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“That’s impossible,” Jim exclaimed, breaking out in a cold sweat. “There’s no way I can just leave at a moment’s notice. It’s out of the question.”
“Hold on.”
With his heart racing and his hands shaking, Jim splashed bourbon into a glass and downed a large swallow. Not only did the summons contradict everything Conchello had told him, the drug lord didn’t want to speak to him.
“Jim, listen,” David began, his voice oddly hoarse, “he says if you’re not here by tomorrow night he’ll fly to L.A. and come to your house. He’d like to send your wife and daughter on a trip to the monastery.”
Horror rippling through his veins, Jim flopped on the couch.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah, I heard,” Jim managed, a terrifying tightness moving through his chest. “I’ll be there.”
“Grab a pen.”
“Uh… wait…” Jim mumbled, his entire body trembling as he moved unsteadily behind his desk. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Fly into St. Thomas. Text the arrival details to the number I’m about to give you. Someone will be there to pick you up.”
“Okay, I’ve got it,” he stammered, wishing his heart would stop its wild thumping. “So, uh, what’s this about?”
But David had abruptly ended the call.
Jim closed his eyes, praying when he opened them he’d find the entire episode had been a bad dream.
His prayers were unanswered.
A dark frown carved deep lines in his forehead.
What the hell could have happened?
He thought about the1962 Studebaker Hawk sitting in his garage. He’d been working on the project for years. Hidden under the back seat were brown paper bags full of precious cash.
He’d give every penny back if it meant returning home from the Virgin Islands alive, his limbs intact, and his wife and daughter safe and waiting for him.
While Scott had held a gun at David’s temple while he’d spoken to Jim Parker, Jack had dropped a pill into a glass of whisky. As the call came to an end, David gratefully accepted the drink, downing it in one gulp.
In less than a minute he was out cold.
Quickly retrieving the wad of money and lifting out the tracker, Scott popped it open, removed the tiny battery, placed both into a small envelope, and stuffed it into his zippered pocket with his phone.
Moving David’s unconscious body down the slippery steel stairs through the wild weather proved challenging, but the worsening storm had kept everyone indoors, leaving the rear of the hotel desolate. Placing him in the SUV’s cargo hold and tying his hands behind his back, they left the parking lot and headed out of town.
After a harrowing drive up a steep hillside, the wind and rain pounding the vehicle and lashing the tropical forest surrounding them, they turned down a winding, unpaved road, splashing through potholes and over ruts. As the modest home finally came into view, and the garage door rolled up, the two men breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Transporting their prisoner into the kitchen, Scott left him slumped in Jack’s arms as he unlocked the door to a subterranean, windowless room. Carrying him down the stairs, they left him on the floor with a low wattage lightbulb burning overhead.
“I’d better get back to the Shady Shack and check on things,” Jack declared as they returned to the kitchen. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Don’t forget the keys to your yacht.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Jack said, reaching into his pocket and handing them over.
“Thanks. I won’t start interrogating him until you get here.”
“He’ll be easy to break,” Jack remarked with a grin. “He looked like he was ready to spill his guts before we even left the hotel.”
“I was tempted to let him. I’ll see you tomorrow. Drive safe out there.”
