“Why did you abduct Hobb? What do you want with him?” he growled, pressing the tip of the pistol against her left cheek.
“Who the fuck’s Hobb?”
Caspian had no time for this, so he whipped the pistol against the back of the woman’s head, knocking her out.
Caspian checked the pistol had a round in the chamber, then tucked it into his waistband.
“You were right, I was bluffing,” he said, though he knew she didn’t hear a word. “Next time, trust your gut.”
Chapter Six
AboardMyVeloce
Port de Sóller
Mallorca, Spain
Verena Kaine tipped back the last of her broccoli and spinach smoothie, swallowing the thick, bitter concoction without so much as a grimace. The taste didn’t bother her, but the drink’s temperature annoyed her.
Damn it!
Hadn’t she asked the chef to make it ice cold?
If I had wanted it cold, I wouldn’t have specified it needed to be ice cold, would I?
First-world problem for sure, but still infuriating.
Setting the glass down, she tensed. There was a condensation ring on the polished wood where she had previously set the glass on the small desk. She stood, her irritation spiking. The master cabin ofVelocewas full beam, a blend of modern minimalism and high-end Italian craftsmanship, and like everything else in her life, Verena wanted it pristine. Large windows on either side bathed the cabin in natural light, which accentuated every perfect detail—the clean lines, the sleek finishes, and the immaculate order. And now, a water ring was marring it.
Unacceptable.
She strode into the luxurious en suite bathroom, pulled a facecloth from the neatly folded stack, and returned to the cabin to wipe the surface clean. She looked at her work, studying it from different angles. Only once she was sure the desk was perfectly dry did she return to the en suite to place the cloth backexactlyas it had been.
Satisfied, she sat in front of her laptop, entered her ten-digit password, and brought up the live feed of two of her men working over Paul Hobb in the engine room. The feed came from the two cameras mounted in the engine room, one positioned high in the corner near the access hatch and the other set lower, angled toward the twin generators. Between them, she had a clear, unbroken view of the beating.
The journalist, who was on his knees beside the generators, had his wrists and ankles bound together. Verena heard Hobb groan, and she quickly lowered the volume. While the cameras’ built-in miniature microphones weren’t the best, the confined space of the engine room helped to amplify the wet sounds of her men’s fists meeting Hobb’s flesh, something she found ... repulsive.
She tilted her head, scrutinizing the reporter. She had to admit, he had more grit than she’d given him credit for. Few people would have thrown themselves from a speeding dinghy while bound. Hobb must have known that whatever awaited him aboard the yacht would be as merciless as the sea itself.
Still, he jumped. And that took balls.
She respected people who had real courage.
But even the bravest break. They all do eventually.
Hobb had so far refused to talk. But as she watched his head snap violently to the left from the force of the latest punch, she knew it would be soon. After all, the reporter was not a trained operator, just a nosy journalist who had stumbled too close to something that needed to remain buried.
The vibration of a phone against the lacquered wood of the bedside table drew her attention. She looked back at the three devices linedup next to each other. One of them—black and untraceable—was the one that mattered the most. There was only one person who had this number.
Her employer. Blackstone Security’s sole client.
She picked up the black device and placed it against her ear.
“I was just about to call with an update,” she said.
“Then don’t waste my time. You found him?”
“I did.”
