Карен Кингсбери - A Distant Shore [calibre]

Anders believed the younger girls loved him. Much like a father. When the customers frightened them, the girls had Anders to turn to. He told them the same thing, year after year. “In the nighttime hours, if someone ever hurts you, come to me. I’ll take care of them.”

And—as children do—the young teen girls believed him.

Also the children looked up to the older girls, who had no choice but to make the younger ones feel at home. One big happy family, that’s how Anders saw it. Until the girls grew up.

When the girls became teenagers, Anders could watch their attitudes change. In the mornings, when he tried to comfort them or ask about their nights, they would turn away at his touch. They didn’t look forward to seeing him.

Which was why the awakening was so important.

After the awakening, the teenage girls better knew their place. They would make the younger girls happy, please the customers, and never—not ever—cross Anders McMillan. Otherwise the next awakening would be worse.

The fear he instilled in them from their fourteenth birthdays usually lasted till the girls turned nineteen. Then, somehow, another switch seemed to flip. Fear turned to sarcasm and obedience became arrogance. At that point, the girls clearly hated their existence and were smart enough to plot their escape. Whether they were reading from the house library or not.

So Anders had figured out a way to deal with this, also. As soon as the attitude surfaced, the older teen girls were given an incentive. Work hard, help the younger girls, recruit new children and take good care of the clients. If they did everything right, when they turned twenty they would get an envelope of cash. Ten thousand dollars.

And they could go free.

Anders took a sip of his Tanqueray and tonic. Since his business opened, every one of his girls had been gullible enough to believe him. It hadn’t occurred to any of them that Anders would never dream of letting his girls go. Not when they had enough information to send him to prison for life.

Not with his money in their pockets.

Freedom was an illusion for Palace girls. By the time they were twenty, they were beyond miserable. So Anders considered their death a gift, in some ways. The gift of putting them out of their misery.

In the beginning, he had tried holding on to the older girls—after all, they were good at what they did. Like Alexa, they brought top dollar. But the older girls kept trying to run away. He could drug them. But then they didn’t work well. So Anders had gotten in the habit of setting the girls free in another way.

Permanently.

He took another sip of his drink. The ocean was particularly beautiful today. Quiet. Serene. Each of his girls had this same view from the Palace. Every day. They were well fed and dressed like royalty. Why would any of them ever want to leave? Anders couldn’t understand it.

Beside him on the sofa, a quiet alarm buzzed on his cell phone. Fifteen minutes till showtime. More new men had sailed into the harbor today, a few of them first-timers. Anders smiled. Business was booming.

He shut the alarm off and then stared at the phone.

How was old Henry Thomas Ellington III doing, anyway? It had been far too long since the senior Henry had been to the Palace. Surely his son had told him about his beautiful bride, and that the deal between the families was definitely on. Anders almost would’ve expected a call or a text from the young man’s father. Some sort of connection or celebratory moment.

Anders had time, so without giving the matter another thought, he found Henry the Third in his contacts and tapped the number.

A chat with the man would be good for his soul. Henry and Anders. Just a couple of like-minded businessmen whose collective business was about to multiply threefold. At least. The phone rang. Then it rang again. Another time, and another. Henry didn’t always pick up right away.

But as the phone rang and rang, a strange feeling began to work its way through Anders’s gut. In the recent past—when this deal was being worked out—Henry’s voice mail would pick up. But by the seventh ring, Anders knew something was wrong. Henry wouldn’t change his cell number.

Anders set his drink down. In a few clicks he was calling Henry’s law firm. After a few seconds, a serious-sounding woman answered. “Ellington, Benson, and Farmer, how can I help you?”

He exhaled. Everything was fine. Henry must’ve just been out of service or lost his phone. Anders cleared his throat. “Henry Ellington the Third, please.”

On the other end, the woman went silent. Anders counted the seconds, and it wasn’t until five had passed that she spoke. “I’m sorry… who is this?”

Anders thought fast. “Mark Lewis from Rhode Island. A friend of Henry’s. He didn’t answer his cell phone.”

“Oh.” The woman paused again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lewis. I hate to have to tell you this. Mr. Ellington passed away two days ago.”

The floor felt like it was falling away, like the room might cave in on top of him. “Oh, my.” Anders had no choice but to recover. “That is terrible news. I should’ve reached out sooner.”

“Yes. I’m so sorry.”

Anders’s mind raced. “What about Henry’s son. Henry, the Fourth. I assume he’ll be taking over for his father.”

“Uh…” The woman sounded uncomfortable. “No, sir. Young Henry… he doesn’t work here.”

“I always thought he would follow in his father’s footsteps. Like father… like son.”

“No. I’m afraid not.” Another pause. “Did you want to leave a message for one of the partners? In lieu of flowers, donations are being sent to Henry’s favorite—”

Anders hung up.

He stood and bumped the table near the sofa, sending his drink crashing to the wood floor. The glass broke and Anders stared at the mess. Then slowly he lifted his eyes to the water. If Henry Thomas Ellington IV hadn’t taken over his father’s firm, then the two must’ve had a falling-out. In which case the son would’ve been cut off from his wealthy father. He certainly wouldn’t be here, traipsing around Belize City, chumming it up at the Blue Breeze and about to marry Anders’s only daughter.

His hands clenched and he narrowed his eyes. What had he just stumbled onto?

The young man was coming back tonight to see Eliza. But Henry Thomas would have a surprise waiting when he got here. Anders imagined the look on the man’s handsome face when he realized later tonight that he’d been caught. The guards would have fun with him and then dump his body in the river.

With weights around it.

“Helen!” Anders yelled. Almost immediately one of the housemaids appeared at the door. Anders waved his hand at the mess on the floor. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. “Clean it up. Hurry.”

Anders retreated to his private balcony. Calm, he told himself. Breathe. He had found out the truth before it was too late. Wherever the man had come from and whatever business he had here in Belize, he was about to learn a very important lesson.

Don’t lie to Anders McMillan.

JACK COULDN’T SEE it, but the ship was there.

Five miles off the coast of Belize, the USS Tripoli, an amphibious assault vessel that had been quietly patrolling the Caribbean Sea, was now ready for action. The Tripoli could house up to a thousand sailors, depending on the mission. But it specialized in Army helicopter support, mainly for busting up significant drug cartels and international sex-trafficking rings.

Like the one Anders McMillan was running.

Afternoon sunshine streamed across the Belizean shoreline as Jack took his spot on his balcony. Just another day in paradise as far as Anders and his men would be concerned. They didn’t expect anything. Jack felt sure of it. From his hotel balcony, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Same way Anders’s men wouldn’t.