Page 60 of They All Own Me

I adjust my binoculars,tracking Thomas as he struts across the sandy beach like he owns it. The humid air sticks to my skin as I lean against the hostel's rickety balcony railing.

"Look at this douchebag," I mutter to Dom. "His wife's supposedly missing and he's here living it up in fucking paradise."

Dom settles into the chair beside me, unpacking our surveillance equipment. "That's because he doesn't give a fuck unless its money or hookers."

Through my lens, I watch Thomas order what's probably an overpriced cocktail from a bikini-clad server. "You'd think he'd at least pretend to be concerned. Keep up appearances."

"He's too arrogant for that." Dom connects wires to a small monitor. "Thinks he's untouchable."

The senator lounges by the pool in designer swim trunks, typing away on his phone. I zoom in closer. "Got his room key card visible. Suite 1242."

"Perfect. We'll bug it tonight when he goes to dinner."

I lower the binoculars and scan our shabby surroundings – peeling paint, rusty fixtures, questionable stains on the walls. "Quite the contrast from his five-star digs."

"Better vantage point though." Dom points to Thomas's balcony directly across from us. "Clear line of sight."

"True." I grab a bottle of water, the warm liquid doing little to combat the oppressive heat. "How long you think before he makes contact with his associates?"

"Won't be long. He's not here for the amenities." Dom checks his watch. "We just need to be patient."

I nod, settling in for another long surveillance shift. At least the view isn't terrible – crystal blue waters stretching to the horizon, palm trees swaying in the breeze. Could be worse places to stake out a corrupt senator.

I lean back in my chair, running a hand over my tattooed scalp while watching Thomas schmooze with what appears to be Asian businessmen through my binoculars. "Dom, you seeing this?"

"Yeah." Dom adjusts his own surveillance equipment. "Looks like our intel was right. He's playing both sides."

"Fucking amateur." I set the binoculars down with more force than necessary. "This is exactly why I told Esteban working with politicians was a bad idea. They get greedy, start thinking they're smarter than they are."

Dom pulls out his phone, snapping photos. "Think these guys are Yakuza?"

"Triad more likely, based on what our contacts said." I grab my water bottle, wishing it was something stronger. "Either way, this complicates things. We don't need an international incident."

"No shit." Dom lowers his camera. "We should call Esteban, tell him we need to get him money quick and to cut ties now before this blows up in all our faces."

He heads off in the direction of the bedroom to call Esteban.

"Your days are numbered Mr. Cope," I say with a smug grin. "Soon your oasis will be a 6 by 6 cement cell, not a coastal paradise.

Two hours later, and a bottle down, I pour another shot of whiskey, watching through our surveillance setup as some bleach-blonde in a dress that barely covers her ass stumbles into Thomas's suite. Dom raises his eyebrows at me over his own glass.

"What's that make - third one tonight?" I ask, my Irish accent thickening with the alcohol.

"Fourth." He says as he adjusts the audio. "Two escorts, one waitress, and now whatever this one is."

"I mean, you've seen Tatum," Dom adds, refilling our glasses. "Why the hell would he need all these cheap thrills when he's got her at home?"

"Because he's a fuckin' idiot." I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs. "She cooks, cleans, takes care of that whole house by herself…"

"Not to mention she's gorgeous."

"Exactly." I gesture at the monitor where Thomas is now pawing at his latest conquest. "Meanwhile this arsehole's slumming it with whatever walks by."

Dom shakes his head. "Some men don't know what they have until it's gone."

"In this case, he doesn't even care that it's gone." I drain my glass. "Bastard hasn't shed a real tear over her being 'kidnapped.' Just using it for publicity."

"And a chance to party without her around to witness it."

---