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For over an hour he had paced, racking his brain trying to figure out the crime he’d committed.
Regardless of the sin, there were only two options open to him.
Stay put and try to talk his way out of whatever it was, or take off.
The night was dark and the weather bad.
Conditions that made escape easier.
But if he was caught he wouldn’t even see Conchello.
A bullet would blast through his skull.
Unless he was dragged back to be mercilessly tortured.
A knock on his door made him jump.
“Who is it?”
“It’s David, let me in.”
Worried he was about to be prematurely executed, Dan moved nervously to the door and cracked it open.
“Fuck, what happened to you?” he asked, staring at the drenched man. “It’s not raining that hard.”
“I had to bring a cigarette boat through that fucking storm,” David growled, pushing past him.
“What’s a cigarette boat?”
“It’s a long, loud, fast jet boat, and it has no canopy. Grab me some clean clothes. I’m taking a shower.”
“Why are you here?”
“Why do you think?” David snapped, striding to the bathroom. “To make sure you don’t go anywhere. Now get me some clean fucking clothes.”
Breaking out in a sweat, Dan looked across at the door.
Next to it, his gun waited in the closet.
But David was tougher, meaner, and much stronger.
Defeated and scared, Dan opened his sock drawer.
Staring down at the hidden money, temptation beckoned.
If he managed to get away, he’d disappear in New Guinea.
The wild west of the South Pacific.
He heard the shower turn off.
He’d waited too long.
“Hey! Clothes!” David demanded as he marched back in the room, a towel wrapped around his waist.
All hope lost, Dan picked up a pair of socks, tossed them on the bed, then opened another drawer and found a clean pair of briefs, sweatpants, and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
A loud knock pounded the door.
