Page 71 of Heist in Paradise

“I don’t hear any cheering.”

“Right, sorry. Um, all good here, I think. The yacht is approaching. It’s about…fifty feet in size. Actually, from here it looks like a Princess yacht.”

“A what?”

“It’s a brand—never mind. Not important. I see a table on the top deck and, I think, someone is sitting at it.”

“Two someones,” Madoc corrected.

I glared at his back. “No signs of choppers or drones or UFOs.”

“Good.” Jax’s voice warmed. “Don’t want you getting beamed up yet.”

I’d let you probe me, I added in my head, my cheeks burning beneath the goggles. Madoc shifted, adjusting his position, and I craned my neck up, feeling caught off guard. For all I knew, Madoc could read minds.

“The yacht has docked,” I said, my voice becoming scratchy with nerves. I twisted the lens, zooming in. The first face I saw belonged to a thin, weedy man who started directing from the stern. He was armed, his gun holstered across his back. “I see, um, lots of men.”

“How many?” Jax pressed. “Try to be specific, Princess. You’re our eyes.”

“Four—no, five.”

“Eight and counting,” Madoc cut in. “Armed thugs. No sign of the girls yet.”

The silence pressed in my ears. Considering. Planning.

A few seconds later, Jax urged, “Keep talking.”

Between Madoc and me, we relayed the scene unfolding—the numerous men who spilled out from the yacht cabin, sweeping the beach with militant precision. Once the search was clear, the girls emerged, climbing up from the belly of the yacht and onto the dock, solemn and quiet. Prisoners marching to the gallows. The swing of flashlights made me clench and duck, but Madoc remained unflappable, part of the landscape. I stared at the girls, committing them to my memory, searching for a familiar face. A set of shoulders, honey-blond hair, grey eyes.

“They’re heading up,” Madoc broke in with a murmur. “The party has split. First wave is six men and fourteen girls. They are taking the direct path to the mansion.”

It was obviously a familiar path; the girls were herded like cattle around the twisty bends and obstacles by steady flashlights. Their route would bring them directly beneath us. Madoc adjusted easily, never taking his eyes off them. He settled his gun quietly across his lap.

“How many stayed?” Jax asked softly, whispering so we didn’t startle.

I looked back toward the shore. “Six men guarding the yacht. Two are still sweeping the beach.”

“Okay,” Jax said, sounding settled, ready. “You did good,” he added a moment later, the praise washing over me like a warm hug. “Now don’t fuck it up. Listen to Sparrow.”

“You don’t have to keep telling me,” I mumbled, adjusting my grip. There was a pointed huff that came from too many directions, and I bristled at their amusement. Assholes. I could obey when I needed to, even from a giant prick like Madoc.

Any trace of amusement evaporated as the footsteps approached, voices low and closing in. The very air grew heavier, blanketed in dread. I swallowed thickly and looked down, tracking the girls as they shuffled dazedly around the trees. Their features were hard to distinguish—their heights and ages varied, but they all had one thing in common: hopelessness. It was the slump in their too-thin shoulders, the drag of their feet, the way their clothes hung off their frames like a uniform. They didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge each other. When one of them stumbled, clearly drugged to her eyeballs, a man grabbed her roughly and corrected her. My fingers tightened on my goggles. In front of me, Madoc reached for his gun, not to fire, just a reminder.

It was a foolish thing to hold onto the desperate hope that I’d see Molly among them. I knew I wouldn’t, and the brief flare of hope in my chest left me breathless.

I turned away, unable to stomach it. That was a mistake. My backpack shifted, and the branch beneath me creaked ominously.

All at once, the footsteps stopped.

Madoc’s hand snapped up, closed in a fist. Wait. I didn’t move, didn’t dare blink, didn’t breathe. The voices below traveled with the wind, foreign and sharp.

“What’s happening?” Jax demanded in our ears.

Neither Madoc nor I reacted. Slowly, Madoc lowered his fist, settling it on his gun. Then a flashlight beamed across the trees around us, searching. I almost cried out, but clamped down at the last second, biting hard on my tongue.

They were directly below us. If they just looked directly up, if they moved their lights ever so slightly to the left, into the canopy that shielded us…

“Vamos!” The voice cracked like a whip through the night, impatient. The lights flickered, dropping away, and the morose shuffling resumed. When they were no longer directly beneath us, Madoc loosened his grip on his gun.