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Chapter Six
Noah
One week later…
“What do you mean they’re not here? I booked a charter with them a month ago!”
Halfway across the world, McKenzie’s soft lilt has the same effect on me as it did in Vegas. Hidden from view just below deck of theKairos, my buddy’s sailing yacht, my dick twitches as I watch her trailing along after the slight, wiry Filipino man who’s been my friend for years, and who is pretending to operate the marina here in Coron after I paid the real owners to disappear for a while.
Gone is the sex bomb I met a week ago. In her place, looking prim and proper in khaki shorts and a crisp, sleeveless white blouse with her hair piled into a serious-looking bun on her head, is the McKenzie Prescott El Gato described. Complete with a cardigan knotted over her shoulders. Somehow, she looks just as fuckable. Maybe more so.
“I’m sorry, miss. As I’ve told you, I have no record of an Albert or Marites Cruz, or a boat named theSantosset to sail out of here.”
“That’s impossible!” She stops and takes a deep, steadying breath. “Okay then. Can you take me?”
“No, miss. I’m sorry. There is no one to watch the marina. I must stay.”
“Please!” Her voice is tinged with a hint of desperation. “I have money. Name your price. I’m willing to pay if someone will just take me.”
I roll my eyes. She might as well put a sign around her neck that says, Take Me to the Cleaners. Of course, no one’s going to take her anywhere, because I’ve already paid everyone within a five-mile radius a small fortune not to, just like I paid the salty old sailor and his wife who were supposed to take her on a seven-day cruise through the islands to disappear. I’m pretty sure I can convince her to come with me, but I don’t believe in leaving anything to chance.
McKenzie stops and grabs the railing of the rickety pier. She’s close enough that I can see the whites of her knuckles as she grips it, her breathing shallow.
Manuel peers at her. “Are you okay, miss?”
“Yes. Well, no. You wouldn’t happen to have a paper bag, would you?”
When he stares at her blankly, she shakes her head vehemently. “No, no, no,” she half mutters. Then more firmly, “Stop it, Kenzie. Think about Liam.”
She nods almost imperceptibly and then lifts her chin resolutely. “Eventually there’s got to be someone who’d be willing to take me. I read online that there are sailing outfits that take groups of people out of here all the time. I’ll just check back every day until I find one.”
“There’s nothing on the schedule. It’s the end of June, the beginning of the wet season. Things are slow.” Manuel scratches his head. “There’s a man with a boat who docked here a day or two ago.” He waves a hand in the direction of my boat. I chuckle. The man could win a bloody Oscar for his performance. “You could ask him.”
“A man? Sailing alone?” She frowns. “That sounds dangerous. I’ll figure something else out.”
McKenzie Prescott is a fascinating mystery of contradictions. The adventurous, spontaneous bombshell I met at the Wynn who jumped off a waterfall is at odds with the cautious girl in a cardigan standing on the pier. The girl at the Wynn would have at least been curious enough to meet the one person in the marina with a boat. This girl probably threw out all her Halloween candy as a kid because it might have a razor blade in it. I sigh. If she doesn’t come willingly, I’ll kidnap her, but I’d rather do this the easy way. And it should be easy, because I have my trump card—her brother’s bucket list that she somehow inadvertently left in my room at the Wynn in Vegas.
After I’d tortured myself one last time letting my lips trail a path down the column of her neck outside her room, I’d gone back to my suite and had finally fallen asleep, although between a raging hard-on and dreams of her writhing beneath me, my sleep had been restless. When I’d finally woken up, I’d found the well-worn and carefully folded list on the floor of the living room where it must have fallen when I’d temporarily lost my mind and manhandled McKenzie against the floor-to-ceiling window.
At first, I hadn’t been able to believe my luck. Here was Prescott’s list—the original, judging by the two different colors of ink where he’d added things and crossed out others—and exactly what El Gato wanted me to get from McKenzie, basically handed to me on a silver platter. But I should have known it was too easy. The SEAL’s bucket list was just that—a simple list of places and experiences. If there’s a map or clue hidden in the list that will lead to the guns, the way El Gato seems to think there is, it’s not easily discernable. Which means I still need her. Maybe she knows where her brother hid the guns. And if she does, I intend to find out. But if she doesn’t and her brother’s bucket list is the key, who better to read between the lines, getting to the subtext of the list, than Liam Prescott’s sister, especially since she’s so determined to accomplish everything on it? I agree with El Gato that she’s the key to finding the guns, whether she knows it or not. Either way, I’ve got to spend some time with her and find out.
Not that spending the next ten days in close quarters with McKenzie is going to be a hardship. I may not be able to touch her, but I sure as hell can appreciate that hot body in a swimsuit.
I’m about to step onto the deck when I hear Manuel say, “You should at least meet him, miss. He’s American. You’d be safe with him.” Manuel’s voice drops confidentially. “He’s a Navy SEAL.”
What the hell? Revealing that piece of information to McKenzie was NOT part of the plan. It’s not even true, and Manuel knows it, although I used to be. Now, my years as a SEAL seem like a thousand lifetimes ago. Hanging out with the underbelly of the drug world does that to you.
To my surprise, her breathing visibly slows. “Really? Okay, I’ll talk to him,” she says, her relief evident in her voice.
Huh. By some stroke of genius, Manuel had known just what to say to put her at ease. Even if it’s a lie.
“Just don’t mention it to him,” Manuel says under his breath as they walk toward my boat. “He don’t like people knowing that.”
The sly son of a bitch. I’ve got to hand it to my old friend. He knows how to cover his ass.
“His secret’s safe with me,” she promises.
“Yo! Noah.”
