The Power Trip

Then he’d remembered the sickening photos someone had sent him of Sierra: in one of them she was in a compromising position with Hammond. Jesus Christ.

He’d burned the photos. Obliterated them.

Now here he was, stuck on a yacht in the middle of the Sea of Cortez. And what he had to do was come up with a clever excuse to get himself off the boat.

Xuan was in the shower. She emerged with wet hair and a towel tied around her petite body, sarong- style.

‘You hungry?’ he asked.

‘I could be.’

‘Get dressed and we’ll go for breakfast.’

‘You don’t have to wait for me.’

‘That’s okay,’ he said restlessly, willing to hang out until she was ready.

He was not prepared to risk a further one-on-one conversation with Sierra. And he certainly didn’t want to run into Hammond. They’d barely spoken. A brief ‘How are you?’ and that was it.

The thought of Hammond being in a position to attempt to make a run for the highest office in the land was the biggest joke of all time. How the hell had that happened?

‘Turn your back while I dress,’ Xuan instructed.

He did as she asked, and started working on an excuse to get off the yacht.

* * *

Hammond hit the breakfast deck, and immediately sat himself down next to Lori.

‘You look very fresh this morning, my dear,’ he said. ‘All ready for a day of sunning?’

‘I get too many freckles when I sunbathe,’ she explained.

‘Nothing wrong with a freckle or two,’ Hammond said with a jovial chuckle and a quick peek at her breasts, perky in a pristine white T-shirt with no bra. He could see her nipples.

Man, Lori thought. This is like the song ‘It’s Raining Men’. And they’re all wildly attractive. And I’m the only single woman on the boat apart from the Asian, and she’s no competition. Too serious. And short. I am about to have major fun. And a little light flirting for Cliff to observe might even change his mind about dumping me.

‘I guess us ladies can go topless when we lie out to sunbathe,’ Lori said, addressing the table, knowing full well that there was no way Ashley would like that.

‘I don’t think so,’ Ashley responded as expected.

‘Why not?’ Lori said, pushing it.

‘Isn’t that a decision best left to our hostess?’ Ashley said, her tone quite icy.

‘I think we should put it to the vote,’ Lori said boldly. ‘What do you think, Senator? Tops on or off?’

‘No objections from me,’ Hammond chuckled. ‘Off sounds like a fine plan.’

‘I’m always topless,’ Luca joked.

Before the conversation could continue, Aleksandr and Bianca appeared.

‘Today we are taking a magical mystery tour on an uninhabited island,’ Aleksandr announced. ‘For all those who wish to come — and I hope that will be everyone — we gather at twelve noon. Be prepared.’

Chapter Forty-Seven

Twenty-four hours in, and Mercedes already knew plenty. Observation was her strong suit. As a lowly stewardess, people were inclined to forget she was there. Conversations took place and she heard it all. The Senator was flirting with the redhead. The redhead was flirting with everyone. The Asian woman was an uptight bitch who considered herself smarter than all the other women aboard, and she was not sleeping with her boyfriend — who even Mercedes had to agree was quite a hunk — because one of the maids had informed her that he’d spent the night on the couch. Aleksandr and Bianca were fucking like rabbits — even getting one on in the middle of dinner. The footballer and his blonde wife were doing it too. But not the Senator and his wife — who was zonked out of her mind on an assortment of pills. Plus the Senator was a screamer, berating his wife in private, while fawning over her in public. The gay boys were an odd couple. Luca Perez was a sweetheart, and the older guy was a sly fox. And finally the movie star was just that — a dumb movie star.

So… in twenty-four hours Mercedes had learned plenty about the passengers, all of which she’d reported to Cruz.

She kept a different eye on the mostly Australian crew, and she foresaw no problems there. Her roommate and fellow stewardess, Renee, was all teeth with an eager-to-please personality. Den, the barman, was no problem. Guy was all mouth and no balls. Captain Dickson was a nonentity who’d fold as soon as Cruz and his men boarded.

Kyril presented her only problem. The burly Russian bodyguard was a hard nut to crack. She’d visited his command room on several occasions, ostensibly to take him trays of food which he always rejected.

Kyril sat in a chair in front of an array of security monitors and barely moved. He was certainly not up for any light conversation, and trying to flirt with him had gotten her exactly nowhere.

What the hell? He had a dick, didn’t he? And if she couldn’t get it hard, who could?

Kyril was an imperative part of the plan. He was the only person aboard who could potentially cause problems.

Cruz and his team planned to strike in a few days, so there was still time. She sensed that Kyril wasn’t going to be easy, and if she couldn’t divert him sexually… well… drugs were her other alternative.

Fortunately she’d come prepared. Horse tranquillizers. The only sure thing.

Chapter Forty-Eight

‘I will not be coming on the excursion,’ Sierra said, standing up to her husband for once.

‘You haven’t left our room all morning,’ Hammond pointed out, admiring himself in the bathroom mirror, making sure he’d combed his hair exactly the way it suited him when he appeared on TV ‘What must everyone think?’ he added churlishly.

‘Who cares what they think?’ Sierra replied, determined not to give in. ‘I have a bad migraine and I’m not moving. You’ll have to go without me.’

Hammond considered the possibilities. If Sierra came with, he’d be forced to be nice to her in front of everyone and stay by her side. If Sierra didn’t come, he’d be free to spend more time with the sexy redhead and the blonde with the big tits, not to mention Miss Super-model herself with the Fuck Me lips and insane body. Then there was always the Asian piece of pie. Yes, quite a tasty cornucopia of pussy.

Sierra not coming was really not so bad. After all, there was no press around, no photo opportunities, which meant who cared if she was with him or not? ‘Fine,’ he said, tight-lipped as he emerged from the bathroom. ‘Have it your way. However, I do expect you to be up and dressed when I return. Headache or not, I refuse to allow you to miss dinner.’

‘Very well,’ Sierra responded.

Five minutes later he was gone and she could breathe again. His vitriol about Flynn had spilled over her like a never-ending gush of rancid oil. She’d listened, stayed silent, until finally he’d run out of insults.

She’d lain awake most of the night, not having taken her usual sleeping pills, and in the morning she’d willed herself not to reach for the Xanax.