Карен Кингсбери - A Distant Shore [calibre]

“Yes.” Jack ached for the girl. “You’re right.”

He had one more order of business. He explained that he wouldn’t be by tomorrow—Wednesday night. But he would arrange with her father to see her again on Thursday. The night of the raid. That way it wouldn’t surprise Anders’s men when Jack pulled up in his Porsche at seven forty-four.

“I have just one way to communicate with you.” Jack explained that he would be at the beach both Wednesday and Thursday around noon—the same time she would be there. “If I wear a navy swimsuit, the plan remains the same.” He took his time. This part was crucial. “If something changes, I’ll wear a yellow suit. I’ll approach you like yesterday afternoon and I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“What about the guards? They’ll be watching.”

“We’re supposed to be getting married at the end of the week. They won’t suspect anything.”

“True. I get it.” She looked away. “Navy suit, the plan’s on. Yellow suit, something’s changed.”

“Exactly.” Relief flooded Jack’s veins. “Now tell me where the exits to this place are. Be specific. Which doors have guards, and how many guards. Everything you know.”

She did as he asked and when his time with her was almost over, he dressed, messed up the sheets and blankets and tossed two pillows on the floor. Then he made eye contact with her once more. “Thursday night. Girls in the boardroom at seven thirty. Door stopped, window open. I’ll see you minutes after that.”

Again she said nothing. But this time she nodded.

And that was all the assurance Jack needed.

A BREEZE OFF the Caribbean washed over Eliza as she set up her chair the next day. She was reading C. S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, trying to decide whether the children should run for their lives, or if Aslan, the lion, really was good.

The way she was trying to decide about Luke.

She was immersed in Aslan’s world, midway through Chapter Eight, when Luke strolled onto the beach. If he was a secret agent, then he must’ve studied the way rich boys strut the shoreline. But what if he really was just another Anders McMillan? With the girls he would take in tomorrow night’s raid, he could triple his business. Trafficking the Palace girls on some other beach.

If he was actually in the business and not an FBI agent.

Eliza refused to think about the possibility. She couldn’t fixate on her doubts. Luke was her only way out, whether she liked it or not. And since he hadn’t taken her knife, she would have that. She wouldn’t dream of running away from the Palace without some way to protect herself and the girls.

None of whom had any idea what was about to go down.

This morning at breakfast, Eliza had been tempted to pull Rosa aside and tell her everything. Rosa was fifteen, and she looked up to Eliza. Even though Eliza had helped the girl accept her place at the Palace.

A chill ran down her spine all the way to her legs. A chill the hot summer sunshine couldn’t touch. Because if not for tomorrow’s raid, in a few months two other girls would turn twenty. The younger girls would think the two were off to Europe. Or gone to find help for the girls still held captive.

Instead they would be dead like Alexa.

Eliza kept her gaze straight ahead, the open book still on her lap. In her peripheral vision she could see Luke walking closer. She turned and looked at him, but only for a few seconds. Then she rolled her eyes and lifted the book closer to her face. So she wouldn’t have to talk to him. Or so the guards would think that. Marriage or not, they couldn’t seem too friendly. Everyone at the Palace knew Eliza didn’t want to be forced into the arrangement.

She tried to focus on the words of the story. Mr. Beaver was explaining that the White Witch was behind Mr. Tumnus’s kidnapping, the way the witch was behind all kidnappings. And Mr. Beaver was telling the children about Aslan, the great King, the lion, and how he was the true royalty of Narnia. The White Witch was only counterfeit royalty.

She was imagining her father as the White Witch. And she was trying to absorb a thought that had lodged in her soul and stayed there. When the children wanted to know if Aslan the lion was safe, if he was tame, Mr. Beaver told them something Eliza could only hope was true of Luke.

He isn’t safe, children. But he is good.

But even with the book to distract her, all Eliza could think about then or the next afternoon when she was reading on the beach and Luke returned, was the single most important thing that mattered. Perhaps in all her life.

Both times, Luke’s bathing suit was navy blue.

CHAPTER TEN

The house of the wicked will be destroyed, but the tent of the upright will flourish.

—Proverbs 14:11

Anders’s doubts about Henry Thomas Ellington IV had eased. Clearly, the young man had come to the beach to claim his bride and to seal their deal with a marriage that would last forever. The way their crime conglomerate would last forever.

Every day since he’d flown into Belize, Henry Thomas had visited the Blue Breeze and the beach just below the Palace. Even still, the guards had been instructed to keep careful watch on him. “He will have spent two nights with Eliza by the end of the week,” Anders had told them. “I want to know if you see any real connection between the two.”

And the guards had done their job. According to their report, Henry Thomas showed up at the beach yesterday, like usual, and as he walked to his favorite spot, north of the Palace steps, he took a long look at Eliza. As any man would do. But Eliza had only buried her pretty face in a book.

Like she wanted nothing to do with him. Which was exactly what Anders would’ve expected. Nothing unusual.

The other report had come from Asia, the first night Henry was in town. Unannounced, Asia had pushed the bedroom door open while Eliza was celebrating her “honeymoon.” And what the burly guard saw was proof enough. Henry was happy with his wife. He would pay up and sign the deal.

Anders’s long-term plan, the one he’d made more than a decade ago when he sent for his then wife and children, was finally coming to fruition. He had paid the guards to get rid of Susan and Daniel. He didn’t need them. But Lizzie… Eliza… yes, Anders had always known he would make a fortune off her. Not by selling her to the Palace’s nightly customers. But by grooming her and prepping her… saving her for such a time as this. Of course Eliza didn’t like the setup. Which was why Anders didn’t expect his daughter to enjoy Henry Thomas.

If there had been a connection, Anders would’ve been concerned.

Instead, every report back from the guards was good news for Anders. As long as the young millionaire wasn’t somehow conniving secretly with Eliza, all was well. Because Anders had one very troubling problem with his daughter. All that reading had made her the most intelligent girl at the Palace. As a father, he was proud of the fact. But now—when he needed her unwavering obedience—her book smarts made him nervous.

A smart girl could work with the police. She could express doubts about what happened when Palace girls turned twenty. And as such she could find a way to bring down Anders’s entire multimillion-dollar operation.

Even if that smart girl was his own daughter.

Anders sat on his white leather sofa in his private room on the fourth floor of the Palace. His view was the best in Belize—a thin stretch of white sand and the prettiest ocean water anywhere in the world.

He leaned back and sighed. If only little girls didn’t grow up, if only they never left their teens.

But they did, and so he’d figured out a plan from the beginning. He treated the little girls like so many daughters. He bought them pretty dresses and bows for their hair and made them feel like princesses. So long as they did what they were told.