Page 72 of Fierce Seas


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“We’ll speak later.”

Watching Conchello march from the bathroom and slam the door behind him, the rough, tough Aussie dropped his head into his hands. Every second of the conversation had been petrifying.

He had agreed to cooperate with his interrogators, but they’d told him the only way to make his escape convincing was to arrive back at Conchello’s battered and bloody. Ewen had reluctantly agreed, though he knew he’d still have to put on an act worthy of an Oscar.

After one of his abductors had delivered the beating, he’d handed Ewen a burner phone and a transmitter disguised as a pen, telling him to check in often, and promising to come to his aid if things went south.

The items were bundled up in the dirty clothes lying next to him on the floor. Rosemary had wanted to take them straight to the laundry, but Ewen had told her to fetch the boss immediately. There was nowhere to hide them in the small bathroom, and if Sonny had picked up the clothes he would have found them.

Indescribable torture would have followed.

The whole episode had been excruciating.

But living as a traitor under Conchello’s roof, Ewen feared the terrifying moment would only be the first of many.

Back at the small house on St. Thomas, Scott was pleased with how things were developing.

With Jack at his side, David Clark had studied the encampment images provided by the drones. Using the overhead pictures in conjunction with maps, he was able to pinpoint the location of the surveillance cameras, and where the booby traps had been set.

Ewen MacDonald had buckled quickly. Admitting he loathed working for Conchello and was eager to escape the drug lord’s rule, he’d offered to collaborate. But Jim Parker sobbed uncontrollably every time Scott tried to question him. Pacing back and forth in the kitchen as Elizabeth sat at the table drinking coffee, Scott was voicing his frustration.

“I don’t know if it’s an act, or he really is suffering from a nervous breakdown,” Scott said angrily. “I’ve interviewed hundreds of suspects, and I’ve seen plenty of tears, but nothing like this.”

“Scott, why won’t you let me talk to him? I’m sure I can get him to open up.”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Why? Where’s the downside?” she argued. “He’s handcuffed and scared to death. He can’t hurt me, and he wouldn’t even if he could.”

“I’ve seen men do a whole lot of damage handcuffed and scared to death,” Scott said solemnly. “Like I said, it’s a bad idea.”

“But he cares about me.”

“Yeah, sure he does, that’s why he let you work undercover with a murderous bastard,” Scott retorted sarcastically, “and I bet that slap you landed really touched his heart! If I’d known you were going to land a wallop like that I wouldn’t have let you do it.”

“Okay, I admit I got a bit carried away, but can you blame me?”

“No, and that illustrates my point. If you weren’t able to hold back then, what will happen if he won’t talk? And what about him? He’s already a basket case. You could make him worse.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but you’re not getting a word out of him, and he’s falling apart,” she exclaimed, standing up from the table. “How much worse could it be?”

“I don’t want to find out!”

Taking a breath and walking slowly over to him, she slid her arms around his neck.

“Scott,” she began softly. “I’m a trained DEA agent. I know how to interview people. My style is completely different, and I might get through to him. Please let me try?”

He grinned. “You think this seductive femme fatale act will work?”

“I hope so.”

“I admit I’m enjoying it,” he murmured, grabbing her around the waist and jerking her into his body, “and I’m tempted to take you into the bedroom for a quick, naked roll between the sheets.”

“Or on top of them.”

“Or on top of them,” he repeated, lowering his lips to her neck and devouring her skin.

“Ooh, I love that.”

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