“No, Mr. Conchello, and I looked everywhere. I was—”
“Stop!” Conchello barked, then took a breath and thought back to the night Dan was taken in.
His police informer had told him the cops didn’t search the room.
So where was the cash?
David Clark!
He’d been there.
He could have found the money after Dan had been apprehended. The former DEA agent was sharp, the type who would look for a tracker, and he was missing. Sonny’s blood boiled hotter.
“Go on, Ewen,” he growled, focusing back on him and hoping he might have more answers. “What happened next?”
“One minute I was alone, then some bloke had me on the floor in a fucking headlock threatening to break my bloody neck. I’ve never met a fella so damn strong and fast. He tied my hands behind my back, then put the money and the coke in my bag and hustled me out of there into an SUV. He held a flask of whisky to my mouth, I took a drink, and it knocked me out. When I woke up I was on the floor in a hell hole room.”
“What did he want?”
“Information about you, boss, but he’d just started questioning me when he got a call and left.”
“So how the fuck did you get away?”
“I started yelling that I needed to take a piss, but it was another guy who took me to the loo. I asked him to unzip me and pull me out. The idiot got mad, but it worked and he took off my handcuffs. I jumped him and we had a helluva fight, but he finally went down and I bolted. But, boss, the bloke who took me said he knew I worked for you. He wanted to know which island you’re operating from. I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. That’s when he got the call and left.”
“How did you get here?”
“The house was up a hill and I just kept running downwards. Thank God I ended up at Red Hook where I’d docked. I managed to get back here to St. John, but when I got in my car I had to wait a while before I could drive. I thought I was going to pass out.”
“What happened to your phone?”
“I don’t know. I guess they must have taken it.”
“It’s encrypted, but I’ll give you a burner. Call it and delete everything anyway. What else?”
“That’s the whole story, boss.”
“You need to stay in this house for a while. Rosemary will take care of you.”
“Thanks, boss.”
“We’ll speak later.”
* * *
Watching Conchello march from the bathroom and slam the door behind him, the rough, tough Aussie dropped his head into his hands. Every second of the conversation had been petrifying.
He had agreed to cooperate with his interrogators, but they’d told him the only way to make his escape convincing was to arrive back at Conchello’s battered and bloody. Ewen had reluctantly agreed, though he knew he’d still have to put on an act worthy of an Oscar.
After one of his abductors had delivered the beating, he’d handed Ewen a burner phone and a transmitter disguised as a pen, telling him to check in often, and promising to come to his aid if things went south.
The items were bundled up in the dirty clothes lying next to him on the floor. Rosemary had wanted to take them straight to the laundry, but Ewen had told her to fetch the boss immediately. There was nowhere to hide them in the small bathroom, and if Sonny had picked up the clothes he would have found them.
Indescribable torture would have followed.
The whole episode had been excruciating.
But living as a traitor under Conchello’s roof, Ewen feared the terrifying moment would only be the first of many.
* * *
Back at the small house on St. Thomas, Scott was pleased with how things were developing.
With Jack at his side, David Clark had studied the encampment images provided by the drones. Using the overhead pictures in conjunction with maps, he was able to pinpoint the location of the surveillance cameras, and where the booby traps had been set.
Ewen MacDonald had buckled quickly. Admitting he loathed working for Conchello and was eager to escape the drug lord’s rule, he’d offered to collaborate. But Jim Parker sobbed uncontrollably every time Scott tried to question him. Pacing back and forth in the kitchen as Elizabeth sat at the table drinking coffee, Scott was voicing his frustration.
“I don’t know if it’s an act, or he really is suffering from a nervous breakdown,” Scott said angrily. “I’ve interviewed hundreds of suspects, and I’ve seen plenty of tears, but nothing like this.”
“Scott, why won’t you let me talk to him? I’m sure I can get him to open up.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“Why? Where’s the downside?” she argued. “He’s handcuffed and scared to death. He can’t hurt me, and he wouldn’t even if he could.”
“I’ve seen men do a whole lot of damage handcuffed and scared to death,” Scott said solemnly. “Like I said, it’s a bad idea.”
“But he cares about me.”
“Yeah, sure he does, that’s why he let you work undercover with a murderous bastard,” Scott retorted sarcastically, “and I bet that slap you landed really touched his heart! If I’d known you were going to land a wallop like that I wouldn’t have let you do it.”
“Okay, I admit I got a bit carried away, but can you blame me?”
“No, and that illustrates my point. If you weren’t able to hold back then, what will happen if he won’t talk? And what about him? He’s already a basket case. You could make him worse.”
“Forgive me for saying this, but you’re not getting a word out of him, and he’s falling apart,” she exclaimed, standing up from the table. “How much worse could it be?”
“I don’t want to find out!”
Taking a breath and walking slowly over to him, she slid her arms around his neck.
“Scott,” she began softly. “I’m a trained DEA agent. I know how to interview
