Chapter Fifteen

––––––––

“SEE THERE?” RADCLIFFE TAPPED at the security monitor, following the shadowy outline of a ship that looked like a container tanker and a mid-century warship had a love child. “That isn’t authorised to sail around these islands.”

“Authorised?” I scowled. “I don’t think the French Polynesian government has embargos on boats, Radcliffe.”

“They do on this one.” He strode to the printer in the corner, wiping away sweat on his brow from sitting for hours in a tiny security office where the air-con struggled to keep cool in the height of the day. Pulling a sheet of paper from the tray, he handed it to me. “See for yourself.”

A text heavy decree with an official government seal stated that the Paradigm Purge, captained by a man only known as Rayvn was hereby banished from entering the Pacific Ocean around Tahiti and its neighbouring islands.

“Is he a trader?” I passed the document back to Radcliffe, waiting for the trusted mercenary to fill me in on why he’d called me down to discuss an imminent security issue.

“No. He’s a pirate.”

I rolled my eyes. “If he’s a thief, then he’s of no concern to us. All our bookings are done online, we don’t keep large sums of cash on Rapture, and being all-inclusive means guests don’t have to bring big holiday funds. There’s nothing to steal, apart from a few pieces of jewellery and unwanted wedding rings, I suppose.”

“He doesn’t just steal cash, sir.” Radcliffe brought up another webpage, this one full of sightings and warnings of Paradigm Purge.

I skimmed some of the headlines.

Two women missing from Koh Samui after black ship spotted off shore. As yet unfound.

One woman missing on her honeymoon, snatched from a beach in Penang by pirates.

One teenage girl taken under her father’s nose while family stayed in Phuket, Thailand. Authorities are seeking information on unpermitted vessel in harbour.  

I scowled. “Unfortunate but not uncommon. Women go missing all the time.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m the cause of some of those disappearances.”

“I know, but women went missing each time Paradigm Purge was found in their bays. It’s not just a coincidence, Sinclair. And the fact that the boat has been seen sniffing off our coast means I highly suggest you double the security guards on shore.”

“You think this Rayvn bastard would steal a wife while she’s working on her marriage?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? But if we make it easy for them, then the temptation might be too hard to ignore. If we make it hard, we keep our guests safe.”

“Fine.” I nodded. “Double it. And have someone install the reef tripwires that we have around Goddess Isles, so they know if a boat arrives unwelcome, regardless of night or day.”

“Consider it done.”

I glanced again at the hulking monster of a ship. Black and sinister with rust on some areas and the tell-tale sign of machine guns hidden beneath coverings, a chill ran down my spine. If that bastard ever appeared in my Java Sea, he’d be picking up shrapnel and body parts for months after I blew his Paradigm Purge to fucking pieces.

I’d learned that viciousness was needed to protect those I loved. Drake had tried to teach me that lesson all my life, but I’d been slow to learn it. Now, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill and then ask questions later. Especially if Eleanor’s safety was on the line.

Speaking of Jinx.

I suddenly had an undeniable urge to see her.

We’d been on this island long enough. Things were working well, and in my experience, if you had a trustworthy team who did their jobs, it was best if you stayed out of it.

“You got this covered?” I asked. “I better go find my wife.”

Radcliffe nodded, sitting down at the monitor to organise emails and recruitment for more security. “No problem. I’ll meet you back on Calypso.”

“Great.” Opening the door to island air instead of recycled air-con, I placed my sunglasses over my eyes to shield them from the bright glare and strode through the open-island lobby of Rapture.

I’d never built a lobby on Batari, but here, Eleanor suggested having a central hub for check-in, welcome drinks, and somewhere where couples could book diving, day tours, and massages.

Carved sculptures of manta rays covered one wall so it seemed as if they floated toward the ceiling, a check-in desk sat with top-of-the-line technology just waiting to welcome, and a few sitting areas with comfy tangerine seats held a couple who’d obviously just arrived.

The girl with copper wavy hair, green eyes, and in her mid-twenties sat tense with her arms and legs crossed, her body language screeching at the man to leave her the fuck alone. The man in question looked as if he’d been driven over by a monster truck a few times. His dark blond hair needed a cut, his brown eyes were shadowed, and he watched his wife with a mixture of hate and hurt.

What the fuck were a couple that young doing here? How did something fail that bad to need our help so soon?

“Bellamy and Lawrence Whittaker?” A Rapture staff member smiled and approached the pissed-off couple, brandishing her tray of welcome cocktails as if it could shield her from their tempers. “I’ve taken the liberty of checking you in. We’ve assigned you Villa Camellia. We have you down for a ten-day stay, and if you change your mind on the marriage counselling sessions, I would be happy to—”

“Don’t bother,” the man barked, swiping a drink off the tray. “We’re just here for that Euphoria thing that everyone’s talking about.”

His wife curled up into a tighter, angrier ball.

Stupid bastard.

No wife wanted to fuck her husband if she wanted him to die a fiery death.

Rolling my eyes at the doomed couple, I forgot all about them as I strode down a manicured sandy path and went to find the love of my life.

It was time to go.