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The beam would be seen if anyone walked past.
Less likely to be noticed below deck, he decided to check the sleeping quarters. Finding his way down to the cabins, he moved through the first one. Coming up empty, he moved to the second.
It appeared the bed had been hurriedly made, and shining the light on the floor, he spotted odd pieces of fluff. Picking them up, he rubbed them between his fingers, then shone his light across the bed. Another piece of fluff sat near the decorative cushions sitting haphazardly against the pillows. Intrigued, he climbed on the mattress, crawled up to them, and turned one over.
The zipper was half open.
As he picked up the cushion next to it, some of the stuffing dropped out. His heart suddenly racing, he placed the flashlight between his teeth and tore into each of them.
Nothing.
But Elizabeth had been there.
The cushions were where she’d hidden the cash.
His exasperation boiling over, he hurled them across the cabin.
Taking a long breath, he calmed himself down, and as his mind cleared, he realized two things; the cushions wouldn’t have been large enough to hold it all, and she’d left in a hurry.
A frown crossed his brow.
She may have been forced to leave some behind.
Fifteen minutes later, a methodical search of the cabins had proven fruitless.
He moved into the compact bathroom.
The only possible hiding place was a small cabinet beneath the sink. Sitting rather than crouching, he opened the door to find nothing but a package of toilet rolls and a spray cleaner. Steeling himself to continue the hunt, he was about to leave when he spotted several tears across the top of the plastic.
A knowing grin curled his lips.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The muffled buzzing of Scott’s phone jolted him from sleep. Gently extricating himself from Elizabeth’s limbs, he moved swiftly from the bed and snatched it from the pocket of his sweat pants, but moving into the salon he was met by light streaming through the windows. Glancing at the screen he discovered it was 8:33 a.m. He rarely slept past 7.a.m. Opening the text, he was surprised a second time.
We need to talk asap.
A worried frown crossing his brow, he quickly pulled on a pair of shorts, walked out on deck and placed the call.
“What’s going on, Frank?” he asked quietly. “Where’s my info, and why do you need to talk?”
“Hi, Scott, your researcher uncovered some disturbing information. That’s why she didn’t send it to you and I’m calling.”
“This doesn’t sound good.”
“It isn’t. Detective Miller was recently involved in a raid of a drug ring operating out of a mansion in the San Fernando Valley.”
“So…?”
“The home was owned by Sonny Conchello.”
“Sonny Conchello?” Scott repeated. “They picked up Sonny Conchello? Holy crap.”
“He was supposed to be there, but—”
“But I assume he wasn’t,” Scott declared, cutting him off. “That bastard is as slippery as El Capo used to be.”
“Not only that, things didn’t go well, and that’s an understatement. The agents were ambushed and there were serious casualties. When the dust settled, the narcotics they found were minimal, certainly not enough to justify the raid, and there was no cash. None. Zip. Nada. But they did find the body of a guy who was identified as a DEA agent. He’d infiltrated the gang.”
