Brenda Harlen - Dangerous Passions

“I’ll do it,” a third man offered.

“No one is being asked to do anything…yet,” Drew said. “But I appreciate your enthusiasm, Jazz, and will be sure to communicate your offer to A.J.—along with any concerns I may have about employee loyalty.”

It was obviously a threat, and it hung heavy in the air between the three men.

The one referred to as Rico cleared his throat. “My loyalty is, and always has been, to the organization.”

“Good.” Drew obviously wasn’t concerned by the lack of enthusiasm in his cohort’s statement. “Because I’m leaving the two of you in charge while I return to Pennsylvania to attend Mr. Conroy’s funeral.”

“For how long?”

“Until I get back.”

“But the shipment—”

“Will be made tomorrow afternoon as scheduled.”

“What about the woman?” It was Jazz who asked this question, obviously relishing the prospect of her demise.

“She will pay for the role her sister played in killing Conroy,” Drew said. “But A.J. will determine when and how she dies. No one is to do anything until then.”

They moved farther along the deck to continue their conversation, their voices fading into the distance. Shannon had overheard more than enough and she had no intention of sticking around to find out the when and the how. She had to get off this boat before “when” became “now.”

But they were in the middle of the ocean. How could she possibly escape?

She rose to her feet unsteadily, put a hand out for balance. Her fingers braced against the cool metal of an oxygen tank, and the first seeds of an idea were planted in her mind.

No—it was crazy.

She couldn’t just strap on a tank and flippers and swim back to Miami. Even if the night wasn’t dark and the distance prohibitive, she hadn’t been diving in more than two years.

Although she’d planned to book an excursion while she was on vacation, she’d changed her mind when she’d heard a group of returning tourists raving about the incredible pair of hammerhead sharks they’d encountered on their dive. Shannon had walked away from the tour desk with no regrets, because if there was one thing she hated, it was sharks. Well, sharks and snakes, actually.

Even if she knew where she was going and was willing to swim with the fish, there was the fact that she’d been injected with some kind of drug only a few hours earlier. She didn’t know what substance she’d been given or whether traces of it might still be lingering in her system, but she knew it would be dangerous to dive under such conditions.

Despite the obvious and numerous risks of such an escape attempt, Shannon didn’t see that there was any other choice.

If she stayed on this boat, she would die.

She felt the tremor of fear ripple through her. She wasn’t ready to die. There was too much she hadn’t seen and done, too much living she still needed to do. There was no way she was going to give up without a fight.

She’d have to take her chances in the water.

Impatient fingers drummed on the scarred oak desktop as the second ring echoed through the handset. Each unanswered ring represented yet another delay, and there had been too many of those already.

The organization could afford no more.

A.J. would tolerate no more.

Conroy’s death—so sudden and unexpected—had shaken everyone. The powerful, fearless leader taken down in a simple sting operation he should have been able to smell from a mile away. It was an unnecessary tragedy, but not really a surprising one.

Because Conroy had been weak.

His affection for a woman had interfered with his reason, allowed him to get caught. Or maybe it was the fault of his ego as much as his fondness for the woman, because he’d truly believed he was invincible.

And he had been—until three bullets snuffed out his life.

There had been widespread shock and some tears, subtle shifts of power and bold demands for vengeance. Through it all, A.J. had risen to the top and was determined to stay there.

At last there was a click as the connection was made, then he answered. “Peart.”

“Why are you on the boat?” The demand was made without preamble. There was neither the time nor the need to exchange pleasantries—a hierarchy was being reconstructed and the only purpose of this call was to enforce the new order.

“A.J., I was just going to call you.” There was surprise, and maybe just a hint of fear, in his response.

“You shouldn’t be calling. You should be on your way back here by now.”

“I know. But I’ve got her.” There was pride in his voice now, bold and unapologetic.

Both his confidence and his pride would need to be squashed. He was a tool—a valuable and necessary instrument on occasion, but still just a tool—and he needed to be reminded of that fact.

“I didn’t tell you to get her. In fact, I didn’t tell you to go anywhere near her.”

“But I know you wanted—”

“You don’t know anything about what I want unless and until it is expressed in terms of a direct order.”

He didn’t respond. He knew better than to speak out of turn again.

A.J. let the silence grow, felt his tension mount, before asking, “What about Courtland?”

“He’s in pursuit. We’re waiting for him to get close enough to—I mean, we, uh, we’re waiting for orders to, uh, eliminate him.”

It was satisfying to hear the stammer, to know he already recognized his mistake.

“You’re going to wait a while longer,” A.J. said. “What I want now is for you to get on the next plane to Pennsylvania.”

There was a pause as Peart fought to swallow the silent “but” that hummed across the line as loudly as if it had been spoken.

To his credit he managed to conceal his dissent and respond, “I’ve already made plans. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“He will be buried tomorrow.” A.J.’s voice had lowered, thickened with just the slightest hint of what might have been grief. In reality, it was excitement—the anticipation of opportunity overshadowing any remnants of sorrow. Tomorrow, finally, all the key players would be in place. “And we have some serious planning to do.”

“What—” he hesitated, aware that he was treading on dangerous ground. “What about the woman?”

There was a pause, long enough to make him sweat, before the response. “I’m not going to commend you for over-stepping your bounds, but I recognize the value of the offering and I will decide how to deal with her.”

“Of course.”

A.J. smiled at the submissive response and disconnected the call.

Peart was falling in line, as so many others had already done, recognizing the rightful heir to the throne of power.

Zane Conroy’s authority had been absolute, his name spoken with reverence; his orders obeyed without question. He’d been unforgiving of mistakes, intolerant of fools and ruthless in dealing with any hint of disloyalty.

He’d been a truly great leader.

A.J. would be greater.

Shannon didn’t know how long she’d been underwater when the level of air in her tank forced her to surface. She was grateful when she did so to find that the first rays of light were starting to lighten the sky.

She had no idea how far she’d come, she could only hope it was far enough. But when she looked toward the island she’d focused on as she’d gone into the water, the hope slipped through her fingers.

The land mass was closer now, but still so far away. What had been an admittedly foolish and reckless impulse at the time seemed even more so now. She was a strong swimmer, but the ocean had far more breadth and endurance.

No, she couldn’t think like that. She’d come too far to give up. She would push forward, ignoring the fact that her muscles were already screaming with the pain of exertion. She would embrace the pain, knowing that as long as it hurt, she was still alive, she still had a chance.