to Collins Island.”
“Thanks, Ike.” Jack crossed his arms to observe the ferry staff prepare for the next trip. “Everything go okay this morning?”
Ike shrugged. “We seldom have any glitches, sir.”
Jack winced at constantly being called sir. He was maybe five or six years older than this guy, but understood it was a matter of respect. “You can call me Jack.”
“Yes, sir.”
So much for informality. “I need to talk to the guards on the other side,” he told Ike.
“Of course, sir.”
Ike removed a walkie-talkie from his belt, contacted the Miami guards, who responded in seconds, and handed the device to Jack. Viewing the distant guardhouse across the channel, a shipping lane also used by enormous cruise ships, Jack explained about the new tenant and approved her to board the ferry.
“Make sure you call the office when Ms. Clark shows. Leave word for the next shift if you go off duty before she arrives.”
Confident his instructions would be followed, Jack returned to his cart. He sat for a moment, watching the ferry depart, wondering what the mistress looked like and when Mr. Santaluce would arrive. A clandestine love affair on an island this small would be hard to hide. A lot of people could be hurt. Jack’s thoughts drifted to his momma—which trashed his relaxed good mood.
His divorced momma didn’t believe in the sanctity of marriage vows either, but her lover, a north Florida sheriff and his old boss, was nowhere near Collins Island rich. Did that make her indiscretions worse or better? He could hear Momma’s voice as she explained her lies, I’m in love, Jack. You don’t understand. You’ve never been in love.
Considering what a fool Momma had made of herself over Chuck Wheeler, he seriously hoped he never fell in love. Who needed that shit?
* * *
CLAUDIA DRUMMED HER fingers on her steering wheel as the Collins Island ferry chugged across the narrow channel. Her windows were down, and a stiff ocean breeze flowed into the car, cooling her flushed face. She wished she could stand at the railing, but didn’t dare. Too exposed.
She focused on the dock, watching it get closer and closer. Almost there. I’ve made it this far. I should be okay.
Similar self-pep talks had helped her through each step of the journey. She’d checked in and out of a fleabag motel without getting blown to bits. She’d made it to the bank vault to retrieve her fake IDs and the Glock, and emerged still breathing. She’d even managed to purchase new clothes in a mall she never frequented. That was the most nerve-racking but couldn’t be helped because she’d left everything behind in her trashed apartment in case they’d put a tracking device somewhere. Better to be safe.
And she’d made it out of the grocery store without a hitch. Could Carlos’s people hack into her credit card records? Probably, but she didn’t have to touch her maxed-out cards again. Once she got to this island with its legendary security, there was no way anyone could get to her.
She’d crammed her car with enough groceries to last until Carlos’s trial. She would have loved to obtain a new vehicle, but lack of time and funds made that impossible.
She’d be fine as long as she kept out of sight and remembered her new name. It’d been three days, and so far she’d stayed beneath their radar.
The last and most difficult step was boarding this ferry. It was a wonder she hadn’t stroked out while the security guard checked for her name on his list. He’d frowned at her rusted twenty-year-old vehicle, scrutinized her fake driver’s license, then looked at her face for so long she thought he was trying to memorize her features. His gaze had shifted back to the license, then the car again to check out all the bags in the backseat.
Finally, his jaw clenched in obvious disapproval, he scanned the license with a small device, made a note on his clipboard and motioned her aboard.
She closed her eyes, remembering her near panic. God, what would she have done? Accept the US Attorney’s offer of a safe house? No way. Carlos had bragged that he’d bribed an employee, so that was a sure death sentence.
Her ex had taught her to trust no one. The attorney she’d been working with on her testimony would worry when he couldn’t contact her, but she wanted her trail ice-cold. She’d reach out to him later.
She felt a gentle bump and opened her eyes. Relief swamped her. They’d reached the other side. She was safe.
The car in front of hers, a bright red sporty Mercedes, started its motor. Claudia turned her key to do the same and heard nothing but an empty click.
Please, not now. Not when I’m almost there.
She tried the key again, but still nothing. Of course her devil car had chosen this exact moment to quit working.
The Mercedes proceeded down the ramp, and a ponytailed, brown-haired female ferry attendant motioned for Claudia to follow. With a sigh, she popped her hood and exited the car.
“What’s wrong, ma’am?” the attendant asked politely.
“My battery is dead,” Claudia replied.
The attendant, whose name tag read Julie, frowned. “Okay. Let me get the rest of the vehicles off and we’ll see what we can do.”
Speaking into a walkie-talkie in one hand, with the other Julie motioned for the next line of vehicles to exit the ferry.
Uneasy in the open, Claudia searched the Collins Island dock and beyond where attendants sprayed water over arriving vehicles to wash off salt residue.
No one should have her in their sights from that direction. Was she too far from the mainland for a clean shot? She glanced back across the channel. Maybe not.
As vehicles circumvented her and drove away, she moved to the front of her car, seeking the protection of the open hood.
Julie, accompanied by two male attendants, hustled toward her. Claudia flinched when one of the males slammed the hood with a loud bang.
“We’re going to push you,” Julie said. “Put the transmission in Neutral and steer off the ramp.”
When her vehicle’s wheels rolled off the ferry and onto Collins Island, Claudia offered a silent prayer and tried her ignition again. Please, please. Still just a sad click. She pounded on the dash.
Wishing she could make herself invisible—hey, if she could arrange for superpowers, why not just fly to Mr. Santaluce’s villa—Claudia climbed out of her car just as a tall, ruggedly handsome man in a blue blazer arrived.
She looked up into piercing green eyes, noticed sun-streaked light brown hair and for a moment forgot where she was.
She tried to speak, to say hello and explain, ask for help, but had to swallow to moisten her throat.
She’d had this instant, gut-churning reaction to a male once before in her life, but those eyes had been an unfathomable, brooding brown, not a lively green. She’d been foolish enough to marry that man, and he’d nearly destroyed her.
And he might still.
JACK EVALUATED THE stranded woman with the rusted heap of a car and arranged his expression into a mask of professional concern. This fresh-faced young woman without a speck of makeup around sky-blue eyes was a rich man’s mistress? Pretty, yes, no question, but more wholesome than seductive.
She’d pulled back her long dark hair in a casual ponytail. Hardly glamorous. She wore loose-fitting shorts and a short-sleeve blouse that revealed no cleavage from her generous breasts. No flashy jewelry; just tiny gold ear hoops.
Louise Clark was not what he’d expected.
“Ms.