When the word got out that it was on the market again, organizations around the world rushed to get their hands on it. Which is why keeping it safe is my top priority. I trust very few people with such a weapon. Request after request to sell it to the people I don’t want to sell it to keep pouring in. Every refusal creates an enemy.
Even the people I used to call business friends are turning on me. They’re doing so because they’re under pressure from their governments to secure this weapon.
Hence, I can’t trust any of them. I could trust my sister and Miro, but they abandoned me. Fine. I don’t need them.
Over on his end, Mr. Bono enters a new number on the spreadsheet and highlights a name. It’s a coded name resembling a bank account, of course. It’s not like we can write out the full name of a prime minister of a country that wants to buy a nuke on the dark web.
The PM is offering to sell me his share of the country, which, if I accepted and overthrew the current ruler, I could own. A dangling carrot. A dangerous dangling carrot.Lord, deliver me from temptation. Amen.
Say no, Alessio. Say no.
I type anowith the understanding that my refusal to sell to this particular man will cause a major rift in the power structure of the world.
Which is why I dial the weapon’s handler and say, “We need to move Margaret to location G.”
“Yes, sir.”
Excellent. “Let me know whenshe’ssecured.”
EIGHTEEN
THE ISLAND LORD
Lake
Both Justin and Falen Rams have gray hair and green eyes. They’re a chipper couple who’ve been married for forty years. After Leo and I helped them sort out the details about the ferry, they insisted on taking us to lunch. They find Leo adorable and well-mannered, but criticize him for eating only two bites of his chicken fingers before going onto the sand with his model airplane.
I face the beach and watch Leo while the couple and I talk about travel, their retirement lifestyle, and even touch on politics, but quickly find me a poor conversationalist on that subject. We’re saved from uncomfortable silence when our server returns Mr. Rams’s credit card, informing us the lunch has been comped.
“Oh,” Justin Rams exclaims, his delight evident. “How nice. Thank you, but can I ask why it was comped?”
Our server, a young woman wearing a teal bathing-suit top and cream linen pants, tucks a strand of stray dark hair behind her ear. With light makeup on, she appears elegant even while working all day.
“It’s on Mr. Angelini’s tab,” she says.
I sit up and look around. “He’s here?”
“No, no, he called.” She makes a hand gesture with her thumb up and pinky out near her ear, mimicking a phone.
“He called and comped our food?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “He said to watch over you. We are watching, and since he called, it’s on his tab.”
I don’t want to be watched. Not when I escaped him so that the people who are making me spy on him can approach without him finding out. Wait, how does he know we’re here? I look around and spot a pair of cops on one side of the bar. There’s another police officer sitting at the table behind us.
“Please tell Mr. Angelini thank you for us,” Mrs. Rams tell the waitress.
Alessio sent the cops after me and Leo. No doubt. After seeing that map of Val’s whereabouts and not being able to leave the house without him unlocking the front door, it’s clear he enjoys control.
Now that I’m aware I’m being followed, I look around and count a total of seven cops. That’s just within my eyesight. With this many police in the area, I doubt the sadists will approach me. It looks like a stakeout. The sadists might think I summoned the cops to our rendezvous!
Oh my God. Now I’m freaked out that today will end up like one of those movies where the perps arrange a meeting with their victims, but the cops get involved, the perp finds out, feels betrayed, and hurts whoever they’re holding captive.
My heart’s pounding.
Cold sweat accumulates on my brow.
“Lake, are you okay?” Justin Rams asks while his wife looks at me with a concerned expression.
