The Wrong Gentleman(23)

“Let me take your nightmares. Have only sweet dreams,” he whispered before turning and disappearing into his cabin.

Landon couldn’t take my nightmares away. I’d lived them. And I had no intention of going back. Keeping my expectations low and men off my agenda was the best way I knew of keeping my dreams as sweet as possible.





Thirteen





Landon


The squawk of the seagulls overhead was louder onshore than back on the yacht, and without the breeze the temperature had notched up a couple of degrees. Twenty-four-hour shore leave pulled me back to the beginning of my army career. We’d rock up at the local bar, drink until we were sick, and take home the nearest warm, female body. That was what had passed for fun back in those days. My nights out now were slightly more sophisticated, the booze more expensive, and the women . . .

My thoughts flashed back to Skylar as I made my way up the hill to make my call. It was clear that she was good at her job from the outset but the news about the additional guest had seen her switch into a different gear—organizing the interior, discussing options with Chef, and even directing Peter about what his team should expect without him realizing it. She was hard working, good at what she did, and charming with it. After helping her clear up the other night, I’d wanted to kiss her. I’d stopped myself—I knew better than that. But I found myself gravitating toward Skylar in a way that was unexpected.

I found a café, went inside, and found a table in the corner. Reynolds had been happy for me to send what info I had over the Wi-Fi on the yacht, but it wasn’t my style. This might just be an information-gathering job but that was still no excuse to leave such an obvious trail of breadcrumbs. Walt might come across as a harmless, charming businessman but he was anything but, or I wouldn’t be on the job. He hadn’t gotten rich by being stupid. Who knew what kind of security and surveillance he had in place, so I was going to take precautions. I’d agreed to call Reynolds with time-critical information like the new guest who had arrived, but photographs and more detail would have to be transferred ashore.

I sat, ordered a plain black coffee, and pulled out the burner phone Reynolds had given me, took out the sim, and began downloading the photographs I’d taken. I’d gotten good images of everyone on board, including the business associate who’d arrived last night.

I swapped the sim in the phone. I’d brought a couple of dozen with me, storing them in the lining of my toiletry bag.

I typed out an email detailing the few comings and goings there had been, the snippets of conversation I’d overheard, and attached the photographs then quickly logged off and dialed Reynolds’ number as my coffee arrived.

“Just got your email,” he answered.

“How did you know it was me calling?”

“Because I didn’t recognize the number, and you’re a thorough, paranoid fucker, hence the change in number.”

“Maybe I better change up my game,” I said.

“How’s life on the ocean waves?”

“Different to the army. These guys sure know how to spend some money.”

“Where are you?”

“Some café.”

“Itinerraire?”

I glanced at the menu that confirmed Reynolds’ guess at my location. So the new guest I’d told him about must be interesting enough to take a trip from London. “I think you know the answer to that.”

I glanced up and saw Reynolds on the other side of the glass door, scanning the tables, presumably looking for me. He spotted me and headed my way.

“So, when did you get in?” I asked.

“This morning.”

“The new guy on board made a trip worthwhile?”

He nodded. “An intermediary, but still.”

There was no way a member of any terrorist organization was going to rock up to a yacht in Cannes. A go-between would be as good as it got and potentially as dangerous for the crew. People terrorists trusted weren’t the kind of people you wanted moving in next door to your parents.

Skylar was back on the yacht. And August. And the rest of the civilian crew.

“Is the additional guest still on board?”

“As far as I know. I heard the interior crew members talking about dinner for six tonight, so that suggests he’s there for another night. No one’s been told how long he’s staying. The chef was complaining about it this morning.”

Reynolds nodded.

“I have quite a lot of access on the boat. I could do a search of the target’s room. Or even the new guest’s room.”

Reynolds winced. “Not at the moment. Things are too . . .”

“Don’t you want to maximize your asset? You know I’m more than capable of getting this stuff.”

“The stakes are too high, mate,” Reynolds said. “Our client doesn’t want to blow it at this stage. We’re too close.”

“I won’t blow it.”

“I know that, but my client doesn’t know you. The new guest may well have his own security measures. He’s used to being a target of surveillance.”

“I know but this isn’t my first rodeo, and—”

“I get it. But all I’m saying is . . . I have to tell you what the client wants. They are going to have their own people onshore, and they think they can get what they need that way. You and I both know you’re in prime position, but my hands are tied. I can’t sanction a search of any cabin.”