Prologue
Graham Cole clutched his cell phone, barely restraining himself from throwing it against the wall. Where the hell was Vince? Everything was falling apart and they needed to get the hell out of Dodge.
How had they even gotten to this point?
A drug cartel. He was laundering money for a drug cartel.
It had all started so slowly.
“We think if you changed these suppliers, you’d help your bottom line.”
“If you switched distributors for these products, you’d be in a lot better shape.”
“These people are the cause of all that red ink. Get rid of them.”
When Graham had discovered the true source of the funds he’d used to save his business, and wanted to pull out, Vince had convinced him it was too dangerous. Vince had been right. No one ever walked away from a cartel.
Still, he’d been determined to see if there was a way out of the chokehold. Somehow—he had no idea how—word had gotten through to Cruz Moreno, head of the vicious Moreno cartel, that Graham wanted out. He was told to take his money and shut up.
“They could go after Devon, too,” Vince had told him.
God! On top of everything else he’d made both Vince and Devon targets of these miserable assholes.
In the end the only answer he’d come up with was to disappear. Maybe without him there, they’d leave Vince and Devon alone. Giving up the lifestyle he’d worked so hard to build wasn’t even a factor. If he stayed, things would be a lot worse. If he was arrested, Moreno could use a threat to Devon to keep him from testifying. If he was gone, he was no longer a threat and she’d be safe.
He hoped.
El Jefe had laid it out plain and simple. “We own you, compadre. Never forget that. And don’t screw me over.”
So he’d made his plans, quietly and under the radar.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chest, feeling the acid burn of indigestion. He hoped to hell he wasn’t having a heart attack.
As always, the television in his office was on so he could skim the day’s headlines, keeping an eye on the financial reports for anything that might affect the conglomerate. Old habits die hard. Now, a running news story caught his attention.
“That’s all the information we have at the moment. Repeating, Vincent Pellegrino, vice president of corporate finance for Cole International, has been found dead in his car on Interstate 75. It appears he swerved for some reason, crashed through a barrier on a curve, and went over the side. Authorities are calling it a one-car accident but they are still investigating. We’ll bring you more information as it becomes available.”
Vince dead?
Jesus Christ on a crutch.
Beads of sweat formed all over his body. He rewound the story twice but the details never changed. What the hell had happened? Had Moreno somehow found out what he was planning and killed Vince as a warning? For the first time in a long time, he knew real fear. What had once seemed like the answer to a prayer now felt like an octopus wrapping its tentacles around him, choking the life out of him. They could be coming for him any minute. Who knew that when he attempted to repay the money, he was inviting a possible death sentence?
Now he needed to get the fuck out of here before Moreno’s men showed up at his doorstep. But he was damn sure taking all the evidence with him. He might need a bargaining chip.
He checked the desktop computer one more time for the feed from the security cameras. Nothing. He’d triple-checked before getting ready that the alarm system was still on. Also good to go.
Satisfied he was still safe, he unplugged the external hard drive from his desktop computer and stuck it in his briefcase along with the laptop and the portfolio. Then he opened the tower, removed the internal hard drive, and shoved it into his briefcase, too. When he got to sea, he’d deep-six the internal one along with the laptop. Even if he wiped it, a good technician could restore everything, and who knows what would lead them to him. As long as he had the external he was all set. He was almost ready now, heading for the one person he could trust, to a place where he could set himself up with a new computer and figure out how to best use this stuff as leverage.
He sent a quick text to a prearranged burner phone, then took a moment to restore his phone to factory settings. His briefcase was locked, so he stuck the phone in his pocket. He was planning to toss it anyway. As soon as he was away from the harbor he’d chuck it overboard. Anyone trying to find him with a GPS locator would have a hell of a hard time doing it. Let them stick that up their collective ass. He’d be long gone by then.
If he had one regret, it was for Devon, the daughter he was leaving behind, and the damage he’d done to their relationship. He considered leaving a note for her or sending her a text, but he didn’t want anything that could connect her to this. Too dangerous. Still, it saddened him greatly that he’d probably never see her again. He hadn’t been the best father in the world the past couple of years. Once he got to his new location, he’d keep track of her through the Internet, Googling her name, and checking the newspapers as well.
He thought again of Vince’s so-called accident, and nausea bubbled. But right now he needed to get the fuck out of here. Blotting the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, he unlocked a drawer in his desk and pulled out a slim portfolio. Then he grabbed his Glock 9mm from another drawer and stuck it in his pocket. He didn’t have much time, needed to move right now.
He lifted the briefcase and headed for the garage. A sound caught his attention as he opened the inside door. It sounded like it came from the kitchen and his stomach knotted. No, no, no. Impossible. There was no one here. He was imagining things. He’d given the housekeeper and groundskeeper the week off. The alarm should let him know if someone was trying to break in.
I’m imagining things. That’s what happens when you put yourself in a dangerous position, screwing over dangerous people.
He needed to calm down or he’d stroke out before he even got out of here.
Then he heard it again. A squeak, as if someone walked on the highly polished hardwood floors. He held his breath, straining to hear. Was that yet another one? His heart pounded so hard he thought it would beat itself out of his chest, his fear so strong he smelled it.
