Page 1 of Weston’s Treasure

Prologue

Silver

Weston Beil was infuriating.

And what made everything worse was he’d been semi-right. Not that I lacked experience, because I didn’t. I had more time on the water than every man on the team Weston had put together, including the members of the Coast Guard.

I’d grown up on the water. Literally. I’d lived on a boat since the day I was born. My dad was an adventure diver and instructor and part-time treasure hunter. Whatever money-making scheme he’d had always revolved around the water. Since birth, my father had been grooming me to take over his business.

Not that I had taken over my dad’s diving company or decided to be a treasure hunter—instead I’d opted for a career as a professional mariner. A career path that at the moment was debatably the wrong choice.

I was sure my father was probably out cruising the beautiful cerulean waters of the Caribbean enjoying the view from his wheelhouse while I was currently handcuffed to a water pipe in the hull of a motor yacht.

Good times.

That was the part Weston had been correct about.

He’d warned me—the operation to stop the drug trafficking was dangerous. He’d repeated ad nauseam that criminals, and most certainly drug dealers, did not take kindly to someone stopping their racket.

So, Mr. Know-It-All Weston Beil had been right. And the taste of crow made my stomach roil. Which sucked, because if I got out of this alive, I’d be eating a huge plateful.

The yacht rocked back and forth, a motion I’d always been accustomed to but that now was making me queasy, as I tried to figure out a way out of this mess.

I had no idea what the captain and the first mate had planned for me, but considering I was surrounded by bricks of cocaine; I didn’t figure it’d be pleasant.

No one was coming to my rescue. If I wanted to live, it would be up to me.

Damn, I wished Weston were there, and that thought churned my belly for a variety of reasons. I was not and had never been a helpless female and I wouldn’t turn into one now. But I couldn’t deny the big man was strong and the air of danger that surrounded him was intoxicating. Had he not been such a dick, I would’ve said he was probably the hottest man I’d ever laid eyes on. And there was the fact that despite him being a huge asshole I was half in love with him.

Weston would know what to do. The captain wouldn’t have been able to overpower him and handcuff him to a fucking pipe.

Shouting upstairs had me shrinking back against the steel.

I needed to hurry up and figure something out before I turned into fish food.

1

Silver Coyle could write a book on how to annoy the fuck out of men. And if Weston got her out of her current situation, he was suggesting it.

Actually, it wasn’t a matter of if they could do it, it was simply a when. The alternative would mean they failed their mission and Weston never failed—neither did his teammates. So it was a matter of time until the infuriating woman in question would be rescued. And she’d hate that. Hate that it was Gemini Group coming to her aid, most especially Weston himself. He’d warned her, yet she refused to listen. He’d told her she was skirting the line. But Silver, being as stubborn as she was brave, hadn’t listened.

The game she was playing was dangerous, and just as he’d predicted she’d been burned. Now she was being held hostage by a group of drug traffickers and as much as Weston wanted to say I told you so, he wouldn’t. At least not until Silver was safely back at his house, under his watch and protection. Something else she was going to pitch a fit about and Weston couldn’t wait for the battle that would ensue.

He’d never met a woman as feisty as Silver, not even his teammates’ women could hold a candle to her and that was saying something. Nixon and Jameson had chosen well, both of their women fit them seamlessly. Not that Weston was looking for a woman, but Silver had disaster written all over her, and if he didn’t lock her down, she’d fuck the whole mission. It was not because she was the only woman who he’d ever met who sparked something deep inside him. And it certainly was not because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. So much so, the woman had invaded his dreams. Nope, it was all about this mission.

One that he and his team had been planning for the last month. It was a multiagency takedown and neither Homeland nor the Coast Guard needed her interfering.

But she had interfered and now she was in the hull of a ninety-foot Feadship named the Dora B and Weston would bet she was not happy. He’d watched as she boarded the mega motor yacht to pilot it down the C & D Canal.

Then he watched as she was pulled from the wheelhouse through the companionway and marched to the aft deck before she disappeared back inside. That had been an hour ago. Now that the team was certain they were clear of commercial traffic it was time to make the rescue. Something else Alec Hall, their contact at DHS, would be pissed about—dead drug dealers floating down the Chesapeake and Delaware canal. Thankfully it wasn’t his job to clean up the mess they were about to make.

“Ready?” Nixon asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Weston answered.

“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.” Jameson chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You’ve met her. Two birds, one stone.”