it all. Wrapped in Lenox's big terry cloth robe with a glass of wine in my hand I felt on top of the world. I'd left the manifesto right on the sleeping man’s chest. And I managed not to kill anyone in the process. Hard to get more bad ass than that.

The door behind me slid open and Lenox joined me. He was still dressed in a suit. "Do I need to go down?" I asked.

"No, it's fine," he said. "I put in my second appearance, I'll go back in about an hour to take another look around."

"Who are they?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" Lenox asked as he poured himself some of the wine.

"Who are all these women who can afford this, and want it?"

Lenox laughed. "I'm pretty sure every woman wants it."

I laughed too. "Fair enough," I said. "But I’m not just talking about the fantasy of some brawny man on a ship wooing her. I mean paying for it."

"Paying for sex?"

"If that's what it comes down to."

"There is lots of money out there, Sydney. This is an easy thing to sell. Everyone wants it. The fantasy," he paused. "I want it. I love it here. In this world where we all belong, are all loved and needed." He sat forward, leaning over the edge of the deck, looking down at the party below. "Loved for their youth and beauty, needed for their money. Does that seem too shallow to you?" He turned to look at me. I shrugged. "They are still needs, Sydney. No one is getting hurt here, and all are finding solace."

"It's not real," I said.

He smiled. "Everyone’s interests are on the table. Money and sex. But no one is denying that real feelings happen. It's like with actors. The good ones actually feel those things they pretend to feel.” Lenox took a sip of his wine and looked over at me. "Being wanted by a beautiful man is a pleasure you may take for granted."

"You may be right," I said, sitting back in my chair. "How much do you charge?" I asked.

He smiled. "I hardly work anymore."

"But when you do?"

"A half million for a weekend—the boat and all amenities included."

My mouth felt dry.

"Do you think I'm worth it?" he asked.

"A half million dollars buys a lot of bullets," I said.

He nodded. "It does."

"But you don't work anymore?"

He shrugged. "A couple times a year. I have some long-term clients I continue to see."

"What are they like?"

He shook his head. "Oh no," he smiled. "You'll never get me to talk." I laughed. "What made you ask?"

"Just curious, I guess," I said. "You're very good."

He nodded. "Thank you, I take pride in my work."

"You should."

"Does that mean I might get lucky again tonight?"

I laughed again, picking up my glass of wine. "Which one of us is the lucky one?" I asked. "Sounds to me like I've already gotten about a million dollars worth of luck. I'd hate to bring my tab up anymore."

He laughed. "Perhaps I am the lucky one though, not many men get to lay down with a legend."

"Is that what I am?" I asked, all the mirth abandoning me.

"You're much more than that Sydney," he said, seeing my change in mood.