He hadn’t seen anything on the security cameras, but why hadn’t the alarm sounded? No, he was imagining things. It was his state of mind. Edging up to the door, he peeked out into the hallway, looking one way, then the other. At this time of day, the house was filled with sunlight. Surely he’d see anyone if there was someone to see.
I’m driving myself nuts. I need get the hell out of here. I’m running out of time.
Letting his breath out, he turned once more toward the garage door, stopping when again he thought he heard another sound. He grabbed his gun and started to turn around, but a hard, muscular arm locked itself around his neck. A hand yanked the gun from his grip as if it were nothing more than a feather duster and pressed it into the small of his back.
Fuck! Double fuck.
His legs had turned so rubbery he wasn’t sure he could stand if the man released his hold. If only Vince hadn’t cried wolf so many times before, Graham would have paid more careful attention to his warnings. If only he’d left earlier. If only he’d been more careful. If only a lot of things.
“Going someplace?” A guttural voice ground out the words in his ear, hot breath singeing his skin.
Real fear crept through him, paralyzing him. He hadn’t made it. His escape was so close but exactly what he feared had happened. His timing sucked. Was this it? Was this how it was all going to end for him?
“H-How did you get in?” What had happened to his high-priced alarm system?
“You’re not quite as safe as you think you are, asshole. A strong radio frequency can knock out even the best alarms.”
“You’re choking me.” Graham could hardly get the words out as the stranger pressed harder on his windpipe and dragged him along the floor. He was sweating so badly now he could smell it on his body. How would he ever get out of this? He’d been so close, so very close.
“We’re going to take a little trip, you and I,” the man went on, “along with whatever is in that briefcase. Mr. Moreno says you’re unhappy, amigo. He wants to meet with you and make sure you understand nothing is to change. Your friend, Vincenzo, tried to run, too. Unfortunately in his haste he met an untimely demise before he could give us all the information we want.”
Vince. Goddamn.
“Let’s move.” The man urged him forward, still exerting the pressure on his neck and nudging him with the gun.
He couldn’t let Moreno’s thug get him past the front door. Graham dragged his feet and looked around wildly for something, anything, any option to get him out of this. Whatever it was, he’d have only a few seconds to make it happen. Then, in the hallway, he spotted something that gave him a faint ray of hope, if he could get hold of it.
“I—I can’t breathe.” He made his voice as faint as possible, and sagged against the man behind him.
“Too bad.”
“If you deliver a dead body,” Graham gasped, “Moreno won’t be very happy with you.”
He could have sworn the man growled, but he finally loosened his hold. Knowing he’d have scant seconds to do anything, Graham yanked on the man’s arm and ducked beneath it. In one desperate movement he spun around, grabbed a bronze statue from the hall table, and hit the man over the head. For an endless moment nothing happened, and he was afraid he’d misjudged. Then the man toppled to the floor, nearly taking Graham with him.
He had no idea if he’d killed the man or merely knocked him out, but he didn’t stop to find out. If the man was dead, in a few days his housekeeper would find the body, somewhat rancid by then. If it was the latter, he was short on time to get the fuck out of here.
He picked up the gun and the briefcase that he’d dropped and raced for the garage. He was sweating profusely and shaking so much he bumped into the car, the briefcase slamming into the fender. He yanked his keys from his pocket, hoping he was steady enough to drive. He jumped into the most innocuous of his vehicles, a gray Mercedes, and hauled ass down the driveway to the road.
When he made the turn onto the highway, he spotted a black utility vehicle parked near the trees with a man in the front seat.
Fuck!
The driver, spotting Graham’s car, pulled out onto the road just as his partner, wobbling slightly, came racing down the driveway.
I should have hit him harder.
Lucky for Graham the few seconds the driver stopped so his partner could jump in gave him a miniscule lead, but not much. Graham punched the accelerator and hauled ass down Seacliff Road. He had a small window of opportunity to get the fuck out of here, and he wasn’t wasting any of it. That SUV would be on his tail any minute.
Faster! Faster!
He glanced at the speedometer and saw he was doing a hundred. He hoped he didn’t wreck the car and kill himself just when he was nearly out of here. He was so focused on reaching the marina that it wasn’t until he touched his pocket that he realized his cell phone wasn’t there. Fuck again! What the hell had happened to it? If the wrong person found it and managed to restore it, his ass would be grass. Of course, first they’d have to find him. Right?
Breathe, he told himself. Just breathe. Almost there.
All the way to the harbor he kept checking the rearview and side-view mirrors. The road twisted and turned around the shoreline so at times his view of the rear disappeared. There. Was that a black SUV? No. No, it was a pickup and it turned off into a strip center before it caught up to him. He was definitely going to vomit first chance he had.
Jesus, Graham, don’t lose it now.
Or any more than he already had. He just had to get to the boat before they caught up with him. Then he’d be safe. He always kept the smaller of his two boats provisioned and ready for anything, as part of his emergency plan. Just in case. He also made sure he had all the equipment on board he’d need.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Too late now.
He rounded a curve in the road and there was the marina up ahead. He could see Princess Devon now, its twin hulls bobbing in the water at its berth. Almost there. Still no SUV in his rearview mirror, but it could appear around the curve at any moment if those two guys had gotten their shit together.
At last he was parked and headed down the pier where the boats were docked. All he needed was another few minutes. A few more steps…