them. “Ready to go,” he calls, motioning out to the water.
The deep chug of a boat rumbles in the distance, slowly appearing around a rocky section of the bay. “You have to be kidding me.” I say as the logo splattered down the side of the boat comes into view. “Miami Cruises?”
“You get a free trip.” Volodya’s Russian accent from behind tears my eyes away from the water, and I turn, finding him leaning on the open door of his Rolls Royce.
“What happened to the eighteen-wheeler?”
“It’s a bit conspicuous. There’s nothing strange about a tour boat loaded with jet skis.”
“Very creative,” I say, strolling over to him and accepting his extended hand.
“We’re branching out into water sports.” He motions to the jet ski still on the arms of the forklift. “Hope you don’t mind a bit of competition.”
“Sure I’ll cope. All this will be a lot easier when we’re operating from Byron’s Reach.”
“Hurry up that day.” Volodya strides across to the forklift and runs a palm down the side of the Sea-Doo. “Beautiful machine. I bet some fun can be had on one of these things.”
“Not that one, since it’s a shell.”
Volodya laughs. “How have you been, Danny? I hear the grim reaper is out to get you.”
“I am the grim reaper, Volodya,” I retort, reaching into my pocket when my phone rings. Spittle’s name on the screen rattles me, and I slam my thumb down on the accept button. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” I hiss, wandering away from Volodya .
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been trying to fucking call you all day, Danny. The FBI and half the MPD are currently heading your way. I’d say you have ten minutes tops.”
My eyes immediately start scanning the area. “What?”
“Ten minutes, if you’re lucky.”
“Fuck.” I hang up and find Brad. “Code fucking red,” I grate. “Volodya, turn your boat around and get the fuck out of here.”
“What’s going on?” he asks, watching as I march down the dock to the forklift.
“Company is on the way. There’s a hidden track halfway down the lane that’ll take you onto the main highway. Find it.”
He doesn’t hang around to get details, going straight to his mobile and calling in a mission abort before rushing to his car. “Fuck’s sake, Black,” he spits, his Rolls Royce wheel spinning away, kicking up the gravel and dirt. The forklift screams its way back to the container as my men all work urgently to get it closed up. I pelt toward the shack, grabbing the first wetsuit I can find and getting myself into it. I hear the men land in the café, hear the tops of beer bottles being popped off and a pack of cards being shuffled. I fly into the workshop . . . and skid to a stop when I see the charred remains of my Sea-Doo. “Fuck,” I curse, heading back into the store. “Brad, give me a hand.”
He’s with me in a second, taking the front of the Yamaha jet ski nearest the doors. “Lift,” he grunts, going red in the face. “Fuck, where’s the trailer?”
“No time.” I shuffle toward him as he shuffles back, his eyes looking like they could pop out his head. “Come on, you fanny,” I tease.
“Go fuck yourself.”
We manage to get it down to the shore just before the sound of sirens drown the air. And then we both turn and take in the invasion of unmarked cars coming at us from all directions. “What a surprise,” I say quietly, wading into the water and tugging the Yamaha in. I recognize the suited prick walking toward me as one of Spittle’s colleagues, Harold Higham. He has resting smug face. “All this for me?” I ask, climbing onto the seat of my jet ski.
“You won’t mind if we have a look around,” he says, casting his beady eyes around the open space, his men doing the same.
“You can do what you like.” I’m polite. It’s sickening. “With a warrant.”
“Of course.” Higham drags a piece of paper from his inside pocket and waves it in the air.
My coolness waivers for a split second. “And what are you looking for?”
“We’ll see, I guess.”
Translated: I haven’t got a fucking clue. I grit my teeth and get back into the water, wading my way back to the shore. “Will this take long? I was looking forward to my evening ride on the water.”
Higham’s shrewd stare is pinned on me, his jaw ticking. “You think you’re so fucking smart,