“Honeymooners?” Shauna frowned. Tom and Carolina faced the younger couple, each holding a gun, pointing steadily at their chests. “I could swear he French kissed you.”
Carolina didn’t react.
“I hope the money makes up for those ugly big, wet lips of his slobbering all over you.”
“Who are you people, anyway?” Jude asked, leaning against a cushion, legs shaking slightly, eyes narrowing. “You don’t sound local.”
“Special Ops,” Carolina said. “We’re out of St. Thomas, working along with the Royal Virgin Islands Police Force.”
“We hunt pirates,” Tom said.
Carolina picked up her fallen sarong and tied it around herself all the way up to her chest, the Caribbean’s version of New York City ’s bulletproof vest.
Aerial view: Brilliantly lit boats rock and blaze over the black sea toward the yacht at center, from all directions.
Perri O’Shaughnessy
