Clayton
About twenty minutes later, I pull into a narrow dirt road that leads to the marina.
This baby? Needs to be studied. Because she hasn't so much as stirred the whole time I've been driving. She's nestled snug against my chest, dreaming her baby dreams, oblivious to the shit show she's lucky to have escaped.
I'm haunted by the image of her father, the features of his face permanently seared into my subconscious. The anguish, the direness. There's no pain in this world like that of a parent fearing their child will be harmed. Or worse.
I know.
Dad has been a shell of the man he used to be ever since our oldest brother, Adam, died in a car accident. In a cruel twist of fate, Dad was on the road near the accident when it happened. He beat the first responders to the site. His first-born child died in his arms, and I honestly don't know if he'll ever recover.
Releasing a heavy breath, I turn my attention to the bumpy dirt track, keeping this little princess secure against me. Treeswere cleared to provide vehicular access, a few meters wide, but that's about it. Roots and stumps jut up beneath the tires and branches hang so close overhead I could touch them if I stood up.
Princess and I dip and heave as I slowly inch closer and closer to the marina. We arrive a few minutes later. She's still sound asleep as I open the door and carry her toward the small cabin I'm assuming is an office at the water's edge.
The view isbreathtaking.
The marina curls along a crescent of golden sand, where a row of palms lean toward the jade-green ocean. Behind the trees lies a dense tropical rainforest. The marina is smaller than it looked in the photos I've seen, consisting of clean lines of concrete and aluminum. Catamarans and fishing charters sway gently in their berths, their hulls gleaming under the molten afternoon light.
Paradise. Just what I need. But first, I have an urgent situation to deal with.
I haven't met the owner of the marina before, but I know of him. We acquired his luxury resort in Florida in a very aggressive deal. Thankfully, my younger brother, Dunlop, was able to smooth things over with him when he visited with Robbie a couple of years ago. I've emailed Leo a few times regarding the purchase of the marina berth, and he was professional and polite, so that's a good sign. His husband, Rove, is a retired Aussie action hero actor, which might bode less well for me. Little rusty on the old self-defense skills over here.
I step into the office and sigh with relief when both Leo and Rove are standing behind the counter. "Oh, thank God you're both here," I say. "I'm?—"
Rove pulls out a matte black snub-nosed revolver and aims it square at me. "Put the baby down on the groundgentlyand step away."
I know everyone's been complaining about customer service standards going to shit lately, but this is plain ridiculous. Maybe they're not as over the Florida acquisition as I'd hoped?
"Excuse me, what?"
"You heard him," Leo growls, and if the gun Rove is pointing at me isn't loaded for whatever reason, I'm pretty sure his glare would be enough to finish me off. "Put Mabel down."
"Mabel," I repeat the name to myself. It's unique, and it totally suits her.
"Now, motherfucker," Rove growls.
I glance up at the two men. This is starting to piss me off. Not moving, I tell them, "I'm Clayton Palmer. I bought a berth here. My superyacht was delivered from Italy two weeks ago. And I have no idea what the hell is going on."
Rove lowers the gun and exchanges a brief sideward glance with Leo. "And what exactly are you doing with Vaughn Elric's daughter?"
Vaughn. The guy's name is Vaughn. Unique and totally suits him, too.
"I was on my way here when I heard a gunshot. A few seconds later, some guy,Vaughn, is dropping Mabel into my lap, telling me to take her to you guys and keep her safe. Before I could ask him anything, there was another gunshot. He took off, and I came straight here."
"Shit, shit, shit." Leo presses his hands to his head. "It's happened."
Rove nods.
"What's going on? And would you mind?" I saucer-eye the gun.
"Sorry. Of course." Rove lowers the gun, locking it away in a drawer under the counter, and then both men step out toward me. "Is she hurt?"
"Not as far as I can tell, no. She's been sleeping the whole time, which I'm taking as a good sign."
Rove's eyes shift from Mabel to me a few times, and I suppose this is the point in proceedings where I hand the baby over.
So why am I hesitating?
