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The captain remained a mystery.
His background check revealed nothing startling.
He’d been a musician and worked construction as he’d gigged around Los Angeles, then joined the military and became a highly decorated Marine. When he’d left the service he’d landed in the Virgin Islands and launched the sailing school.
Sonny was convinced there was more to the man.
Much more.
He grinned.
Very soon he’d be hearing all Scott’s secrets, including the whereabouts of Elizabeth McKay.
Pulling a revolver from a shoulder holster, he gestured toward the chamber.
“Six bullets, one for each of you,” he began, enjoying the look of dread and shock on their faces. “Whether you live or die is entirely your choice. You might suffer horribly, or not at all. I strongly suggest you cooperate. You’ll walk out none the worse for wear, and richer than when you walked in. Richard, you’re the closest. Open the door to the Chamber of Conscience. The rest of you follow him in and take the seat with your name on it.”
No one ever called Conchello stupid.
Pete’s words rang through Scott’s head.
They suddenly made no sense.
Conchello’s bodyguards were locked out of the room, and Conchello was just one man against six. Though he held a gun he was still outnumbered, but glancing at the other three rooms, Scott realized it was possible soldiers lurked behind their closed doors.
The giant clock on the wall read 11:57 p.m.
If Brad could work his magic, in a few minutes the tracker would pull Conchello away, or at least distract him.
“Hurry up,” Conchello barked as Richard opened the door.
Hoping he’d have an opportunity to jump Conchello once the others were out of harm’s way, Scott didn’t move.
“I know you were a Marine,” Conchello snarled, glaring at him, “but don’t think for a minute you’ll get the better of me.”
“I just don’t understand what the fuck is going on here,” Scott replied, striding confidently toward him, “and just to be clear, I was a SEAL. I can snap your neck in under three seconds, and that would be on a lazy day.”
Conchello suddenly shot at the floor. “And I can blow out your knees,” he growled. “Now get the fuck in there.”
Wordlessly turning and heading into the chamber, Scott prepared himself to spin around and take him down, but walking through the door he found a woman lounging in an armchair holding a pistol.
Rosemary.
The infamous housekeeper.
Next to her was the trap door and a tall lever.
Wearing a red leather dress that did nothing to hide her abundant figure, she appeared much older than Scott had expected.
“Beneath your chairs you’ll find two pairs of handcuffs,” Conchello began brusquely. “Cuff your ankles to the legs of the chairs. Specter, get the fuck to your seat or I’ll blow your fucking feet off.”
But just as the drug lord finished speaking, a loud chirp echoed through the room. Snatching his phone from his pocket, he stared wide-eyed at the screen.
Scott wanted to cry in triumph.
The tracker had been triggered.
“The jammer is neutralized,” Brad said urgently in his ear. “We can see through your micro camera and hear you now.”
