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“What do you want?” Ewen asked urgently, cutting him off.
“We won’t be talking about that here. You’ll drink a little whisky to calm your nerves, then you and I will walk calmly down to my car. We’ll take a drive and have a chat. If you do anything, and I mean anything, to create a problem, I’ll make a call, and it won’t be long before you’ll be trying to explain yourself to Conchello. Are we clear?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Good, don’t move.”
“Scott, where’s he taking him?” Elizabeth asked, as Jack quickly gathered up the cash and dropped it into Ewen’s bag.
“He’ll be coming here.”
“Here?”
“Elizabeth, Jim Parker isn’t my only guest. David Clark is in another room, and when Ewen McDonald arrives, he’ll be joining him. If all goes well, Jim, Ewen, and David will all be playing a part to bring Conchello down.”
“What about Dickhead Dan,” she asked, a scowl crossing her forehead, “shouldn’t you grab him too?”
“He was a liability for Conchello, and he’d be a liability for us. He’ll be picked up by my people, and he may even have some information, but he’s a minor player.”
“A minor player? He killed Manny, and tried to—”
“I know,” Scott said quickly. “I mean, within Conchello’s organization. Ewen, Jim, and David are much bigger fish. Dan is an errand boy.”
“I still want to get my hands on him.”
“I’m sure you would, but this is how you deliver revenge, Elizabeth—cold, calculating, cunning. Raw emotion has no place. You turn your enemy’s lieutenants against him and let the battle commence.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Throughout the morning, Sonny’s mood had deteriorated.
He was now barely controlling his fury.
It had been several hours since he’d sent Ewen MacDonald to Dan Miller’s hotel room. In spite of leaving countless messages, Sonny still hadn’t heard from him.
David Clark was also MIA, and he’d learned Dan Miller had been picked up from the police station on St. Thomas by two men, but his source didn’t know anything about them.
The timing couldn’t be worse.
A group of VIP guests would soon be arriving for an important lunch. A sumptuous meal had been prepared, and a table laid out on a terrace overlooking the bay. He couldn’t cancel, nor did he want to. His personal banker, a financial advisor, and a lawyer would be joining him, along with the owner of an international property development company.
While anger walked hand in hand with Sonny, it was rare for him to feel unnerved, but those who worked for him answered when he called, and they sure as hell didn’t just suddenly stop communicating.
Something was horribly wrong.
“Excuse me, Mr. Conchello.”
Rosemary, the woman who hired and fired the servants, dealt with caterers, and made sure the house ran smoothly, stepped into the lavish living room. Sonny heard the distress in her voice. Turning to face her, he saw her brow furrowed in deep worry.
“Mr. MacDonald is downstairs in the servants’ quarters. He’s asking for you. I think you should—”
But Sonny was already striding past her.
Several full-time employees lived in the palatial home, and hurrying down the stairs, Rosemary running along behind him, he continued at a fast clip to the back of the house.
“He’s in the first bedroom, Mr. Conchello,” Rosemary called, still racing to catch up.
Bursting into the room, he found Ewen in the bathroom perched on the edge of the tub naked from the waist up. He was sporting a bloody nose and a black eye, and his grubby shirt and jacket were in a heap on the floor.
