“Prince of a man.”

James patted his lapel pocket. “I’ve got his note right here.”

“That’s a pretty story,” Letty said. “And you’re a world-class con man.”

“Call my bluff. Put that gun away and see. I’ve got a lot of work to do before the sun comes up.”

“I’m thinking if I put this gun down, you’ll do one of two things. Shoot me straightaway and bury me on this island. Or take me out into some deep water. Dispose of me there.”

“I can certainly understand you thinking the worst. All things considered.”

“So then, how can you honestly believe I’d ever put this gun down with you still breathing?”

“Because when you think it through, you’ll see there’s no other way. Maybe I’m lying. You’ve got three rounds left in that Taurus. You’d kill me. No doubt. If you got really lucky, you might kill one of my other men. But the third? And the fourth? They’d take you down. And you know this. The thing is, if you shoot me, you’ll never find out if I’m lying or telling the truth. ’Cause you’ll be dead. In fact, I don’t want to alarm you, I don’t want you to make any sudden moves, but there’s a man standing on the deck right behind you. He’s pointing a three-fifty-seven at your head through one of the panes of glass. And he could’ve fired sixty seconds ago.”

Letty exhaled a long, slow breath.

She hadn’t heard any footsteps on the other side of the french doors.

It was a smart play on James’s part. Get her to turn her head. Distract her just long enough to raise his weapon and fire.

James was smiling now.

Letty’s palms were sweating so badly the grip of the revolver was dripping.

“So what do you say, Letty? Doesn’t some part of you want to know if I’m actually this good of a liar?”

“Not really.”

She squeezed back the hammer.

The moment her finger touched the trigger, there was the sound of wood splintering and glass breaking behind her.

The gun fired as someone crashed into her back with devastating force.

She went down hard, crushed under the weight of a man with foie gras on his breath. Footsteps raced down the hallway, the other men pouring into Fitch’s bedroom.

She struggled, but it was no use. He had her pinned to the hardwood floor and the gun lay just out of reach.

The man on top of her said, “James, you hit?”

“Just a graze across my shoulder. Damn if that wasn’t close though.”

Letty’s eyes welled up as she felt him jerk her wrists behind her back and bind them together with a Zip Tie.

“Quit fighting me, sweetheart,” the man whispered into Letty’s ear. “It’s over. You’re done.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The noise of the powerboat engines was deafening.

Letty’s hair whipped across her face, but she couldn’t brush it away, with her hands still bound behind her back. James was at the controls, and she sat in the bucket seat behind him, next to the man who’d taken her down. He was the oldest of Fitch’s security crew. Forty-five or fifty with shoulder-length hair the color of dishwater.

The sun wasn’t up yet, but the first light of dawn had begun to color the eastern sky.

She shivered. She could feel goosebumps rise on her bare arms.

Waiting for the engines to go silent.

Dreading it.

Of all the ways to die, considering her past, she feared drowning more than anything. Would they tie something around her to weigh her down? Then just throw her over the side?

She would beg for a bullet when the time came.

And if they don’t oblige you?

They would have to. She’d do whatever it took. She couldn’t allow herself to be tossed overboard while still alive. Couldn’t spend her last three minutes sinking into the cool, dark sea. Fighting that terrible thirst for oxygen as it swelled up inside her lungs. Meeting the same death her daddy had almost given her.

The panic grew.

She could feel herself beginning to come apart at the seams.

And then…

Lights shone in the distance.

* * *

James throttled down as they approached the marina.

He guided the boat into an open slip and killed the engines.

He got up and faced Letty.

“Stand up,” he told her.

She stood.

The man beside her pulled out a folding knife and cut her wrists free.

James reached to the copilot seat and grabbed a wad of clothes. He handed them to Letty.

“You’re letting me go,” she said.

James nodded.

“But you let me believe you were going to—”

“You tried to kill me, Ms. Dobesh. My shoulder is still burning. If I were you, I would put those clothes on right now and get the hell out of my boat.”

* * *

Letty moved through the lobby of the La Concha Hotel. Despite the wreck she must have looked, the concierge still smiled and nodded as she stumbled past.

She wasn’t drunk anymore. Just tired to the point that nothing seemed real. Not the planted palm trees or the chandeliers. Not the eerie quiet of 5:00 am. Not even her own reflection in the elevator doors as she rode up to her room.

She drifted down the corridor like a vagabond. Old pair of flip-flops. Boxer shorts. A Jimmy Buffett T-shirt from Fitch’s closet that had faded into oblivion. She couldn’t even think about the last ten hours. They were beyond processing.

Morning was almost here.

She had no money, no idea how she would get back to the mainland.

But one thought kept needling her.

Javier.

The strangest thing was that his betrayal didn’t just make her angry. It hurt her too. It wasn’t like he was a friend. She couldn’t believe that Jav was even remotely capable of experiencing the feelings it required to maintain a friendship.

And yet…it hurt.

They had worked together two times before. Both had been successful. So why had he done this to her?

She shoved her keycard four times into the slot before the light on the door blinked green.

Because he’s a psychopath, Letty. He had a need. You filled it. End of story.

She kicked off the flip-flops and staggered toward the bed.

Smelled his exotic cologne a half second before she noticed Javier sitting at the small table by the window.

She brought her hand to her mouth.

The door whisked closed behind her.

In a night of being chased and shot at, none of those horrors could touch the sheer terror of seeing Javier Estrada sitting like a demon in her hotel room.

She stood frozen, wondering if she could get out the door before he stopped her.

“You wouldn’t make it,” he said. “Please.” He motioned to the bed. “I’m sure you’re very tired.”

Letty sat down on the edge of the mattress and put her face in her hands.

She said, “Oh god.”

So many times tonight, she had thought she was going to die and didn’t.

Now this.

After everything.

It was too much.

“What do you want to ask me?” he said.

She made no response.

“Nothing? How about…am I surprised that you are not dead?”

“You son of a bitch.” She muttered it under her breath.

“Ask me,” he said.

She glared over at him. “Are you surprised I’m not dead?”

“I am not,” he said.

“Good for you.” Her eyes were filling up with tears. “Good. For. You. Why didn’t you just let Fitch’s men kill me? Wanted to clean up this last little detail yourself?”

“I like you, Letty.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re deranged?”

Javier opened a laptop sitting on the table beside a Slimline Glock.

He said, “You may choose to believe I betrayed you. I don’t see it that way.”

“Really.”

He began typing, still watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“There were reasons I couldn’t tell you the true nature of the job. It partly had to do with promises I made to our client, Mr. Fitch. But some of it just came down to my faith in you.” He stared at her. “Two times before this, we worked together. I’ve seen you in action. Simply put, you’re a survivor. I believed you would survive tonight.”