Карен Кингсбери - A Distant Shore [calibre]

The events were out of order—like everything about her life.

Eliza went to her room and dressed in her bathing suit and cover-up. Her groom would arrive at the Palace at eight o’clock. Just as the sun went down. Because the most horrible deeds were always done at night, where light couldn’t touch them. Couldn’t expose them. Eliza had read that in one of her books.

And where was God in all of this?

Most of the older girls didn’t believe in God. Or they were angry at Him. All of this is His fault, they would say if the subject came up. Eliza didn’t agree. God may have forgotten her, but He existed because that’s what her mama taught her long ago. The devil was real. Tonight would prove that.

So there had to be a God.

But right now nighttime was still a long way off. The next few hours were the only part of the day when Eliza felt human. The beach was her time alone.

Which meant for the next few hours Eliza could breathe and remember her mama’s face and little Daniel’s voice. She could read. Something she did often. Strangely, the Palace had a library, and Eliza visited it as often as she could. Books let her live in a different world, if only until she read the last page. Anything good in her life happened at the shore. And it was where—if she were lucky—today she might even see God.

Out beyond the waves, there at the back edge of the ocean.

SOMETHING WAS OFF.

Anders McMillan knew it and for that reason, once Eliza was out of the house he had a meeting with four of his men. He gathered them in the boardroom on the first floor. They sat, but he paced.

The men knew better than to break the silence. This was Anders’s meeting. After three minutes, he stopped and faced them. “What did you think of the men today, the customers?”

This wasn’t the first time Anders had asked them this. His operation here at the Palace was risky. If they got sloppy, the feds from the States or even the Belizean police would shut him down. They would have done it by now if they could have. A long time ago.

None of his team made eye contact with him. As if they weren’t sure what to say.

Anders slammed his fist on the table. “Talk to me! What did you think of today’s customers?”

“Only a few of them were new.” His lead guy looked around. “Right? Maybe six of the men?”

“Seven.” Another of the men nodded. “I took notes.”

“Okay.” Anders rolled his eyes. He needed a Xanax. Or a whiskey. Something to take the edge off. “So there were seven. I’m not asking for a ledger, here.” Maybe he needed a new team. He lowered his voice and stared at the men, one at a time. “I’m asking for your opinion . Did you sense anything? Suspect anyone?”

Asia, his biggest and most violent man, raised his hand. “The young guy, light blue tie.” Asia was six-foot-five, a former heavyweight fighter. He had the scars to prove it. The man squinted. “I didn’t like him.”

“He’s Eliza’s groom.” Now they were getting somewhere. Anders straightened and took a deep breath. “Me, either.” He began pacing again. “Too young. Too… I don’t know, too off.”

“It wasn’t his age.” The first guy shook his head. “We get young guys from the yacht club. The sons of the owners. It wasn’t that.”

Anders thought about smacking the man for disagreeing with Asia. But the guy had a point. Anders looked out the window. “I talked to Henry Thomas’s father last week. He told me his son was young. Which made sense, because Eliza is young.” He faced his men again. “So what is it? Why didn’t you like him?”

“It was his looks.” Asia crossed his arms. “He doesn’t look like his father. I remember Henry Thomas the Third.”

“I think he does look like his father.” Another of the men dared a comment. “I… thought that from the beginning.”

Anders could feel his anger rising. “Asia is right.”

“I don’t need a reason.” Asia crossed his arms. “I didn’t like him.”

That’s the way Asia worked. On instincts, same as Anders. Asia was one reason the Palace was still in business. The big man picked up on threats before they played out.

Anders was finished here. He pointed to Asia. “ You guard Eliza’s door tonight. Make sure the honeymoon is legit.” He hesitated. “If he’s who he says he is, there won’t be an issue. If not, you know what to do.”

Asia nodded, and Anders dismissed his men.

He paced along the window again. He knew much about Henry Thomas Ellington III. The two had even shared a meal a few years ago. So the man’s son shouldn’t be a problem. But what if this Henry Thomas wasn’t really the son at all? What if he was part of a sting? Anders gripped the window frame. He would go through his records and place a call to his old friend. Make sure everything was as it should be.

Then he remembered something, and it made him relax a little. The guard who dared speak up was right. The senior Ellington had always been a striking man. A man who turned heads. Ellington the Fourth was the same way. The resemblance was there not only in looks, but in the air the younger man held. The way he drew attention when he had walked into the Palace earlier. Anders exhaled. Everything would be fine. Of course the younger Ellington was who he said he was.

After all, like father, like son.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.

—Psalm 82:3–4

Four operatives had flown into Belize City on separate flights over the last two days. Jack had their itineraries memorized. Like with the waiting Porsche, his every move had been calculated by the entire team, choreographed with the precision of a brain surgery.

Anders McMillan’s gang would expect him to spend a few hours at the water. He had made contact with Eliza, so now he could go about his vacation day. It was his honeymoon, after all. Jack had passed his first test. At least he thought so.

The FBI had been careful.

Anders knew Henry Thomas Ellington III well enough to feel safe with his son. Henry the Fourth would need no further background check. Of course, Anders had no idea that Henry the Third was laying low. Or that the man’s real son had given the FBI permission to use his identity for the sting.

Which was why the actual Henry No. 4 was one more person the FBI had to trust.

The Blue Breeze Yacht Club sat at the north side of this nearly hidden sandy shoreline. Jack had gone there first after his brief time at the Palace. Not because he had a yacht in port on this trip. Stopping by the Blue Breeze was to legitimize Jack’s visit. Nothing more.

Just another young millionaire with time on his hands and admission to his daddy’s club—and the Palace. A chosen millionaire, set to marry Anders McMillan’s beautiful daughter. To anyone paying attention, a short visit to the club made perfect sense.

The FBI was betting Jack’s life on it.

Jack chugged back a couple sparkling waters and lime. “My old man drinks like a fish,” Jack had told the bartender earlier. He could feel feigned arrogance seeping through every pore of his body. “I promised him I’d be different. So, I don’t drink.” He patted his abs. His six-pack was visible through his T-shirt. “Too many carbs.”

There was truth to this story. Henry Thomas Ellington III had been to the club years back and he had, in fact, drunk too much. Now he was dying from his choices. Also, his son really was a health fanatic.

Playing the part of a millionaire playboy with a planned visit later that night to the Palace took all of Jack’s acting ability. He loathed everything about this part of his job. When he wasn’t talking to the other club members, he was talking to himself. You’re saving young girls, Jack. Keep your head. Keep smiling.