Page 12 of Austen

“Shall I ask her to pick up some fresh lobster from the market?”

Did Austen like lobster?Maybe.“And some shrimp and mahi-mahi, just in case.”

“In case?”Jermaine raised an eyebrow.

Declan shrugged.“In case...I’m really hungry.”

Jermaine offered a slight nod, then headed back inside, down to the kitchen.

Declan glanced up at the bridge, where his captain, Teresa, a petite, no-nonsense Portuguese woman in her mid-thirties, helmed his ship.Her first mate, a Swede named Ivek who dwarfed her and had a quiet solidness about him, stood on deck, radio in his grip, directing the deckhands—two men and a woman—as they maneuvered the ship into one of the larger slips.The woman had also helped in the kitchen and worked as a cabin steward.She was new to the boat, but Declan left the staff hires to Ivek.

In his pocket, Declan’s phone buzzed.He pulled it out and then cupped his hand over the screen to read it.Couldn’t quite make it out, so he headed inside to the salon.

The cool air prickled his skin, the boat motor quietly humming through him as he left the chaos outside.He sank onto one of his white sofas.

An update from Zeus.

Zeus

Cargo acquired.Ships deployed.The game is on.

Declan shook his head, smiling as he sent a thumbs-up emoji.Okay, yes, it did feel like a clandestine operation.

A grand heist.Necessary, really, to keep the peace.

He pocketed his phone and headed back outside.They’d pulled alongside the outer docks jutting into deeper water, the deckhands busy securing the ropes to the dock cleats.

Ivek came over to him.“We’ll have the gangway out in a moment, sir.We’ll be ready to leave in about four hours.”

“Thanks.I’m not sure how long I’m staying.Can you ask Jermaine to contact the Jamesons and send a car?Ask them to meet me at the Half Shell.”

“Yes, sir,” Ivek said and moved away with his radio.

The voice of Declan’s former bodyguard raked through his head.“I think someone is after you, sir.”Words spoken in Barcelona after he’d been sideswiped by a scooter.Stein had suggested it wasn’t an accident but a woman after the contents of his cybersafe in the country of Montelena, a woman who needed his blood to create a bio key.

Crazy, but the theory contained enough what-if plausibility that Declan had moved the AI program to his own vault in Mariposa.And of course, the vault had been destroyed during the earthquake, so two months ago, he’d finally moved the hard-drive backup copy to his safe at his estate in Minnesota.

But that’s when Stein had gone missing and shown up shot, which had Declan a little unnerved as well.He’d airlifted his bodyguard to St.Kitts and then flown him home to Minnesota.

Maybe he should have replaced him, because Declan felt a little naked as he ventured down the gangway.On the island, and even in Minnesota, his security blanketed him from the sense of being watched, stalked.Whatever.Frankly, he’d thought Stein would return after he’d healed.But repeated texts and a couple phone calls had netted Declan zippo.As if he’d been ghosted.

Which felt even more weird because he’d sort of thought they were friends.He missed Stein’s good-natured ribbing, his quiet confidence, his stalwart presence.

Declan simply didn’t let people that close, really, so...

Aw,he hadn’t had any trouble in two months, so maybe he’d imagined whatever danger had stalked him, his brain igniting paranoia after his cell phone was stolen at the Kingston family wedding.Lost—not stolen.See?Paranoid.

But if a guy didn’t stay alert, trouble could sneak up on him.

He walked down the dock, let himself out of the gated entryway and onto the sidewalk, heading toward the Galleon Resort.He kept a room on hold here for exactly these purposes—well, notthesepurposes—but nostalgia had him keeping the place.

It had been one of his first investments, his first dip into the millionaire mindset.

He worked his way toward the Galleon, then walked through the lobby with its trophy fish on the walls, the beige tiles, the rattan furniture, and stopped at the front desk.A woman named Wanda greeted him.Blonde hair, pretty.

“I have a garage.Penthouse suite.”He was reaching for his ID when Henry came out of the back, his hand outstretched.

“Declan.I didn’t know you were stopping by.”A tall mid-fifties Dutchman, Henry had just about been ready to close shop after Hurricane Irma when Declan had seen the potential.

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