“You mean I can’t write a tell-all book and then sell the movie rights about Mr. Fitch’s last night of freedom?” She smiled to convey the intended humor, but James just tapped the signature line with a meaty finger.

“Sign right here, please.”

* * *

They parked at a marina on the west coast of the island, not far from the hotel. Letty walked between her escorts to the end of a long dock. Waited for several minutes while the men took in the mooring lines on a fifty-foot yacht. When they’d prepped the boat for departure, the driver climbed to the bridge. James offered Letty a hand and pulled her aboard. He led her up several steps and through a glass door into a salon.

The pure luxury stopped her in her tracks and took her breath away.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” James said, gesturing to a wraparound sofa.

Letty eased down onto the cool white vinyl.

“Would you care for a drink?” he asked.

She knew she shouldn’t, but she felt so jittery she figured just one wouldn’t hurt. Might even help to calm her down.

Letty peered around James at a wet bar stocked with strictly high-end booze.

“I see you’ve got Chopin,” she said.

“Rocks?”

“Yes.”

“With a twist?”

“No, thank you.”

James crossed the teak floor to the freezer and took out a bucket of ice. Letty leaned back into the cushion and crossed her legs. The engines grumbled to life deep inside the hull. At the bar, James scooped ice cubes into a rocks glass and poured. He brought her drink over with a napkin.

“Thank you, James.”

He unbuttoned his black jacket and sat down beside her.

She could feel the subtle rocking as the yacht taxied out into the marina.

There were windows everywhere, natural light streaming in through the glass. The view was of a colony of sailboat masts, the dwindling shoreline of Key West, and the sea.

Letty sipped her drink. The vodka was nearly flavorless in her mouth, with a slight peppery burn going down.

“That’s very good.” She set her glass on the coffee table.

“We need to have a conversation,” James said.

“Okay.”

“You’re aware of who your client is?”

“Mr. Estrada explained everything to me.”

“This is a very important night for Mr. Fitch.”

“I understand that.”

“And you’re here for one reason, Ms. Kitt. To make it as special and as memorable as it can possibly be.” Letty was nodding and trying to find a window to break eye contact. But James’s stare held her. She couldn’t help feeling they were the eyes of a cop. Hopefully an ex-cop. “There are a few topics of conversation that are off-limits,” he continued. “You are not to bring up the case against Mr. Fitch, his trial or his conviction in any way. You are not to discuss his sentence or anything relating to the prison term he’s facing.”

“Okay.”

“You will not discuss anything you’ve read in the papers or on the Internet. You will not discuss your view of his guilt or innocence.”

“I have no views. No opinions whatsoever.”

“Now I need you to stand up for a minute.”

“Why?”

“Just do it, please.”

Letty uncrossed her legs and stood.

James got up as well and faced her.

“Hold your arms out.”

“Are you frisking me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Mr. Fitch has received numerous death threats since the case against him was filed.”

“And you think I’m hiding something in this itty-bitty dress?”

“Hold your arms out horizontal to the floor.”

Letty did as she was told and stared out the window while James patted her down, his hands roving over every nook and cranny.

“Jesus, at least buy me dinner first.”

“All right, you can sit, but I will need to search your purse.”

Letty handed over the Louis Vuitton.

The yacht exited the marina. The engines roared to life as they throttled out into open water. She could feel the tension in her gut ratcheting up a notch. Having never learned to swim, being surrounded by water always made her uneasy.

She tried not to watch too intently as James opened the handbag. He removed the contents, one at a time, and lined them up on the coffee table.

Lipstick.

Mascara.

Package of Kleenex.

Hotel keycard.

He paused as he lifted out the mini spray bottle.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Letty’s heart stomped in her chest.

“Just what it says. Breath freshener.”

James held it up to the light and read the label. “Watermelon?”

“Try it, if you like.”

James let slip a tight smile and set the bottle on the table. Then he dumped out the remaining items—a condom, a mirror, brush, gum and two hair bands.

“You left your cell phone. Good.”

James held the interior of the handbag up to the window so the sunlight could strike the black textile lining.

After a moment of close inspection, he handed her the bag and said, “I apologize for the intrusion. We should be arriving in less than twenty minutes.”

James walked out of the salon. She heard him talking quietly into his cell phone.

Letty returned everything to her purse and settled back into the sofa with her glass. She sipped her drink and turned her thoughts to this man she would be spending the coming hours with. From everything she’d read, including the verdict forms, Fitch was a monster. His conspiracy and fraud had resulted in the bankruptcy of PowerTech. Fifteen thousand employees had lost their jobs. Many had lost their life savings. Investors in PowerTech had lost billions.

Throughout his prosecution, Fitch had maintained that he just wanted the chance to tell his story. But at crunch time on the witness stand, he’d invoked the Fifth Amendment to avoid self-incrimination.

The yacht hummed along at forty knots, skimming the water like a blade across ice.

Key West was nothing but a blurred line of green on the horizon.

Out here, there was nothing but the sea, in all its varying hues of blue and jade. Its surface sparkled. The horizon was sprinkled with tiny islands. The sky shone a deep, cloudless blue. It was early evening. They cruised straight into a red and watery sun.

Letty could feel the vodka buzz coming on like a soft warmth behind her eyes. A numbness in her legs. For a fleeting second, everything seemed so impossibly surreal.

This yacht.

This thing she was about to do.

This life she lived.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The sea in the vicinity of Fitch’s island was shallow. His dock extended seventy-five yards out from the shore into water deep enough to berth a boat.

Letty followed James out of the salon onto the stern.

A tall thin man stood on the last plank of the dock. He was throwing squid into the sea, his gray hair blowing in the breeze. He wore a white, long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned to his sternum. White Dockers. Leather sandals. He was darkly tanned. He finished rinsing off his hands under a faucet mounted to the end of the wharf and dried them with a towel as Letty approached. Reaching down, he gave her a hand up onto the dock. He was even taller than she’d first thought. Six-two. Maybe six-three. He smelled of an exotic cologne—sandalwood, spice, jasmine, lime, money.

The man still hadn’t let go of her hand. His fingers were cool and moist, as soft as silk.

“Welcome to Sunset Key, Selena. Please call me Johnny.”

She could hear Texas in his voice, but it wasn’t overbearing. Houston drawl by way of an Ivy League education. She stared up into his face. Smooth-shaven. No glasses. Perfect teeth. He didn’t look sixty-six years old.

“It’s beautiful here, Johnny,” she said.

“I like to think so. But it pales in comparison to you. They broke the mold.”

Letty’s eyes riveted on what he’d been feeding—gray fins slicing through the water.